Flora glanced at the girl again, still impassive, still staring down. Of course this was best for her. ‘I will get you some food,’ she said gently, miming putting food into her mouth, rubbing her stomach.

The girl ignored her, but her hands stilled momentarily, so Flora knew that she heard.

She stepped out to the kitchen shack, its walls of small branches bound together by mud . . . mud! . . . and attached to the main house by a breezeway in case it caught fire, as kitchens often did.

Incredible to live in a house that had no bell system to call servants. Even more extraordinary that almost certainly no servant would even know to come when a bell jangled. ‘Bring some food for Rose, please, Mrs Logan.’

‘Rose, Mrs Clancy?’ asked Mrs Logan. At least she spoke respectfully, unlike Mrs Taylor, who did not even bother to use her mistress’s name when she addressed her.

‘The native girl. I am going to instruct her. Civilise her.’ Flora smiled. ‘Who knows? She may even make a lady’s maid, or a children’s nurse. I have seen natives who have made excellent servants or gardeners. I think some sandwiches from whatever meat we have in the meat safe. A piece of the currant pudding Miss Clancy made for last night too, if there is some left.’

Mrs Logan’s expression showed clearly what she felt about wasting food on a native wild cat or, possibly, instructing a native girl when her own son had no book learning. But she just said, ‘Yes, Mrs Clancy.’

Flora walked back and sat on the bed, speaking to the girl in a calm, even voice. ‘My name is Mrs Clancy. Can you say that, Rose? Or you could call me mistress.’ She pointed to herself. ‘Mistress.’

The girl stayed silent.

Flora pointed to the girl. ‘Rose. That’s your name now. I’m sure you can say it, if you try.’

It was as if she spoke to the trees.

‘Here are the sandwiches, Mrs Clancy. I brought a cup of water too,’ said Mrs Logan, eyeing the child.

‘That was thoughtful of you. Thank you, Mrs Logan. Here, Rose. This is food and this is water.’

The girl suddenly reached up, held back by the rope. Flora held the plate and cup out of her reach. ‘Say “mistress”.’

The girl muttered something, in a language that was not English, and certainly not the word ‘mistress’.

‘Thank you, mistress,’ said Flora clearly, offering the sandwiches and water again.

The girl eyed the food and especially the water. At last she said, surprisingly clearly, ‘Mistress.’

‘Good girl! I knew you could do it! Now say, “Please, mistress.”’

‘Mistress,’ said the girl, her enunciation perfect.