‘Hmph,’ Mrs McLennan retorted as she bustled off again. ‘There’s not enough of you as it is.’

Effie ate with rare timidity, feeling small. She wanted to fold herself down into tiny parts, to hide away from the world and what she’d done. She had spent most of the night – before exhaustion had won out – praying for the winds to drop, for the ship to sail, for a man to be rescued – but why should her prayers be answered now when they never had been before? She had lost her mother and brother, her beloved pet, and she had loved them.

When she had finished, she walked through to the kitchen and one of the scullery maids took the plate and glass from her hands before she could even open her mouth. Everyone was so hurried and busy, their mouths set in lines of grim determination.

Effie remembered what Mr Graves had said last night about Sholto and his father returning today.

‘What time will Sholto be back?’ she asked the maid.

The girl frowned deeply. ‘What business is it of yours?’ she snapped, turning her back and moving off.

Effie recoiled. She felt made of glass and like she might break into a thousand pieces with just one knock.

‘Well, well, I almost didn’t recognize you there, dressed as a girl.’ She turned to find the dancing brown eyes of Billy, the hallboy, twinkling back at her. His gaze fell to her feet. ‘Well, nearly. Part girl. Part . . . miner.’

She was wearing her Sunday best even though she wasn’t going to kirk; it felt . . . prudent that she shouldn’t stick out or make trouble. He gave an easy laugh, but she was in no mood for jokes, and his smile faded. ‘Mrs McKenzie’s ordered me to give you the tour and show you where you’ll be working.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ She exhaled, her body relaxing a little. It would be good to have something to do. She wasn’t used to standing idle and being in the way. She needed to be useful if she was to justify her place here. ‘Fine. Lead on.’

Billy laughed again and gave a whistle as she walked up to him. ‘Lead on? Tell me something, what exactly are you to his lordship – servant or guest?’

‘Neither. I’m their friend.’

At that Billy threw his head back and laughed. ‘Oh boy.’

‘Why is that funny?’ she asked as he led the way out of the servants’ hall.

He stopped in the small passage at the foot of a staircase and dropped his voice. ‘Listen, a word of advice. You’re sleeping and eating in the servants’ quarters, but you keep calling his lordship by his given name. Calling him your friend. It gets people’s backs up. You have to be one or the other, see? People don’t like not knowing where the boundaries are. If you’re down here with us, then use his title.’