Page 77 of The Midnight Secret

Heads turned as they passed, people instinctively smiling at them, and Flora wondered if they could sense their wellspring of joy. This was it now. Nothing could stop them. Mary and Lorna were being released within the hour and they wanted to get into position early. Landon had been paid ‘a retainer’ to keep an eye on the paperwork pertaining to their release. If Lorna relapsed, or if Mary tried...something, anything...they wanted to know about it.

But the days had drifted past with a blissful ease and now all the shadows had cleared. James had taken Flora shopping the previous day and they had bought a crib and blankets, baby clothes, nappies, infant milk and bottles. Everything wasbeing delivered this morning and the concierge would send it straight up to their room.

Flora felt nervous. What if she had somehow forgotten how to mother her child? It had all come so naturally on the night of his birth, her body flooded with the impulses to bond them to one another, to feed him and protect him. But that was a tide that had long since gone out. Her milk had dried up within a fortnight of leaving St Kilda, and hers wasn’t a face he knew. Would he cry for Mary?

Probably.

James had gently warned her to expect teething troubles. This wasn’t a fairy tale but real life. They would make mistakes and get things wrong, but they would learn fast. He was already on the hunt for a nanny and a house to rent over the winter, somewhere they could settle down till the spring thaw.

They walked quickly down the steps to the courtyard, where their car had been brought round. Flora was carrying the fine shawl she had bought to wrap the baby in; that would be her first act of reclamation. She had even slept with it last night so that it would smell of her. The second would be to rename him. Both she and James associated the name Struan with the heartache of this period, and giving their baby the names they chose for him, as his birth parents, felt like a natural and healing next step.

James opened the car door for Flora and she slid into the seat. She pressed the baby blanket to her face, trying to detect her own scent. She wanted to know what he would smell.

But as she looked up and out of the window, she froze.

James had stopped, midway across the front of the car, and was standing alert as a gundog as Landon crossed the courtyard towards them.

Why was he here?

Flora didn’t stir as she watched the Irishman approach and begin to talk to her husband. Her heart felt as if it might leap from her chest, her limbs leaden and holding her back from moving out of the cab into the space where his words would wound her. Because she knew they would. James was raking a hand through his hair. He glanced back at her, making eye contact through the glass. He looked sick.

Despite her instinct for self-preservation, Flora opened the door and got out shakily. She couldn’t endure another delay. Landon’s voice was a low murmur, the words indistinct but solemn.

‘...body was found this morning. There’ll have to be an inquest—’

Her hand gripped the car door. ‘Inquest?’

‘Flora—’ James began. He wore a haunted look that tore the hope from her in an instant.

‘My God,’ she gasped. ‘Who’s dead?’

Chapter Twenty-Two

EFFIE

21 February 1931

Lochaline

Effie came down the hill on the bike, her trousers tucked into her socks, hair flying as she sailed on the straight into the village. Slipper and Socks were far ahead, of course, just black-and-white streaks enjoying their flat-out run. It was one of the joys of having come ‘home’ to Lochaline, being reunited with her young dogs. They had been company for her father in her absence, but there was no denying she felt less herself without them trotting at her heels, just as her shoulders now felt forever bare without her loop of rope.

‘Morning, Effie!’ Ishbel MacDonald called as she passed on her way back from the bakery, her basket filled with warm bread.

‘Hai Ishbel!’ Effie waved cheerily at her new friend as she sped past. They sat next to one another on the looms, and Ishbel’s bright smile and infectious warmth was one of the only things that had got Effie through her first few weeks at the factory. The manageress, her old foe Mrs Buchanan, had taken great delight in making Effie crawl to get her position back; noone could have been more pleased at her fall ‘back to earth’ as word spread that her engagement was now broken off. Effie made no mention that Sholto had tried his best to persuade her to accept a generous annuity that would allow her and her father to live comfortably, but if she had never accepted charity back home, she wasn’t about to start over here. Unfortunately, the enmity between the two women only grew and, more than once, Effie, at boiling point, had declared she would ‘rather starve than lick that woman’s boots’. But Ishbel had a way of talking her down and their days together at the looms passed quickly. It was only the nights, when Effie was alone with her thoughts, that were long.

She pulled on the brakes, hearing the squeal of the rubber as she swerved to a dramatic stop and jumped off, placing the bike against the greengrocer’s wall. Her father had taken a liking to rhubarb and she was only too happy to get some for him; Saturdays could feel endless sometimes, with no cliffs and no Sholto.

She went inside and bought half a pound and a bottle of lemonade as a treat with her coins. Emerging again a few moments later, she turned to call for the dogs, whistling through her fingers when she caught sight of them on the jetty, being petted.

Her hand dropped down as Archie Baird-Hamilton smiled back at her. He was sitting on a fishing crate, clearly waiting for her.

Effie walked over, feeling dazzled that he should be here. She had thought she would never see him again after leaving Dunvegan – she had fled the very next morning, before he had come down for breakfast. It had been cowardly, she knew, and she hated herself for it, but she hadn’t known how to say goodbye to him as well as Sholto.

She couldn’t deny it was good to see him again, with his easy smile and those dancing eyes...A moment passed as they took in the differences of two months’ passing. Archie’s hair was perhaps a little longer; she herself was back in boys’ clothes.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked at last.

‘It’s a nice day for a sail,’ he said. ‘The weather’s been so gloomy lately. I thought I’d make the most of this bit of high pressure.’

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