Margaret was sorry for her. Margaret, who had no connections to the ‘Upper 600’, the ‘people like us’! Flora both hated the offer and was grateful for it, even if the ‘a week or two’ put a definite limit on the respite from Overflow, and even indicated that Margaret knew that Flora would be inclined to stay far longer than she and her child were obviously welcome.

She opened the last letter, the one with the unfamiliar handwriting.

‘Who is it from?’ enquired Clancy.

‘Mrs Tobias Glossop,’ said Flora, bemused. She vaguely remembered Mrs Glossop, dressed in purple satin with far too many feathers, and a giant ring made of a gold nugget on her pudgy finger. She might as well have held up a sign proclaiming, ‘See, I am rich.’ But she had been a valuable member of committees, offering the Glossop money in exchange for the company of women of better education and birth.

‘My dear Lady Flora,’ she read aloud. ‘We have so missed your company in Sydney this season! I heard that you had come back briefly, but did not join in society! Such has been the lack that I have been induced to take up my pen . . . and in a most terrible hand,’ Flora added in an aside, ‘to entreat you to join us again. My dear Tobias and I would be delighted to host you and your darling daughter at The Castle and to provide all the entertainment you might expect during however long you might grace us with your presence.

‘Tobias extends his respects to your husband, as do I. I remain, your most humble and affectionate servant, Mrs Tobias Glossop (Amelia).’

‘Do they really have a castle?’ asked Clancy, handing Clementine another slice of damper. Her daughter piled it with plum jam and took a large and unladylike bite, instead of breaking it politely into small pieces.

Flora felt a laugh beginning to bubble up. She had not laughed since . . . since she didn’t know when. ‘Oh, yes, it truly is a castle. It even has eight turrets. I have not seen it, of course. I never accepted an invitation there, but Mrs Glossop informed me of their number. She also has thirty-six chimneys, three drawing rooms, two hundred and eighty windows, a butler —’ She stopped, for she had heard in Sydney that the butler had been quickly replaced by her own from Rosemere after Ezekiel’s cursed flood, as had many of the staff, offered wages she was sure were probably double for the prestige of having been ‘Lady’ Flora’s servants.

‘Ridiculous woman,’ said Clancy. He placed Clementine’s feet on the floor — clad in new buttoned boots, ordered from Sydney, for even Ezekiel at least admitted that shoes could not be cut down, nor should his granddaughter go barefoot in the dust like the stockmen’s brats. ‘Come, Clementine,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if the hens have laid eggs.’

‘I can get the eggs by myself,’ said Clementine.