Sholto looked between them. ‘Now see here – I met the man myself, and there was no love lost between us either. I shan’t speak ill of the dead, but don’t ask for a eulogy for him. Besides, what’s the meaning of all these . . . morbid questions? It’s a party. Go and find a drink, man.’ Sholto went to shoo him off, but Mr Bonner made no move to go.

Effie felt the tension ratchet up a notch. Her stomach tightened to a knot.

‘I thought Miss Gillies might want to give me her account of what happened to Mr Mathieson?’

‘Why would sh—?’ Sholto’s expression changed as he caught on that this was no social conversation. ‘You’re a bloody reporter!’ He looked around the room, almost immediately catching Henry’s eye. With a sharp nod of his head, he brought the footman rushing over, as fast as was possible through the crowd. ‘I specifically forbade any of your lot coming past the gates. This is private land and a private party. How dare you! Get out!’

‘I’m not here to report on your party, sir,’ Mr Bonner said hurriedly. ‘But it can’t have escaped your attention that there was a lot of interest in the evacuation. The St Kildans occupy a unique place in the national consciousness. It was felt something significant was being lost by their departure. We had a strong response to the coverage and now that there’s a police investigation we must—’

Henry was upon them.

‘Get him out of here,’ Sholto said furiously. ‘He’s a bloody reporter! And make sure no one else is getting past the gates either.’

‘Of course, sir,’ Henry said, raising himself to his full impressive height and grabbing the man by the arm. ‘You. Come with me. Now.’

‘All right, all right. I’m going.’ Mr Bonner offered up no physical protest, but he shot Effie an angry look that left her in no doubt he’d be back. ‘Another time, then, Miss Gillies.’

‘The damned nerve . . .’ Sholto muttered, watching them go.

The crowd pushed them together suddenly and his hands automatically gripped her bare arms as people jostled to get past. Effie looked up at him, shaken and overwhelmed by what had just happened – and was still happening. She felt like she’d been thrown into a writhing pit. Was this so very different to the minister’s descriptions of hell? The crowd had a manic edge, as if everyone was teetering on the brink of hysteria, and she was aware of a growing ruckus, a steadily increasing din.