She gave his arm a squeeze.
When they reached the doors, Walter took a breath to prepare himself for what would be the third interruption for those seated on their row. Might they forgive him as easily as he’d forgiven Mina?
Intermission was a crush as those with seats in the pit—Walter and his party included—were forced to mingle together in the lobby. The box and balcony seats were three times the price and had parlors on the second floor where patrons could take refreshment; the general seating had no such luxury.
Walter was able to steer Mina away from the loudest of their fellow patrons so they might have a private conversation. No sooner had Mina begun to tell him of her family’s plans for Christmas—they were going to visit an aunt—when someone tapped Walter on the shoulder.
He reined in his frustration as he turned to see John, and past him, the rather pale face of Anne. Walter had purchased tickets for his siblings to ensure propriety for Mina to attend with him. It was a consideration he could ill afford but could not avoid.
Anne had been hesitant to accept the offer because she often felt anxiety when she left George Street. Had she not had a few successful society events since summer Walter would not have suggested she come at all, but as she had seemed to be improving, and as he felt rather desperate to make this evening work, he had fairly begged her to come. In the end, she’d relented, though it was looking as though he had made a bad bet.
“Anne is feeling . . . indisposed,” John said, the worried look in his eyes revealing the concern he felt.
There were times when Anne’s nerves would reduce her nearly to helplessness, while she rocked back and forth, crying, with her knees to her chest. Granted, such an extreme reaction had never happened away from home, but she had the look that often proceeded such fits right now: wide eyes, sallow cheeks, and an aura of fear shrouding her.
Walter’s frustration drained away. He could not be angry with Anne. Though he didn’t understand the demons that beset her, he knew they were as real for her as Walter’s limp was for him.
“I must go home, Walter,” Anne said, tears in her eyes. She glanced to both sides as though afraid someone were coming after her. “I dinna figure . . . Oh, I keep thinking of that riot, and I can scarcely breathe within these walls.”
“Riot?” Mina repeated, her eyebrows going up. “What riot?”
Walter moved toward his sister while John answered Mina’s question.
“The riot of ’94?” he said as a question. “Walter was there that night.” He looked over his shoulder. “Threw his fair share of punches too.”
Walter caught Mina’s eye with a sheepish smile and shrugged. “The blokes wouldn’t sing the national anthem. Someone had to do something.” He turned back to Anne and lowered his head. “Do you have to leave? What if we simply get out of this crowd and return to our seats?”
Anne’s tears began to fall, and her chin quivered. Even her curls that had been so perfect and bouncy when they left George Street, and arranged to hide the scars still visible on the side of her face, had gone flat. In this moment, all her scars—both inside and out—were on display. “I am sorry, Walter, but I can barely breathe.” She put a hand on her stomach and tried to inhale as though demonstrating, but her body shuddered and her eyes looked frantic.
“Breathe out,” Walter said quickly, placing a hand on her upper arm and squeezing it gently. He held her gaze without blinking. He had always been best at calming her, but he couldn’t very well have her lay on the floor and close her eyes while he regaled her with some tale here in the theater foyer. He smiled to reassure her that he wasn’t angry. “All is well, Anne. We’ll get you home.”
But how?
The Scotts lived a few blocks away from the corner of Waterloo and Leith, but if Walter walked Anne home, John and Mina would be left at the theater alone—Mina’s parents would not approve. If John walked Anne home, then Walter and Mina would be left behind—also inappropriate. Mina had accepted his invitation under the condition that there would be another couple in attendance. Without that other couple, Walter could not be with Mina. Anne looked as though she might crumble at any moment. He made a quick decision and hoped it would be followed by the rest of his party.
He put an arm around Anne’s shoulder and faced John and Mina. “We have to see Anne home,” he said. “Mina, I shall call a porter to help find your driver.” Though how long would it take to find him? He could be anywhere in New Town.
“Oh, um, of course,” Mina said, putting an equally polite smile on her face.
“Unless you want to walk with us,” John offered. “We’re only a bit that way.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the direction.
“It is very cold for a walk,” Walter said, giving Mina a way to decline the invitation he wished John had not offered. Mina would not want to walk anywhere in this weather and to make her feel obligated was poor manners. “John, will you fetch our things from the coatroom?” Walter pulled the paper tags from his pocket and handed them to John. “Mina has preferred storage.”
John pulled his eyebrows together but, at a look from Walter, did not ask questions. The Scotts were not ones to utilize that kind of convenience.
Anne took a stuttering breath and slumped heavily against Walter’s shoulder. He gave her a smile of fortification, and then turned to Mina. He didn’t want to apologize in front of Anne—he knew how badly she felt—and could only hope Mina would not be offended by this turn of events or think that he made his choice lightly.
“With any luck you’ll be in front of your own hearth before the hour’s out. Let me find a porter.” He caught the eye of an older man in livery and waved him over. Could John escort Anne, and Walter at least wait with Mina for her carriage?
“Can I not come with you as your brother suggested?”
Walter’s eyes snapped back to Mina’s. “It is verra dark and cold out.”
“I have a good coat and hat,” Mina said, lifting her chin slightly as though challenging him. “A-and I would like to see where you live.”
Walter’s mood lifted. “I could describe it to you in about fourteen words—wood floors on three levels, two hearths each, simple furniture, gray stone exterior. Ah, that was only thirteen words.”
Mina smiled, revealing the dimple in her right cheek that drove any remaining chill from Walter’s senses. “Perhaps we can make it back in time for the third act,” she said.
John appeared with a pile of coats and hats at the same time the porter reached the group. “Never mind,” Walter said to the porter, “but thank you. We’ll walk.”
John—bless him—put his arm around Anne and led the way into the dark night, leaving Walter and Mina to walk together. The brisk cold took Walter’s breath away, and he pulled his shoulders up to his ears and leaned into Mina. “I hope you don’t mind if we put some hurry in our steps.”
Mina shook her head while Walter wrapped his scarf around his face, preventing further conversation. John and Anne were already walking as fast as they likely could down Princes Street, which was lined with lantern posts. Mina kept her hands tucked into her muff instead of holding Walter’s arm, but she stood close. Walter was so enthralled by her nearness that he almost didn’t feel the cold. Almost.
They turned at St. Andrew’s Square and then onto George Street. Number 25 was nearly to Hanover. Had the walk ever felt so long?
No sooner had Anne crossed the threshold then she covered her face with her hands and began to weep, finally giving in to the emotion that had been baying at her. By the time Walter and Mina entered behind her, Mother had abandoned her knitting by the fire and was halfway across the parlor. Father, it seemed, was out.
“Oh, dear,” Mother said in her lilting voice. “Anne, mo muirnín, what is happened?”
Anne’s shoulders shook, so John explained while Mother led her only daughter to the stairway j
ust outside the parlor. As Mother passed Walter, she raised her gray eyebrows at his companion, but then she quickly ushered Anne up the stairs, leaving John standing at the base while Mina and Walter lingered in the entryway.
Walter looked at Mina, who, in her fine blue wool coat, was more colorful than anything in the house. He was not a materialistic man, nor did he feel as though he had to prove himself, but the contrast between Mina and the rest of his life—spring against gray—seemed to be summed up in this moment, and with everything else that had gone wrong tonight, he was feeling unsteady. For New Town standards, 25 George Street was a fine house, sturdy and spacious, especially compared to the cramped apartments the family had in College Wynd before moving here. But it was nothing compared to the intricate décor of King’s Stable apartments.
Walter took a deep breath of fortification. God was no respecter of persons, and Mina—who was as close to heaven as any woman he’d ever known—certainly would be equally magnanimous.
Mina had a sweet, though careful, expression as she looked through the arched doorway to the parlor, the room the family used every day. There was a drawing room to the left, but it was reserved for Sundays. Before Walter could lighten the awkwardness of the moment with a spot of humor, the heavy thumping of feet sounded on the stairs. A moment later, a solid thud landed at the base, announcing a thin young man of twenty-one years with wild hair, bright blue eyes, untucked shirt, and no shoes to be seen. As soon as he saw Mina, he froze.
“This is my youngest brother, Tom,” Walter said in a lively tone he hoped would counter the increasingly odd turn the evening had taken. “Who, ten to one, did not expect anyone to come through that door other than his own family. Am I right, Tom?”
Tom’s eyes remained wide, his smile frozen in place as he nodded.
John shook his head. “I’ll put a kettle on,” he said before turning toward the back of the house where the kitchen was situated.
“Tom,” Walter continued as though they were standing in some grand house where his brother did not look like an idiot in his shirtsleeves and stocking feet. “You remember Miss Stuart.”
“Y-yes,” Tom said. “Um, I’ll be back in a moment.” He bounded up the stairs as fast as he’d bounded down them a minute earlier, inadvertently leaving Walter and Mina alone.
Walter chuckled, determined to keep the embarrassment he felt away from their conversation. Great men acted their part, and he would act his well.
“If ever you have regretted being an only child, tonight may give you pause.” He waved toward the brown brocade sofa near the fireplace in the parlor. “Would you care to have a seat, or would you prefer to run back to the theater and pretend this never happened?”
Even if they left now, they had missed too much of the play for it to be worth the exertion. He hated to think of the money he’d wasted on the seats he’d barely warmed—plus the extra shilling to store Mina’s things that had not taken space for even the first half.
Mina smiled and unwound her scarf from her neck. “I would like to sit by the fire, if you don’t mind.” She fairly floated across the floor—an angel in her blue coat and silver fur hat—then lowered herself onto the sofa, setting her muff beside her. “This is a very pleasant room.”
Walter pulled off his gloves and scarf, though he left his unbuttoned coat on, and took a cushioned chair nearby. He loved this room. The Scott family crest was painted above the fireplace, and Mother’s plaid was discarded near her chair, likely pushed from her lap in haste when she rushed to attend to Anne. The heavy chairs that flanked the fireplace were solid wood, but the cushions were the same golden color as the sofa where Mina sat.
Whatever the room lacked in finery it made up for in other ways. The raised fireplace hearth was made of river stones from his Grandfather Scott’s farm in Sandyknowe where Walter had spent his early years. And the carved clock on the mantel had been given to them by his mother’s parents. The fire was deliciously warm, and he felt himself relaxing into the seat. It was indeed a pleasant room, and he was glad Mina had noticed.
“It must be wonderful to have such a large family,” Mina said with a touch of wistfulness. “So much energy and distraction.”
“Too much sometimes,” Walter said. “But it is a comfort to have family around. I’m in the middle, you know. Tom and Daniel are younger; John and Anne are older.”
“Having the energy of siblings surrounding you must make being an only child seem very boring.” Mina looked in her lap and smoothed the fur of her muff.
“I’ve been an only child, too,” Walter said. “Both have merit in their way.”
Her eyebrows pulled together so that a series of lines appeared on her forehead. How could her every expression be so equally beautiful? He had written a poem about her eyebrows, and though the words had been a fanciful act of a young heart, in truth, he was reminded in this moment that they were very fine eyebrows.
Walter laughed at her confusion and crossed his right leg over his left, discreetly massaging the calf muscle. His leg was feeling tight tonight, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from the quick walk back from the theater. “When I was not quite two, I was sent to live with my grandparents and my Aunt Jenny near Kelso. I lived there for nearly five years.”
“Five years?” Mina said. “And at such a young age?”
“I had been ill,” Walter said. History was history and could not be changed, so there was no sense in ignoring it. He also felt an eagerness to share his past with Mina, to bring her into the intimacies of his life and the struggles he had faced that it might bond them further. He hoped for a similar confidence from her in time, so they might carry their burdens together, triumphant in their combined strength. “The illness resulted in my losing the use of my leg for a time.” He patted his right leg though she surely knew the one he meant. “Tom was born by then, and our house here on George Street was overflowing, so I was sent to Sandyknowe where I could convalesce.”
“How difficult that must have been,” Mina said with endearing sympathy.
Walter shook his head, not to disagree with her but to keep her sympathy from becoming pity. “I’m sure there were difficulties for those who had to manage me,” he said with a wry grin. “But for my part, I was as well as I could have been. My grandparents and Aunt Jenny—she has no children of her own, ya ken—fairly doted on me. They sent me to the pasture every day with an old shepherd, and the exercise forced me to use both my legs and my mind beyond what I could do here in the city. I grew strong and regained the use of my leg while listening to the evening tales of the old lairds and border warriors. I believe I had it as fine as any boy could want.”
He often felt he’d had it better than his siblings. Anne—poor Anne—had encountered one misfortune after another that had left her broken and shadowed in ways he’d never experienced. Sometimes Walter felt guilty for all the good that had come his way because of his illness. The stories he’d learned had deepened the wellspring of love for his country and planted a patriotic fervor he felt pressed to release through both his own writings and his actions, such as during the theater riot last year.
Only a few of his stories had been written as of yet, but that was only because he’d had to pursue the law and build a career before he could indulge his writing as he wished. He’d been loved at his grandfather’s farm, been fed well, and breathed good air. The care had saved his leg, yes, but it had also given him education and direction—a passion so deep he could feel it in his bones.
“You are not bitter to have been removed from your family?”
Walter had long ago disposed of any lingering shame and negative thoughts; they could not add to his life, only take away. “I was well cared for by people who loved me. If anyone should be bitter, it would be my mother. She did not want me to go and often expresses the fact that she wished I’d stayed home, even though she knows it was for the best. When I returned, she would have
me sleep in her dressing room so that I would be close to her. She also kept her favorite books in that room, so I had many a lovely night with her Shakespeare volumes heavy in my hands.”
“I cannot imagine the challenges you and your family endured,” Mina said, shaking her head.
“There are challenges everywhere,” Walter said. “And everyone encounters them from time to time. The trick is to rise above the hardship, is it not? Do better, grow stronger, improve for the struggle.” His eyes strayed to the stairs Anne and his mother had climbed, and his heart ached anew—not everyone grew strong from adversity. One day, after Walter and Mina married, he would tell her of Anne’s misfortunes. But not yet. One history at a time.
“You make it sound so easy to rise above trials.”
Walter turned his attention back to his angel of springtime on this cold winter night. “Ah, well, compared to giving into the blue devils of misfortune, it seems a wiser course.”
Mina laughed softly, raising his confidence in having confided in her. She was so lovely, so poised and elegant in this simple room. So at home. He could not help but feel she belonged there. They belonged there, together, in such easy manner with one another in a room very much like this one. The tingle of awareness shivered through him, adding intimacy to the moment and warmth to the already warm air.
“I wish I dared cross the room and take the seat beside you,” he said, lowering his voice. “Were we alone in this house, I could not withstand the temptation.”
Mina’s eyes widened, and she cocked her head to the side. “Could you not?” she said in an equally soft and sultry voice.
Walter held her eyes, wishing they could continue from where things had ended last spring. Her kiss had sustained him like manna all these months, and being near her made it hard not to wish for another and another of such tokens.
The Lady of the Lakes Page 6