Effie saw an empty chair beside a sandy-haired footman who was looking at her with ill-concealed dismay, and a man at the head of the table with grey hair, a long face, a beaked nose and spectacles. There was something of the eagle about him.

‘Everyone, this is Miss Euphemia Gillies, lately of the isle of St Kilda. She will be residing with us whilst the bothy is refurbished for her and her father. Miss Gillies is to work with his lordship on his ornithology collection.’

A quizzical silence enveloped her as she took the seat with an apprehensive smile. Was she really so fearsome?

‘Hello,’ she said to the room, her gaze alighting upon that of a housemaid opposite, around her age. She was deeply freckled with light brown hair pulled back in looped braids. She had an open, round face and enquiring hazel eyes; Effie could imagine how she looked when she laughed – but the girl looked away immediately as if for fear of being read. Effie wondered what it was about her specifically that prompted such strong reactions. Was she too coarse, too brown, too rough, too unfeminine? Too wild? Could they sense the danger in her?

A plate of food was set down before her by a kitchen maid as Mr Graves bowed his head and said grace. Everyone followed his lead and began to eat and for several moments, the only sound in the room was the tinkle of steel upon china. Effie stared down at her plate, not sure what it was she was going to be eating. It was some sort of meat pie, she could glean that, but there were small bits in bright colours she’d never seen before – green, orange. She separated them from the meat and pushed at them quizzically with her fork.

‘Do the carrots and asparagus meet with your approval, Miss Gillies?’ Mr Graves enquired with a disapproving tone.

Carrots? Asparagus? That’s what they were! She looked back at him with a smile and nodded. The only vegetables she’d ever had were potatoes or turnips; and the only green thing she’d eaten was kelp from the sea. Tentatively, she cut a morsel and took a tiny bite. Flavours exploded on her tongue and she pressed a hand to her mouth as if trying to keep them in. She had never known food could taste like that.

‘. . . As I was saying,’ Mr Graves faltered, after a moment, looking back from her to the housekeeper. ‘Her ladyship wants to use the Bowes silver tomorrow, with the Coronation service.’