Chapter 2

Lyall,

Thank you kindly for the invitation to young Gordy's birthday. I'd love to come and celebrate but I have not the time to spare for the moment. I have just bought a public house, and I intend to have it up and running by the autumn. Please give the bairns a kiss from their favourite uncle, and I hope the parcel that accompanies this letter will soften the blow of my absence a wee bit.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon'ble Hamilton Anderson to his elder brother, The Right Hon'ble, Lyall Anderson, The Viscount Buchanan.

5 th May 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

"But whatever are we to do with him?" Mrs Macready said, staring at Jimmy as though he'd sprouted horns and a tail.

"Well, that is a dilemma, I admit," Clara said, praying she had not ill judged the depths of the lady's kindness. "But you must see that I could not abandon him to his fate."

Jimmy clung tightly to her hand, doing a grand job of making himself look pathetic and in dire need of charity. Though he was in need of kindness, Jimmy was not in the least pathetic and Clara recognised his demeanour as a wonderful piece of theatre on his part, for which she did not blame him in the least.

"Oh, yes, indeed… the poor bairn," Mrs Macready said, her hand resting over her ample bosom in the vicinity of her tender heart. "But without the reverend's say so," she murmured, her agitation plain.

"There's not in the least need for my father to know of it," Clara said firmly. "Jimmy will be a grand help to you. He's a hard worker and can fetch and carry and see to the fire, and all he asks in return is a warm, safe place to sleep, and his meals."

"Is he clean?" Mrs Macready said sceptically. "I dinnae hold with grubby boys in my kitchen."

Jimmy darted Clara a look of sheer panic, which was entirely genuine.

"He may need a little encouragement in that area," Clara admitted. "But I am certain that will be a small price to pay in return for your kindness." She gave Jimmy a long, stern look, and he subsided with a heavy sigh.

"Well, I could nae very well turn the laddie out when he's come so far," Mrs Macready said. "Very well. Jimmy stays, but he'll mind me, or he'll be sorry," she said, wagging her finger at him, though the twinkle in her eyes made it plain she was not about to beat him with a rolling pin.

"I will, missus," Jimmy said solemnly.

"Ach, and he's all skin and bones," the lady tsked, shaking her head. "Ye cannae work when ye have nae a scrap of fat between ye and the sky. Sit yerself down there and I'll make ye a bite of breakfast, how's that?"

Jimmy's face lit up like Christmas morning and he wasted no time in planting his backside where Mrs Macready pointed. "That sounds like a grand idea," he said, grinning happily.

"Ah, well, ye are a good fellow, I reckon." Mrs Macready ruffled his hair and then grimaced slightly, wiping her hand on her apron. "Aye, well, one thing at a time," she said with a sigh, and set about clattering pots and pans.

Satisfied that she had left her charge in excellent hands, Clara went back upstairs to hear the not uncommon sound of her father's voice raised in anger. Wondering what had set him off, she went to the study to find him shaking his fist at something or someone outside the window. As his study faced onto the street, Clara moved to stand beside him, twitching the net curtain aside and seeing nothing to cause such outrage.

"Whatever is the matter, Papa?" she asked, turning to regard his flushed face with concern. "You will give yourself an apoplexy if you keep this up. Now, come and sit down. Mrs Macready has just put the kettle on, and I shall bring you a nice cup of tea, only do tell me first what has put you in such a pelter."

"That… That devil!" he cried, shaking his fist again as she guided him firmly from the window. "And on my very doorstep! It's a challenge, I tell you, and if he thinks I shall shy away, that I shall not face Satan himself and—"

"Goodness me, Papa! Which devil are you speaking of and what on earth is he guilty of doing?" Clara asked, more curious than dismayed.

"Mr Hamilton Anderson," her father said wrathfully. "He's not only at the heart of all the wickedness in this town, what with his supplying half the whisky that's downed in this sinful place, but now… now he's had the temerity to buy the public house just across the street there. I can see it from this very window! Drunkenness and licentiousness on my very doorstep, where my own innocent child could look out of her bedroom window and—"

"My window looks out onto the back garden, Papa," Clara said calmly, too used to her father's passionate outbursts to be overly alarmed by them. "And I cannot help but doubt that the man has done it expressly to annoy you."

"That just shows the nature of your tender heart," he said mournfully, allowing himself to be manoeuvred into a chair. "But don't you fret, my daughter. Despite his wealth and power, I shall rout the demon from his lair. I shall chase him out of Wick as good always vanquishes evil." Clara sighed inwardly, recognising at once the beginning of a sermon that might go on all afternoon if she let him work himself up again. "‘And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose . ' Romans eight, verse twenty-eight. And—"

Before he could take a breath and really get going, Clara patted his arm and said cheerfully, "Papa, please don't preach to me, for I am not the wicked man and have done nothing to vex you, not yet at least. Now, I shall fetch you a nice cup of tea. Would you like a slice of Mrs Macready's shortbread? She made a new batch this morning."

Her father glared at her with reproach. "I shall not be distracted from my duty by sugar biscuits, child," he said with indignation.

"No, Papa," Clara replied with a smile. "But I cannot help but think vanquishing demons is easier when one isn't peckish, and you've had nothing since lunchtime."

Huffing but amused despite himself, her father shooed her away with a last-minute admonition to bring a plate of biscuits, not just one if she really expected such tactics to work.

Clara returned to the kitchens, where Jimmy was making heroic progress through a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages that might even have defeated her father. Plucking the kettle from the range where it was boiling, she sloshed a little hot water into the teapot to warm it and turned to Mrs Macready.

"What do you know of Hamilton Anderson, Mrs Macready?"

"Mr Anderson?" Mrs Macready said, looking a little startled. Rather to Clara's surprise, the lady blushed and seemed somewhat flustered. "Oh, well, a charming rogue that one is. If ye will nae mind me giving ye a wee bit of advice, ye would do well to stay clear of him. There's many a lassie in these parts lost her heart to the dreadful creature."

"Really?" Clara said, instantly intrigued by this information. "Do you mean to say he trifles with their affections?"

"Oh!" Mrs Macready looked rather shocked by this and shook her head. "Nae, I dinnae mean to say anything of that sort, leastways, not that I ever heard of. It's only he has such a way about him. It's hard to explain, only, when he talks to ye, he… well, he has a voice like mellow honey and it's like ye are the only woman in the world and—" Mrs Macready blushed a deeper shade of pink and subsided into confusion, saying brusquely, "Well, he's a handsome fellow too, ye ken."

"My father seems to think he's the devil incarnate," Clara said, emptying the teapot before adding the tea leaves, turning her back on Mrs Macready to give the lady a moment to gather her scattered wits. Whoever this Mr Anderson was, he certainly seemed to be a dangerous fellow, if even a sensible woman of Mrs Macready's age could melt into a puddle of goo at the very mention of him. "As if it isn't bad enough, what with his business supplying whisky to the town, but now it seems he has bought the public house over the road too. Papa seems to think drunken orgies will go on in the street at all hours."

"Miss Halliday!" the lady said in shocked tones, covering Jimmy's ears. "Ye must nae say such things, especially before the wee laddie."

Privately, Clara suspected Jimmy's harsh upbringing had given him a sight more information about such goings on than she had herself, for her notions of what such a wicked gathering might involve were a little vague. Still, she apologised most sincerely and promised not to speak of it again.

Jimmy looked from Mrs Macready to Clara in confusion. "What's that?"

"Nothing, love," Clara said. "Eat up, or you'll upset Mrs Macready."

Jimmy flashed a grin that showed he had no intention of upsetting such a splendid cook and dove back in.

"Has he really bought the Fisherman's Retreat? Well, that's nae a bad thing if ye ask me. It was a dreadful place," Mrs Macready said, having got over her shock. She curled her lip at the thought of the last landlord. "I heard how as old Mr Brown was packing it in, and not before time in my opinion, but that was only a day or two ago. That laddie moves fast, I'll give him that," she said, and Clara detected a note of admiration in her voice.

"So, do you think my father is wrong to want to drive him from the town?" Clara asked, tugging a cosy around the teapot while it brewed.

"Drive him out!" Mrs Macready said in alarm, almost dropping the china bowl she'd just taken down from a shelf. She gave a crack of startled laughter and then covered her mouth with her hand. "I beg your pardon. How unladylike of me, I cannae think what came over me. Only the idea of the reverend… Oh dear. Dear me. If ye will forgive me for saying so, I ken the reverend has the best of intentions, and I am right behind him in believing there is a deal too much ungodliness and drinking in the town. Something must certainly be done, but I would advise him to stay clear of Mr Anderson."

"Why?" Clara asked suspiciously. "Do you think he would cause my father trouble?"

Mrs Macready pursed her lips, apparently searching for a diplomatic way of replying. "Lassie, if anyone succeeded in driving Hamilton Anderson from Wick, there would be a riot in the town, for he's the fellow everyone here looks to. He's popular and admired, and powerful too. And if a riot dinnae bring him back, Himself would come, and Lord, then we'd see fireworks."

Clara was about to ask who Himself was, but the bell rang, and Clara looked up to see the irritable jangle hailed from the study and was her father wanting his tea and shortbread.

"I'd best take this up to him," she said with a sigh, pouring the tea and arranging a generous selection of shortbread biscuits on a plate. On her way up the stairs, she reflected on all she had learned about the wicked Mr Anderson and admitted herself more than a little curious to meet the fellow in the flesh.

"Christ," Hamilton said in disgust as he stared down at the crumpled heap snoring in the alley behind the Drovers where he'd been drinking.

He'd had a skinful himself, for the manager of his distillery had just become a father for the fifth time, finally a boy. The fellow had been so happy and excited, and so keen for Hamilton to share in his joy, he'd not had the heart to leave before the proud father had thoroughly wet the baby's head. He'd not seen Malcolm inside; he rarely spent time this side of the river, preferring Pultney town for his bad behaviour, but the place had been filled to the rafters so he may have avoided notice. However, for Angus' sake, Hamilton did not want the people of the town seeing the boys' schoolteacher howling drunk and out cold in the gutter.

"Up ye come, ye roaster. I've a good mind to toss ye into the river and have done with ye," he grumbled, grimacing as the stench of stale perfume wafted from his clothes and confirmed the kind of night the man had spent. Hamilton hauled the fellow to his feet, giving his face a couple of firm slaps. "Wake up, or I shall send ye to the devil and let him have the trouble of ye."

Malcolm groaned and swatted lethargically at Hamilton's hand. "Stop that, wassa trouble?"

"Ye are the trouble," Hamilton told him firmly and anchored an arm around his waist as he part carried, part dragged the fellow along the street. He was halfway to the academy where Malcolm's lodgings were when Angus appeared, his kindly face careworn and anxious. He'd clearly been out hunting for his troublesome sibling.

"Oh, dear," he said, hurrying forward to share Hamilton's burden.

"Aye," Hamilton said sourly. "I'd have put it a wee bit stronger than that, but the sentiment is close enough."

Between them, they carried Malcolm to the school, got him inside, and put him to bed.

"He'll be in no state to teach the bairns tomorrow," Hamilton said, raking a hand through his hair.

"No," Angus said, shaking his head. "Lord, what am I to do? I cannot afford for him to lose this position. If the children go home or get into mischief, it's bound to be reported."

Hamilton sighed, knowing that Angus, kind-hearted fellow that he was, would kill himself working two jobs if that was the only way to support his reprobate sibling. "Ach, I'll call in on the laddies in the morning. Reckon I can deal with them for an hour or two."

Angus stared at him as if he'd suggested he take holy orders. Hamilton bristled a little. "What? I'm nae an eejit. I went to university in Edinburgh, did I nae?"

"Oh, it's n-not that!" Angus said at once, colouring. "I… I just… You would do that for Malcolm?"

"Nae, I wouldnae do it for that sorry excuse for a man!" Hamilton said in disgust. "I'll do it for ye and for the bairns, though, just this once, mind. But they deserve a teacher, do they nae?"

"Yes. Yes, indeed they do and… and that's terribly decent of you, sir. Truly, I—"

"Stow it," Hamilton said irritably. "I'm away to my bed. I'm like to have a heid on me in the morning and I need my beauty sleep if I'm to face a schoolroom full of grubby boys."

"Yes, sir," Angus said, grinning, and clearly entertained by the notion. Shaking his head and wondering what on earth he'd just volunteered for, Hamilton wended his way home.