She swallowed. ‘I am now. My big brother John died four years back . . . He went over the top.’

He frowned. ‘You mean he . . .?’

‘Fell, aye. The rope snapped.’

There was an appalled silence. The visitors had seen the height of the sea cliffs for themselves yesterday. ‘Is that sort of accident common?’ the earl asked.

‘No, but it happens every few years or so. My father hasn’t recovered.’

‘And your mother . . .?’

Effie inhaled sharply. ‘Knew nothing of it, thankfully. She died when I was ten. TB.’

‘My dear girl, I’m so sorry,’ the earl said softly. ‘So it’s just the two of you then?’

Effie nodded. ‘My father was married before. His first wife died delivering a baby. They had five wee ’uns and none lived past seven, for various reasons – lockjaw, the boat cough.’

‘That is a heavy burden for any man to bear.’

‘Aye.’

The earl was watching her. ‘And for you too.’

She was surprised by the observation. No one had ever commented on her loss before. ‘It’s fine. I get on with it.’

There was a small pause, the men digesting her revelation with pitying eyes, but tragedy was a part of life here, like the wind.

‘So is that why you stood with the men at their meeting this morning? You’ve taken on your brother’s duties?’ Lord Sholto asked.

She nodded. ‘We need craggers to catch the birds and their eggs we eat for food, but out of the thirty-six of us, there’s too many as are too old or too young to go over the top. My father’s too old for the ropes and his bones are bad anyway, so I go.’

‘But wouldn’t your neighbours help you?’ the earl asked.

‘Aye, they would, as they do for the widows and Old Fin. But why should we rely on charity when I am young and strong and able-bodied? Should we put out our begging bowls just because I am a girl and not a boy?’

They saw the defiance in her eyes. ‘. . . That’s a very modern view, especially in a community such as this. Has it been well-received among the men?’ the earl asked.

‘Not really. The old ways run deep, but it’s tolerated because they’ve no other choice. Whatever their prejudice against a girl doing men’s work, there’s just not enough of them to do it without me. I’ve proved to them I can do it and they need my help, even if they don’t want it.’

The son was smiling at her again as she spoke. ‘And what exactly do you do, that girls shouldn’t?’ he asked.

‘Cragging. Fowling for fulmars, kittiwakes and guillemots. Snaring puffins, working the dogs.’

‘So why weren’t you allowed to the other island?’