Her voice faded out as it occurred to her she had said too much, revealed the dissatisfaction and unhappiness of the villagers to people who were friends of their landlord, a man about to lose the considerable income they generated for him. Why should she think they would understand, much less side with her? If the factor was to hear about what she’d just said . . . Wasn’t she behaving in exactly the way he’d feared? She forced a smile and an end to the conversation.

‘Well, if you’re ready, sir?’ she asked, gathering in her feet.

He nodded, seeming to read her sudden apprehension, and they all rose, setting off again. They bore south-westwards, walking with more ease now along the high plateau. Effie loved it up here. The ocean puddled around them in every direction, the horizon forming an unbroken line for 360 degrees, no land in sight. On really clear days, the distant peaks of North Uist and Harris could just be glimpsed as faint shadows, but not today. A slight haze kept them locked in their own universe, quite alone.

They walked another hour, the men forming a line behind her as the path narrowed to single file. They skirted the cliffs, the land drawing sharply inwards in parts, the sky becoming sketchy with white and grey arrows, birds swooping as they circled their perches on the vertiginous cliffs. The earl was an experienced birder. Even at height he could identify the shag from the cormorant, the fulmar from the lesser black-backed gull, the flight pattern of the gannet and the kittiwake. Effie walked with focus, her gaze catching on one bird, then another, following, assessing, searching . . .

‘There,’ she said suddenly, pointing ahead of her as she stopped walking. The men flanked her on either side, following the direction of her finger. She motioned for them to get low, her eyes scanning the long tufty grass. They all lay on their stomachs.

‘What do you see?’ the earl whispered.

‘A Leach nest, straight ahead.’

‘Here? Not on the cliffs?’ the earl asked.

She shook her head. ‘The fulmar petrel nests on ledges, but the fork-tail burrows.’

‘I can’t see it,’ Lord Sholto said.

‘It’s right there, look.’ She pointed to the remains of an ancient cleit. Only a few rocks remained, the remnants now barely even a wall, but tucked between several stacked boulders could be seen some wildly placed stalks of grass and displaced patches of lichen. It was almost impossible to discern in the sprawling wildness, only the tiniest vagaries of mismatched placement drawing the eye.

‘How on earth did you spot that?’ the earl asked. ‘I can scarcely make it out even now you’ve shown it to me.’