She let Clancy and O’Hara bathe him or, rather, leave him to soak in cold water while Clancy spooned sugar water into him. The man was still unconscious when they lifted him onto the bed, naked, at her instructions, for he must be kept cool. She knew this meant all of him, including the parts that should, in decency, be covered. Decency was not possible if this man was to live.

She spent that night sponging him — all of him — fetching water herself at two am from the well the men had dug when the river stopped flowing and the pools began to stink. Now and then she spooned in sugar water too. She dozed for a few hours while the cool breeze did the work for her; woke when the man began to mutter, sponged again.

She left Mrs Taylor to make breakfast, with orders to make beef tea when the plates were cleared.

‘And what’s beef tea when it’s at home, miss?’ demanded Mrs Taylor.

Maria hesitated. She dared not suggest they kill the cow — Clementine would need its milk, and Ezekiel would protest the cost. Surely, despite the receipt, kangaroo meat would be as good. ‘Boil a kangaroo tail,’ she said. ‘With just a little salt. Skim off any scum and after four hours strain it through two layers of muslin.’

‘Ain’t got no muslin in the kitchen.’

Not the cheesecloth — it was too precious to kitchen economy and Ezekiel might not allow her to buy more. ‘Through a tea towel or a sheet,’ Maria said wearily. ‘Whatever is clean. Put the cloth on the stove to simmer afterwards to clean it and bring the tea to me. I would like some bread and dripping too,’ she added, for Mrs Taylor had not thought to bring food into her.

She went back to sponging, fanning him now as the day’s heat grew, spooning in the not-beef tea. Suddenly his eyes opened. She flinched, for she was not wearing her veil. But his eyes seemed unable to focus. She reached for her veil, hesitated, left it off, then spooned in more tea.

His eyes stayed vacant, but he swallowed easily when she spooned in the cool liquid till his eyes drifted closed again and his changed breathing told her he was asleep or, if unconscious, at least not as close to death as before. She kept on sponging till she fell into a doze, waking only when Mrs Taylor, looking put upon, brought her in roast mutton flap — a ewe must have died, for them to be eating mutton again — watery mashed pumpkin and even more watery cabbage, a cup of tea, and another cup of the not-beef tea. Maria covered the man with a sheet until the stockman’s wife had left.