‘We do very well here for company. Every ship it seems brings a visitor from the Royal Society, and many visitors bring their own tents and mosquito nets. One even had a chandelier and dining table to furnish it! Our last visitor, Dr Maconachie, was most interested in the platypus. He obtained several fine specimens from the river here, which his assistant Albert most ably preserved. Dr Maconachie even located a nest of the creatures and hopes to be able to take one of the eggs back unbroken to England. The others he opened and preserved the contents too — but I am sure you have no interest in such doings!

‘I greatly enjoyed the company of Dr Maconachie and Albert, as did my dear Ethelred, but I do miss my family. It would make me happy indeed if you could visit me. I long to see Clementine again and to enjoy conversations with you, Flora, for the one company I am not furnished with is another woman’s, beyond that of Mrs Trotter our housekeeper and the maids, none of whom sadly can even read — and none of whom even wish to learn! They seemed truly surprised when I suggested it.

‘I understand that Clancy might not be spared, with so much work thrust on the property in this seemingly endless drought, but if you, Flora, might bring Clementine for a visit, it would be a true delight.

‘I remain always your loving sister and sister-in-law, Maria.’

Flora looked over at Clancy, still jigging Clementine, but less vigorously now. ‘You should go,’ he said quietly. ‘The . . . holiday . . . would do you good.’

A holiday. One with Maria’s company and, from her account, enough servants and a comfortable establishment and, what was as important, an example of proper behaviour for Clementine. Ethelred had obviously educated Maria too, for she spoke of their ‘drawing room’, not a parlour. Ethelred’s birth might be . . . unfortunate . . . but he seemed to have been brought up as a true gentleman, despite the eccentricity of his marriage. Flora would have baths again — true baths, with gardenia-scented soap. Mrs Taylor had just laughed at her request she bring in tubs of water, so she was reduced to washing in what she could carry in a bucket from the barrel outside the kitchen, unheated, full of wrigglers that Clancy assured her would grow merely into mosquitoes, not the maggots that ate the sheep. As if that made the water more wholesome . . .

Flora glanced at the second letter. It was merely a note, unsealed, from Margaret. But it also entreated her to visit for a week or two here at Drinkwater, or more, so we could once more resume our conversations, and Clementine might play with James.

She doubted that Clementine would play with the younger child without prompting from his nanny. But Drinkwater had baths and meals and comfort and, most of all, an absence of gross insult from her father-in-law.