Chapter Twelve
EFFIE
Hogmanay 1930
The Gathering Hall, Portree, Isle of Skye
The room was a twirling mass, arms thrown aloft and skirts swishing as the ceilidh band played faster and faster. Effie laughed as she was spun by her dance partner. She’d had to check her dance card for his name, having forgotten it at first, and she’d been surprised to see he had put himself down for two reels with her.
‘You’re either a very brave man or a glutton for punishment, Mr Baird-Hamilton,’ she had said. ‘I was told by one dance partner he knew cows with more grace than me.’
‘Ouch,’ he’d laughed. ‘Perhaps I should check my insurance first?’ But the moment the fiddles had started up, he had taken her with a firm grip, spinning and placing her with assurance, sending her blonde hair flying and her skirt billowing like a parachute.
In the past six weeks she had learned all the great reels of the Scottish ball season – the Dashing White Sergeant; Hamilton House; the Foursome and Eightsome; Mhairi’s Wedding and others. The men had practised with her in the great hall at Dupplin whenever they weren’t playing golf or shooting, which had been increasingly frequently after the snow had come in hard in mid-December. She was a quick learner but still very much a novice, counting the beats out loud and trying to remember the steps – but Baird-Hamilton was so well practised, carelessly chatting as he manoeuvred her to the music, that she almost forgot they were dancing.
She had recognized him instantly as he first came over, and she had braced for some kind of waspish or sly comment. She hadn’t exactly esteemed herself at their first meeting, covering Eddie Rushton in gin, so it had been a surprise when Baird-Hamilton had shaken her by the hand for putting ‘that odious man’ in his place. She remembered his misplaced laugh in the silence that had followed, but even so, she’d assumed he must disapprove of her. And he’d been so watchful and reserved that evening, very different to the bon viveur here tonight.
The reel finished almost as suddenly as it had begun, with a vibrato on the fiddle. Everyone cheered, clapping wildly. These balls, the pinnacle of the Scottish social season, weren’t so very different from the ceilidhs she had enjoyed at home. Yes, the dress code was more formal; here the men wore trews and kilts – any visiting Sassenachs in white tie – and the women were in gowns with tartan sashes. Women were supposed to glide as if on wheels, not bounce to the music; but the men still whooped and spun the women with abandon, hands on waists turning them faster and faster so that their chests heaved and their cheeks grew pink. As Effie was so light, the men would fling her one way then the next as she laughed, trying to catch her breath. Being fit, strong and light made her a good sport.
‘Well, that was lively,’ she panted as Baird-Hamilton led her back to her group, but they made slow progress through the crowd with so many bodies packed into the small village hall.
‘Yes, that did get the blood up,’ he agreed, unbuttoning his velvet evening jacket.
‘Archie,’ a red-headed woman smiled as she passed by him, nodding her head in greeting.
‘Clarissa. You look beautiful tonight.’
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘See you for the Dashing White?’
‘I’ll find you.’
Effie watched the woman go. She couldn’t imagine ever being so accepted into this circle that she too might one day carelessly weave in and out of the crowds, knowing everyone.
‘And how was your Christmas, Miss Gillies?’ he asked.
‘Oh. Cosy, actually – which isn’t something I ever thought I’d say about a castle,’ she grinned.
‘No?’
‘We stayed at Dupplin with Gladly. We holed up in the snug most days and ate sandwiches and played cards and charades and backgammon. I’m dreadful at it. Even worse than at dancing.’
‘Nonsense. You were a delight just now.’ He cast a sidelong look and smiled. ‘So you didn’t see your families?’
‘Well, the earl and countess were spending Christmas in the south of France, so it didn’t make much sense to go back to Dumfries House.’
‘...Indeed.’ He cleared his throat.
‘And my father decided to go back to Lochaline to see our old friends and neighbours. He misses them, especially with – well, with me spending so much time away from Ayrshire lately. I think he sometimes wonders why he moved there.’
‘...I’m sure you’ll be back in no time.’
‘Aye,’ she nodded, though their tour still had numerous invitations to tick off – MacLeod from tonight for a few days, then the Duke of Argyll...
‘Brava!’ Colly said as they rejoined the others. ‘You didn’t put a foot wrong!’
‘Hmm. I think Mr Baird-Hamilton’s toes might say otherwise,’ she laughed, raking her hair back with her fingers to try to cool down a little.
‘Codswallop. You were flawless, Miss Gillies. It was like dancing with a fairy.’
‘Now I know you’re lying!’ she laughed, glancing over and finding Sholto still in conversation with his dance partner as he walked her back to her friends. She admired him from afar; he was always so proper and handsome, as unaware of the admiring looks that followed him as she was aware of the craned necks and wide eyes that greeted her entrance into every new room.
She looked back again to find Baird-Hamilton watching her, and she smiled. ‘Thank you for looking after me out there.’
‘Not at all. I’ve found there are few places more treacherous in the world than a Highland ball – sharpened elbows, rapier wit, heaving bosoms to take a man’s eye out.’
She laughed again and he smiled, seeming pleased to have amused her.
‘Well, it certainly looked from here like you were both enjoying yourselves,’ Bitsy said archly from her perch on the tall stool. She was still sitting out most of the energetic dances on account of her ‘terrible foot injury’ at Dupplin, and her coolness towards Effie had dropped several degrees more since she had started seeing Eddie Rushton. He was due to return to California early in the new year, and as the day grew ever closer, Bitsy’s mood was souring. It seemed no mention had been made of her going out to America to visit him. ‘The two of you were beaming at one another.’
Effie flushed at the intimation, but Baird-Hamilton was unruffled.
‘I suppose we were. I rather sense Miss Gillies and I are birds of a feather,’ he replied, looking over at Effie for back-up. ‘She’s not afraid to take an evening by the scruff of the neck and shake every last bit of fun from it. If only there were more of our ilk, instead of so much mannered artifice.’ It was a clear rebuke.
‘Oh, Arch, there you are. Tell me, are you going to Monaco next month?’ Peony butted in as she joined them all. Her dance card had been filled up within moments of arriving and she’d scarcely stopped for breath. She looked ravishing in dusky pink taffeta.
‘Undecided. You?’
‘Mm, I think so,’ she sighed, eyes narrowed as if in intense concentration. ‘I need some sun. Don’t you remember how I loathe being cold?’ She pinned him with what seemed to be a pointed stare.
Effie looked between them, confused.
‘I do...But if you’ll excuse me, I’d better find my next partner.’ He bowed slightly, removing himself from the group without further ado.
Effie watched him go, wishing she could dance with him again. He seemed like the only straight shooter here, and it had been a relief to throw off the rules for a few minutes and just be .
‘Hmm. Well, he seemed particularly pleased to make your acquaintance again,’ Bitsy muttered.
‘Did he?’ Effie asked, sensing subtext. ‘I thought he was just being polite.’
‘Oh, don’t fall for that,’ Bitsy drawled. ‘Our Archie has quite the reputation as a lady-killer. There’s not a woman in here he hasn’t had one way or another...Be very careful with him.’
Effie’s mouth opened in surprise at the suggestion that he might be interested in her and, worse, that she might reciprocate. Flirtation and seduction might be part of their social language here, but she had no interest in learning it. ‘I’m engaged! Obviously I’m not interested!’
‘Ah, but that won’t stop him,’ Bitsy said dismissively. ‘Old B-H relishes a challenge!’
Gladly approached the table and sweetly, wordlessly, handed her a glass of lemonade. She hadn’t even had to ask. ‘So what’s going on?’ he asked into the stiff silence.
‘Just Effie catching certain eyes,’ Bitsy said devilishly.
‘I’m not catching anyone’s eyes,’ Effie defended herself. She didn’t want gossip to start. ‘I love Sholto.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ Sholto himself said, suddenly appearing at her shoulder. ‘...Was it ever in doubt?’
‘We’re just teasing her,’ Peony sighed, bored with the conversation. ‘She just danced with B-H, so you know the drill...’
A small, disgruntled sound came from Sholto’s throat but he passed no comment on the matter. ‘What I want to know is, when am I dancing with you?’ He pulled out her dance card and checked it, looking back at her with an aghast expression. ‘...You didn’t leave me a single dance?’
‘I didn’t get a chance! Besides, you should have been quicker off the mark,’ she shrugged. ‘You’re the one who knows how this goes, not me.’
‘I’m a damned fool,’ he drawled, his eyes dancing.
It was true she had been particularly popular this evening. The Skye Balls were held over two nights at the Gathering Hall in Portree, and this was the second. Last night she had mainly danced with the men in Sholto’s closest friendship circle, but tonight that had opened up, and she didn’t even recognize most of the names on her card: the Rt Hon Charles Arbuthnott, Mungo MacMillan, Viscount Lisle...What she did recognize was the look in their eyes as they twirled and spun her. Everyone wanted to experience for themselves the allure she must surely possess to have attracted a man of the calibre of Sholto Crichton-Stuart.
He turned her away from the others and reached down to kiss her cheek lightly. ‘At least I get to take you home,’ he whispered in her ear, making her shiver.
Wherever that was.
They were moving on tonight – Gladly and the others included – to Dunvegan Castle. They would all spend the first few days of the New Year with James MacLeod, heir apparent to the MacLeod estate and another of Sholto’s oldest friends. His parents were away at the Isle of Bute. It seemed to Effie that one of the conditions of having a castle was never actually staying there, but visiting friends’ piles instead.
‘By the way,’ Gladly said. ‘I just saw MacLeod. He got here late. He’s had to bring the boat down, would you believe? Apparently the roads north are impassable – there’s much heavier snow further up – so he’s going to sail us back.’
‘Sailing in December?’ she frowned, looking nervously at Sholto. ‘Is that safe?’
He smiled. ‘Freezing, but we’ll manage. Don’t worry – St Kilda’s in open water but we’re much more protected in the Minch.’
The first four bars of the next dance was played, their cue that the next reel was about to begin.
‘Oh Lord, already?’ Gladly groaned behind her. ‘How’s a chap supposed to finish a drink?’
‘Which one are we doing now?’ Colly asked with a sigh.
‘Reel of the 51st,’ Veronica said officiously. ‘And you’re doing it with me.’
‘Oh, good,’ he said flatly.
‘Miss Gillies?’ a voice asked. Effie turned to see a rotund, bespectacled man with sandy red hair. She had no idea of his name. ‘Duncan Forbes. I believe I have the pleasure of this dance?’
The debonair Rt Hon. Archie Baird-Hamilton he was not.
‘Wonderful,’ she smiled, even though her feet were burning in her shoes. It was almost dawn, and they had been dancing all night. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Look after her for me, Forbes,’ Sholto said, slapping him on the shoulder.
‘She’s safe with me, old boy.’
Sholto winked at Effie as she was led away.
‘You’re with me on this one, Sholto,’ she heard Peony say to him, giving him her hand to lead her back into the middle of the room.
An hour and four reels later, they were almost done. Almost. It was approaching five in the morning, but still several hours off dawn; the sun didn’t rise much before eight at this time of year. Effie was dropping. She was used to the night hunts back home, climbing sea stacks and catching gannets in the spring, but dancing all night took a different level of stamina.
‘You look tired,’ Sholto said, his hand on the small of her back as they reconvened before the final reel of the night.
‘Nonsense,’ she rebuffed. ‘That breakfast has refuelled me.’ Gladly had come round with plates of hot kippers before the Eightsome.
Sholto wasn’t fooled. ‘Well, we’ll be getting on the boat straight after this, so you can sleep all the way to Dunvegan. MacLeod’s keen to get off quickly. If you head straight down to the jetty after this, Gladly and I will bring the trunk.’
‘But how will I know which is his?’
‘Ask anyone. They can point it out to you.’
She nodded as the fiddles gave their salutary warning. Sholto frowned as no partner came to claim her. ‘Who’s down with you now?’
She looked at her dance card. ‘...Viscount Lisle?’
‘Oh, yes, I saw him over there somewhere.’ Sholto’s height made it easy for him to pick out faces in the crowd and he grabbed her hand, towing her through the bodies to where a stocky young man was finishing his drink. He seemed several years younger than Effie, she guessed.
‘Lisle!’ Sholto barked, after standing there for several seconds unnoticed.
The younger man stood to attention – before slumping again. ‘Ah, Sholly, it’s you.’
Sholto arched an eyebrow. ‘How many of those have you had?’
‘...T-two?’
Bottles, perhaps.
‘You’re swaying.’
‘Nonsense. The room’s just dizzy from all the dancing.’ His words were a jumbled slur.
Sholto looked wryly at Effie. ‘I need to find my partner for this – but he’s harmless, honestly. Although you may need to lead him , by the looks of things.’ He gripped the young viscount’s shoulder hard. ‘Look after my fiancée, Lisle, do you hear?’
‘Yesh.’ He swayed again.
Effie watched him with apprehension. Strip the Willow was one of the simpler reels, but it did involve a lot of turning. He didn’t look as if he’d have the legs – or the stomach – for it.
‘And when it’s done, you’re to accompany Miss Gillies here straight down to MacLeod’s yacht, you hear?’
‘Yesh.’
‘What did I just say?’
‘Accompany the ghillie to MacLeod’s yacht.’
‘Near enough,’ Sholto muttered. ‘Will you be all right?’ he asked Effie.
‘Of course.’
‘I’ll be...’ He looked around to find Bitsy frantically motioning for him with a highly irritated look. ‘Down there with Miss Sourpants.’
Effie stifled a laugh.
‘See you on board, darling.’
The band played the first four bars as he darted through the room. The revellers had organized themselves into two long lines, men on one side, women on the other, and Effie took her position opposite her dance partner.
As the dance began, she had to reach for him and lead him into swinging her around. There was no doubt the young viscount had the muscle memory for the dance, but he lacked the physical coordination. He was supposed to swing Effie and then present her to each man in the line in turn, but as she swung round his neighbour and reached for him again, he missed her arm. Effie had to almost run around him to keep up with the music.
When it was his turn to come back up the line, swinging and turning with the ladies, he was like a ball to skittles. It was a chaotic end to what had been an invigorating two nights, and many people were tutting at him by the time the last bar was played.
‘Shorry,’ he said afterwards as the dancers broke up into an emotional crowd, wishing one another festive greetings and swapping travel plans for the new year.
‘It’s quite all right,’ Effie replied, eager to make her getaway.
‘You’re a good sport. I knew you would be.’ He looked as if the room was still turning around him.
‘Did you?’
‘Of course. You’re Sholly’s fiancée.’
He really was very drunk. ‘Yes. Well, it was a pleasure—’
‘He must really love you.’
She gave a small laugh as she turned away. ‘Given we’re getting married, I should hope so—’
He made a long slurring sound. ‘Not many men would give up their birthright for love. Certainly none of the fellows in this room, that’s for sure.’
Effie halted and turned back, staring at him. ‘...What?’
He swayed. She had a sudden urge to shake him.
‘Tell me – what did you mean by that?’
He blinked once, twice, but his eyes were vacant. ‘The earl and the countess...’ Was he going to pass out?
‘What about them?’ she demanded, feeling her heart beginning to pound. He was, to use one of Colly’s favourite words, ‘blotto’, but that didn’t mean he was talking gibberish.
‘They said they’d disinherit him,’ he shrugged. ‘But Sholly chose you !’ He held his hands out towards her in case she was in any doubt of who he meant.
Effie felt the room begin to spin around her. Was that...was that true? Had Sholto’s parents refused to give their blessing for the engagement?
No.
She couldn’t believe he would lie about such a thing to her! Sholto would never lie to her.
And yet...he hadn’t been home in six weeks, traipsing from castle to castle, introducing her ‘to the set’...She remembered their curious gazes every time she stepped into a new room. She had thought it was the class divide that fascinated them, and perhaps it was, to some degree. But if they all knew something she did not – that Sholto had walked away from his family, chosen her over them...He was the only son and heir, not only to the Dumfries earldom, but the marquessate of Bute as well...Was it any wonder she had held them in her thrall?
Oh God – had they all been sworn to silence? Did everyone know but her? She remembered Baird-Hamilton’s polite enquiries about their Christmas plans just an hour previously as he tiptoed around a truth to which she was blind.
No. This couldn’t be happening.
She looked around for Sholto in the crowd, but there was no sign of his beautiful golden head. She began pushing her way towards the door, leaving the swaying viscount in her wake.
It was freezing cold outside, especially for Effie, in just an emerald-green silk dress, and she shivered as she looked down the slope towards the water. A dozen or so yachts were moored along the jetty, just a few lights shining amid the pervasive darkness as the bay of Portree fanned out around them on three sides.
She ran down the steps towards the boats. People were already moving in groups towards them, laughing and talking as they walked in huddles, their capes and evening coats back on. Effie darted past, an emerald streak.
‘MacLeod’s yacht?’ she asked a woman in marigold taffeta.
‘What?’ the woman barked, looking three sheets to the wind herself.
‘Which is MacLeod’s yacht?’
‘Oh...There,’ the woman pointed. ‘Last but one over—’
‘Thank you,’ Effie muttered, taking off again, running until she stopped in front of a small, slightly battered-looking navy-hulled schooner. It was still dark, but a crack of sunlight was opening on the horizon past the Black Cuillin mountains. She could see someone at the far end of the boat, tinkering with the anchor chain.
‘Hai!’ she called out, her eyes looking everywhere for Sholto.
The man’s head lifted as he heard her come aboard, though he didn’t – couldn’t – turn. ‘Oh good, you made it!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Jump on!’
A short, narrow gangplank had been laid across onto the jetty and was moving up and down off the surface with the roll of the waves beneath the boat. It would be disconcerting for anyone who didn’t really know how to swim, but if a lifetime of cragging in St Kilda had given Effie anything, it was superior balancing ability. She slipped off her shoes, running easily over the walkway and jumping lightly onto the deck.
No one else was around, but she could see a light shining from a cabin below deck.
‘I’ll be right there,’ MacLeod called again. ‘Go down to the galley so you don’t catch your death. There’s some blankets down there. The wind’s picking up, so I want to get ahead of it while we can.’
Effie hesitated. She really didn’t want to talk to – confront – Sholto about what she had learned in front of all the others; she sensed Bitsy and Peony would take particular relish in showing they had been privy to information about her own situation. But she had only met their host briefly this evening, and she could hardly be the cause of a delay if he was so keen to set off.
She hurried down the steep, short steps into the warmth and braced herself to meet her fiancé’s eyes. Would he see instantly that she knew? After all, she hadn’t known that they’d been living under a lie for the past month and a half. She had taken him at face value.
Below deck she found a small kitchenette with bench seating and seemingly a bedroom space beyond a closed door. To her surprise, the others hadn’t yet arrived, and she realized Sholto and Gladly must still be bringing down the trunks that had been put in the cloakroom on arrival. She had sprung into action too quickly – old habits died hard, clearly – and no doubt both men were getting caught up with drunken goodbyes.
Taking a breath, she tried to calm her shaken thoughts as she stood there alone. Perhaps it was no bad thing to have a few moments to herself. She knew she mustn’t make a scene. She was angry that Sholto had lied, yes, but she also knew full well why he had. He knew that she would never have allowed him to give up his family, his home, his birthright...for her .
She sank onto the bench with a sigh. But now that she did know, what was she going to do about it? It hurt to think of the earl and countess rejecting her, even if she understood it. On a personal level, they had never been anything other than kind and friendly; the earl had often come into the collection rooms where she worked, and they would talk while she catalogued...Had it come as a bitter surprise to him? He had known she and Sholto were friends, of course. But had he been disappointed that his professional courtesy had been rewarded with her ‘seducing’ his son and heir?
Effie shivered at the thought and took a blanket from one of the benches, wrapping it around herself. Immediately she softened at the comfort; she was cold and so, so tired. She sat down, feeling the exhaustion hit her, the bones spreading in her bare feet as she could finally relax. She tipped her head back and drew another deep breath.
They would talk it out, find a way forward...wouldn’t they? If Sholto wouldn’t give up on her, then she wouldn’t give up either, but they had to come up with some sort of plan for reapproaching his parents. She would never marry him without their blessing.
The boat swung a little, and she looked out through the porthole to see a fishing boat coming back into the harbour, a wake rippling behind it. The fishing boats had always made waves in Village Bay.
She closed her eyes, reassured...
Effie lay on the banquette, huddled in the blanket, feeling the rhythmic plunge and rise of the boat over the water. It was soothing, somnambulant. How long had she been asleep? She blinked several times, feeling the heaviness in her body and sensing she had been fast off for a while. She had always had an ability to nap for short periods; it was useful in lambing season, and of course when they went to Stac Lee to hunt gannets at night. But a full night of dancing was a different proposition and the boat had been like a cradle, rocking her to sleep...
The sun was sparkling on the sea past the little round windows, diamonds of sunlight glinting off the waves. She frowned. How long had she been asleep for?
Tightening the blanket around her shoulders, she carefully made her way up the steps. The wind grabbed at her as she emerged, her hair streaming backwards in lightning-strike blonde streaks and blinding her line of sight, her silk gown pressed back against her body and flapping loudly like the bedsheets on the washing lines at home.
MacLeod stood at the helm just ahead of her. He was reaching over to tighten a sail rope on a cleat to his right.
Effie gasped at the sight of him and immediately twisted to look back along the fore of the deck, searching for Sholto, of course, but Gladly and Colly too...Even Bitsy, Peony and Veronica would be a welcome sight right now.
But there was no one else aboard.
His task completed, MacLeod turned back and startled to see her standing there suddenly, a vision in blonde and emerald green. Immediately his expression mirrored her own.
‘Wait—’ Effie began, confused. This made no sense.
‘Miss Gillies!’ Baird-Hamilton exclaimed. ‘...What the devil are you doing here?’