Chapter Five
White turrets, a flag flying, a piper sounding into the night as the cars rolled up to the castle doors...These were the things Effie noticed as she slid down from her seat, slippery in the buttermilk satin gown Veronica had loaned her for the evening.
Sholto gave her his hand, so handsome in black tie dress – titum , he’d called it – and led her, with the others, inside. The entrance hall was panelled in oak, with a dazzling display of armoury on the double-height walls; colours hung from the gallery, a sixteen-pointer staring down at all visitors. Effie tried not to look impressed, following Peony and Bitsy’s lead as they carelessly breezed through, but muskets, broadswords, targes and dirks arranged in symmetrical, geometric displays weren’t usual where she came from. Her head followed where her gaze travelled: up, down and all around.
Sholto squeezed her hand, calming her nerves, as they passed through the corridors under the silent, watchful gaze of Atholl ancestors. She knew that for his sake she had to fit in.
‘Hmm? The sixty-eight drawing room?’ Gladly murmured with mild surprise as they were led on and on towards a room in the south wing. ‘We don’t usually get taken to the grand rooms.’
‘Albie must really be putting on a show,’ Colly drawled.
Effie couldn’t imagine what, here, could possibly pass as not grand, but there was no time to comment as they were ushered inside.
‘Ah, Gladly, you made it!’ said a tall, pale man, breaking away from a group of four others standing before the vast oak fireplace. He looked visibly relieved to see them. ‘Chaps, this is Gilbert Hay, the old chum I was telling you about. He lives down the road at Dupplin.’
‘Why does he call you Gladly?’ one of the men asked, pumping Gladly’s hand vigorously.
‘You’ll see,’ Albie smiled as Peony and Bitsy, who had taken extra care with their appearance tonight, sailed forward. ‘Ladies, allow me to introduce Charlie Buck and Jimmy Cripshank, friends from the grand old U S of A. And also some pals from closer to home, Eddie Rushton and Archie Baird-Hamilton. Gents, Lady Bettina Cameron, Lady Peony Lovat, Miss Veronica Maudsley and—’ Albie’s gaze fell on Effie. ‘I don’t believe I’ve yet had the honour.’
‘Miss Euphemia Gillies,’ Sholto said, with a proprietorial hand upon Effie’s waist that none of the men missed. ‘My fiancée.’
Albie took her hand and lightly the kissed the back of it. ‘Miss Gillies, I’ve heard wonderful things. A pleasure.’
‘How do you do?’ she smiled. He had kind eyes, which wasn’t true of everyone she’d met; many seemed to hide guile behind manners, grit beneath polish.
‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Gillies,’ Archie Baird-Hamilton said beside him. He was very tall, taller even than Sholto, with film-idol looks: brown hair, a chin cleft, deeply tanned but with freckles on the bridge of his nose. As with all the men in their group, he had an air of bemusement about him. Privilege, it seemed to Effie, bred a sort of softness into them; they didn’t need to fight or struggle for what they had. But she caught a glint of something sharper in his eyes too.
The girls already seemed to know Archie well, kissing him with bored familiarity, their eyes fixed firmly upon the international visitors. The men were all briskly shaking hands, but the Americans had a looseness to them which was at odds with the Scots’ upright, almost military bearing.
‘Colquhoun,’ Tarquin said. ‘Call me Colly.’
‘Campbell,’ Ferg nodded, openly regarding the Americans with suspicion. Their teeth were white, their smiles bright, and both Peony and Bitsy looked dazzled.
‘Albie says you’re in Hollywood?’ Veronica asked as a cocktail was placed in her hand.
‘Yes, but strictly behind the scenes, I’m afraid,’ Cripshank replied.
‘You’re producers?’ Colly asked.
Cripshank nodded. ‘People think that it’s glamorous, but ninety-nine per cent of the job is spent in meetings trying to secure finance.’
‘But the other one per cent? Do you ever get to go on set?’ asked Peony, who looked breathtaking in violet silk.
Cripshank’s eyes settled upon her like a hand on a pelt. ‘Of course.’
‘Have you met Chaplin?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Is he a riot?’
‘Surprisingly not.’
‘How about Claudette Colbert?’ Bitsy asked. ‘Do you know her?’
‘Sweet Claudie? I was the one who got her the deal at Paramount.’
‘You did?’ Peony breathed. ‘She’s so beautiful.’
‘Sure,’ he shrugged. ‘The camera loves her, there’s no denying it.’
‘Do I sense a but ?’ Bitsy pounced.
‘Not at all.’
Her smile was instantly coquettish. Confiding. ‘Come now, Mr Cripshank, you’re among friends.’
‘Fine,’ he shrugged, happy to be convinced. ‘She’s a swell girl and she photographs like a dream, but in person...Well, all I’m saying is, she’s not a patch on you gals.’
Ferg Campbell’s eyes narrowed in outright disdain as Peony gave a delighted laugh. ‘You’re just saying that!’ she demurred.
‘Absolutely not—’
‘I’m a scriptwriter, actually,’ Veronica butted in. ‘Well, a writer...Playwright, really.’
‘Is that so?’ Buck asked, looking bemused at the abrupt turn in conversation. Veronica had little patience for flirting, mainly because no one ever flirted with her.
‘Yes – we’re putting on a production at Dupplin this week, in fact. You should come along.’
Peony gasped, although whether in delight or horror at the prospect wasn’t immediately clear. Effie was too distracted to pay much attention. She was struggling to sip her martini without choking, for one thing; and she couldn’t stop looking at the blond man, Rushton, standing laconically with one hand in his pocket. He seemed familiar to her somehow, and yet she couldn’t place him. She’d met so many people in the past month – faces, castles, parties – they were becoming a blur. And he wasn’t giving her much to go on; after the polite introductions he had fallen back, allowing the others to shine.
‘Well, what’s it about, this production of yours?’ Buck asked.
‘ Don’t ask!’ Bitsy said quickly, rolling her eyes as she sipped her drink. ‘I say, have you seen Private Lives ?’
‘Of course. We caught it while we were in London the other week. Terrifically novel premise...Have you?’
‘No, not yet. I’m dying to see it,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve been stuck here for eternity, it’s beginning to feel.’
‘It must be terrible, being held captive in these ancient Scottish castles,’ Cripshank teased.
‘Scah-ttish,’ she mimicked, turning her attention to him now. ‘You know, your accent is perfectly darling.’
‘I might say the same about yours, Lady Cameron.’
She arched a plucked eyebrow. ‘Bitsy, please. Tripping over titles is such a bore.’
‘Bitsy, then.’
Effie watched their loaded sparring at a remove. Bitsy and Peony had very different tactics of seduction, but the results were always the same: men chased after them at every party they attended, and the day afterwards was always spent in deep discussion about the relative merits of their conquests. If Effie’s own happy ending had been dependent upon her playing these games, she knew she would have been alone her whole life. She spoke as straight as an arrow – and as sharply too, when required.
The group gradually began to break up, the Americans luring Peony and Bitsy into conversation while Veronica, Colly and Campbell made small talk with Archie Baird-Hamilton and the reluctant Englishman, Rushton.
Albie turned towards Effie and Sholto with a look of relief, pulling a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopping his brow.
‘Everything all right, old boy?’ Sholto murmured.
‘Let’s just say it’s been a long few days,’ Albie said under his breath. ‘Keeping them entertained has proved...taxing. I had rather thought we’d be diverting ourselves along the lines of a fish from the river, a staff from the wood and a deer from the mountain.’
‘But they have a different idea of fun?’
Albie made a low sound in his throat that Effie assumed to be agreement. ‘B-H got here for support this morning, but even he’s struggled to keep his game face on.’
Effie glanced over at the man in question. He was standing with a half-smile on his lips and his eyes slitted as Veronica opined on something, but detecting her stare, he glanced over.
Effie looked quickly away again.
‘How much longer are they staying for?’ Sholto was asking.
‘Another few days.’
‘So much for speeding the parting guest.’
‘Yes, well – if everything comes off in the way I hope, it’ll all be worthwhile.’
‘Meaning?’
‘They might be interested in hiring us—’
‘Us?’ Sholto frowned.
‘The estate. As a location for several of their films. They think they have three pictures in the pipeline we could be suitable for.’
‘I see.’ The slight northward shooting of Sholto’s eyebrows betrayed his surprise.
Albie pulled an apologetic face. ‘Well, you know how it is, old bean, what with upkeep and taxes. The rates they’re offering are not to be sniffed at.’
‘Indeed,’ Sholto nodded sympathetically.
‘You know, you’re both speaking almost without moving your mouths,’ Effie observed with a wry smile, looking between the two of them.
‘Boarding school, dear lady,’ Albie grinned, openly smiling back at her. ‘Survival takes many forms.’
‘Oh, Effie knows all about survival,’ Sholto said. ‘We’re in the presence of greatness in that regard.’
‘Really? What is your great survival skill, Miss Gillies?’
Effie looked at Sholto, not sure that he would want her to reveal here, in polite company, that she could scale a cliff and wring a bird’s neck. Had the conversation taken a wrong turn?
But he smiled back, waiting.
She looked back at their host and saw that he seemed genuinely interested. Could she really reveal something of her true self to him? It had seemed to her that being in ‘company’ meant doing the reverse.
‘Well, I’m from St Kilda, you see. So I...I’m used to a more difficult way of life.’
‘St Kilda, indeed?’ Albie exclaimed jovially. ‘I’ve heard a lot about the St Kildans in the past few months. More, I think, than in the rest of my life combined. I keep reading about you all in the papers! There’s been the bother with that whatnot fellow of MacLeod’s?’ He clicked his fingers as he looked at Sholto, trying to recall the name.
Effie saw her fiancé’s jaw tighten, as it always did when Frank Mathieson was referenced. He could only remember what the factor had tried to do to her, and not what had been done unto him. His anger was such that Effie was sure Sholto would have killed the man himself if someone hadn’t beaten him to it. ‘Aye, that’s right,’ she said quickly, knowing she had to divert the conversation in another direction. ‘And I’m told the evacuation was reported as far away as—’
‘I say! Did I just hear someone say St Kilda?’ Charlie Buck called over, his neck craned with interest.
‘Yes, Miss Gillies here is from the isle,’ Albie said back.
‘Is she, indeed?’ Cripshank asked, sauntering over. Buck followed in his wake. ‘Well, now, isn’t that interesting?’
Was it? Effie looked at them blankly.
‘Miss Gillies was just about to tell me her special survival skill,’ Albie said, seeming pleased to have garnered the Americans’ attention.
‘Well, I...it’s just that I...’ She looked at Sholto again, still unsure he wanted her to reveal all this, especially as now everyone in the room was listening in. ‘I suppose you could say I can climb pretty well.’
‘How well?’ Cripshank asked, his eyes gleaming with delight.
‘Pretty well.’ She knew better than to boast here.
‘Could you...could you climb this castle?’
‘Aye.’
‘Without ropes?’
‘Aye, but I never would. That was a rule back home. There’s still a chance to save yourself if you slip on a rope. No man ever caught a cliff.’
The men’s gazes travelled over her in disbelief. Her blonde hair had been brushed – not primped and set like Peony and Bitsy’s, but it was smooth and shiny, like the satin dress that skimmed her body and highlighted her lithe figure. She looked more like a doll than a daredevil.
‘You know,’ Buck said. ‘I believe you, Miss Gillies, of course I do – but to see it...I would pay good money to see that.’
‘Well, if...’ Albie began, his eyes bright.
‘No,’ Sholto said sharply, before clearing his throat. ‘...It’s hardly the evening for it. We’re not in our scrubs, after all.’
Effie glanced at the other women, who were regarding her with disdain. She had taken the men’s attention and openly revealed her inferior roots – she knew it was doubly unforgivable. She glanced at Baird-Hamilton to see if he was appalled too, but his expression was inscrutable.
‘Well, what were the chances of that, eh, Rushton?’ Buck asked. ‘Two St Kildans in the space of a month!’
‘Two?’ Effie looked between them, confused.
‘Yes, we met one of your compatriots a few weeks back.’
‘You did?’ She caught Buck shooting a look towards Rushton. He was biting his lip as if holding back from breaking into laughter, but the amusement faded as he caught her eye.
Faint recognition flickered between them, a current not quite connecting.
‘Yes, but their, uh, survival skills were quite different to yours,’ Rushton said, breaking his silence at last. ‘Far less...how can I put it delicately? Far less honourable.’
Effie felt heat ripple through her body. Who, that she had known, could possibly be regarded as dishonourable?
‘What a sweet patootie, though,’ Cripshank said, shaking his head in apparent disbelief at the memory. ‘I’ve never set eyes on a finer-looking woman.’
Peony bridled at the comment, taking a step back and lifting her chin in the air. Immediately, Effie knew who it was they had met.
‘Flora?’ She looked between the men for confirmation. ‘You met Flora?’
‘Oh, you know her?’ Cripshank asked, surprised.
Was he joking? ‘Of course I know her. We were only thirty-six in number when we left home.’
‘Ah yes, of course – the evacuation. What a crying shame all that was,’ Cripshank said, shaking his head. ‘We met her in Paris last month, right as she had everything laid out in front of her! The city was hers for the taking.’
‘The city?’ Buck pooh-poohed. ‘Hollywood! And then the world! We were clamouring to sign her up! With a face like hers—’
‘And the voice too, yes?’ Albie interjected excitedly. ‘I read about her show over there! The producer, George Pepperly, is an old mucker of my father’s.’ He looked at Sholto. ‘Glasgow man. You must have crossed paths?’
Sholto gave a small shrug. ‘I can’t say it rings a bell.’
‘What happened to her?’ Veronica asked, looking rapt.
‘She threw it all away. Just like that.’ Cripshank clicked his fingers. ‘Left the show high and dry! One night we were having dinner with her at Maxim’s, making plans for a golden future in the movies. The next morning we’re told she’d left the city and hightailed it back across the Channel with some swell.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call him that, exactly,’ Buck argued. ‘Didn’t you say he was a Boy Scout adventuring type, just back from some expedition?’ he asked Rushton.
‘ James? ’ Effie gasped, recognizing the description immediately. ‘He’s alive ?’
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was Flora’s greatest wish come true! She couldn’t imagine how her friend must be feeling. Their correspondence had been patchy in recent weeks; Flora had been so busy with the show and their only contact had been a telephone call from Paris; Flora had been in a fluster, wanting to know about Crabbit Mary fleeing to Canada with the baby...She remembered a man with an English accent had come onto the line to say Flora would call back, before the line had gone dead. Had that been James?
‘It was you,’ Rushton said, breaking Effie’s train of thought. He was regarding her with a look of recognition. ‘At the picnic on St Kilda.’
Memories stirred, shifting heavily like hibernating beasts, as Effie realized they had met before. The previous summer, he and James, his friend, had dropped anchor in Village Bay. James had paid Effie for a climbing lesson, and they had inadvertently interrupted Rushton’s romantic picnic with Flora. Of course, with hindsight, she understood there had been nothing accidental about it; James had declared his love for Flora before they left – causing a terrible rift with his childhood friend – but he had remained undeterred, returning to the isle to propose just a few weeks later. Effie had scarcely paid either one of them any mind at the time, though. And of course, she herself now looked nothing like the tearaway in trousers who had scampered up and down the cliffs.
Everything had changed in the intervening fifteen months. Little wonder recollections were sketchy.
‘What did you mean when you said her survival skills were less honourable?’ she asked, her attention snagging on the more recent past. ‘There’s nothing wrong with singing.’
‘Oh, of course not,’ Rushton smiled, before qualifying, ‘That is, clearly no lady would ever set foot on a stage’ – he looked for, and found, agreement from Bitsy and Peony – ‘and certainly not in the costumes she was wearing.’ He cast them an apologetic look. ‘But a life in showbiz isn’t necessarily infra dig these days,’ he shrugged, casual with the barbs. ‘In fact, Hollywood has brought about a glamour that is positively aspirational, thanks to our friends here...’ Both Cripshank and Buck grew an inch taller at this. ‘So we certainly can’t begrudge her that. I think we can all agree that with her face, she would have been foolish not to capitalize on it.’
Effie felt her blood begin to heat as she waited for his point, her animal instincts prickling, picking up a scent on the wind.
‘No, what I was referring to was her unfortunate propensity to fall on her back for the first rich man to look her way. Not to be indelicate, but if that was what she was after, she could have done a lot better than Callaghan.’
Everyone – even Bitsy and Peony – looked startled by this sudden, casual cruelty, denigrating both Effie’s friend and his own. Albie looked as if he was going to pass out.
‘James Callaghan is a far better man than you!’ Effie said in a low voice, holding back her temper, even though it was being buffeted by his taunts like a balloon in the wind. ‘You’re just saying that because she chose him over you. They were engaged! She loves him!’
‘Does she really?’
‘Aye, she does!’
‘Eff...’ she heard Sholto murmur, a blush of embarrassment in his voice.
But Rushton shook his head, a mocking smile on his lips. ‘Then why was she standing in my Paris apartment a few short weeks ago wearing nothing but her negligée?’
Veronica yelped at the implied impropriety as Effie froze, her mind racing. Flora – in a negligée – in his Paris apartment? Was that true? She wanted to be loyal, but she couldn’t say for certain that it wasn’t. Flora loved James, Effie knew that, but she also knew her friend had supposed James dead. And she had been alone in Paris, with a man who had once courted her...Flora had never made any secret of her ambitions to marry up in this world.
‘Now see here!’ Colly said sharply, taking a step towards Rushton – but Effie was quicker. Her arm shot out before she could stop it, throwing her martini all over him.
There was another collective gasp, followed by a frozen silence as Rushton was forced to dry his face with the sleeve of his dinner jacket. At last the tension was broken by the sound of chuckling and Effie saw Baird-Hamilton smiling into his drink, amused rather than appalled.
Rushton looked furiously at him and then back at her, and Effie realized she was shaking. Horror at what she had done caught up with her. She’d lost control and revealed her true self – a wild creature, totally unsuited to polite society.
She couldn’t bear to look at Sholto and see the mortification on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him set down his glass. Her cheeks flamed as she waited for him to speak.
‘Good aim, darling,’ he said, taking her empty glass from her and setting that down too before clasping her hand in his. Effie knew he could feel her trembling because his grip tightened in unspoken support. She risked a look up at him. His eyes were locked on Rushton’s in silent challenge, daring the other man to pass another inflammatory comment. Just one. But none came. Everyone in the room knew Sholto outranked him.
Finally, Sholto turned to his friends. ‘I say,’ he asked Gladly, ‘would you mind your driver running us back to Dupplin? I think we’ll call it a night.’
Gladly smiled. ‘Gladly, old fruit. Gladly.’
It was freezing outside as they waited for the car to be brought round. An owl hooted from the shadows of a nearby oak. Effie paced on the stone step, her hands balling into fists as her mind frantically replayed the disastrous events – Flora slandered; Effie herself losing her temper and confirming the women’s worst opinions of her; Sholto forced to leave his friend’s party...Oh God, had she done for Albie’s financial hopes too? Would the Americans reject him outright now and take their splashy fees with them?
‘Eff.’
She shook her head as she continued to pace, her despair growing with every passing minute. This would spread like wildfire through Sholto’s far-flung set. Peony and Bitsy lived for scandal, and Effie had just handed one to them on a plate.
‘Effie, stop.’ Sholto placed his hands upon her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. ‘What that man said in there was unacceptable about any woman, much less one of your dearest friends. If you hadn’t thrown your drink over him, I would have, do you hear?...You’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Haven’t I? I don’t have the luxury of misbehaving, Sholto. People already expect the worst of me—’
‘No one thinks that!’ he protested. ‘My friends are modern and liberal-minded. They take you as they find you.’
‘When you’re around, maybe,’ she muttered, looking away.
‘What does that mean?’ He frowned. ‘Has someone said something to you?’
‘No.’ Effie tried to turn away, but he held her gently in place.
‘Was it Bitsy?’ he pressed. ‘I knew something was up between you earlier. Tell me what she did.’
‘Nothing. It was just me getting it wrong.’
‘Getting what wrong?’
She sighed, meeting his loving gaze. ‘I thought the point of a pillow fight was to hit one another – but in fact you have to sort of pretend to hit one another.’ A small frown creased her brow. ‘And I don’t know how to throw something with a bad aim.’
A smile curved his lips as he smoothed away her frown with his thumb. ‘Your excellent aim is one of the many things I love about you.’
‘No it’s not,’ she protested as he pulled her closer into him, protecting her from the wind.
‘Yes, it is – albeit second to my love of your climbing ability. I had fallen for you before you even landed in the boat.’
Effie remembered the day she had raced Angus MacKinnon down the sea cliffs, launching herself into the smack with a reckless abandon that belied the fact she could not swim. She had been at her most feral, wild and free – and most herself.
He kissed the top of her head. ‘For the avoidance of your many doubts, I’m glad you’re not like the girls in there, Effie. Life with you is going to be infinitely more varied and exciting.’
She looked up at him. He was an eternal optimist. ‘Perhaps, but at what cost to you?’
‘Effie—’
‘I know – you think everyone’s like you. You think they must love me because you do. But when they hear about tonight – me, a wildling in a castle, throwing drinks over a gentleman—’
‘He was no gentleman!’
‘But you know how it looks,’ she persisted. ‘Tonight I’ll have lived down to their expectations. And what if it gets back to your parents? They might change their minds about me.’
Sholto’s face fell at the prospect. ‘...That’s not going to happen,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘Besides, you’re ignoring the context, Effie. I would have done exactly the same in your position, and anyone who dares bring it up with me will learn in short order that as far as I’m concerned, your actions tonight spoke to your character, defending your friend’s good name. And you’ve got me, Gladly, Colly, Campbell and Atholl as witnesses. We’ll not hear a word against you – or Flora.’
But Flora had already had her first taste of the dark side of fame. Not so long ago, The Times had run a headline – courtesy of Mr Bonner again – linking Paris’s newest cabaret sensation with the murder scandal back on St Kilda. People assumed that was why Flora had vanished, leaving the show in the lurch. But in light of what she now knew about James’s return and Flora’s frantic phone call about Mary that night, Effie had to wonder...were they in pursuit of their child?
Sholto’s chauffeur stopped the car in front of the steps and opened the door. Sholto handed Effie in before walking round to the other side.
‘You know,’ he said, settling himself as the driver pulled them away, ‘we could just elope.’
Effie’s head whirled at the suggestion. ‘...What?’
‘Yes. We could run off to Gretna Green and do it right this minute. No one will be able to judge you once you’re my wife. You’ll be able to stop fretting, and we can begin to live our lives together properly.’
‘But we already are, aren’t we?’ she asked him, reaching for his hand and admiring his handsome face in the moonlight. ‘You said you wanted me to meet all your friends before the wedding.’
‘Yes, but...you’ve met so many of them now as it is, and really, what does it matter what any of them think? I don’t care! I just want you to be my wife once and for all.’
Effie laid her head upon his shoulder and sighed. ‘Well, apart from the horror of robbing Bitsy and Peony of a grand wedding,’ she deadpanned, ‘surely your parents would be disappointed if we ran off to Gretna in the middle of the night? No mother should be denied the chance to see her son stand at the altar, especially when he’s one of the scions of Scotland. Not to mention, they might hold me responsible for stealing you away like that. And what a start that would be to our life together! It would be like marrying under a curse.’
A small silence blossomed. ‘...You’re right, of course,’ he said finally, kissing her hair. ‘I just want you to be mine, that’s all.’
‘I’m already yours,’ she smiled up at him. ‘But as you’re so impatient, let’s at least set a date.’
He cupped her face, kissing her gently. ‘We will. But you’re right. Let’s stick to the plan and get through the rest of the Grand Tour first.’ He widened his eyes jokingly at their nickname for their prolonged jaunt through Scotland. ‘I must learn to be a patient man.’
‘And I must learn to be a lady,’ Effie murmured into the darkness. ‘Starting tomorrow.’