Her face was suddenly radiant. ‘Oh, you must see them! It doesn’t just mean easier work for the men. The machine clips the whole length of the wool, the whole fleece intact, tripling its value.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Clancy noncommittally. ‘Don’t they break down a lot?’

She shook her head. ‘You’re thinking of the defective ones, sold about ten years ago — or rather some of the imported parts were defective. No, these are Australian made. You have no idea the difference it makes. If a man is going to get fifteen shillings for every hundred sheep, he’s going to work as fast as he can. And with blade shears, that means injuries for the sheep, often horrific ones. Even the best shearers need to do a second cut with hand shears, and that means more injuries as well. Now a careful man need never cut a sheep, and the only small cuts we get are on the neck wrinkles. It’s even possible to leave a little wool on the sheep if it’s a long cold spring.’

He smiled at her enthusiastic lecture. ‘Sounds like we need them at Overflow. What do you think, Benjamin?’

The boy grinned. Actually grinned, thought Clancy, his heart lightening. ‘Can I have a go?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Perhaps after lunch?’ suggested Miss Matilda. ‘Please say you will all stay for lunch! It’s so long since I’ve had company.’

‘But, Dad —’ began Benjamin.

‘After lunch,’ said Clancy sternly.

‘Yes, Dad.’ Benjamin cast a longing look at the shearing shed.

Clancy glanced up at Rose. She smiled at him. The boy did not realise, but Rose did, the significance of an invitation to dine. Any passing stockman might be invited to see the shearing machines. But only equals were invited to dine. Take that, Mr Hoffernan, Principal, he thought. Turning to Matilda, he said, ‘We’d be delighted to join you.’

Matilda led the way into the hall — wide and cool, with a long Persian runner and the scent of potpourri. He had not smelled potpourri since Rosemere. A small vase of everlastings sat on a narrow hall table. ‘You must excuse Mr Drinkwater,’ she added. ‘He lunches in his room and then has a sleep. He will be sorry to have missed you,’ she said carefully.

Which means that Miss Matilda knows very well old Drinkwater would not want to socialise with me, or Rose or Benjamin, thought Clancy, trying not to grin. The old man would not object to this extraordinary woman’s invitation, partly because she did, in truth, run the property now, as well as the house, but also because Matilda would almost certainly slip upstairs to suggest he have lunch on a tray so he need not be disturbed by visitors. He suspected Drinkwater and this girl understood each other extremely well.