Chapter Twenty-Five
EFFIE
17 March 1931
Dumfries House, Ayrshire
Effie sat low in the sky-blue car, her goggles on and hair flying like Medusa’s snakes as they roared over the graceful hump of the Capability Brown bridge. They swept through the estate at speed like a tropical typhoon in the heathered Scottish countryside. Effie felt her heart accelerate as this small pocket of land, which had briefly been a home to her, revealed itself once more.
Archie glanced over at her as the great house came into view. It was gracious and elegant, and to her eye when she had come fresh from St Kilda seven months ago, it had seemed like a palace. But she had grown since then, and she knew now it was an exercise in neoclassical restraint. Grand, yes, but also very much a home.
She looked up at the tall windows. Was Sholto in one of the rooms, still hidden from her, just as her approach now was unknown to him?
Archie’s fingers tightened around the wheel, his driving gloves so new they still creaked. He had insisted on driving her here, even though she had told him she was perfectly capable of taking the train. She knew this was a test. There was every chance in coming here that she would be standing between the man who loved her and the man who wanted her. But it wasn’t a question of who she wanted. It was a matter of who she could have. She had been lying to herself that she’d only come here with one mission in mind; the frantic thud of her heart was making it plain this was not neutral territory for either of them.
He hit the brakes, sending gravel flying as they careened to a flamboyant stop, and Henry the footman stepped forward with a blank expression – which slipped as Effie removed her goggles.
‘Hallo, Henry,’ she smiled, pushing back her tangled bright blonde hair.
‘...Miss Gillies. Welcome back to Dumfries House.’
His hesitation revealed his profound shock, and she knew word would be below stairs before she could achieve what she had come here to do. She wondered if Fanny, Billy and Mrs McLennan would want to see her; they had been her first new friends on the mainland and she felt still the tension of being caught between worlds here: upstairs or downstairs? Where did she belong? And with whom?
Seven months later, she still didn’t know.
‘Thank you, Henry. This is Mr Baird-Hamilton.’
‘I wondered if I might have an audience with Sir John,’ Archie said, taking charge.
There was another uncharacteristic, stunned hesitation. ‘ Sir John? ’ the footman clarified.
‘Yes. I was told he and Lady Rosemary have been staying here during the countess’s recuperation?’ Archie said briskly, pulling off his driving gloves with a bored air.
‘Indeed, sir,’ Henry nodded, recovering himself.
‘Tell him I have some information he will want to hear – pertaining to...er, recent losses.’
‘Of course, sir. Please follow me.’
He led them into the house Effie now knew well; she had walked, or rather run, these corridors barefoot, slept in a bed upstairs and eaten dinner at the servants’ table below stairs. They passed beneath the family portraits that had once seemed so austere. Now, as she looked on those faces, all she saw was Sholto’s eyes or his nose or the curve of his top lip – or that blonde cowlick that wouldn’t stay back, no matter how often he combed it...
Was he here? In his bedroom or in the pantry, wheedling Mrs McLennan for a pie? Driving down the long avenue or riding on Taliska, his favourite horse? She felt her senses reach out, straining for a trace of him: his scent lingering in the hall, a stray hair on a coat, muddy boots, a familiar shadow glancing on the wall...
Their footsteps echoed, sounding into the far reaches of the long corridors as Henry led them to the blue drawing room. It was where visitors were usually escorted, not the parlour where the family preferred to gather.
‘I shall inform Sir John of your arrival,’ Henry nodded, leaving them in the grand space with a nod of his head and a flash of his eyes in Effie’s direction.
Archie unbuttoned his coat and took off his cap, raking a hand through his hair. His cheeks were flushed from their drive, his eyes as bright as if he’d run here. He paced, restless, as they waited for their audience. Was it irony or fate that MacLeod was to be found here, in the crucible of Dumfries House, and not at home in Dunvegan?
Effie stiffened as she heard the soft closing of a door further up the hall, then footsteps sounding – but they were travelling in the wrong direction. Her heart fluttered, sparrow-like, darting and alert, too frightened to land, searching for Sholto in every corner and every shadow.
She crossed to the windows and stared out over the grounds. Every patch held a memory for her: the fountain, the night of the party when Sibyl’s cruelty had been revealed; Stairs Mount, where she and Sholto had picnicked between the trees while pretending they could simply be friends; the ha-ha where her runaway horse had bolted and only Huw Felton’s quick thinking had saved her.
Huw. She wondered, for the first time in months, about the gamekeeper. It was he who had given her Slipper and Socks, and mended the hole in her heart after losing Poppit. She had been a poor friend to him in return, their fledgling companionship suffocated by her desire for Sholto, even though on paper they made the better match. He was still the better choice. The differences between her and Sholto were every bit as apparent now as they had been at their first meeting; and even Archie – a soulmate who went toe to toe with her spirit – hailed from a different pedigree that he couldn’t quite outrun.
And yet, she couldn’t settle for less just because she came from less. Her heart had always been wild and defiant. She would rather be alone and free than captured and tamed by the wrong man.
She watched the gardeners pruning the rose garden, their bodies bent as they worked in the weak spring sunshine. The trees and shrubs were still bare, pointing spiky fingers towards an unflinching grey sky, but tiny buds were swelling at their tips; they were tender and hesitant amid the frosts but the sap was rising, even if it was unseen. Life was beginning anew after the bleakness of winter.
She heard the crunch of gravel and looked over to see an unfamiliar sight: a wicker chair had been set upon large wheels, the small figure sitting within wrapped in blankets and scarves. A young woman was walking behind, pushing the wheeled chair along and talking animatedly to the invalid.
Effie blanched as she recognized Lady Sibyl’s rail-thin silhouette. Her sharp bob poked out beneath a cloche hat, a belt slung low over her coat. When had she returned? Effie wondered in dismay. At the very first klaxon call of the countess’s illness, proving herself a worthy daughter-in-law? Had Sholto called her for comfort?
Either way, it was clear Sibyl’s feet were back under the table again.
Tears pricked at Effie’s eyes, but she swallowed hard and willed them back down, knowing this was right. All was for the best. It was the proof she had unwittingly been searching for from the moment they had arrived – an answer given without a question having been raised. Life had returned to its proper form. All the chess pieces were back in position on the board.
She sensed Archie’s sympathetic look on her back. He knew as well as she did what it meant.
The door opened again, and the earl walked in with a bemused look.
‘Archie!’ he began, his hand already outstretched before he caught sight of Effie there too, standing by the window. His arm dropped in surprise as Sir John followed him into the room with a similarly wry look.
Effie had never met Sir John in person before but, as their landlord, he had ruled the villagers’ waking lives back on St Kilda. Everything they did on the island – weaving, milking, catching birds for oil – had been done to fulfil their rents. The rather unassuming-looking man who now stood before her didn’t seem, somehow, to match the enigmatic figure of their collective imagination.
There was a momentary silence as the two older men adjusted to her presence, and she realized Henry must have announced only her companion. It was Archie, after all, who had requested the meeting.
‘Miss Gillies. This is a surprise,’ the earl said courteously, albeit coolly.
‘Hello, sir,’ she nodded, making no move to advance towards him. She knew she represented a threat to him, just standing in this room. Had she been the catalyst for his family’s implosion? Did he blame her for his wife’s collapse? He was visibly thinner and more grey-faced than when she’d seen him last, the strain of the past few months sitting upon him like a threadbare coat.
Behind him, Sir John had recovered himself enough to shake Archie by the hand.
‘A drink?’ the earl asked, looking back at him. Effie realized Graves had slipped into the room too and was standing by the door. He was the consummate butler – always unruffled, ever loyal – but she saw his disapproval of her in the tilt of his chin. Did he perceive her as a threat, too? How could a poor island girl, no more than a strip of wind, seem so formidable to one of the grandest families in the land?
‘A warming tot would be appreciated,’ Archie murmured, sending the butler gliding over to the drinks cabinet. ‘We had a blustery drive over.’
‘Oh?’ It struck Effie that the earl looked more interested in his use of ‘we’ than in the driving conditions. ‘Where have you come from today? Not Raasay, surely?’
‘Lochaline. Morven Peninsula.’ Archie put a hand in his pocket. ‘Have you been over that way?’
‘Mm, yes,’ the earl nodded distractedly. Effie remembered his visit to her cottage when he had first come to offer her the job on the estate. How he must have rued that offer since! ‘Bluey MacLean...’
‘Mm,’ MacLeod intoned too, looking sombre. ‘...He’s having a dratted time with the roof. Duart’s got more leaks than No. 10.’
‘Mm.’ The men nodded in commiseration for Bluey MacLean’s damp castle, but moments later their gazes slid towards Effie again like water down glass, with one question in their eyes: what was she doing back here?
‘Mind if I smoke?’ Archie asked. He peeled off and turned a languid loop, strolling the room as if enjoying everyone’s silent torment. But then, he was a maverick; he loved a little chaos.
He began talking about the winter storms on Raasay and the bother they had caused, bringing down a number of trees.
‘Not to mention your mast!’ MacLeod exclaimed as Graves returned with their refreshments. ‘The Lady Tara ’s fixed now, I understand?’
Archie nodded. ‘Jimmy got me straightened out in no time,’ he replied, inclining his head in a token of thanks to MacLeod’s son. ‘He knew a fellow.’
‘Glad to hear it. I’ve scarce been home this winter, but I’m given to believe your dramatic approach down Loch Dunvegan has already entered local legend.’ MacLeod’s gaze flitted over Effie with open suspicion again. ‘The lady of the loch, they’re calling you, Miss Gillies.’
Effie had to bite her tongue from saying she was no lady.
‘Rightly so,’ Archie grinned. ‘If it hadn’t been for Effie’s bravery, I daresay we’d have capsized and gone under.’
Eyebrows were raised by his casually familiar use of her given name.
‘Well, then...to your very good health,’ the earl mumbled as he raised a small toast.
It was true the dram was warming. Effie felt the small, hot bullet travel down her throat and into the very centre of her; until that moment, she hadn’t realized she was shivering. She tried not to think of the quietly mannered scene still playing out behind her back: wheels on gravel; blankets in a biting wind; a frail body and a lithe one; duty and promise. The best thing she could do now was to say what she had come to say and get away again as quickly as she could. There was nothing to be gained from seeing Sholto again. He wasn’t the reason she had come here – at least, that’s what she had told herself – but he was the reason she would run.
‘So.’ MacLeod cleared his throat and regarded Archie with a quizzical look. ‘I’m told you wish to discuss something important. Shall we take this into another room?’
‘On the contrary – it’s Effie who’s got news for you.’
‘Wh-what?’ MacLeod blustered.
Archie motioned to Effie to take the floor as he stepped back with a look of pride.
Anticipation billowed, and she saw the wary look on both noblemen’s faces as they tried to guess at her motives for being here. It hadn’t crossed either of their minds that she might be here to help.
‘I know where the horn is,’ she said simply. ‘The Rory Mor horn.’
MacLeod gasped, looking first astounded, then furious. ‘And how the devil would you know about that?’
‘Because I found it in one of the cleits back home. On St Kilda.’ She looked curiously at him, wondering why he looked so angry when she was giving him good news. She glanced at Archie, who gave her a nod of encouragement; he was used to bluff and bluster. ‘It was in a tumbling-down cleit that none of us villagers used. It had been the property of a family that emigrated years back, and it had stayed empty. Maybe that’s why Mathieson used it.’
‘Mathieson?’ MacLeod queried.
‘Aye. I had noticed that he kept lurking about it whenever he came over but never paid much heed – until I was cragging on the rocks a few days before the evacuation and I saw him coming out, all suspicious.’
MacLeod’s frown deepened. ‘Suspicious how?’
‘Looking around him, as if checking no one had seen him. He didn’t see me, of course, so when he went back to the village, I went over and had a look inside to see what he was up to. And that’s when I found the horn. It was hidden beneath a dead lamb, so I almost missed it.’
Sir John raised himself to his full height, wearing a look of consternation. ‘Let me get this straight – you’re saying you saw my factor, Frank Mathieson, put the Rory Mor horn into the cleit?’
Effie shook her head. ‘No. I only found it in the cleit he’d visited. I can’t swear an oath that he put it there,’ she shrugged. ‘But, as I said, we never used it, and I do know it couldn’t have belonged to any of the islanders. The most valuable things we owned were Old Fin’s accordion and his gold sovereign he kept up the chimney.’
‘I see.’ MacLeod shared a cautious look with his host. ‘And where is it now, the horn?’
‘Still on St Kilda.’
MacLeod caught his breath, as if steadying himself. ‘In the cleit?’
‘No. I moved it.’
‘What! Where? Why?’
‘I moved it somewhere else. I could tell from the silver that it was valuable – and from the way he’d tried to hide it, I knew he wasn’t supposed to have it.’
‘So you intended to blackmail him, I suppose?’
‘Now steady on,’ Archie said sharply, a flash of anger upon his face. ‘Effie’s come here to help you. Not to be insulted. She isn’t the one who stole from you.’
There was a tense pause before MacLeod conceded. ‘...Forgive me, Miss Gillies. I misspoke...but why did you decide to move the horn?’
Effie blinked, her cheeks burning from the slight. She couldn’t explain it without telling them everything Mathieson had done – and was threatening to do – to her. And that wasn’t something she had shared even with Archie. She never wanted to think of it again; she wanted it all dead and buried. With Frank.
She swallowed, speaking slowly. ‘I didn’t know what the horn was or why he cared about it; I only knew that he did. It was important to him. By hiding it somewhere else, I figured it would give me...’ She struggled for the right word.
‘Leverage?’ Archie guessed, watching her closely.
She nodded and a pause followed. ‘...He wasn’t a good man. He had threatened me and my friends, all in different ways...’
She saw MacLeod’s features darken.
‘I thought that by taking something that was valuable to him and hiding it, it might give me something to barter with, if things took a bad turn again.’
Her words settled like stones in the room: a bad turn again .
‘And did they?’ the earl enquired, looking concerned.
‘...Aye.’ She saw a flash of alarm pass over Archie’s features.
‘Can you elaborate?’
‘I’d rather not, sir,’ she said stiffly. It was none of their concern what Frank had done to her or the lengths to which she’d had to go to escape him. They didn’t need to know that she had suffered his mouth and hands upon her as she’d plied him with whisky – bought with the shillings the earl himself had given her for guiding him around the isle – until he had all but passed out. They didn’t need to know she had tied him up with ropes but left him with a knife to free himself, and enough food and water to tide him over till the Harebell dropped anchor. They didn’t need to know that the horn had been her final bargaining chip if all this had failed – and it so nearly had, for somehow he had got himself free.
‘...But I can tell you he became very agitated when he saw it was gone. He started scouring the hills, saying he had to do inventory checks for you’ – she looked at MacLeod – ‘and make sure all the cleits were empty.’
‘I never requested such a thing,’ MacLeod protested.
‘No. Only I knew what he was looking for – I just didn’t know why it mattered so much.’
There was a long silence as they absorbed the revelations.
‘So, in effect, you took the horn as an insurance policy?’ the earl said.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that means, sir.’
‘Your actions suggest you felt a strong element of threat from Mr Mathieson.’
She jutted her chin up, but passed no further comment. She had said all she had to say on the matter.
He watched her thoughtfully. ‘Thinking back to our time on the island, I do recall Mathieson being brusque with you. Certainly rude...intimidating, even.’
MacLeod cleared his throat. ‘You know, I’ve since heard from some of the island men that he had been inflating the rents and keeping the extra for himself.’
‘Really?’ The earl arched an eyebrow with mild interest and great disdain.
‘And now we hear he’d been threatening the women too,’ MacLeod mumbled. ‘Dear God, with every new report the man somehow confounds my low estimations.’ He shook his head. ‘I ought to have trusted my instincts and fired the fellow years ago.’
Archie took a deep, pondering breath, looking troubled by the revelations. It was more than she had shared with him beforehand. ‘Well, all that really matters now is that we know the Mor horn is safe.’
MacLeod gathered himself. ‘Yes, yes. It’s all that really matters.’ He looked at Effie. ‘Miss Gillies, do you remember where you hid the horn?’
‘Of course, sir.’
She watched as MacLeod and the earl swapped looks again. Slight smiles gradually flickered into life on both of their faces, as if they were somehow hatching a plan in silence. Old friends, able to communicate without words.
MacLeod shrugged. ‘Well, it might be rather fitting to go back one last time,’ he said in reply to an unspoken suggestion. ‘Ink the deal, so to speak.’
Archie narrowed his eyes. ‘...Deal?’
The earl smiled. ‘John has sold the archipelago to me. We agreed it over lunch yesterday.’
Effie’s eyes widened as she looked between them. ‘You’ve sold St Kilda, sir?’
‘Well, it’s not much use to me now, with only sheep living on it,’ MacLeod replied. ‘And this old boy is so very keen on his birds. He’s got a grand plan for designating it as some sort of safe haven for seabirds.’ He shrugged, as if it made no sense to him. ‘But I suppose we could have some sort of official handing-over ceremony. Kill two birds with one stone, eh?’
The earl looked amused. ‘I’m not sure that’s quite the phrase I’d use in this instance, John.’ He looked over at Effie again, pausing for several moments before he spoke. ‘Miss Gillies, you’ve done a very gracious thing, coming here today with this news. I know that it can’t have been easy,’ he added.
Effie swallowed at the admission. ‘I’d have come sooner had I known what it was I’d found, sir.’
‘You’ll be rewarded, of course,’ MacLeod said quickly.
Effie bridled. ‘That’s not necessary, sir. I’m just glad to have been able to help.’
Archie smiled at her as the earl and clan chief exchanged another look.
‘So, Miss Gillies, how exactly will we find the cleit in which you’ve hidden the horn?’ MacLeod asked. ‘There are a great many of them.’
‘Oh, it’s not in a cleit.’
‘Where is it, then?’
‘The last place anyone would think to look. I needed to be certain he wouldn’t find it.’ She let her mind fall back into the landscape of her girlhood – the velvet smudge of grassy moors, the grey stone cottages smiling along the street like giant’s teeth, the towering cliffs harassed by thousands of fluttering white birds. She had left so much of herself behind there. To climb the crags one last time...
‘How will we find it?’
‘You won’t.’ Her eyes flashed with steel. ‘I’ll have to show you.’
‘Effie!’
The word was a low hiss. She turned in the hallway to see Fanny’s head peeking around the doorway of one of the servants’ staircases. Effie had excused herself to freshen up before the journey back, although the way Archie’s eyes had trailed after her as she left the room suggested he didn’t believe her.
She hurried over. ‘Fanny!’ she beamed, surprising the maid by embracing her; she too, it seemed, didn’t quite know to which world Effie belonged. ‘I hoped I’d see you!’
‘Come in here so we can talk without been seen,’ the maid whispered, looking furtively around as Effie slipped into the cool, shaded corridor. Fanny closed the door quietly, taking a good look at Effie in her new clothes. She was still clad in trousers and woollens, but they were the clothes Sholto had bought for her on their Grand Tour, and hung differently to the homespun garb in which she’d first arrived at Dumfries House seven months earlier. ‘...You look so well!’
‘Do I?’ Effie asked ruefully. ‘I don’t feel it.’
Fanny gave her a pitying look. ‘We’ve all been keeping up with y’r adventures!’
‘There’s been a fair few, I suppose.’
‘Do y’ know what they’re calling you over on Skye?’ Fanny giggled.
‘Aye, I did hear,’ Effie winced. ‘And it really wasn’t as dramatic as they’re making it sound.’
‘I’d bet it was!’ the maid laughed. ‘Mrs McLennan says drama follows you like a shadow!’
Effie chuckled; the cook had always been the first person to prop her up after one of her disasters and was forever trying to get a hot meal inside her. ‘How is she? How’s everyone? I’ve missed you all.’
‘No, you haven’t! You’ve been living in castles with the aristocracy!’
Effie reached for her hand, not wanting to think about any of that. ‘Honestly – I’ve missed you all. I so hoped I’d get to see you when I came here today.’
‘Poor Henry was beside himself when he came down earlier, saying you’d roared up in a fancy car with Archie Baird-Hamilton, of all people! What the devil are you doing with that rascal? You know his reputation, don’t you?’
Effie didn’t care any more about Archie’s reputation with the ladies than he cared about her humble background. ‘I’ve been told it many times. But he’s been a perfect gentleman to me.’
Fanny chuckled, shaking her head. ‘Don’t be fooled. It’s all an act.’
Was it? Or was he misunderstood? Underestimated? She had sensed his hunger for her on Raasay, but he’d not acted on it. He’d been honest and true to his word, and although she didn’t know if she could learn to feel for him what he felt for her, she was grateful to have him in her life. Sometimes she felt as if their Saturday outings were the only thing keeping her going during the long weeks spent sitting indoors at the factory loom, weaving tweed. It made her despair to think this could be it for her – a life spent caged, married to the grocer’s son or a Forestry man or the postie. She didn’t care a whit about money, but she cared about spirit. She would always fight to live a life of adventure, and Archie, for everything else that he might be – rascal, playboy, cad – was the same.
‘Barra says he was a frequent guest at her previous lady’s house parties,’ Fanny said with a scandalous glee. ‘And that one time, he visited three ladies’ bedrooms in one night...The hallboy was counting.’
‘Oh.’ Effie nodded, remembering Archie’s apprehensive look as she had left the room just now. She wasn’t the jealous one in their relationship. ‘Well, he and I are just friends. I’m not looking to fall in love again.’
‘No.’ Fanny looked at her with wide eyes.
‘...Is he here?’
The maid shook her head sympathetically. ‘Edinburgh. He went a few days ago. I’m not sure when he’s due back.’
‘Oh.’
‘I think he needed a change of scene. It’s been a bleak time.’
‘Aye.’ And it was all her fault. She thought of Sibyl, manning the fort in his absence, caring for his mother like a dutiful prospective daughter-in-law. ‘I saw the countess earlier. She’s in a wheelchair?’
‘She’s very frail now, but the worst of the danger is passed. There’s still a long road ahead, but they’re quietly hopeful she’ll make a good recovery. Good enough, anyway.’
‘I hope so,’ Effie nodded. ‘That would be wonderful.’
Fanny reached a hand out to touch her arm. ‘He misses you so much. He never says anything, certainly not around any of us, but I can see it in the way he walks. And he’s so quiet now. Always polite, of course, but...it’s as if he’s had the stuffing pulled out of him. We’d none of us ever seen him so happy as when he was with you.’
Effie felt a lump stopper her throat, tears immediately pricking at her eyes. It always amazed her how quickly they could appear from one moment to the next. ‘Well...it just wasn’t supposed to be,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘A blind man could see that.’
‘But you made each other so happy.’
Effie pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her emotions. ‘We can’t always have something just because we want it.’ Her voice sounded strangled as she made herself say words that sliced her like knives, and she knew that in spite of all the reasons they were wrong for one another, there was one overarching reason they were right: her heart spoke to his. Sholto wasn’t her perfect match, and she wasn’t his equal, but the love that bonded them was true and pure. Their differences might overwrite that truth, but they would never subsume it. She could see that now. ‘There are other things...and other people...to consider.’
The sound of voices rose on the other side of the door. Fanny’s eyes widened. ‘Y’d better go,’ she said quickly. ‘Before they catch us talking.’
Effie wiped her eyes quickly. ‘I’ll write. I’m in Lochaline now, not so very far.’
Fanny opened the door and peered out. The magnificent reception hall was still clear but the men’s voices were carrying as they came down the hallway. Fanny disappeared back down the staircase into the servants’ corridor as Effie stepped out onto the flagged stone floor, composing herself.
She was looking out of the windows across the rose garden when they turned the corner a few moments later.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Archie said with evident relief. ‘I was beginning to think we might have lost you.’
Effie looked back at him with reddened eyes and a sad smile – that told him he had.