Lowland Romance Collection

Chapter 5

You may be used to the Highlands being lauded and Highlanders being treated with respect equal to people in any other part of this kingdom, but you must remember that this was 1811, before Queen Victoria chose to bless Caledonia with her presence. There were still memories of the rising of 1745, and in my time, Highlanders were reckoned as of no more account than Irishmen or Africans. They called us Donalds, among other less savoury things, and told tall tales of our backwardness and savagery, despite the many thousands of Highlandmen who were even then fighting their wars for them. For Lady Catriona to remark on my Highland blood was tantamount to a terrible insult, and one to which I could not reply, for it was only the truth. I had been born and raised among the mountains of Badenoch and was as Highland as peat.

There was no reprieve from such a pronouncement of rejection. In my youth, you see, we did not question the wisdom of our elders and betters. Indeed, we dared not, for the consequences could be… well, I will leave that to your imaginations but.

It was unpleasant to be banished in disgrace, but to be honest I had experienced quite enough of Lady Catriona"s ball. My anticipation had been disappointed, my hopes dashed, and my lips assaulted. In truth, I was not unhappy to climb inside the padded and very ornate sedan chair and have the stalwart Highland chairmen lift me. I would have preferred to travel by coach, but I do not believe Lady Catriona would have countenanced such luxury for somebody she obviously considered a blackguard and an out-and-out rogue. I also knew I was in disgrace and wondered what Lady Elspeth would say about the situation when I arrived back in her house. However much I reasoned that such things were probably not uncommon in such a cosmopolitan city as Edinburgh, and if I were home first, I would have the first opportunity to state my side of the argument. I knew it was natural for Aunt Elspeth to take her daughter"s side against me.

Such thoughts occupied me as the chairmen ported me up the wynd and into the bustle of the High Street. Tears were not far from my eyes as I considered Lady Elspeth"s reaction, for I knew Louise would put all the blame on my shoulders, and I would be doubly disgraced. I had no ideas what penalties her ladyship would inflict, but I suspected they might be grievous. She may even send me back to Badenoch, where my chances of finding a suitable husband were limited in the extreme.

However, events in the High Street soon chased the tears away and gave me much more serious matters to worry about than the displeasure of an eccentric old crone such as Lady Catriona and my stern, but probably fair, aunt.

I heard the roar before I saw anything untoward, for a sedan chair does not have the best of visibility and I was engaged in a monumental sulk, combined with great self-pity both for my present position and the niggling pain of what I was sure was a blister developing on the large toe of my left foot. So when the front chairman let his poles go with a thump, I only complained a little before I opened the door and peered out.

The High Street was in such a state of consternation that I thought the French had landed and was attempting to assault Edinburgh Castle. There were people everywhere, mostly youngsters in their teens and early twenties, shouting and gesticulating, using the most commonplace language I had ever heard, throwing rocks and bottles at the houses and at the poor Watchmen who attempted to restore peace, fighting with fists and feet and generally behaving as if there was no God and Lucifer had descended to claim the kingdom.

“Whatever is the commotion?” I enquired, but nobody seemed to take heed of me, even though I stamped my foot quite forcibly on the ground.

I could hear the chairmen talking, their Gaelic easily comprehensible to me, for Lady Catriona was correct in that at least. Being a native of the Highlands, I understood the speech quite as well as I understood English.

“We can"t get through that lot,” one chairman said, pointing to the crowd.

“We"ll have to, or Her Ladyship will have our jobs,” the second reminded. “Lady Catriona is not the sort of person to give an order and not have it carried out.” He added a few more comments about Lady Catriona which, although I agreed with, I think it best not to commit to paper at this time. They were certainly not fit for tender young ears, and I would have blushed if I was not perfectly pleased to hear the old harridan so insulted.

“Down the closes then,” the first man said, and only then did he notice I was standing outside the chair and listening to his conversation.

Switching to English, for he was naturally unaware I spoke Gaelic, he gave the shortest and quite the most disrespectful bow I have ever seen. “We not going that way,” he told me, jerking a stubby thumb at the mob, “we"ll have to go through the closes and around the loch. It will take longer.”

There was no by-your-leave, you"ll notice, and no “my lady” or any other term of respect. Highlanders are like that; you have to earn their respect and if you give them an inch, they"ll take three yards, and anything else they can lay their hands on.

“You"ll do as I tell you,” I bristled, for I was young and full of fire and foolish spirit.

“Aye, right,” the spokesman replied, with no thought at all for my dignity. “Just get in, sit tight, and hold your tongue. God knows what these blackguards will do if they see Her Ladyship"s sedan in the streets.”

Nearly pushing me inside the chair, the Highlanders lifted it and ran to the nearest close—that"s a narrow alleyway, dears, nearly unseating me in the process. I do not know the name of the dark ravine into which we plunged, but the smells were abominable and the darkness stygian. We could well have been in the Pit or any of the famous stews of London, but for all their caution, we had been seen.

Once again, I heard the roar of the crowd, and something hard and heavy smashed from the side panel of the chair. I remember thinking Her Ladyship would not be pleased with this disrespect even as I stifled a small scream.

“That"s enough of that, you scoundrel!” The porter had returned to his native tongue, and he continued to berate the thrower in language that was quite choice and far too colourful for you ladies to know. We might not have been quite as ladylike in our youth as we pretended, for we did know the meanings of some of these horrid words. You, of course, should not.

Anyway, another missile clattered from the coachwork and the porter yelled again. “I know you, Hughie McIntosh, and I"ll attend to you tonight when I"m not working.”

The reply was confused as if the said Hugh McIntosh was drunk, but there was no mistaking the thunder of boots down the close and against the side of the sedan, rocking it dreadfully and quite upsetting my temper. Somebody yanked the door open and I peered out, to see a whole bunch of rogues staring in.

“Get you gone, you drunken blaggards!” the second coachman shouted, still holding the poles and trying to walk forward. “This lady is under our protection and she"s done you no harm at all!”

Until that second, I had been annoyed and intrigued, but now I began to feel fear. There must have been twenty people in that mob, and all appeared to come from the very dregs of society. Malice oozed from every predatory face, and I cannot repeat one word of what they said. Some spoke in Gaelic, some in Edinburgh Scots, but they seemed to be united in the common purpose of causing as much mischief as possible.

“Tip her out!”

A dozen grimy hands descended on the sedan, until my coachmen, Highland heroes both, placed it ungently on the ground and pushed them back with great shouts and violent action.

“Run, Miss Alison,” the front chairman said. “We can"t hold them for long and there"s no knowing what they might do. Run!”

I hesitated of course, between the devil of that crowd and the deep blue sea of the dark closes of old Edinburgh, and, I am loath to admit, somewhere within me there was the genuine desire to stay and help my impolite porters.

“Run, woman!” the second chairman ordered and gave me a push in the back to help me on my way.

For the second time that evening I stumbled, but fear helped me recover and I lifted my skirts and ran down that close as fast as my legs and my oh-so-fashionable high-heeled shoes would allow.

Now, you girls nowadays live in a very civilised world, with gas lighting in the streets and piped water in nearly every house. In my time, Old Edinburgh did not have such conveniences, so the close I ran down was dark, foul, and dangerous. I had only a vague knowledge of where I was going, but I knew I had to leave the Old Town, cross the Earthen Mound and reach the graceful squares of the New Town where my Aunt Elspeth would be waiting to greet me with cakes and tea, or more likely a verbal assault that would blister my ears. Either was preferable to the deep darkness of that terrible lane or the horror of the mob at my heels.

You will notice I had no thought of returning to the Forres Residence. Lady Catriona had sent me away, so away I must go, and quickly, my dears. Disobedience was not so much frowned upon as quickly and effectively squashed.

That close descended steeply, to open on to a winding street whose name I quite forget, but which was crammed with more raucous youths celebrating the advent of a new year by riot and dissipation. Conspicuous in my bright dress and fashionable cloak, I tried to hide, but somebody caught sight of me, and I was soon running again, with my heels sliding on the cobbled ground and my ankles screaming their protest at this ill treatment.

The noise behind me diminished in direct proportion to the darkness of my surroundings and I realised my feet were sinking into something deeper than the normal noxious surface of Edinburgh"s ground. I hesitated, unsure whether to continue, but a glance over my shoulder revealed an orange light over the city, and I feared the whole of Edinburgh was aflame with the mob in charge like some hydra-headed republican monster.

I might have sobbed then, but I cannot recall exactly, but I do know I looked outward for the lights and security of the New Town. They were there, plain and serene as a summer"s morning, but despite all my efforts, I seemed to be no closer. I plunged on, holding up the trailing skirt of my gown that descended beneath my cloak, and felt something sucking at my shoes.

“Mud,” I said gloomily, and plunged on, hoping I could reach the Earthen Mound and cross the physical and metaphysical chasm that divided Edinburgh"s two worlds.

Unfortunately, my dears, my sense of direction has never been good. I thrust myself into that mud with my feet sinking deeper and my heart pumping in a most unladylike manner, but although I did not realise it, I was moving ever further from my goal. The Earthen Mound and my road to Aunt Elspeth"s lay to the east, but I was heading west.

I only became aware of my predicament when I saw the great sheet of water stretching before me, rippling in the starlight. If I were a man I would have sworn, but of course, I did not. Instead, I nearly gave way to a fit of temper, which did no good at all but only served to exhaust me further.

“I will follow the banks of this loch,” I told myself, “and it will take me to Princes Street, for we drove that way only this afternoon.”

Accordingly, I kept on until the mud sucked off my right shoe and I fell, for the third time that night. By now I had no idea for how long I had been moving, but my legs were aching, and mud covered me from my face downward. I was sobbing, wishing John Forres had chosen to kiss anybody but me, and wondering if I were destined to spend the entire night outside this Godforsaken city.

It was cold. I had forgotten just how bitter a winter"s night could be, and I shivered.

“Oh, just let me go home,” I prayed.

The noise from the city had long since faded everywhere but in my memory, so I felt as if I were the last woman left in the world as I struggled along in the dark, with that rippling water a barrier between me and sanctuary and the thought of the predatory mob in the rear.

The cry of a goose was terribly lonely, and I sank down, holding my head in my hands, and nearly giving way to despair. I didn"t, of course, for I knew I was only a few miles from safety, but when you are young and alone and in a strange place, the imagination can take control of your senses and you create all sort of terrible things that reality dispels.

It was then I saw a faint yellow glow reflecting from the dark waters.

“What"s that? Who"s there?” I said the words faintly, not really sure I had seen anything and not really sure if I wanted a reply, for anybody out here at this time of night must be a desperate character. Brought up on the fearful gothic novels that were prevalent at the time, I could imagine any sort of horror, ghosts or vampires or even some of the phantom dogs or water kelpies of my Highland childhood.

I nearly collapsed when there came a bold reply.

“Hello!”

I halted, unsure whether to go on or to return. There I was, barely eighteen years old and lost beside a dirty loch halfway between old and new Edinburgh and with a strange and definitely male voice calling to me. I was in that wonderful state where reality and imagination merge, when I was unsure if I was dreaming or awake, real or unreal, the twilight of existence where even the solid seems insubstantial.

The voice sounded again. “Hello?”

I sat tight, saying nothing and hoping for solitude nearly as much as I hoped for discovery.

A lantern flickered, the reflection of its light on the placid waters disturbing a goose into explosive flight.

Still, I waited, unsure what to do. There is no disease worse than uncertainty, my dears. My advice to you is to decide on a course of action and carry it through. It is always far better to regret what you have done than regret that you lacked the courage to do anything.

For a third time, that male voice sounded. “Hello? Is there anybody there?” The lamplight circled, flicking over the water and through the sedges on the bank, casting weird shadows and making the surrounding dark even blacker by contrast.

Still, I did nothing, with my opportunity for help fast passing me by. Was I scared? Yes, but not of that unknown voice, more of my own fears. I thought of pirates and smugglers and sorners, but never of the truth.

The light vanished, somebody muttered something I could not catch then I was alone again in the somehow greater darkness, and I felt lonelier than I had ever felt before.

“Help!” The word was out before I knew it. “Please help me!”

But there was no friendly beam of light. The darkness remained as dark, the solitariness as solitary and my feelings as confused as before, except now I knew I was scared and after that hint of companionship I desperately sought human company. I could smell smoke, so in my disordered mind, there must be a house nearby. I did not consider that we were no distance of Edinburgh, which had well earned its sobriquet of Auld Reekie.

“Hello! Please help me!”

I blundered forward, hoping for the source of that light. I had passed the point of caring about my appearance or my dignity, all I wanted was somewhere to shelter, a fire to sit beside, and the sound of a human voice. Ignoring the mud that splashed higher with every lumbering step, ignoring the sodden mess of my best cloak and the only ball gown I had ever possessed, I staggered on, until I fell against the harsh wall of a hut.

My mind only fixed on one thing. A hut meant shelter from the night. True it was humble, but I was no great lady to disdain simplicity, but a Highland girl lost near Edinburgh. Fumbling around the walls, I found a door handle.

Yanking it open, I nearly fell inside, aware only of a welcoming fire and the scent of something that could have been newly baked bread.

The tall man stared at me in astonishment.

“What the devil!”

And I looked into the angry eyes of Willie Kemp.

There was no mirror inside that hut, but I can imagine what sort of picture I must have presented. Hatless, for I had lost my hat in the mad dash from the sedan, and shoeless, for I had lost both while blundering along the loch side; with mud thick on my cloak and my person, and dripping with water, I must have appeared more a ragged beggar woman than the young lady of fashion who left home a few short hours before.

“Who the devil are you?” Willie Kemp asked.

As I stared back at him with my mouth working and my clothes leaving a spreading puddle on his floor, I remembered what Louise had said about this man. He was a strange creature, a solitary man who spent his time making machines that did not work, and now I had barged into his hut beside the loch.

“I am Alison Lamont,” I told him, and for reason, I added, “from Badenoch.”

“Was it you yelling a few minutes ago?” He remained a few steps from me, standing beside a very handsome fire. I could see the breadth of his shoulders and the line of light on a jaw that was more stubborn than I liked. Not that I really cared, of course, but one does tend to notice such things, even with men as coarse and uncouth and tall as Willie Kemp.

“I asked you a question.” There was no doubting the authority in his tone, which I resented as he was a mere tinker and I was the niece of Lady Elspeth Ballantyne.

I resolved to be as stiffly standoffish as I knew how. “I am lost,” I wailed. “I can"t find my way home.”

I did not see him move, but he was there to help me on to the only chair in that shed, and he was easing the cloak from my shoulders and tutting at my lack of shoes and the shocking condition of my feet on such a biting winter"s night.

I was shivering as the reaction of my adventures hit home, and I hardly objected when he placed a great mug of soup in my hand.

You"re cold,” he said, and although his voice was deep, it was also surprisingly cultured.

I nodded. I knew I should leave at once rather than be alone in the presence of an unknown man, but I was too frightened and too cold and too exhausted to think straight. I was, you will please remember, only eighteen years old and unsure of my surroundings.

Willie Kemp seemed unsure what to do. He watched me for a moment, frowning, then he shook his head. “Well, you"d better get out of these wet things,” he said, “or else you"ll catch your death of cold.”

I looked up, suddenly frightened as all the gothic stories returned. I could feel the hammer of my heart and realised I was indeed alone with a strange man in an out of the way place and nobody knew where I was. “No,” I whispered, and his frown deepened.

“You are cold,” he said, and his voice was as harsh as a metal bar running across a granite cliff. “You are tired, and you are wet. Unless you change into something dry and warm, you will catch a cold, if not pneumonia.” He disappeared for a few moments, returning with what looked like a bundle of old cloth.

“I"ll go away,” he said, “and you put these on. I"ll knock before I return.”

Ungrateful wretch that I was, I said “no” unthinkingly, but the prospect of dry clothing was too great a temptation, even for such a headstrong miss as I was. As soon as Willie Kemp was outside, I placed the chair behind the door to ensure it was secure and peeled off my clothing.

I was very lucky that the fashion in Edinburgh that year was for simple gowns, but even so, have you ever disrobed from a sodden ball gown without even a fumbling servant girl to help? I struggled with buttons and hooks, fought my frustration over eyes and stays, and eventually, and without a thought for Willie Kemp, stood stark naked in front of the fire. Strangely I lingered for a while, allowing the flames to ease away some of my chill before I turned to the clothing Willie Kemp had given me.

I could have cried. Rather than the fashionable apparel I was used to wearing, he had given me nothing but rough homespun, with not even a hint of an undergarment to protect my tender skin. If I say "chafing" you will know what I mean, girls, without me needing to elaborate.

Hesitantly, and hoping everything was clean, I hauled on a pair of trousers that were far too large for me and fumbled clumsily with the fly buttons. The very idea of doing such a thing was revolting, but necessity demanded that I wear such creations, so I had no choice. There was a long linen shirt, thank the Lord, which was softer than I perhaps deserved for my ingratitude, and a thick jacket of some harsh material. I was only glad Louise was not there to see me, then I wondered what Aunt Elspeth would say.

I realised Mr. Kemp had been knocking on the door for some minutes, but I resolved to let him wait a trifle longer while I rolled up the trouser legs to a more manageable length and folded back the cuffs of the jacket. Only then did I haul back the chair, and Mr. Kemp came in. He was dripping with wet, for it was raining again, and he stopped at the sight of me.

“Do you feel better?”

“These are very rough,” I said. “Do you have nothing more suitable for a lady?”

“These are all I have,” Mr. Kemp said quietly. Without any fuss, he lifted my discarded gown and spread it on some contraption of metal poles he had erected beside the fire. I gasped and tried to hide my underthings, but he lifted them with the same unconcern and placed them to dry as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Were you going far?” Mr. Kemp asked, and although I had resolved to tell him nothing, I unfolded the whole story, from my tiff with Louise to Lady Catriona"s expulsion, the riot in Edinburgh and my miserable experience by the loch. He listened without comment, giving an occasional encouraging nod when I faltered, and only when I had completed the tale did he speak.

“You have had a sorry night,” he said solemnly, “but you are warm now, and safe enough here.”

“But, sir,” I said, “my reputation…”

His smile was gentle. “You need not fear for your reputation with me, Miss Lamont. I am known as an eccentric, not as a lady"s man.”

I had never met a man who was so direct and so accepting of his own position in the world. “You may realise that, Mr. Kemp, but others…”

“Others will talk whatever you say and whatever you do, Miss Lamont, and we both know that to be true. However, we may minimise any damage by keeping our behaviour beyond reproach.”

“I fully intend to do that, Mr. Kemp,” I replied, frostily, for I did not like the way that this mechanic, or whatever he was, seemed to be taking control of the situation.

“It is late, Miss Lamont.” Mr. Kemp did not respond to my mood. I thought perhaps he did not understand it, or he may have been afraid of me, as I came from such an elevated position in society compared to his. “And you are tired. You may sleep here tonight and complete your journey tomorrow.”

I shook my head. “I can hardly do that, Mr. Kemp,” I said, “for then my reputation will indeed be ruined.” All the same, it was comfortable in front of this huge fire, with Mr. Kemp"s thick clothing covering me on the outside and his soup warming me inside. I vowed to remain just a few moments more, or until my own clothes were dry, then I would go back outside and, hopefully, Mr. Kemp would direct me on the correct route to the New Town.

Nevertheless, I did not protest when Mr. Kemp spread a blanket over me, or when he placed his own jacket, carefully folded, under my head.

It may have been the sound of calling geese that wakened me or the perfume of something fragrant slowly cooking, but I stretched with a sense of well-being, opened my eyes and immediately wondered where I was. I did not recognise my surroundings, not the rough stone walls, or the shaped shelves above my head, or the piled-up pieces of metal that lay between my bed and the smouldering fire where the pot gave that delicious fragrance. Only when the large man smiled down at me did I remember where I was, and where I had spent the night.

“Oh, my Lord,” I said, sitting up in bed and looking down at myself. I had no need to worry for I was still fully clothed and had a couple of blankets piled on me to boot. “I"ve been here all night!”

“You have,” said Mr. Kemp, “sleeping sound and snoring softly.”

“I do not snore,” I denied, but it was the far more important matter of my reputation that concerned me.

“Breakfast is ready,” Mr. Kemp told me. “There is warm water for you to wash, and your own clothes are clean and dry.”

I looked up and saw Mr. Kemp had been busy while I slept. He must have washed the mud from my cloak and my gown, and both lay clean and dry on that metal contraption beside the still living fire. He had also gone to the trouble of retrieving my shoes from the mud, although how he had done so in the dark, I could not imagine. They too lay clean and dry, standing at the foot of my bed.

“Mr. Kemp,” I said, and stopped. What could I say to an eccentric mechanic who had treated me with such kindness, yet spoken so bluntly?

“Miss Lamont.” He raised his eyebrows in reply.

“If you will kindly grant me some privacy I shall certainly rise now and get myself ready.” I looked around the room, hoping to see a necessary convenience, but there was none.

Mr. Kemp spared me the embarrassment of having to ask. “There is a door some short distance behind you,” he said quietly. “If you would kindly step through, you will find a pitcher and ewer, warm water, soap, and the other necessities of your morning needs.” He bowed slowly, a tall, tanned man with patched homespun clothing and hands the size of shovels. “I will leave you in peace for an hour or so. Your breakfast is keeping warm by the fire.”

He left very quietly for such a big man, and once again I pulled the chair to the door in case he should return unannounced, although by now I was beginning to have some trust for Mr. Kemp. Did I like him? I do not know the answer to that question, for at eighteen I concealed my feelings from everybody, myself most of all.

The small room was exactly as he described, but he had not mentioned the mirror which seemed too large for use in shaving, so I suspected he had brought it in especially for me. I did not see Willie Kemp as one of these preening dandies who spent so much time admiring themselves in front of the mirror to ensure they were perfect in feature and form. I recollected his long, saturnine face and shook my head. No, he was certainly no dandy, not with that unfashionably neat queue and the unruly whiskers that barely extended past his ears.

There were two candles already alight in that windowless room, so I watched myself as I washed in that deliciously warm water, with a soap that produced a lather equal to anything I had experienced at home. It smelled of primroses, which was also quite unusual for a man, so I wondered anew at this eccentric.

It was easier to remove Mr. Kemp"s clothing than it had been to don it, but as the last of the heavy cloth fell to the ground I smiled. It had been a strange experience altogether, to wear something that habitually covered the body of a man. The thought was strangely disturbing, so I discarded it, although I suspected the images might return later.

The rough material had rubbed parts of my body that were normally protected, so I examined myself for permanent damage but found none. Only a few red patches here and there, particularly on my hips. I turned sideways. I quite liked my curves, although I seldom had an opportunity to observe them in privacy. There had been four of us sharing one room in Badenoch, and Aunt Elspeth had insisted I share with Louise in Edinburgh, while there were always maids running at the back of me with unwanted advice and fiddling fingers.

I turned in front of Willie Kemp"s mirror, seeing my quite well-shaped breasts and the smooth curve of my flank, the swell of hips and my slightly too large bottom. Was there ever a woman born who was happy with her shape? Are you, my dears? Take off your clothes now, this very minute, and look in the mirror. Write down what you think, then ask somebody close, a sister perhaps, or your most trusted maid, to tell you what she really thinks. Then fight your natural urge to slap her soundly and believe her words rather than your own.

I longed for somebody to ask such advice, but there was nobody. My mother, may God rest her soul, would never have countenanced my looking in a mirror or any other sort of self-observation. I shudder to think of the consequences, but what harm is there in such an innocent pastime? God made us all, so we should surely be allowed to enjoy one of His finest creations.

There was a perverse thrill about standing naked knowing there was a strange man standing so close, but also an element of apprehension, so after my initial few minutes of luxurious tension, I hurried as best I could. My own clothes were dry, and after being beside the fire all night, deliciously warm, which made a nice change for mother always insisted on us freezing. It built character, she claimed, although I always suspected it was more likely to lead to pneumonia.

Fully dressed, I attempted to do something with the tangled explosion of my hair. Mr. Kemp either had strange tastes or a profusion of lady friends, for there was a full dressing set by the mirror, and I hauled and combed and brushed madly until I had imposed a semblance of order on my ugly black head. God knows how I envied Louise her beautiful blonde hair, while mine was as black as the Earl of Hell"s waistcoat and as liable to snarl as a bramble bush in an autumn gale.

I was extraordinarily disappointed that the outer room in that shed, and there were only the two rooms, was empty of Mr. Kemp. However, my breakfast was laid out on a plate by the fire, and I ate the fresh fish, presumably newly caught from the loch, and the eggs, with as much relish as I would any delicacy from Lady Elspeth"s table. And Mr. Kemp had provided a knife and fork as well, which astonished me as I expected such a class of people to eat with their fingers.

The cutlery was of good quality silver too but had obviously been stolen as there was an embossed coat of arms on the handle of each. Not recognising the symbol of the crown and crossed swords, I wondered, briefly, who the rightful owner might be. I smiled, wondering if Mr. Kemp had been the thief, but somehow, I could not imagine him sneaking through the window of some great house to filch a handful of forks. More likely he had bought it cheap in some corner pawnshop in the Auld Town.

As if by some magic spell, Mr. Kemp knocked on the door the moment I had finished my breakfast.

“Come in,” I sang, for I knew it was he.

Taking one step inside, Mr. Kemp stopped and looked directly at me. “You clean up remarkably well,” he said.

“And what do you mean by that?” I prepared to defend myself against an insult. One does, after living with five brothers and sisters, and then sharing a room with Louisa.

“Last night you came in as a gaberlunzie, a ragged orphan of the storm. This morning you are pretty as any picture, a young lady fit to grace a palace, and far too good for my humble home.”

“I think you are making game of me, Mister Kemp.” I was unsure if he was mocking me, but I suspected he was, although I could not think of a method of retaliating except to turn my shoulder. Which I did, of course, but he seemed not to notice.

“Indeed, I am not,” Mr. Kemp said, smiling at me.

I resolved to be polite but distant, as suited a lady speaking with an obliging servant. “You have been very helpful,” I favoured him with a small smile, “and I am sure that my aunt, Lady Elspeth Ballantyne, will thank you with some suitable remuneration when she sees fit. But now, pray, show me the way back to the New Town of Edinburgh.”

“Pray step outside, Miss Lamont,” Mr. Kemp invited and opened the door wide.

Now you must remember I had stumbled on this shack in the dark of a December night, and I had no idea of my location. But once I stepped outside, I knew exactly where I was, and how foolish I had been.

That first day of January 1812 was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful in creation. The Lord had seen fit to bless us with a bright curve of clear skies and a high sky that enhanced everything beneath it. I stood outside that shed and wondered at the delights of the day.

In the light of morning, the North Loch seemed far less formidable an obstacle, more like a tiny Highland Lochan or a muddy duck pond in a lowland village than a real loch. Indeed, I wondered how such an insignificant stretch of water could have caused me so many problems only a few hours earlier. Overlooking the loch, Edinburgh Castle dominated everything beneath its grey battlements and tall stone buildings. The multi-crossed flag of Union floated high and, even from here, I could see the splashes of scarlet as the garrison took their stations behind the parapet.

Straggling downward from the castle were the irregular rooftops of the Old Town, with the Forres Residence dominating the top section. I sighed and turned around. I was perhaps thirty yards from Princes Street, the outlier of the New Town. I could nearly have thrown a stone across the loch, then I would have been home in ten or fifteen minutes.

“So close!”

“Yet so far.” Mr. Kemp seemed to have read my thoughts. “You see, Miss Lamont, to reach your destination you would have to skirt the loch, which would have taken quite some time.” He pointed out the ragged edge of the loch, with its waving reeds and the vast patches of boggy mud I had experienced the previous night.

“So, Mr. Kemp, what must I do?”

“You must wait here for the sedan-chair men.”

The reply confused me. “Which sedan-chair men, Mr. Kemp? There is nobody who knows I am here save you.”

His smile was infuriatingly enigmatic, but his reply was as open as everything else about him. “When you were sleeping, Miss Lamont, I took the liberty of walking to Lady Elspeth"s house to explain your situation. I knew Her Ladyship would be worrying about you. She promised to send her chair for you this morning, once her servants have recovered from their excesses of last night.”

I stared at him. “So, Aunt Elspeth knows?”

“She does,” he confirmed. “Otherwise she would be immensely concerned.”

Sinking down into the chair, I dropped my head into my hands. For once my melodrama was genuine and not copied from a Gothic romance. Aunt Elspeth would be most upset I had spent the night in such a place and with such a person. I did not know how she would react, but certainly, she would be less than pleased at my conduct.

I looked up at Mr. Kemp. “You have ruined me,” I said. “You have ruined both my reputation and my future happiness.”

He smiled. “I do not believe the situation is quite as bad as you imagine,” he said. “Lady Elspeth may appear stern, but she is no ogre. She will understand the situation, and in the meantime, you must remain here with me.”

I shook my head, content in my own despair. “How can you know about Lady Elspeth?” My, but I could be quite the high-born lady when I tried, could I not? Looking back, I am not sure whether to be amused or embarrassed at my own performance, and I still want to hide my face in shame at my treatment of that poor man. Poor Willie Kemp, God bless him, but how I did rail that morning!

“You are only a vagabond of the loch, a mechanic who lives in a tumbledown shack,” I said, pointing out the shed in which he had cared for me the previous night. “How could you possibly understand the culture of your betters?”

He stood with his head tilted slightly to one side, listening solemnly to my curtain lecture.

“You had no right to approach Lady Elspeth,” I told him, and I am sure I wagged my finger, “imagine! A man in your position knocking at the door of a titled Lady! What must she have thought! And what airs and graces you must have apportioned to yourself!”

At that time, you see, I thought only of myself and of the shame I must now endure. I gave not a whit"s consideration of the trouble Mr. Kemp had been to, of the care he had taken of me, of his long and lonely walk through the dark of a winter"s night, or even of my occupying his only bed while he spent the night outdoors, which he most certainly had.

“Have you finished?” he asked, smiling at me in that most disconcerting manner.

I nodded, for I had run out of breath and out of words.

“In that case, you had better prepare yourself, Miss Lamont, for I see Lady Elspeth"s chairmen approaching now.”

I had imagined Mr. Kemp would have greeted the sedan chair porters like brothers, and they would have partaken of early morning ale together or perhaps whisky as we do in the north, but instead, he stepped back and allowed me to take over the proceedings.

I greeted the porters with courtesy, of course, for one must always be polite with servants, even when dismissing them, and I slid into the padded seat with all the dignity I could muster, given the circumstances. With barely a nod to Mr. Kemp, I gave the order and the chairmen lifted me and began the long porterage to the New Town. As I peered from my curtained window, I saw Mr. Kemp watching, still with that curious smile on his face. Why, I asked myself, if one must always be polite to servants, had I allowed myself to scold him in such a manner? It was almost as if I treated him as a brother, or worse.

When he lifted his arm in farewell, I could not meet his eyes, but looked away, to see the hut in which I had spent the night and the strange mechanical contraption that sat at its side. No doubt that was the machine on which the eccentric Mr. Kemp wasted so much of his time.

But I did not care, of course, for I had more immediate concerns, such as my impending interview with Aunt Elspeth, and how badly that infernal mud had treated my gown and shoes.