Chapter 13

Cat,

I had no intention of marrying the girl, for heaven's sake! However, I'd like to know how I'm supposed to find a wife if I do not converse and dance and spend time with women in order to discover if there is one I like. I will thank you to keep your nose out of my affairs and leave Tilly to me and to Mrs Harris. Neither of us need your advice.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon'ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton to his younger sister, the Most Hon'ble Catherine ‘Cat' St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane (children of the Most Hon'ble Lord and Lady Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

24 th June 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

"'Ere, I wanna word with you."

Hamilton turned as the sharp voice cut through the bustle of the harbour and saw Jimmy pushing his way past fisherman big enough to lift him with one hand and toss him out to sea. They let him through, though, and Hamilton realised he'd become a familiar figure down here of late. That wouldn't do. The life of a fisherman was a hard one and Clara would fret over the laddie. He'd have to find him something better than that.

"Well, I'm waiting, was there any word in particular ye were wanting to share?" Hamilton asked dryly as the lad stood before him, arms folded, his narrow face screwed up into something fierce and battle ready.

"I want to know what your intentions are," the boy said, holding Hamilton's gaze unblinking.

"My intentions?" Hamilton repeated, startled into a bark of laughter that he would have smothered if he'd not been so surprised.

Jimmy's small fist shot out and punched him in a spot that made Hamilton double over as pain exploded in his privates.

"Ye wee bawbag," he said breathlessly, grasping Jimmy by the scruff and towing him behind a fishing boat in dry dock for repairs. Blinking away tears as his eyes watered, Hamilton gave the lad a shake. "What the hell did ye do that for?"

"For taking advantage of Miss Clara," Jimmy said defiantly, though his face was white now, fear in his eyes as he regarded Hamilton with trepidation. "She's a good girl, she is, not some doxy to be messing about with in the dark."

"Ach!" Hamilton said impatiently, feeling like a proper brute now. "Wee yin, ye have nae need to fret. I mean to court her, but I'm sorry I dinnae speak to ye first, aye? I ken very well that ye try to keep her safe, and I thank ye for it."

"You've asked her to marry you?" Jimmy said, his eyes lighting up at this information.

"Give a fellow a chance," Hamilton said, trying to get his breath back. "Nae, I have nae done so yet, but I mean to court her, like I said."

"And that was courting, was it?" Jimmy said, a sarcastic edge to the question, clearly still sceptical of his intentions.

Hamilton sighed. "I ken very well, I didnae behave as I ought," he said defensively. "A fellow… well, even a gentleman can get carried away, aye, when his blood's up, but I meant her nae insult and I would nae dishonour her, my word upon it."

"Swear it," Jimmy said, spitting in his hand and holding it out to Hamilton.

Eyeing him resignedly, Hamilton did likewise, and they shook upon it.

"You mind you treat her proper from now on, like a lady," Jimmy told him sternly.

"I will," Hamilton growled, losing patience with the little devil. "And ye will nae use that dirty trick on me again if ye are wishing to keep yer hands attached to yer arms. If I wed the lassie, she will be wanting bairns at some point, and that will nae help my cause, aye?"

Jimmy sniggered at that. "I got you good, didn't I?" he said in satisfaction.

"Aye," Hamilton said sourly. "But I'm wise now, so dinnae try it again."

"I won't. I got other moves, though, so don't you go thinking I can't get ye good if you misbehave. And I taught Clara a couple of ‘em too," Jimmy retorted, and then darted off as Hamilton offered him a clip round the ear.

"I dinnae ken what that porridge ever did to ye, but I reckon it doesnae deserve such treatment," Mrs Macready said dryly, regarding Clara as she sat at the table in the kitchen, stabbing her spoon distractedly into the rapidly cooling bowl.

"I beg your pardon," Clara said, straightening and looking sheepish.

Though her father disapproved of her eating in the kitchen with Mrs Macready, he had gone to the church hall early that morning and was not around to scold her.

"Is it nae to yer liking?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, it's very good, I'm just wool gathering is all," Clara said, fighting a blush as she remembered exactly what she'd been thinking about. Her mind was in turmoil, her entire being upside down and inside out and it was all Hamilton Anderson's fault.

She still could not believe she had allowed him such liberties. What had she been thinking? What might she have allowed if Jimmy had not appeared to rescue her from her own lack of moral fibre? The boy had believed she'd been taken advantage of, bless him, and had even run her through a few moves that would get her out of trouble if ever the need arose. But she hadn't wanted to be out of trouble last night. Clara let out a low groan and then chided herself as Mrs Macready turned back to her.

"Are ye ailing, lassie?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes at Clara. "Ye have nae gone and caught another fever, I hope? Ye are looking a wee bit flushed."

Oh, good heavens!

"No! Nothing of the sort, I promise," Clara said in a rush.

"Eat yer porridge, then," Mrs Macready said, watching her closely as she poured them both a cup of tea. Once she'd prepared the brew to both their likings, she sat down opposite Clara, her intelligent blue eyes sharper than usual.

"I'm nae a gossip," she said, her tone firm. "And if somebody was to confide a secret to me, I'd keep it close, aye, and take it to my eternal rest. So, if somebody had something on their minds that perhaps they couldnae speak to anyone else about, I'd be a good person to talk to, aye?"

"I'm sure," Clara said faintly, her heart beating very hard.

"Ye went out to dinner last night, then? How was it?"

"Oh, lovely. A wonderful meal and good company. I met Mrs Scott, do you know her? She was very kind to me, and I also met a Mr Harold Barker."

"Mrs Scott, aye?" Mrs Macready said thoughtfully, her eyebrows tugging together. "And Harold is a gentleman, an excellent sort. He'd make a good husband, aye."

"Oh, well, I had not thought of—" Clara began, laughing unsteadily.

"Nae, ye are too caught up with Hamilton Anderson to think of anyone else," Mrs Macready said with a wry smile.

Clara stared at her and then let out a groan, putting her head in her hands. "I'm such a fool," she said wretchedly. "You warned me and… and I knew! I knew he was dangerous. I mean, any fool can see it. He's handsome and charming and funny and—"

"And ye are thinking ye will never meet anyone better than him so long as ye live."

"Yes," Clara said in despair. "I'm to spend my life here where there are few eligible men, and he's one of them, and… and…"

"What happened?" Mrs Macready said, folding her arms. "Come, lassie, out with it. I'll have the whole, for I cannae judge if ye dinnae tell me all of it."

"Oh, I couldn't!" Clara said, horrified by the idea.

"Aye, I reckoned it was like that," Mrs Macready said with a snort, shaking her head. "Nae that I blame ye. If such a bonnie laddie was to make up to me, I'd reckon I'd be a puddle at his feet too. Some men just have a knack for melting our brains, that's all there is to it."

"Yes!" Clara exclaimed in frustration. "That's exactly it. I knew… I knew what he was about and yet…"

"And yet," Mrs Macready said, laughing softly. "The lament of many a lassie. Still, I'll say this: he's a gentleman despite his wicked ways. He'd nae trifle with a girl of your sort if he had nae serious intentions."

"You really think so?" Clara said dubiously.

"I do. What was the last thing he said to ye before he took himself off last night? I'm assuming he walked ye home, ye see," she added with a smirk.

Clara blushed and then blushed harder as she remembered the wretched man wishing her sweet dreams. The horrid creature must have known her dreams would be quite indecent and filled with his wicked voice, tempting her in the darkness. "He said… oh! He said he would be calling on me," Clara said, her hopes lifting as the memory returned to her.

How dreadful of her to have forgotten such an important bit of information because she'd been consumed with thoughts of everything else he'd said and done.

"Ah, there ye are then. He'll be wanting to walk out with ye."

"Oh, but Papa—" Clara said helplessly.

"If ye want my advice, lassie, ye will leave yer da to Hamilton. He's the kind who can charm the birds from the trees. Well, ye ken that well enough by now, I reckon," she added with a wicked chuckle.

Clara sighed. "I do," she said wistfully as her eyes drifted to the clock over the mantelpiece. "Oh, lud! Look at the time. I promised Papa to help him this morning. I was supposed to be there before nine and it's ten past already. Excuse me, Mrs Macready, I must dash."

Clara pushed open the doors to the church hall and admitted herself surprised as she was enveloped in the sound of feminine laughter and chatter. Her surprise only deepened as she viewed her father, standing in the middle of a group of ladies, beaming with pleasure.

"Mrs Aitken, you are teasing me," he said reproachfully, but with obvious good humour.

"Ach, reverend, I wouldnae do such a thing, but it's true, there's nae herring in the biscuits. We eat them morning, noon and night, but they dinnae taste good with sugar, ye ken."

"Well, the biscuits are delicious, though I'm relieved there's no fish in them after all," he said, brushing crumbs from his cassock. "Ah, Clara, my dear, how good to see you," he said, spying her as she came into the hall.

"I'm sorry, I'm late," she said, looking around her at the welcoming faces and then starting with surprise as she spied Malcolm Stewart among their ranks.

"Good morning, Miss Halliday," he said cheerfully. His eyes were shadowed and dark ringed after last night's indulgence, but he seemed in excellent spirits. "And may I say how bonnie you are looking this morning?"

"Good morning, Mr Stewart," Clara replied, icily civil, before turning back to her father with a questioning expression.

"Mr Stewart has joined our cause," he said confidentially. "As a young man in Wick, he has been exposed to the very worst the town has to offer and realises that something must be done. A convert, in fact! Isn't that marvellous?"

"Marvellous," Clara said, not feeling half so convinced that such a transformation had taken place. She eyed Malcolm dubiously and looked away as he winked at her. Lord, but he was a dreadful man. How she could have thought otherwise, she did not now know. Hamilton had been right to warn her about him.

"What do ye think of this, Rev?" one of the ladies asked her father, holding up a freshly painted placard. It bore a simple yet well executed painting of a mother and child hugging each other whilst the father sprawled in the gutter with a bottle in his hand.

"Oh! Mrs Munro, that… that is splendid!" her father said, making the woman blush with pleasure.

"I think ye are easily pleased, Reverend Halliday, but thank ye all the same."

"Mrs Munro, you work so tirelessly for our cause, I can be nothing but grateful for all your hard work, but you have real talent. You know, I was thinking of creating a theatre group for the children, perhaps to put on a nativity performance at Christmas. Would you be interested in painting some scenery, do you think? I would provide the materials, of course."

Clara blinked, astonished by what she was seeing. Her father was thinking of putting on a nativity? He was providing paints and materials? Whilst she had noticed his increasing ease with the women of the town as he got to know them, such a suggestion was startling. She remembered too his solicitude when she'd been ill, that he had taken the time to consider what she might enjoy most during her illness. What on earth was happening?

Mrs Munro and the other women exclaimed over the marvellous idea, which was just the thing to teach the little ones about the good book and give them some fun at the same time.

Her father chuckled and chattered good naturedly and it occurred to Clara that he had finally found something in his temperance group that he had never had before. His cause was their cause, and they were working together to do good in the community. He had never connected with his congregation before, never been amongst them and spoken to them directly, only stood as a figurehead who lectured from the pulpit. Yet so many evenings stood outside the pubs and taverns of Wick, could not be spent in silence, the women certainly would not have been silent. At some point he must have begun to listen, and to interact with them, and to understand their lives in a way he had refused to do before now. Perhaps too, he was gaining a sense of compassion for others that he had always been sadly lacking.

"A nativity, Papa?" Clara said, once she could gain his attention.

"Yes," he said, whilst sorting through a stack of prayer books. "Dear me, some of these are in a sorry state. I think we may need to order some replacements. Not that I can take the credit for the idea of the nativity, as it was Mrs Cameron's suggestion. A very wise woman is Mrs Cameron," he added, pausing with a book in his hand as he glanced across the hall.

A plump, rather pretty woman in her early fifties caught him watching her and blushed, smiling back at him before carrying on with arranging flowers obviously meant for the church.

"Is that Mrs Cameron?" Clara asked with interest.

"What's that?" her father said distractedly. "Oh! Oh, yes, indeed. The very same. A most capable woman, well, she's brought up five children single-handedly, for her husband drank himself to death years ago. Poor fool," he added sadly, shaking his head.

Clara looked once more at Mrs Cameron, who was laughing good-naturedly with the other women, and smiled. She looked like a kind woman, and Clara decided she would do well to get to know her. Before she could do so, a hand on her arm stayed her.

"Miss Halliday, might you assist me for a moment?"

Malcolm Stewart smiled at her, and Clara stiffened as she looked up at him, noting that the smile did not reach his eyes. Tugging her arm free, she returned an expression just as insincere.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Stewart, but I was about to lend a hand to Mrs Cameron."

"Oh, no need, no need," her father said easily, setting the prayer books aside. "I'll go. You help Mr Stewart, my dear."

Cursing her father's newfound joviality, Clara turned back to Mr Stewart. "What was it you needed, sir?"

"Come, and I'll show you," he said, leading her to the far side of the room where a door led into a small storeroom. Clara hesitated on the threshold, and he smirked at her.

"You can keep the door open if you are afraid," he said with a mocking tone.

Clara folded her arms, remaining where she was. "I shall," she said coldly. "For you are no gentleman, and not to be trusted."

He merely shrugged, leaning against a shelf stacked with cleaning supplies. There, he stopped, chewing on his lip and staring at her insolently.

"Well? What do you require assistance with?" Clara asked rather impatiently.

"With a conundrum," he said, watching her too closely for her comfort. "What to do when someone I care about is making a fool of themselves."

Clara stiffened. "Unless that person is a family member, I should proceed with extreme caution," she said coolly.

"But it would surely be a sin to say nothing when an innocent girl is being lured into a situation she does not comprehend? Are you certain you don't wish to close the door, Clara? Someone might overhear us?" he said gently, with a blatantly false show of solicitude.

Clara glared at him, certain now that he meant to continue making trouble for Mr Anderson and herself. "No, I thank you, I shall keep it open. In the first place, I am Miss Halliday to you, sir. In the second, you seem determined to have your say, so pray, do so and speak plain rather than making disgusting insinuations."

His face hardened at her forthright reply and, when he spoke, there was obvious satisfaction in the words. "I was not, as my brother believed, entirely out of my senses last night. It was simply a ruse so your devoted Mr Anderson would not trouble himself about my whereabouts. Once Angus and that old woman Barker had left me, I climbed out the window, and I followed you, Clara."

Clara felt the blood drain from her face as she considered what he might have seen.

"Ah, yes, I see that your holier-than-thou attitude has suffered a blow. Well, you had best be prepared for another, my dear, for your lover is not only vile enough to take advantage of an innocent girl, but he went straight from you to his mistress."

"You are the most reprehensible man I have ever had the misfortune to come across," Clara exclaimed, too appalled and shocked to modify her words or to think clearly. "How dare you spread such vile gossip?"

He simply shrugged, looking disgustingly smug. "I'm reprehensible? When Hamilton Anderson held you in his arms one moment, and then went directly to Mrs Scott and bedded her."

Clara gasped, disbelieving that he could say such a thing out loud, or that he could implicate a woman who had been kind to her just last night. "I don't believe you," she said furiously. "And I will not listen to any further slander. Shame on you, Malcolm Stewart. Your brother and Mary would be deeply ashamed if they knew how far you have sunk because of your jealousy towards Mr Anderson."

Clara turned on her heel, wanting nothing more than to be out of his company as quickly as possible but he reached for her, grasping her arm and tugging her into the room, closing the door behind them. Clara sucked in a breath of shock, her heart pounding too fast.

"I wonder what the reverend would say if he knew what liberties you allowed that man last night?" he demanded, his voice harsh, his breath on her face a hot rush of stale wine fumes that filled her senses and made her want to wretch.

Clara faced him defiantly. "If you think to blackmail me, sir, you may think again. Tell my father if it pleases you, and you'll see me married to Mr Anderson before the end of the week. A situation which would suit me very well," she added, satisfied to see the flash of anger in his eyes that told her she had aimed well.

"Why, you little…" Grasping her by the arms, he pushed her up against the wall, pressing his body against hers, and for a moment Clara's brain froze with terror. His mouth pressed against hers and she made a sound of disgust, turning her head away as she suddenly remembered Jimmy's advice for unwanted male attention. Steeling her resolve, she raised her knee with a sharp jerk. Rather to her surprise, it worked just as Jimmy had promised it would, and Mr Stewart stumbled back, clutching his privates, his mouth open in a silent scream as tears sprang to his eyes.

Clara lunged for the door, but it opened just as she reached it, and she stared in horror as she saw Mrs Cameron on the other side. The lady's face darkened as she stared at Mr Stewart.

"Are ye all right, lassie?" she asked Clara gently, her expression one of concern.

"Y-yes," Clara said breathlessly, relieved that Mrs Cameron had guessed correctly, though she did not feel at all well.

"Run along then. I'll keep an eye on this one and make sure he doesnae follow ye," she added, standing back to let Clara pass. "And dinnae fret. I'll say nothing about it to anyone. I'll make sure ye are nae left alone with him again."

"Thank you, Mrs Cameron." Holding her head up, Clara stalked out of the church hall, caring nothing for the fact she had not told her father where she was going or what she was about. She walked blindly, her heart crashing in her chest as the awful suspicion that Mr Stewart might know something she didn't ran wild in her mind. The scene with Malcolm Stewart had been vile and frightening, but it was hardly a surprise to discover he was a filthy lecher and would take advantage of a woman by force if the opportunity arose. Hamilton Anderson, however, she had come to trust, to care for, more than care for, and her heart broke at the idea she might have misjudged him yet again. Images of Hamilton holding Mrs Scott's voluptuous form in his arms tortured her. Why wouldn't he prefer a woman like that, one who was experienced and sophisticated? She'd been married and was clearly a woman of the world. She would know how to kiss, how to please a man. Had they laughed over Clara's ineptitude, her clumsy kisses and ignorance?

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she told herself she was getting herself in a sorry state for no reason. Malcolm Stewart was a disgusting excuse for a man and had done everything in his power to hurt her and drive a wedge between her and Mr Anderson. She would not allow him to do so. Yet the pain in her heart would not ease, the horrid seed of misgiving he had sown taking root despite her best efforts.

Too distracted to look where she was going, Clara turned a corner and collided with someone before she could avoid it. The scent of ambergris surrounded her, gentle hands gripped her arms, steadying her, and with an appalling sense of inevitability, Clara found herself staring into Mrs Scott's deep brown eyes.

"Why, Miss Halliday, whatever is the matter? You are as white as a sheet. Are you unwell?" Her rich voice was gentle and filled with concern and Clara was momentarily overcome with the terrible desire to scratch her eyes out. She steadied herself, shaking her head.

"No, not unwell," she managed, wishing her voice didn't sound so unsteady.

"Well, something is the matter," Mrs Scott said, narrowing her eyes. "I think you need a stiff drink, my dear."

"Is Hamilton Anderson your lover?" Clara clapped a hand over her mouth, realising too late she had said the awful words out loud. Her cheeks blazed with mortification as Mrs Scott stared at her, eyes wide. "Forgive me," Clara said, and would have turned and fled, but Mrs Scott grabbed hold of her hand.

"Not so fast," she said, her grasp surprisingly strong. "I think someone has been causing trouble. I suspect I could take a guess who it is, but I'd rather you told me. Come along, Miss Halliday. I think it's time you and I got better acquainted."

Born along by a will stronger than her own, Clara submitted, following Mrs Scott meekly back to her home, an elegant and modern affair with high ceilings. There, they were greeted by a discreet butler who settled them both in a beautifully decorated parlour and left them alone.

Clara looked around the room with interest, taking in the luxurious fabrics and the many artworks decorating the walls. This was a woman of taste and one who was used to making her own decisions, dealing with her own money, and making her own way in the world. In comparison, Clara felt gauche and silly, and she wished she had not come.

"Here," Mrs Scott said, handing her a glass with a small measure of amber liquid in it. "I ought to give you whisky, I suppose, but I confess I can't stand the stuff. Don't tell anyone. It's sacrilege in these parts. Give me a good cognac any day, however. Much better for the digestion, too," she added, smiling at Clara.

Mrs Scott sat down on a settee covered in a rich green damask fabric and patted the space beside her. "Come here, pet."

Clara did as she asked, too curious and too bewildered not to.

"Who told you I was Hamilton's lover?" Mrs Scott asked bluntly.

"Is it true?" Clara demanded, feeling this was far more pertinent a question for the moment.

"First things first," Mrs Scott said with some force, "I take it I am to thank that rat, Malcolm Stewart, for your distress?"

Clara nodded unsteadily as Mrs Scott said some very vulgar things under her breath. "Fellow ought to be horsewhipped," she added savagely. "It was obvious last night he meant to cause trouble. Still, Hamilton will deal with him, I have no doubt."

"Is it true?" Clara pressed. "Did he… Did he kiss me last night and come straight to you?"

"Ah, he kissed you!" Mrs Scott said, apparently delighted by this information. "I worried he might not act as swiftly as he ought, but the fellow had sense enough to act. That's good."

"Mrs Scott!" Clara said, her temper fraying.

"Hush, pet, drink your cognac," Mrs Scott said, patting her hand. "I do hope you're not going to be silly. You cannot have believed that Hamilton was a man with no experience? Of course, he has had lovers, and in a town like this it is difficult to be discreet, but he has always managed it. Yes, he was my lover, to answer your question, but no longer."

"Since when?" Clara asked, her heart thudding very hard.

"Since the moment he laid eyes on you," Mrs Scott said with a wry smile. "You silly girl, don't you realise it ought to me sobbing and carrying on? I'm the one he cast aside. I'm older than you, and it's been a long time since I was half so sweet and innocent. I knew I could never hold such a man, and so I shall not break my heart over him. You, though, you are the kind who could be the love of his life if you don't mess it up."

Clara stared at her, a little stunned by her words. "M-Me?"

Mrs Scott laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, youth really is wasted on the young. Yes, you, love. You've got him on a string, did you but know it. If you crook your little finger, that man will come running."

"That's ridiculous," Clara said frankly.

"Is it?" Mrs Scott sipped her cognac and regarded Clara for a moment. "Try it," she suggested, winking at her.

Clara stared at her. This woman had been Hamilton's lover, surely they ought to despise each other, and yet she found she could not. Jealousy gnawed at her heart at the idea of Hamilton kissing her, taking her in his arms and… and she would not think about that. But he'd ended things between them, for her, because he wanted Clara, not Mrs Scott.

"Mr Stewart said he came here last night," she pressed, needing to understand this.

Mrs Scott nodded. "He did. You'll have to manage him, Clara, for he's forever forgetting his hat or his watch or something. It was his watch on the last occasion, which I have had for some weeks as I've not seen him," she added with a smile. "He came last night to fetch it, and we had a drink together to say goodbye, and I wished him luck with his beautiful Miss Halliday."

"Truly?" Clara said, wanting so much to believe it, she hardly dared.

Mrs Scott put down her glass and took Clara's hand, holding it between both of hers. "Truly," she said, staring into Clara's eyes. There was a wistful tone to her voice that told Clara she was not quite so sanguine about Hamilton leaving her as she let on and Clara wondered at it. Could she really believe everything the woman said about Hamilton. Yet she believed in him , and she felt in her heart that he would not do such a reprehensible thing. "That man is falling hard, Clara, so don't be a fool for the sake of a little hurt pride. There aren't many like him in the world, and you'd be an idiot to let him go. Don't let the likes of Malcolm Stewart ruin everything for you both."

Clara let out a shaky breath and nodded. "I won't, and… and thank you, for speaking to me so candidly."

"Candid is the only kind of speech I approve of," Mrs Scott said with a laugh and reached for her glass again, holding it up towards Clara. "Here's to you and Hamilton, may you fall madly in love and have the kind of romance the rest of us only dream about."

"And may you find someone who loves and admires you as you deserve, which is a good deal, I think," Clara said boldly.

Mrs Scott laughed, delighted by the toast. "I'll drink to that," she said, so Clara chinked her glass against Mrs Scott's and the two of them drank to a wonderful future.