To his credit, Graves kept his composure and simply nodded his head. ‘Very well, my lord. There’s a policeman here. He wishes to speak with you.’

Silence as loud as a thunderclap erupted in the room.

‘What?’ Sholto’s voice was hoarse as he immediately looked across at Effie. She stood rigid and pale. ‘Well, what does he want?’

‘It’s to do with Sir John MacLeod’s late factor.’

Sholto’s grip tightened. It seemed several moments before he could respond. ‘. . . Very well.’

The butler nodded and left the room. She sagged immediately, her body deflating as all the hope left her. Sholto put his arms around her, keeping her up. ‘Effie, now listen to me – don’t say a word, you hear me? I’ll deal with him. I’ll send him away and we’ll get Kerr-Miller onto it. He’s our solicitor—’

She tried to keep her focus on him but he sounded so far away, like he was calling from another room. She could feel her breathing was shallow; she felt dizzy, her hands beginning to tingle. So this was it. An hour of happiness was all they would get.

‘Effie, look at me – you have nothing to fear! You did not go out that night with the intention of killing him. His death was an accident, brought on by reasons outside your control. Kerr-Miller will show them you acted in self-defence and that it was Mathieson’s own depraved actions that led you to it and to his demise—’

The door opened again and she slipped from his embrace as Graves came through with a uniformed police officer. No matter Sholto’s great hopes for saving her, she knew what he did not – that Weir had proof of her motive; that she had planned to incapacitate and abandon him; to do him harm.

The policeman took off his hat and nodded at Sholto. ‘Lord Sholto? I’m Sergeant Menzies.’

‘How may I help you, Sergeant Menzies?’ Sholto asked coldly, drawing himself up.

‘I’ve come in connection with the investigation into the death of Frank Mathieson.’ He hesitated and looked questioningly at Effie, but neither she nor Sholto stirred. ‘It’s a . . . sensitive matter. You may wish for some privacy?’

‘Not at all.’

Still the policeman hesitated. ‘Well, as this is a live investigation, may I ask who this young lady is, sir?’

‘Miss Gillies is my f—’

‘I’m the earl’s ornithology curator,’ she said firmly, stopping him from saying more.

Sholto looked at her with consternation but she wouldn’t be dissuaded. The moment was upon them and couldn’t be denied. She wouldn’t heap her shame upon his family.

‘Miss Euphemia Gillies?’ The policeman’s eyes narrowed.

‘Yes.’

There was a pause. ‘Well, how very fortuitous to find you here, Miss Gillies. You are the next person to speak to on my list today—’

Effie sagged again. She felt sure her legs wouldn’t support her.