The Last Summer, page 32
She opened her eyes, grateful to be back in her narrow room. It was meagre compared to the opulence of the family’s bedrooms but it was comforting to her. She liked its simplicity and cosiness.
She frowned. She sensed there was something . . . different about it. There was nothing visibly wrong or broken, no new odour she could detect but like a stare had weight, so she somehow had a feeling of the air having been disturbed. A silent turbulence in her absence.
Her gaze grazed the room – the bed was made, her coat hanging on the hook, her towel folded on the rail by the window. The pretty rug was . . . it was slightly askew, with a slight ruck, as though someone had been standing there and caught it with their foot. Her, most likely. Caught in a hurry. Rushing out.
But her instincts told her not.
She walked slowly to the bed. Her heart was already pounding. She dropped to her knees and lifted out the suitcase, but she already knew what she would find.
The pad of a bare foot.
The creak of a floorboard.
The rustle of a sheet.
A breath in the dark.
She had been right last night. It hadn’t been a bad dream. There had been a man, looking for something in her room. But not just that one—
She opened the case and looked inside. Her heart dropped like a dead bird.
He’d come to this one too.
Twenty minutes later, she was bathed, dressed and back in the servants’ hall. A quiet broke out as she walked slowly through, dressed in her Sunday best navy wool skirt and blouse.
‘Well, it’s not quite on last night’s level,’ Mrs McKenzie said. ‘But to what great occasion do we owe thanks for putting you in a skirt? Even if it is the skirt that’s being held up by a . . . bent nail?’ She tutted at the sight. ‘For heaven’s sake.’
Billy spluttered with laughter. Jenny and Fanny giggled. Even Barra was smiling.
‘We had nothing else back home, Mrs McKenzie,’ Effie said simply, walking over to her chair. She felt spectral. Completely empty.
‘I’m sure not, but you’re not at home anymore, Miss Gillies. Bring it to me later and I’ll sew another button on for you. That thing is a liability. You could be injured by it. What if you were to get tetanus?’
‘Death by skirt,’ Billy grinned. ‘There’s a new one.’
She didn’t have it in her to smile at his quip and she took her seat in silence as a plate of steaming porridge was set before her by one of the kitchen maids. She stared at it, knowing there was no way she could eat.
‘So, Miss Gillies?’ Mr Graves prompted, reminding her of Mrs McKenzie’s original question. ‘The great occasion?’
She looked at him dully. It was hard to think straight. Could he see her hands were shaking? ‘. . . Oh. My father’s arriving today, from Lochaline. I’m to collect him from the station.’
‘Ah. Well, that will be nice for you, to be reunited with him and have some family near.’
But for how long? How could they stay now? What she had just discovered had shaken her to her core. She felt paranoid, and defeated.
She forced herself to respond, to somehow move through the motions. ‘Aye. I’m going to go down to the cottage after this, to clean it before our furniture arrives.’ Her voice was as colourless as her cheeks. Where was he, her intruder? Would he confront her in here? Shame her before everyone? He had all the proof he needed.
‘Does that mean you’ll be moving out of your room upstairs?’ Mrs McKenzie asked.
Effie nodded. It would take all of three minutes for her to pack her possessions. What remained of them.
‘Shame,’ Fanny murmured, looking sad. Effie couldn’t meet her eyes.
‘Well, that’s very well timed,’ Mr Graves said. ‘Mr Felton came up last night to say the cottage was ready.’
There was a pause and Effie realized she was staring at him. Staring but not seeing. She couldn’t seem to rein in her mind; it wandered like an aimless child.
‘Are you quite all right, Miss Gillies?’ the butler asked her. ‘You’re very pale. Are you still troubled by last night’s news?’
She looked away quickly, terrified she could be read like an open book. ‘I’m fine, thank you. Just . . . shocked.’ Effie raised the spoon to her mouth and willed herself to take a bite. She had to be as normal as she could, until she worked out her next move. ‘. . . Mr Graves, when his lordship first approached me about coming to work here, he said he would arrange for his driver to collect my father from the station. His bones are bad and he can’t walk far. Do you think—?’
‘Of course. I’ll see to it that Fraser is notified. On which train is your father arriving?’
‘The four o’clock.’
‘Very well. Be at the garage half an hour before and he’ll take you to collect him. I know his lordship’s not got any plans to leave the estate today.’
‘Thank you.’ She took another bite of her breakfast. The sweet honey flooded her tastebuds and she closed her eyes reflexively, grateful that this at least broke past the dullness that had settled upon her in the bedroom, a scattered mind in a stunned body.
‘So,’ Billy said with a leading tone. ‘Last night.’
‘I can’t believe you ended up sleeping in one of the bedrooms!’ Jenny said, looking delighted they had finally got round to the topic of interest. ‘What was it like? The beds are so soft, it must be like sleeping in a cloud.’
‘It was . . . nice,’ Effie stammered. Every word was an effort. ‘And so kind, but I’d have been better in m’ own room.’ She should have been in her own room. If she had, then—
‘You were very pale,’ Mr Graves murmured, still watching her closely. ‘The countess wanted to call the doctor. It was Lord Sholto who convinced her you’d just had a shock but I must say you still don’t look quite right.’
‘I’m fine.’
He sighed, not pushing it. ‘Such a shame. You acquitted yourself well, all things considered,’ the butler said. ‘You were doing a fine job of engaging her ladyship. I thought she was rather taken with you.’
‘You did?’ Her voice was flat and toneless.
‘Unlike Her Royal Brightness,’ Henry put in with a dark smile. ‘She looked like she might throttle you.’
‘Henry!’ Mrs McKenzie scolded.
‘It’s true, Mrs McKenzie,’ he shrugged. ‘She was in a frenzy of jealousy because Lord Sholto couldn’t take his eyes off her.’
Fanny gave a gasp, her cheeks pinking with delight on Effie’s behalf.
‘Only because he’d never seen me like that before,’ Effie said quickly. Every time she’d looked over, he’d been staring at the floor.
‘Or because he’d never seen you in that way before – as a woman,’ Henry countered. ‘I was there. I saw it all. So did Mr Graves, didn’t you?’
‘I saw no such thing,’ the butler contradicted. ‘Everyone was quite appropriate in their behaviour. His lordship would never dream of . . . crossing the line.’
Effie said nothing. Gossip, tittle-tattle, innuendo . . . If they only knew the story she was sitting on.
‘Stop teasing, Henry,’ the housekeeper said. ‘It was a shame for the evening to end the way it did, on such tragic news. Did you know the man well, Miss Gillies?’
Effie didn’t reply immediately. He had been monstrous in life. Was she to speak well of him in death? ‘Well, I didn’t know him that well,’ she said edgily. ‘I was only wee when he became factor and first started coming over.’
‘Oh? How . . . wee?’
‘Eleven? Twelve? He spent most of his time with my Uncle Hamish and Ian McKinnon, the postmaster. And the minister too of course, although I don’t think he was a religious man.’ Her words seemed tied together, quiet and indistinct, running into one another.
‘Still, you must have been happy to see him on his visits over. His lordship said the factor was your principal contact with the wider world?’
Happy to see him? He’d been the very last person she wanted to see. ‘He only came over twice a year, so like I said, I really didn’t know him that well. But he’d arrive in the late spring, just as soon as the water calmed, and he’d bring us provisions, so we were pleased for that. Then he’d come again for a week at the end of August to collect our rents before we were cut off again.’
‘So you had no contact at all through the winter months?’ Barra asked, looking pitying.
‘Occasionally we’d get whaling ships or trawlers stopping in the bay if there was a storm, but for anything smaller, from September to May, the sea was too rough.’
‘How did you pay rents?’ William asked. ‘With what?’
‘Feathers, fulmar oil, tweed, knitted socks and sheep’s wool.’
‘It all sounds so primitive,’ Billy muttered.
‘I think it sounds romantic,’ Fanny sighed.
‘Romantic?’ Billy laughed. ‘Where’s the romance in poverty? I’d like to see how long you’d feel romantic with an empty stomach and skirts held up with bent nails.’
Fanny gasped, shocked by his rudeness, but Effie was beyond affrontery. ‘I never felt poor till I came here,’ she said simply. ‘You can’t long for what you don’t know. Sometimes I think it might be better to live in ignorance and just be happy with your lot.’
‘So you think ignorance is bliss?’ Henry asked.
‘Aye, maybe.’
He shook his head firmly. ‘No. We’re not made that way. I think it’s human nature to want more than we’ve got.’
‘You certainly do,’ Barra groaned, rolling her eyes.
‘Not just me! Even if a man’s got every single thing he could possibly desire, he always wants more – he’ll always take a bite of the forbidden apple.’ He met Effie’s eyes with a secretive, knowing look. ‘I’d put money on it.’
She was heading for the garage later that afternoon when she saw the gamekeeper emerging from the woods, a pack of dogs bustling and running around his legs.
‘Miss Gillies!’ he called, raising his arm in the air to catch her attention.
She stopped where she was and waited as he altered course to come over. Only as he drew nearer did she see that the dogs were in fact juveniles, barely out of puppyhood.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she whispered, immediately crouching and holding her arms out as they swarmed, almost knocking her over. They had long silken black coats, with chestnut brown socks, chests and facial markings. She smiled – and it felt like cracking a nut. One dog in particular nuzzled into the crook of her elbow, its muzzle down and head pressed to her arm affectionately. ‘And what’s your name?’ she wondered as she stroked its velvety head.
‘That one’s Slipper,’ Mr Felton said, coming to stand near.
She looked up at him. ‘Slipper?’
‘Aye. Because she’s always under m’ feet.’
Effie smiled again. This time it didn’t feel quite so alien. ‘I like it. It suits her. How old are they?’
‘Seven months now. They’re getting leggy . . . and very boisterous.’
‘Ah but they’re beautiful. How many have you got?’
‘Nine. This one here’s the mother, Storm.’ He pointed to the dog with the greying muzzle. ‘I’ve had her since she was born. And her mother before her. They’re from good stock.’
‘What breed are they? I’ve never seen the like before.’
‘Gordon setters. Intelligent, biddable, soft mouths. Excellent gundogs. They’ve an instinct for the birds. His lordship wouldn’t have any other kind.’
He’d have had Poppit, she thought, if he’d known how clever she was, how attuned to the wildlife and birdlife around them, how loving and responsive and kind and brave . . . The sadness surged in her again. How much had she lost? And for what exactly? She had gained nothing by being here . . .
Slipper was still nuzzling her, the other dogs losing interest as they picked up on other smells. ‘Can I pick her up?’
‘If you wish.’
She lifted the dog, feeling something inside her ease as she felt the soft warm weight of the animal in her arms. The last time she had felt it, everything had been falling apart. Her world disintegrating around her . . . It was still disintegrating even now. She closed her eyes, holding the puppy closer to her cheek.
‘Y’ like dogs then.’
‘We always had them back home,’ she said quietly, angling her head as Slipper burrowed into the crook of her neck, tickling her with a cold, wet nose. ‘They weren’t pets, working dogs only, but ours I had to rear by hand after her mother rejected her so we had a special bond.’
‘Aye, that can happen.’ He watched her as she cuddled the animal.
‘Where are you taking them?’
‘On a walk. They need to stretch their legs and I’ve some pen mending to do so they can keep me company. You can too if you wish.’
‘Thank you, but I’m just on my way to the station to collect my father,’ she demurred. ‘He’s travelling down from Lochaline today and I can’t be late. He’s no English.’
‘It sounds like I finished the bothy just in time then—’ She saw the gamekeeper’s eyes lift off her and onto something behind. ‘Good day, sir.’
‘Felton.’
She turned to see Sholto approaching. He was wearing a suit and looking grim-faced. ‘Miss Gillies.’
She swallowed at his coldness. Last night in the parlour there had been glimmers of his old kindness, but it seemed that with the rising of the sun . . .
‘They’re coming along well,’ Sholto said as the dogs clamoured around his ankles now, seeing how she was holding onto Slipper.
‘Aye, sir. They’re growing fast now,’ Felton replied. ‘They’re a good pack. Clever animals. I’m pleased with them.’
Slipper wriggled in her arms, beginning to sniff her hair and Effie gave a low, unexpected giggle as she was tickled. ‘You monkey,’ she whispered, planting a kiss on the dog’s head.
Both men watched as though she’d done something unusual.
‘Well,’ Sholto’s smile was tight, tension around the edges of his eyes. It was clear he didn’t see dogs as pets. ‘I won’t keep you.’
He walked off, Felton giving a single short whistle that brought the dogs immediately to his side.
The two of them watched him go for a moment.
‘I understand you dined with the family last night,’ Mr Felton said, looking back at her.
Effie kept her gaze on Sholto’s back. So upright. So correct. So determined to avoid any one-on-one interaction with her. ‘Aye. The countess wanted to hear about my home,’ she said quietly. ‘Apparently they’re thinking about . . . buying the isles.’
His face was impassive but she knew his inward reaction probably mirrored hers. Who bought islands?
‘I saw you on your way up last night. I didn’t recognize you at first,’ he said.
‘I didn’t recognize myself either.’
‘You certainly looked the part.’
‘Well, maybe for a moment, but that was all,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m nothing like them.’
‘Not many of us are, Miss Gillies.’ He was watching her closely.
She sighed, giving Slipper another kiss on her head and reluctantly setting her down. ‘I should get on, I mustn’t keep the driver waiting. But thank you for everything you did on the cottage. I’ve been down there all morning as they delivered our furniture and it looks wonderful.’
‘Then I’m pleased you’re pleased, Miss Gillies.’ He nodded his head. ‘Good day to you.’
Effie headed towards the garage, as instructed by Billy earlier, but she turned back several times to watch the dogs running ahead of Felton, noticing his easy lope through the grounds as he went about his day. His world seemed simple. Safe.
The doors to the garage were arched and double-height, painted in the same brick-red as was found on the kitchen plates and servants’ blankets and her new cottage door. The estate colours. She stepped through.
‘Hello?’ She turned – to find Sholto in conversation with the chauffeur. They were standing beside a glossy back car that had no roof. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.’
Sholto looked back at her as though she was deliberately testing him. ‘Fraser tells me he’s scheduled to take you to the station to collect your father,’ he said irritably.
‘Aye, sir. He’s on the four o clock train.’ She looked across at the driver, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Is there . . . a problem?’
‘I need to go to the station too, to collect a parcel. On the four o’clock.’
‘Well, can we collect it for you?’
‘No. No, I ought to take personal possession of it,’ he said quickly.
Was it the book, she wondered? Had it been repaired? Did he not trust her to take good care of it?
‘There’s room for three of us, although it’ll be a squeeze, but if we’re taking your father back too, there won’t be room for four.’
‘Oh . . .’ She felt she ought to bow out, that that was what he was asking from her – but how could she let her father arrive in a foreign place, where he spoke none of the language, and she not be there? Sholto didn’t speak Gaelic either, so there was no consolation there.
She stayed quiet.
‘I’m afraid there’s only one thing for it, then. I’ll have to drive.’ Sholto looked back at the driver. ‘I’m sorry, Fraser. I don’t mean to deprive you of your duties.’
‘Can’t be helped, sir,’ the chauffeur said. ‘She’s all ready for you.’ He handed over the keys.
Sholto took them and looked back at Effie coldly. It made her stomach pitch and swoop, her blood still in her veins. ‘. . . Shall we, then?’
The driver opened the door for her and she climbed in. The car was unlike the one she had travelled in at Lochaline in that there was only one bench seat, not a front and a back. She sat down as Sholto climbed in on the driver’s side. He started up the engine, the sound of it amplified in the garage like a thunderclap in a bottle, and they pulled away, leaving the chauffeur staring after them.
