Colonel Halcro considered the relative merits of the two options. “Accommodations comfortable and elegant, the surrounding countryside abounding with objects of antiquarian interest.” That descriptor would appeal to his lady-wife. His own preference was Flett’s Private Board and Lodgings, “reasonable rates, on-site availability of books for shooting and fishing, guns for hire, the Dog-Cart available for resident parties, refreshments good and cheap, and the plentiful supply of firewood.” The decision was made. Susan was a reasonable soul, hardened by the realities for military wives returned from the colonies. If Halcro was contented, she could almost persuade herself that she was. If both, then no contest. She envisaged a restful week together but apart, the short Scottish days, Halcro up to his thighs in waders, casting into the Sound, or lining up his sights for the grouse, whilst she, intrepid amateur female archaeologist, continued in the Dog Cart to the fossil site, pointing trowel and extractor hammer in hand. Cosy evenings before the blazing fire in the panelled drawing room would follow, then later maybe a rekindling of the passionate nights of their early marriage.
But life, she had learnt, has a way of throwing up the unexpected. It happened on the fifth day as Susan was returning from the site to collect the Colonel. The estuary stench as the Dog Cart rounded the corner was familiar; the increasing cacophony of the bells… that was new. A Black Maria arrived and disgorged four inhabitants, intent on the serious works of apprehension.
“Unhand me, coarse fellows.” Her beloved was in the arms of the law floundering like the puny trout that lay beached on the bank beside him.
“We have received a complaint from the Laird’s lady that you have been repeatedly engaging in furious driving. More than once this week, her phaeton has been forced off the road by your rash over-passing.”
It was not the weekend either had planned. The Magistrate as a lay preacher in the Kirk of Scotland, was otherwise engaged on the Sabbath so the Colonel would have to spend 2 nights in the clink before appearing first thing Monday morning. Susan pondered how to pass her Sunday. She had long thought of trying her arm at fishing. The spot her incarcerated husband had chosen was choked with seaweed and turbulent; not the best according to her studies of the books at Mackay’s. Susan chose a calm spot in the lee of the bank and cast.
“Any person driving furiously, recklessly or carelessly through the streets or roads of the Burgh shall be liable to a Penalty of 40 shillings. Driving at a speed of over four miles an hour is considered furious driving. You Colonel have been witnessed by those gathered here to be driving at 6 miles. Pay at the Treasury and you may go.”
Susan, in consideration of future travels, considered it judicious to hide the Herald from her husband:
“Female amateur archaeologist lands record 30lb trout whilst Colonel husband lands 40 shillings fine.”
