‘My dear, it’s been a revelation,’ the earl replied, his bag jostling with eggs from razorbills, turnstone and guillemots, as well as the fork-tailed petrels. She had been on the rope for most of the afternoon, stealing eggs to order for him.

‘In more ways than one,’ his son added.

‘Never in my life have I seen such a proliferation of birdlife,’ the earl continued.

‘Well, if there’s one thing we have here, it’s birds.’

‘And the noise they make is quite extraordinary.’

‘We’re used to it, I suppose. That and the wind. There’s ne’er a break in either,’ she said, glancing in the windows as they walked past Mary McKinnon’s house. The door was closed but Effie glimpsed shadows moving at the back of the room. At least she was up. There was another four months before the baby was due and she couldn’t spend all of it off her feet. Her husband Donald worked every hour he could.

Ma Peg was walking slowly ahead of them on the path, leaning on her stick as she carried a cut of peat. She was wide-hipped, with swollen ankles and legs like salted hams. Her long white hair was piled atop her head in the same loose bun she had worn for seventy-five years, the red plaid headscarf all the married women wore wound around her head to keep it neat in the breeze.

‘Let me take that for you,’ Effie said, lapsing into the usual Gaelic as they advanced upon her quickly, taking the slab of turf from her hand. The old lady did not resist, but to Effie’s astonishment, Lord Sholto reached across and took the cutting from her hand. He said not a word but simply smiled as she looked over at him.

‘Tell me, lass,’ the old woman said as they walked side by side. She hadn’t lifted her head as she trod carefully, but she didn’t need to see Effie to recognize her voice – and skinny shadow. ‘How was it up top?’

‘Fine today. Quite the view, though we couldn’t see the isles.’

‘Naught worth seeing there anyway,’ the old woman tutted. In all her years, she had never once left the archipelago. ‘Were you there to hunt?’

‘No, we were collecting today. All the prettiest eggs. Ma Peg, have you met their lordships? The Earl of Dumfries and his son Lord Sholto. They brought over the factor.’ She looked at the men, switching back to English. ‘This is Mrs MacDonald.’

‘Earl?’ The old woman stopped shuffling in order to be able to turn and look at the men. Her lookover was thorough, an inquisitive look up and down. ‘No crowns?’ she asked, resuming walking again. ‘How disappointing.’

The earl, not speaking the native tongue, looked at Effie for help.

‘She’s very pleased to meet you,’ Effie said.