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acknowledge my heritage and start to learn how to run a great house and Pa liking more adventurous dishes. I could no more boil an egg than jump in the air and fly, but I knew to a nicety what should be served with what. My time spent consuming the excellent, though slightly old-fashioned, cooking of Mrs Deighton had also sharpened my sense of what constituted good hospitality. What is more, I knew about game and its hanging requirements. Vicars are often brought such charitable fare and we had a special shed for such offerings at my old home. Little Joe had loved it.
    ‘That’s good, Euphemia. You have a knack for this.’ He cocked his head on one side and subjected me to intense scrutiny. I smiled back in what I hoped was a frank and open manner. ‘You’ve got some secrets, lass. I can see that. I’ve no mind to pry but I warn you, if your past impinges on your position, then I will set my mind to discover them. I’m very good at looking into people’s hearts and minds. You could say it was a hobby of mine.’ It was said with a slight smile, but those ridiculously luminous eyes had something about them that sent shivers down my spine. I had no reason to doubt Rory McLeod, but instinctively I knew he would be a dangerous man to cross. It seemed a good point to bring our discussion to an end.
    ‘I will check on Susan,’ I said. ‘She should have finished the hall by now and I …’
    Rory gave me a direct look. The sunlight broke through the clouds and streamed in through the window. The strange, light colour of his eyes had never looked more intense. ‘You do not report to me, Euphemia. We’re co-workers.’
    ‘Of course,’ I muttered and quickly made my exit. The hall floor was composed of red slate tiles. Presumably because the weather is so inclement in Scotland this was a practical choice. I must confess it reminded me of the inside of a butcher’s shop. Susan had made it shine, but not so the grand wooden stair. There was no evidence of the girl and I caught myself tutting my tongue off the back of my teeth, much as Mrs Wilson used to do when Daisy forgot to dust the tops of the hall furniture. It was both unladylike and disconcerting to discover I was prey to such mannerisms. This is the only excuse I can offer for not immediately seeing what was wrong.
    ‘Euphemia!’ Mr Bertram hailed me from above. He was leaning over the top of the landing banister and wearing a most unbecoming and uncomfortable-looking green tweed suit. He looked like a man trying to be one with the Scottish countryside and failing. He was as out-of-place as a pair of spats in a coalmine. A slight smile curled my lips and I cast my eyes down quickly so he did not see it. ‘How’s it going? This place is far larger than I had expected. I hope you have the help you need. I was going to suggest …’ He broke off and I looked up again to see him brushing off his sleeve. ‘Good grief, there is something sticky all over this banister. It really will not do, Euphemia. If the locals are giving you trouble, you’d better get Rory to speak to them, or better yet …’
    He was continuing with his thoughts on the laziness of the indigenous population when I realised what had happened.
    ‘Bertram,’ I shouted. ‘Don’t come down the stairs. It isn’t safe!’
    My use of his first name without suffix arrested his attention. ‘What the devil do you mean …?’
    It gave me the time I needed to run over to the bottom step. Sunlight spilled through the long-paned window behind us clearly showing that several of the higher steps were dull. I ran up the first few shiny stairs and traced a finger along the first dull tread. ‘Beeswax,’ I said. ‘It’s not been polished off properly.’
    ‘Good gad!’ ejected Bertram. ‘I could have fallen and broken my bally neck. Where is the wretched domestic?’
    As if conjured from thin air, Susan appeared at the foot of the stairs. She curtsied awkwardly to Mr Bertram. ‘I was behind