Page 14 of The Midnight Secret

Chapter Four

EFFIE

Three months later – early December 1930

Dupplin Castle, Perthshire

‘Why can’t we doPrivate Lives?’ Bitsy Cameron complained from her stretched-out position on the four-poster bed. Her toenails were painted scarlet, vivid even through her stockings, and she didn’t care that a button on her silk blouse was missing, flashing a slice of pale stomach. ‘Everyone in London says it’s a riot.’

‘God, I miss London,’ Peony Lovat sighed, looking bored and beautiful.

‘We’re not doing a Noël Coward when I’ve spent the past week writing thisespeciallyfor us,’ Veronica Maudsley replied without looking up, biting her lip as she scribbled an amendment at the dressing table. ‘Wait till you hear the punchlines to the jokes. I managed to put one in about Gerry’s shooting accident with the peacock.’

‘Old hat,’ Peony sighed. ‘I don’t know why we have to do a play at all.’

‘Well, it’s either rehearse for this or stand as peg dollies inthe mud all week.’ Veronica’s pointed look at the mention of mud made Peony turn away with a shudder.

Effie stood at the window, watching the driving rain pound into the ground like glass bullets and wishing she could be standing in it. She offered no comment on their choice of activities as she looked out at the grounds; she was more preoccupied with the realization that these castles all began to seem very alike after a while. Turrets, grand staircases, draughty rooms, formal gardens criss-crossed with ornamental parterres...This was their third in as many weeks.

News of their engagement had spread like wildfire since Sholto had returned from Dumfries House with his parents’ blessing – Effie had remained in Oban with Mhairi and Donald for an extra day – and, ever since, they had been on what could only be described as a celebratory tour, staying with his friends. He was keen for her to meet everyone, he said, but she sensed something more below the surface: he wanted her to be accepted. He knew as well as she did that the match would be controversial – a point proved by the fact they had received invitations from seemingly every duke’s son in the country, as everyone clamoured to see the woman who had bedazzled one of Scotland’s most eligible bachelors.

Effie lived in perpetual fear of disappointing them. She wasn’t a dazzling beauty of Flora’s order; indeed, her hair was always tangled, and she didn’t see the point in putting powder on her face. It was her effervescent, indomitable spirit that Sholto had fallen in love with, but girlish stubbornness and defiance didn’t play so well in country-house drawing rooms, and she could feel herself becoming tamed. She was quickly learning that it was better to remain quiet and reserved in company. Saying the wrong thing, even just the wrongword, marked her as an outsider, which was difficult when these people did so love to talk.

She had always thought Rachel and Christina could blether, but the women here seemed to live for gossip. Scandal was the highlight of their day, and no one gossiped more than the girls in this room. They had greeted her like an old friend with kisses on the cheek, showering her with compliments, but Effie knew heightened good manners were the aristocrats’ armour: their smiles were bulletproof, and cool gazes quenched inner rage. She knew her every move was being studied, stored and filed for future reference.

Still, Bitsy, Peony and Veronica couldn’t talk behind her back while she was sitting directly opposite them, and their days here had acquired a certain louche rhythm: rising late, a cooked breakfast, followed by the men going outdoors for some sporting pursuit while the women remained indoors, talking, preening and planning the next party.

Distantly, Effie recalled Lorna calling formoreandbetter. She had assumed that this applied only to the St Kildans, but now she understood that even Sholto’s gilded circle wasn’t immune to want. In fact, his friends arguably wanted more than she and her friends ever had: finding a ‘good’ husband (which meant rich, landed and noble) was their primary focus, but while they waited, they were always on the hunt for more fun! More champagne! More parties! More jewels! Novelty seemed to be what they craved most, and she had certainly given them that these past few weeks.

Sholto tried to be reassuring, telling her his friends loved her, that everyone found her a breath of spring air. But he didn’t understand how many unspoken rules there were for her to learn. He had been born into this world – he didn’t even know he knew what he knew! – whereas she foundherself laughing at the wrong things, or else not laughing when she should. She hadn’t read the books that had formed their minds, nor could she formulate an opinion on dresses or shoes. In company, Sholto helped shelter her from the worst of her ignorance, standing by her side like a kindly referee; she had a suspicion he had asked the girls to ‘look out for her’ too, and they were always ostentatiously welcoming in public. But when it was just the ladies alone, as now, hers was an almost silent presence. Like a child, she was seen but not heard.

With relief, she saw the men walking through the grounds, returning early from playing golf as the weather closed in. Sholto had been playing in a pair with their host, Viscount ‘Gladly’ Dupplin, against Tarquin ‘Colly’ Colquhoun and Ferg Campbell. Their tweeds were soaked, raindrops dripping off the peaks of their caps, and she wished she could be out there with them instead of in this powder-dry room. She wished her puppies could be here with her instead of remaining back with her father. She wished many things that weren’t possible. She watched until they walked into the lee of the castle, disappearing from view.

Veronica looked up at Peony with an earnest expression. ‘I say, does that piper play the trumpet?’

‘Why are you asking me?’ Peony pouted, a defensive flush springing to her cheeks. ‘You know, you really shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Veronica!’

‘I’d have him whipped and shot if I could.’ Bitsy rolled her eyes. ‘Every single morning! It’s insufferable.’

‘Hmm, it would just have so much more...gustoif we came on in the first act to the trumpet...’ Veronica thought hard for a moment. ‘I shall ask Gladly if we can borrow him for the show. Although bagpipes could work too.’

Effie watched as they all talked at, but not to, one another.

Veronica scribbled something down in the margin of the top page. ‘I think this will suffice for a first draft,’ she said, pushing back her chair and handing out the typed scripts.

‘What’s it about?’ Peony asked, flicking through the pages without bothering to read them.

‘ThinkSwan LakemeetsA Farewell to Arms,’ Veronica said after a moment’s pause.

Bitsy’s eyes narrowed. Neither reference meant anything to Effie, of course, but Bitsy was sharp of mind as well as sharp of tongue, and Effie was learning the nuance of most things by observing her waspish wit. ‘A princess disguised as a swan falls in love with her lover’s friend?’

Veronica gave a small huff. ‘No swans, but lots of doomed romance. It’s a story of love and betrayal during a time of war.’

‘Oh well, that story’sneverbeen told before—’

‘But with comedy!’ Veronica protested. ‘I wanted to keep it light-hearted.’

‘Good idea. Important to laugh through the mustard gas.’

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