Page 38 of The Pearl Sister
‘Leith.’
‘Aye!’ Lachlan banged the table and poured himself another whisky from the bottle. ‘I was born in the south. The commoners’ parts, o’ course. But enough of the old country, let’s see more of that famous Scottish bravery then!’ He poured another dram into Kitty’s glass and raised an eyebrow at her.
Without a word of retort, she lifted the glass to her mouth and drained it, her eyes fixed on Drummond’s.
An hour later, having demonstrated various Scottish dances with Lachlan to cheers from the onlookers, Kitty was just about to drain another dram when Drummond covered it with his hand. ‘Enough now, Miss McBride. I think it’s time we took you home.’
‘But . . . my friends . . .’
‘I promise I will bring you back here another day, but we really must return home, or Mother may think I’ve abducted you.’
‘Aye, if I were a few years younger,’ Lachlan chimed in, ‘I’d be doing the same myself. Our Kitty is a beauty, she is. And don’t yae worry, wee lassie. Ye’ll do very well here in Australia.’
As Kitty tried but failed to stand, Drummond hauled her upright. Lachlan planted affectionate kisses on both her cheeks. ‘Merry Christmas! And just remember, if ye’re ever in any trouble, Lachlan’s always at your service.’
Kitty did not remember much of the walk to the horse and cart, although she most certainly remembered the feeling of Drummond’s arm supporting her about her waist. After that, she must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, she was in his arms being carried through the entrance to Alicia Hall, up the stairs and lowered gently onto her bed.
‘Thank you kindly,’ she murmured, then hiccuped. ‘You’re a very kind man.’
9
Kitty awoke groggily in darkness with what felt like a herd of elephants stampeding inside her head. She sat up and then winced, because the elephants were pounding her brain to mush with their enormous feet and the contents of her stomach were rising to her throat . . .
Kitty leant over the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor. Groaning, she reached for the bottle of water that sat beside her bed and drank its contents swiftly, then sank down onto the pillows, trying to clear her addled mind. And when she had, wishing fervently she hadn’t.
‘Oh Lord, what have I done?’ she whispered, horrified at the thought of Mrs McCrombie’s face – she may well be partial to the odd dram herself, but would certainly not approve of her ‘companion’ knocking back whisky in bars and singing rousing choruses of old Scottish ballads . . .
It was all just too dreadful . . . Kitty closed her eyes and decided it was best to slip back into unconsciousness.
She was woken again by the sound of voices and the putrid smell of vomit that filled the room.
Was she on board the ship still? Had there been a storm?
She sat up, and was at least relieved that the herd of elephants seemed to have moved on from her head to pastures new. The room was pitch black, and Kitty reached to turn on the gas lamp by her bed, immediately seeing the pool of vomit on the floor below her.
‘Oh Lord,’ she whispered, as she stood up on jelly-like legs. Her head throbbed as she forced it to be vertical, but she managed to wobble towards the washstand and retrieve some muslin cloths and the enamel washbasin to try to clean up the mess. She dumped the soiled cloths in the basin, wondering what on earth she should do with them. The door creaked open and she turned to see Drummond standing on the threshold.
‘Good evening, Miss McBride. Or should I call you Kitty, the pride of Scotland and The Edinburgh Castle Hotel?’
‘Please . . .’
‘Only teasing, Miss McBride. We do a lot of that here in Australia, as you’ve no doubt discovered. How are you feeling?’
‘I think you can see very well for yourself.’ She looked down at the bowl of her own sick that was resting on her knees.
‘Then I will come no further, partly because of the smell in here – I suggest that when you make your way downstairs, you open the doors to your terrace – but mostly because it would be highly unseemly to be found in a lady’s bedroom. I have told both my mother and my aunt that, due to my lack of care for you, you suffered a bout of sunstroke while out shopping in town and are therefore too unwell to join us for dinner.’
Her eyes lowered in embarrassment. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me, Kitty. In truth I should apologise to you. I should never have encouraged you to drink that first whisky, let alone the second and third, especially in the heat, when I knew you were unused to both.’
‘I had never drunk a drop before in my life,’ Kitty whispered. ‘And I am thoroughly ashamed of my behaviour. If my parents could have seen me . . .’
‘But they didn’t, and no one shall ever hear of it from my lips. Take it from me, Kitty, when one is away from one’s family, it is sometimes pleasant to be able to be oneself. Now, Agnes will be up shortly with some broth and also to remove that basin you are holding towards me like a Dickensian orphan.’
‘I shall never drink another drop for as long as I live.’
‘Well, even though today was the best entertainment I’ve had in a long time, I must hold myself responsible for your suffering now. Try to rest and get some broth down you. It is Christmas Eve tomorrow, and it would be a shame for you to miss that. Goodnight.’
