She looked up to find the earl’s son walking back along the Street towards her. They had been separated all of a few minutes but she felt a rushing of her blood to see him again. His father was no longer with him and he had taken off his jacket, now slung over one shoulder as he walked. The formality of only a few minutes earlier seemed to have gone as quickly as a sea mist.

She waited, the shirts clutched to her body, as he hopped athletically over the wall and came towards her. ‘Hello again.’ His smile was like a dawn, a promise of something bright and new.

‘Hello, sir.’

‘Oh . . . please . . . don’t bother with all that. At least, not when it’s . . . just us.’

Just us.

‘What should I call you then?’

‘Just Sholto,’ he shrugged.

‘Just Sholto. That’s a funny name, Just Sholto,’ she deadpanned, revelling in how he laughed at the joke.

‘And may I call you Effie?’

‘Aye. Everyone does.’

‘Short for Euphemia, I think your uncle said?’

‘Aye. My mother’s name.’

‘It’s beautiful. I imagine she was too.’

‘Why should you imagine that?’

‘Like mother, like daughter, isn’t that what they say?’

She was bemused. ‘Not here.’

‘Well, then they should.’

He was charming her, she could see, plying her with his gentlemanly manners. She turned back to the washing line and continued unpegging the shirts, but with no real desire to complete the task – they provided a useful barricade between the two of them and her father and Mad Annie on the Street, both watching.

‘Are you not staying in to rest, then?’ she asked him.

‘No. My father is still tired from the crossing but I’m feeling . . . restless. It seems wasteful to have spent so long getting here, only to spend it in recuperation. I wondered if we might have another adventure?’

‘You and I?’

‘Yes. If you’ve time.’

‘. . . Adventure? Like what?’

‘You tell me. What do you do for fun here? Apart from swinging from ropes.’

‘We read the Bible.’

His expression changed. ‘Oh.’

Effie wasn’t able to contain herself, a giggle escaping her. ‘Not really. The minister wishes we did, but I’m a terrible disappointment to him.’

‘Only to him, I’m sure.’

She finished unpegging the shirts.

‘Actually, I do have an idea myself,’ he said, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets as he watched her. ‘But I’m not sure you’ll be game.’

She bristled, turning to him. ‘. . . Try me.’

The water was at its coldest, when the days were warming up but the sea still held winter rivers in its belly. She was used to wading up to her knees but she’d never in her life gone any deeper than that. Lord Sholto – or Just Sholto – though, wasn’t taking no for an answer.