Babcock still refused to acknowledge that Rose stood there. Nor did he seem put out that he was not invited to have a cup of tea, the most minor and essential hospitality of this land. Possibly, if it had been offered, he would have refused tea made by black hands, served in her parlour. ‘You inherit the total of your father’s estate, which consists of the property known as Overflow, its contents and the money in his Bank of New South Wales account.’

Clancy blinked. ‘What? Are you sure, man?’

Babcock coughed reprovingly. ‘I am quite sure. My father drew up the will himself, thirty years ago now. I have seen Mr Clancy several times on other matters recently, when he bought more property — as you may know, the price of land has dropped even more in the past few years — but Mr Clancy never mentioned changing his will. Possibly,’ said Babcock unemotionally, ‘he simply did not think to do it.’

Or had no other family to leave it to, thought Clancy. And Ezekiel, whatever his faults, had lived his life for his descendants. He looked around as Benjamin ran into the room. ‘Papa? Is there a visitor —?’ He stopped. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

‘Good afternoon,’ said Babcock distantly.

No, thought Clancy, they would not invite Babcock for a cup of tea, much less to stay the night. ‘Then as the new owner of Overflow, may I ask that you stay there for as many nights as necessary to make the place suitable for my family?’

‘Certainly,’ said Babcock.

And it was done.

Clancy waited politely till Babcock’s horse cantered back down the drive. He felt no guilt — the man would be back at Overflow by nightfall where, presumably, he had spent the previous night too. Ezekiel would have kept the place livable, at least.

‘Well?’ He turned to Rose. ‘Will you mind going back to Overflow?’

‘Are we rich, Papa?’ asked Benjamin excitedly.

‘Probably not,’ said Clancy, still looking at Rose. ‘But we might be, when the drought breaks, which your mama says it will one day. Rose, would you ever want to live at Overflow? There’s no need if you want to stay here.’

‘I love Overflow,’ she said quietly. ‘It was people who kept me prisoner, who killed my people, not the place.’ She added, ‘I’m not sure how your father’s workers will take me.’

‘They’ll know you and I will be coming by now,’ said Clancy grimly. ‘That fat solicitor will have told them before he told me. Any man or woman who objects will be gone before we get there. But there’s no shortage of blokes who need jobs.’

He didn’t know what he felt. Anger, mostly; grief, not for Ezekiel, but for the father he had never had. The mix of emotions almost overwhelmed him . . .

‘You have always been Clancy of the Overflow,’ said Rose softly.