‘I didn’t recognize myself either.’

‘You certainly looked the part.’

‘Well, maybe for a moment, but that was all,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m nothing like them.’

‘Not many of us are, Miss Gillies.’ He was watching her closely.

She sighed, giving Slipper another kiss on her head and reluctantly setting her down. ‘I should get on, I mustn’t keep the driver waiting. But thank you for everything you did on the cottage. I’ve been down there all morning as they delivered our furniture and it looks wonderful.’

‘Then I’m pleased you’re pleased, Miss Gillies.’ He nodded his head. ‘Good day to you.’

Effie headed towards the garage, as instructed by Billy earlier, but she turned back several times to watch the dogs running ahead of Felton, noticing his easy lope through the grounds as he went about his day. His world seemed simple. Safe.

The doors to the garage were arched and double-height, painted in the same brick-red as was found on the kitchen plates and servants’ blankets and her new cottage door. The estate colours. She stepped through.

‘Hello?’ She turned – to find Sholto in conversation with the chauffeur. They were standing beside a glossy back car that had no roof. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.’

Sholto looked back at her as though she was deliberately testing him. ‘Fraser tells me he’s scheduled to take you to the station to collect your father,’ he said irritably.

‘Aye, sir. He’s on the four o clock train.’ She looked across at the driver, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Is there . . . a problem?’

‘I need to go to the station too, to collect a parcel. On the four o’clock.’

‘Well, can we collect it for you?’

‘No. No, I ought to take personal possession of it,’ he said quickly.

Was it the book, she wondered? Had it been repaired? Did he not trust her to take good care of it?

‘There’s room for three of us, although it’ll be a squeeze, but if we’re taking your father back too, there won’t be room for four.’

‘Oh . . .’ She felt she ought to bow out, that that was what he was asking from her – but how could she let her father arrive in a foreign place, where he spoke none of the language, and she not be there? Sholto didn’t speak Gaelic either, so there was no consolation there.

She stayed quiet.

‘I’m afraid there’s only one thing for it, then. I’ll have to drive.’ Sholto looked back at the driver. ‘I’m sorry, Fraser. I don’t mean to deprive you of your duties.’

‘Can’t be helped, sir,’ the chauffeur said. ‘She’s all ready for you.’ He handed over the keys.

Sholto took them and looked back at Effie coldly. It made her stomach pitch and swoop, her blood still in her veins. ‘. . . Shall we, then?’