‘That’s not love!’ her father shouted, his own voice becoming ragged with the strain. ‘It’s an infatuation, nothing more! And now you’ve brought shame upon me. You’re a disgrace to our family. What would your mother think if she was to have seen this? She’d be ashamed of you!’

Effie hid her face. Any mention of her mother felt like a slap.

‘You’ll no leave here now for the day. Stay where I can see you till that ship leaves and he’s on it. You hear me?’

She pressed her face into her knees, crying silently and still shivering, the chill settling in her bones.

‘You hear?’ he repeated, demanding an answer.

‘. . . Yes, Father.’

Chapter Eleven

The afternoon dragged wretchedly. Effie went limply about her chores. With her cheek pressed to Iona’s belly, she watched mauve clouds thicken as she milked. She saw the sudden, erratic gusts flatten the grass and make the women’s skirts billow as she tilled. But she didn’t see him. The door to the factor’s house didn’t open, though she kept it in her sights all the while.

Poppit lay on the grass beside her as she worked, smiling and panting hard as she tried to cool off in the muggy heat, occasionally taking herself off to the burn to drink. The horizon had blurred from sight, the sun just a bright smudge behind the haze. Everything felt heavy, gravity redoubling on itself, as the villagers moved slowly, sullen in the heat.

A sudden shout carried down the Street, puncturing the malaise.

It was Rachel McKinnon, Mhairi’s mother. ‘They’re back!’ she cried, fast walking down the Street, arms aloft, and leaving her knitting behind her on the stool.