A small bird landed on the far garden wall and hopped on the stones. It was exquisitely pretty, though understated, with brownish-green plumage streaked with yellow, a creamy belly and an eyebrow stripe. Effie squinted closely, her upset momentarily forgotten as it sang a few notes of a tune before flitting off again in the next instant. Had its legs been dark grey, she’d have assumed it a chiff-chaff, but the pale legs confirmed it for her as phylloscopus trochilus. A willow warbler.

She leant back on her sit bones with a rapt expression. She had never seen one in real life before, but she had read all about it, of course. She knew it was highly migratory and would soon be on the wing to southern Africa. She knew it liked to feast on insects but would eat berries and fruit too. If she remembered correctly, it also moulted twice a year, a highly unusual habit for a bird—

‘Perhaps it’s not all so bad?’ She glanced over to find Jayne smiling at her, her body entirely motionless though her hands were still moving rapidly. Click-clack went the needles, their bone heads dipping and bobbing. Effie could guess that all the women from the island – from Mad Annie to Ma Peg to Mary McKinnon still on the boat and heading for Oban – were this very moment engaged in identical labours. Old habits would die hard. ‘Let’s give this side a chance before we condemn it to eternal damnation. They may not have cliffs and seabirds here, but there’s a different beauty in trees and songbirds.’

‘Maybe . . .’ Effie said non-committally. It wasn’t beauty she needed here but prospects. Refuge. Somewhere safe to go next. She and her father had to leave here and disappear sooner, not later. Once the factor was found . . . ‘I should be getting back,’ she said, getting to her feet and dusting the shredded grass blades off her lap. It would be dark soon, and she didn’t yet know the lie of the land well enough for barefoot walks. ‘I’ve an early start tomorrow.’

‘At the factory? Aye, I’ll see you there.’

‘No, Jayne, the forestry,’ Effie admonished her. ‘You’ve got a man to feed you but in our house, I’m the man and I need a man’s wage. Da won’t eat if I don’t earn.’

Jayne gave another of her patient smiles. ‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘See you on the morrow, then.’

‘Aye, tomorrow,’ Jayne murmured, watching her go, arms swinging and her bare feet already dirty with the dust of their new home.

Chapter Sixteen

The men were just ahead of her. She could see their dark heads bobbing as they walked along the road in a straggled line. Apart but together. It hadn’t occurred to Norman Ferguson to knock for her as he passed on his way by, and she was both furious and relieved about it.