Chapter Twenty-Three
EFFIE
14 March 1931
‘What is this?’ Effie asked, standing at her garden gate.
Archie Baird-Hamilton smiled. ‘I’d hoped we had civilized you enough to know, by now, that it is a car.’
‘Ha ha.’ She stuck her tongue out at him. ‘I’ve never seen a car look like that before.’
‘Understandable. This is a fresh-off-the-factory-line MG C-type. Do you like it?’
‘I don’t know yet. Why is it shaped like that?’ The car was painted baby blue. There were no running boards, no roof, and the exhaust seemed to run along the side. The seats were slung low and the back end was curved and pointed like a wasp’s tail.
‘It’s a sports car. Faster and zippier than the usual trundlers on the roads. Great fun. You’ll love it.’
‘Oh, will I?’ She arched an eyebrow as he stepped aside and opened the door.
‘I know your thrill for adventure Gillies. Hop in. We’re going for a drive.’ She saw the confidence in his eyes that she was going to get in beside him, his hand in his pocket, staring her down with his steady gaze.
‘What if I’ve got plans?’
‘I am your plans. You see me on Saturdays.’
‘I don’t see you on Saturdays,’ she protested. ‘It just so happens that I have seen you on some Saturdays.’
‘The past three on the trot,’ he countered. ‘When does it become a habit, do you think?’
She looked back at him. It was true they had spent the past few Saturdays together: after surprising her at the harbour that first day, he had done the same again the following week, asking if she had deliberately come down again to the village to buy rhubarb in the hope he would be there! She had denied it, of course. The third weekend, he had been standing on the jetty with a bicycle of his own and a picnic pannier. Now she had opened her cottage door to find him standing outside. He was getting closer and closer every week.
She stared at the rope that was coiled and slung over his shoulder. Another provocative move.
‘There are some mountains further along the road I thought you might like to see,’ he said, following her gaze.
Effie glanced towards the low rolling hills that brought the horizon forward here. Since coming back to Lochaline, she hadn’t gone further than a mile’s radius from the cottage. She was like a spider on a web, tracking between the far points of the factory, neighbours’ houses, the shops and her cottage. After a brief, exhilarating moment of expansion with Sholto, her world had become small again, scarcely larger than she had known in St Kilda.
‘I want you to teach me to climb. After all, I’ve taught you to fish and sail. It’s about time you returned the favour,’ Archie quipped, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers. He had a raffish, boyish quality, teasing and playful, and it crossed Effie’s mind that he was like herself in male form.
She heard footsteps approaching up the lane, just beyond the trees, and wondered what the neighbours would think about this gentleman and his blue sports car stopped on the lane. Word had already begun to circulate in the village about her ‘Saturday outings’.
Was it Mhairi, coming for a morning chat over a cup of tea? Since her dramatic – and brave – return, the villagers had enfolded her in a protective embrace; it was now commonly held that she had already paid ‘too high a price’, and the two girls had become closer in the past few weeks than at any time since last summer.
‘G’morning,’ she heard the person – a man – say as he came past the trees up to the car.
‘Good morning,’ Archie replied jauntily.
‘Norman,’ Effie said in surprise. He looked rough – unshaven and unkempt, his clothes crumpled – and he was heading back towards his cottage, not from it. Effie felt her stomach drop at what it implied.
She saw the subtle understanding in Archie too. From everything the Dupplin girls had implied, he too was a man who had spent many nights not at home. The difference was, he wasn’t married.
‘Effie,’ Norman nodded, throwing her a suspicious look in return, as if it was her behaviour that was questionable. He had always been good at turning the tables. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘Climbing lesson, for me,’ Archie said, cutting in as if he recognized Norman’s game. ‘Archie Baird-Hamilton, how do you do?’ He offered his hand.
‘Norman Ferguson, Robert and Effie’s neighbour.’ His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot; Effie could only guess at the amount of whisky he’d had the night before.
Archie looked at him more closely as their hands pumped. ‘...I say, have we met?’
‘No.’
‘You look very familiar.’
‘...Hmm, no.’ Norman shook his head thoughtfully. ‘I’d remember a car like that.’
‘Actually, it’s new. I only took delivery of it yesterday...But I definitely feel I’ve seen you.’ Archie was regarding him closely. ‘I’m good with faces.’
‘Y’ must be confusing me for someone else,’ Norman shrugged, looking keen to move on.
‘Norman’s the deputy manager at the Forestry Commission,’ Effie supplied helpfully. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen him there?’
‘No. Never been there.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t get out much. Now, if y’ll excuse m—’
‘Oh but, Norman, what about your business trip?’ Effie said, a thought suddenly occurring to her. She knew of one place where the three of them had been – unwittingly – gathered before. She looked back at Archie. ‘He’s being modest. Norman’s got a big job; he was sent all the way out to Skye a few weeks ago.’
She felt Norman’s stare land upon her like an iron sword, heavy and cutting.
‘Skye? Is that so?’ Archie asked with renewed interest and scrutiny.
‘Aye, he consults to the big estates.’
‘Of course, that’s it! I saw you at Dunvegan!’
‘No—’ Norman rebuffed.
‘Yes, yes! I remember – I saw you talking with MacLeod on the steps.’
There was a long pause, Norman’s red eyes still and unblinking in their sockets. ‘Oh, aye, MacLeod...that’s right,’ he said slowly. ‘I’d forgotten about that. I did stop in, now y’ mention it...I was passing and—’
‘Just passing? You weren’t working there?’ Effie asked innocently, even though her curiosity was fully piqued.
‘No. Just passing...I was returning Frank Mathieson’s belongings to the Laird.’ He looked back at Archie. ‘You’ll have heard about what happened to his factor?’
‘Yes; yes,’ Archie nodded. ‘Who hasn’t?’
Effie steadied herself, knowing she mustn’t react, although every mention of Frank Mathieson – even though he was dead – still made her heart leap like a salmon.
‘Well, he was – I suppose you’d say we were friends. He had no next of kin that I was aware of, so...’ Norman shrugged. ‘Returning his personal items to MacLeod seemed the next best thing to do.’
‘Very decent of you,’ Archie nodded. ‘I’m sure he appreciated that. The family’s been very cut up about it all. Terrible business.’
There was a brief silence as everyone ruminated on the unsolved murder.
‘Well, enjoy y’ climb. Effie’s the expert for sure.’ Norman tipped his head towards them, his gaze lingering on her ever so slightly, before he turned and continued up the path.
‘Huh,’ Archie murmured, watching him go. ‘What an extraordinary coincidence.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she agreed. She supposed Norman’s explanation made sense. He and Frank had been friends, or at least, the closest thing to one that either man had ever had, for they were both lone wolves.
And yet, he’d been in the library ...It still snagged in her brain.
Archie looked over at her. ‘Before I forget—’ Effie watched as he reached into the car and held out a brown paper bag. ‘For your father,’ he smiled. ‘Can’t have him going without.’
Her father had already wandered up the path to Old Fin’s, but she took the rhubarb with a smile; they had become a weekly habit too. ‘Thank you. I’ll put them inside for him,’ she said. ‘Let me get my rope as well.’ And she turned in to the house, forgetting all about Norman Ferguson and his good and bad deeds.
The single-track road was winding, swooping through deep purple-clad glens, past lochans where grey herons stood motionless in the shallows. At one point, Effie thought she saw a golden eagle soaring high, high above them, but she couldn’t be sure. She pointed it out to Archie but their driving goggles restricted their peripheral view and it was gone in the next moment.
She liked the feeling of the wind in her hair; it was a recurring experience when she was with him, and she knew she didn’t have to worry about how the tangles looked to him afterwards. They parked on a small track that led off from the main road, somewhere between Claggan and Alltachonaich. The mountains had quickly grown in might and magnificence as they moved further inland and Archie informed her they were in the heart of the Highlands now, the nation’s very highest mountain Ben Nevis just a hop, skip and jump across the waters of Loch Linnhe.
He left her to pick the mountain they should scale and she chose one which reminded her a little of Mullach Bi back home: a path wound up the gentler south face, with a stepped series of bluffs and slopes they could navigate back down if his climbing skills didn’t match up to his sailing prowess; they couldn’t afford an accident. They had passed no more than four other vehicles on the journey out here, and she didn’t want them to become stranded in this wilderness.
Archie took her instruction well. He was a man of action, highly physical and strong, and as she showed him the different knots and rappelling skills, he advanced quickly. She liked that he showed no inclination to reject her wisdom or advice just because she was a woman. He treated her like an equal in every single way.
‘I know what you’re doing, you know,’ she said later as they picnicked on a ledge, eating their favourite sandwiches and apples. She was back in her element, her muscles aching, and it was the happiest she had felt in weeks. She felt him turn and look at her, though she stayed staring dead ahead, looking again for the eagle.
‘...Good,’ he murmured. ‘It wouldn’t be very effective if I was the only one who knew it.’
His frankness always surprised her. ‘But you know it can’t work. You know I love him.’ She glanced over in time to see him wince.
‘Yes. But I also know you can’t be with him, so...’
‘...So, what – you’re going to wait?’
He shrugged. ‘Unless you’re playing a waiting game with him.’ He caught her gaze with his direct stare. ‘Is that what you’ve agreed? Wait until the countess dies?’
‘No! God, no.’ She shook her head quickly. ‘How could we possibly? That would be disrespectful...knowing it was the last thing she wanted.’
He watched her, seeing how she swallowed hard on the truth, a bitter pill. ‘I’m sorry they can’t see what I can. You deserve a lot better, for one thing. But I won’t pretend it isn’t what I want...or that I don’t have hope.’
His words were bald but honest and she liked him all the more for it.
‘And if I told you I see you as a brother?’
He gave a surprised laugh, though he winced again too. He was quiet for a moment. ‘...I wouldn’t believe you.’
‘But—’
‘You still love Sholto, Effie. I accept it’s better for you to bracket me like that while you still have feelings for him. But I do believe that in time, you’ll recognize what’s really here.’
‘And what if I don’t stop loving him?’
He turned and looked straight at her, hearing the forlorn note in her voice. She wasn’t being argumentative; some days she really did fear she was never going to know peace and happiness again. ‘At some point you will. The heart needs something to beat against.’ He shrugged. ‘One thing I learned early on,’ he said, ‘is that we have to accept things as they are and not how we want them to be. And you’re in a bad spot. I feel for you both, I do.’
‘...But not so much that you’re not going to chase me?’ she said wryly.
He caught her gaze in his and held it. This was no game. ‘I can’t help how I feel any more than you can. And if I thought you had a shot of being accepted by them and living happily as his wife, I’d stand aside.’ He said it so matter-of-factly, enduring his heartache as she endured hers. ‘You love him, I know, but the truth is, he needs you to be something you’re not and I don’t. I see you for everything that you are, because it’s everything that I am. We’re both outsiders, that little bit too wild. We’re the same.’ He glanced over at her. ‘I know you can’t love me yet – but we both recognize something fundamental in one another. Just don’t insult me by pretending we don’t.’
She swallowed. ‘...I wouldn’t.’
He nodded, looking away. ‘Which is why I’ll wait.’
They drove back with aching arms and trembling legs, much like their storm odyssey in the Lady Tara as they had sailed down Loch Dunvegan.
‘Such a funny coincidence,’ Archie murmured as they drove back towards the setting sun. The sky was marbled peach and plum, high-vaulted above them like an Arabian tent. ‘Seeing that neighbour of yours in Skye.’
‘Norman? Aye, it was.’
‘I knew the second I laid eyes on him that I’d seen him before. He’s a handsome fellow. Striking.’
‘He’s certainly that,’ she mumbled, thinking of poor Jayne living with a beautiful monster.
Archie must have picked up on her ambiguous tone because he glanced over. ‘You don’t like him?’
‘I’m friends with his wife. She’s a lovely woman,’ Effie said as diplomatically as she could.
‘Enough said,’ he grinned. ‘Poor MacLeod, though, being lumbered with Mathieson’s possessions. I’m sure he would have wanted to burn anything that belonged to that man. He’s every bit as troublesome in death as he was in life.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, the police have suspicions that Mathieson was stealing from MacLeod. A rare book of theirs turned up at Dumfries House, where one of his cronies worked.’
‘I know about that.’ Frank Mathieson himself had given the book to Effie, although it was pure coincidence that she had brought it to Dumfries House.
‘Well, what you won’t know – what nobody else knows, because the family is keeping it strictly on the QT – is that the losses run deeper than one valuable book.’
‘What do you mean?’ Effie frowned.
Archie regarded her for a moment. They both knew the information he was sharing was privileged, reserved for the aristocracy’s inner circle only. Finally he said, ‘Have you heard of the Sir Rory Mor horn?’
‘The what?’
He chuckled. ‘It’s a mouthful – and one of the most totemic Clan MacLeod artefacts. Right up there with the Fairy Flag and the Dunvegan Sword.’
Effie shrugged, shaking her head. ‘I’ve never heard of any of those things.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have; they’re of little concern to most other people. But the horn is absolutely fundamental to Clan MacLeod lore.’
‘Why would a horn be so important to them?’
‘It’s no ordinary horn; not to the MacLeods, anyway. It’s an ox horn from a wild bull that a MacLeod chieftain, several centuries back, slew on the way home from a night of carousing.’ He grinned at her, clearly approving of the story; it was the kind of anecdote that should be stitched to his heels. ‘It’s why the bull is now the motif for the MacLeods – an emblem of their strength and virility – and it’s been tradition ever since that every new chief must drink claret from it, in one pass, to prove his manhood. Some historians date the horn back to the sixteenth century, but there are others who date it right back to the tenth. Either way, it’s ancient – and it disappeared last summer.’
‘ What? ’ Effie stared at him, feeling her heart begin to thud.
Archie nodded. ‘Why do you think MacLeod’s been kicking up such a stink about getting to the bottom of what happened to his factor? He’s hoping that if they can discover who killed Mathieson and why, they may stand a chance of being able to get the Mor horn back before anyone even knows it’s gone. Ever since the Dunvegan book was found in the possession of Mathieson’s accomplice at Dumfries House, MacLeod has been convinced the two of them had a black-market racket going.’
‘But why...why would anyone want an old book, or a h-horn?’ Effie croaked, trying to make sense of the distant memories that were surfacing. Events that had once seemed innocuous were taking on a new complexion in the light of this revelation.
‘Because the Scots have been flung far and wide over the past century, thanks to the Highland clearances – and now, of course, there’s this economic depression starving the rest of them out. There are thousands of MacLeods, Campbells, MacLennans, you name them, settled in Australia, Canada and America. Some of them have done very well for themselves in their new frontiers, and you wouldn’t believe what they will pay now for a bit of their heritage.’
Effie stared dead ahead, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Images were rushing at her...What had she done?
She felt Archie’s hand on her arm. ‘I say, are you feeling all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘This horn,’ she said. ‘Is it...is it capped with a silver rim and stamped with small marks?’
‘Why, yes...’ Archie did a double take as they flew over a humped bridge. ‘Wait, Effie – how the devil did you know that?’