She blinked, her cheeks hot. It hurt her to be reduced to just another member of staff when she and Sholto had met – if not quite as equals on Hirta – certainly as two free people instinctively drawn to one another. To be reduced to a servant, them and us . . . But staring back at Billy, she simply nodded. It was not Sholto who had brought her here but his father. She would only know ‘what’ she was when she saw his son again.

‘Good. Things will be easier for you that way.’ Billy stepped out into a long hallway. ‘So this is the servants’ passage. It runs the full width of the house and links the east and west wings, or pavilions, as the family say. They don’t ever come down here and it allows us to get about quickly without being seen.’

He turned right and began walking. ‘That’s the butler’s pantry, which leads into the silver room,’ he said, motioning to a door on his left. ‘Next to it there is the lamp room, with access to the beer cellar. On this side . . .’ He turned slightly towards another narrow hallway leading off on the right. ‘Over here’s the decanting cellar, the wine cellar, and that room at the back there is the big boss, the steward’s room – his name’s Mr Weir. Weir by name, weird by nature, we like to say.’ His eyes twinkled again. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not here at the moment. He’s gone to London to meet with Lord Sholto. That’s the still room,’ he added, vaguely motioning a hand to his left, but she had no interest in this myriad of rooms that she would surely never need to go into.

‘Billy,’ she said, following as he turned out of the passage into a curved lobby that marked the entrance to the west pavilion and led to another series of bisecting narrow passages. ‘Is Mr Weir in London with Sh—’ She stopped herself just in time. ‘Lord Sholto, because of Mr Mathieson’s disappearance?’

‘Aye, so I understand.’ He gestured towards a closed door. ‘Brushing room.’

‘Why are they in London, though, if Mr Mathieson disappeared in Scotland?’

‘Lord MacLeod’s down there at Scotland Yard, trying to get the best detectives on the case.’

Best detectives? The words were like iced water over her head. ‘But why’s Mr Weir involved? Mathieson was Lord MacLeod’s factor, not the earl’s.’

‘Aye, but he and Mr Weir are friends.’

‘They are?’

‘Of course. The lairds are friends and their roles overlap. They both think they’re the Big I Ams, don’t they? Anyway, apparently Mr Weir thinks he knows something he should share with the fuzz—’

The fuzz?

‘So he’s gone to give a report. There’s the coal cellar, gun room down that passage there, strong room—’

‘Billy!’ she said sharply. ‘Please! I don’t care about all these rooms!’