There was no way of course to tell what day the men would return. But all was ready. Jane had filled the biscuit and cake tins — biscuit tins were a new concept for Rose, but they seemed an excellent innovation — and had been given instructions to put a stuffed shoulder of lamb with all its accompanying vegetables into the oven at the first sign of horses, and to make fresh bread every morning (for Jane knew the secrets of keeping yeast too) to eat with the cheese made in what had been a prison, then a storeroom and whose thick stone walls now made an excellent dairy. Jane made jam from the plums in the orchard, as well as a plum sauce she said went fine with lamb eaten cold the next day.

The men rode up just on dusk. Luckily O’Hara had glimpsed them from the top ridge, where he’d gone to chase a young ram who’d managed to get out through a wombat hole under the fence. They were travelling slowly — Rose guessed they had pushed on rather than spend another night camping.

There was time to have the roast on, the kettle boiling and the tea table set out by the time the hooves plodded up to the house and the five men — Rose hoped there’d be work for those newcomers too — slid off their horses.

The men heaved their swags over to the workers’ quarters. McKenzie, Clancy and Tiger stepped across the veranda — scrubbed and repaired too — and into the parlour.

‘Dad!’ said Benjamin, toddling towards him.

Rose watched her husband’s expression.

A new blue velvet tasselled sofa with cushions; three matching armchairs; a not-quite Persian rug in blue and red; a footstool; a rocking chair — she had seen one years ago and fallen in love with the idea; and even a vase of flowers.

And Clancy smiled, a look of such happiness she felt a small sun warm her. And then she realised he had not even noticed the furniture, the newly painted walls, but looked only at her.

He did notice the tea tray though, when Mrs McKenzie brought it in: a new teapot and new china cups and saucers, not the enamelware they’d had at Dirty Butter, matching cake plates and tiny forks, sponge cake oozing cream and topped with strawberries and passionfruit, the plate of lemon shortbread, the neat cheese and pickle or tomato sandwiches, in triangles with their crusts cut off, just as the magazines had described.

He liked the dining room too, and especially what Jane had left on its table: the full roast dinner with gravy and baked pumpkin, potatoes, choko in cheese sauce, the treacle pudding with custard, and coffee made from Essence of Coffee for after dinner, again following the magazine’s advice, though no one wanted to drink it.

But the rest was good.

Clancy liked their new bed as well.