Page 51 of The Midnight Secret

‘Mr Baird-Hamilton—’

‘Archie, please,’ he corrected, looking pained by her formality. ‘We have danced the Gay Gordons and Hamilton House together. That makes us dear friends.’

Was he ever serious? Effie wondered.

‘Archie,’ she sighed, trying to control her panic. With every comment, they were sailing ever further south. ‘It’s vital I get back to Portree. Sholto will think I’ve...’ Whatwouldhe be thinking, coming out and finding her gone? No word. No trace. ‘He’ll be worrying about me.’

‘I’m quite sure he will, but he won’t be in Portree now, I assure you. Once he’s ascertained you’re not in the water – and it’s very protected there; bodies don’t get far – he’ll know there’s some sort of mix-up and set off for Dunvegan before the weather gets worse. He’ll have to; the winds are strengthening to gale force this afternoon, and with the roads closed, they can’t afford to hang about.’

Effie stared at him. Was it true, that Sholto would have left her behind?

‘Please don’t worry,’ he said calmly, seeing her continuing dismay. ‘There’s a telephone at my house. We can call Dunvegan from there and explain the situation. Once Sholto knows you’re perfectly safe, we can wait out the weather.’ He shrugged as if it was all very easy.

Effie clutched the blanket at her throat. ‘Where is your house?’

‘On Raasay. Not far. Here, take a pew beside me and get out of the wind. You look as if you’re going to blow away.’

Reluctantly, she sat down beside him. What else could she do? The wind was at their backs, propelling them ever southwards, away from her one true north.

TheLady Taraslipped into the enfolding arms of a small bay, Archie expertly furling the mainsail, spooling out mooring ropes and dropping the anchor as Effie watched from her perch, decorative and useless. Boats remained an enigma to her: so many moving parts and mercurial conditions to account for. She far preferred the ancient immobility of cliffs to the sea.

‘May I?’ Archie asked, reaching out for the blanket. She hadn’t let it go for a single moment on the journey over. He folded it and dropped it back into the cabin as she unfastened the life vest and stowed it in the space beyond the helm.

‘Here, take my hand,’ he said as he jumped onto the small jetty – but as in Portree, Effie alighted as nimbly as a fawn, drawing from him a smirk at her little rebellion. ‘Then at least take my coat. I insist. This is no weather for bare arms.’ He shrugged off the velvet jacket in a fluid movement and draped it over her shoulders.

It smelled of woodsmoke and moss, and she felt a pang of guilt at being enveloped in another man’s scent.

She wondered briefly what her old friends would say if they could see her walking on a private jetty, a ball gown trailing behind her, with a man whose reputation preceded him. Flora, no doubt, would delight in the glamour; Mhairi would fret over the risk of gossip.

‘That’s your home?’ she asked, looking up at the beautiful house towards which they were walking. It fronted onto sweeping snowy lawns and was built of pale honeyed stone, with tall floor-to-ceiling sash windows, a grey slate roof, gables, chimneys and a pillared portico. It was far less grandthan Dumfries House, but still an elegant and imposing country house.

‘Well, I’m the current owner, but it’s more of a bolthole than a home. My uncle bought it just before the Great War. He was killed in the Battle of Amiens and I was his only heir, so...’ Archie shrugged, as if it was merely a perplexing mystery that he should have come to find himself in possession of such a handsome home. ‘Historically, however, Raasay House – and the island as a whole – belonged to a branch of the MacLeods. It was in their domain for centuries, and it rather feels they still have a hand on it.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Certainly Jim MacLeod delights in telling me that I’m bunking in his boathouse.’

Boathouse?

‘Oh.’ She followed him along the path, through the grounds and into the house. The door opened onto flagged floors and dozens of wall-mounted antlers. Barley-twist chairs stood against walls and tables were laden with framed family photographs.

It was cold indoors, but she had seen smoke puffing from some of the chimneys, and a grey-haired woman emerged from one of the rooms at the sound of their footsteps. ‘Welcome back, sir,’ she said. ‘Tea is served in the library, if you’d like to take the weight off?’

‘I should think we would like that, Mrs Robertson. We’ve had a hard day’s night,’ Archie said appreciatively, flashing her a warm smile. He pulled at his bow tie and undid the top button of his shirt, stretching out his neck with the relief Effie reserved for taking off shoes. ‘This is my friend Miss Gillies – Effie, my housekeeper, Mrs Robertson.’

‘How do you do?’ Effie smiled politely, receiving a restrained nod in reply. The woman’s eyes darted up and down her in fleeting judgement. Too late, Effie remembered that Archie’sjacket was still over her shoulders, and she quickly shrugged it off. ‘Oh. Your coat.’

He handed it to Mrs Robertson, who looked quizzically at him. ‘No Miss Bruce, sir?’

‘No – a slight change of plan...’ he muttered. ‘I say, what women’s clothes do we have here?’

There was a pause. ‘None, sir. You requested a full clear-out after Miss Coutts-Fitzroy’s departure—’

‘Ah, yes,’ he said quickly. ‘So I did. Hmm.’ He looked at Effie, resplendent in green silk at ten o’clock in the morning. ‘We can hardly have you drifting about in that – you’ll catch your death. It’s usually colder inside this house than out. I’m afraid you may have to wear some of my clobber. Does that appal you?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Good sport. At least I’ll be the only one to see, and I certainly shan’t tell on you.’

‘I’ll lay out some things on your bed, then, sir...’ the housekeeper said, turning to go.

‘Actually, Robertson, Miss Gillies will be staying in a guest room.’

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