Page 45 of The Midnight Secret

‘You look even more beautiful than I dreamed,’ he murmured as she stopped in front of him. His gaze flickered downwards. ‘...Did the shoes not fit?’

‘Oh, aye, they did. But you said it yourself – you can take the girl out of St Kilda,’ she whispered, wiggling her bare toes against the plush rug underfoot. ‘...But never St Kilda out of the girl.’

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’sWedding 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 thebon viveurhere 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 visitingSassenachsin 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 ledher 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!’

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