‘Miss Gillies, welcome to Dumfries House,’ he said in the same tone as he’d delivered his scolding. ‘His lordship told me you would be arriving. Perhaps you would be so kind as to step into my room when you have finished dining? There are some issues we should discuss.’

‘Aye, Mr Weir, I’d be happy to,’ she mumbled.

He turned and walked away, the sound of his shoes fading as he turned into the passage and past the wine cellar, the rest of the meal passing in silence.

He was writing at his desk when she knocked.

‘Come in,’ he said, not looking up. ‘And close the door behind you.’

Effie did as she was told – and waited.

‘Sit down,’ he murmured, as he finished making his records in a log book, before finally looking up. ‘Miss Gillies. Miss Gillies,’ he repeated slowly as he met her eyes. ‘Finally we meet.’

Finally? He made it sound like he’d been waiting to meet her, but she’d never heard of the man before this morning. His eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded her and she had a sense he was trying to marry up the sight of her with something else. An idea of her? ‘. . . How have your first few days been here?’

‘I only arrived yesterday, but it’s been fine, sir. Nae bother.’

He sneered slightly at her vernacular. ‘Nae bother,’ he echoed. ‘Indeed.’ He sighed, looking away and back again, his fingers clasped together in front of him. ‘I’m tired from the journey so you’ll forgive me if I get straight to the point. I assume you’ve heard the news about Frank Mathieson?’

‘That he’s missing? Aye, sir.’ She held herself very still; she was practised at it – years of fowling, of not startling the quarry, were good for something.

‘Do you know anything about his disappearance?’

She hesitated. ‘. . . No. Why would I?’

‘I thought you were . . . close. Good friends.’

She felt her body grow cold. ‘Mr Mathieson was our factor and I respected him, sir, but I wouldn’t say we were friends.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ She pressed one hand on top of the other, to keep from fidgeting. She felt an urge to wriggle, keep moving.

‘Hmm. That’s curious. He implied otherwise.’

She shook her head.

‘I thought I heard him say that on occasion he liked to indulge you with special gifts.’

Effie stared at him. The urge to move had become an urge to run. Her heart was beginning to pound. ‘No, sir.’

‘So he never brought you anything?’

Just from the way he asked it, she knew he knew. ‘. . . Well, once in a while he would bring books over – for our education. Our resources were so limited, you see. He was a kind man like that. But they weren’t just for me; they were for all the children on the isle. Maybe that’s what he was referring to?’

‘Books.’

‘Aye.’

‘Nothing more?’