His eyes opened, all signs of tiredness vanished. He stared, not in shock but in delight. He struggled up onto one elbow and grabbed her hand. His still felt too warm, but much of the swelling had gone down. ‘I must shake your hand then, madam.’ He took two fingers and kissed them. ‘My reason for choosing New South Wales over Victoria or Western Australia — the flora there, thought toxic, seems fascinating indeed — was to meet M. Clancy. And here you are!’ He laughed. ‘And I asked if you knew who Banks was. My name is Ethelred Fitzharris.’

She had read articles by E. Fitzharris — she could understand why he too preferred to use only his initial — if, indeed, this was the Fitzharris who had written that fascinating monograph on bougainvillea, and another describing the desert flowers of the Kalahari after rain.

Despite his enthusiasm, his voice had trailed off. ‘I should leave you to sleep, Mr Fitzharris,’ she said quietly.

He grinned. It was a good grin, with a bit of urchin in it. ‘I suspect you need sleep more than me, Miss Clancy. I’ve wasted far too long these last days in sleep. I cannot tell you the delight it is to meet you. You and M. Clancy both in one person! Do you have other discoveries you have not yet shared with the society?’

She had a year’s worth, waiting for Clancy to surreptitiously post them for her in Sydney. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Call me Ethelred.’

‘I . . . I am not sure . . .’

‘Lilies,’ he said, almost asleep now. ‘You mentioned a fringed lily, Miss Clancy, but gave no specimen . . .’

‘No, it has not bloomed again. But I made a sketch . . .’

He was asleep.

She stayed awake to make breakfast, and to report to her father and brother what the stranger had said.

Ezekiel snorted. ‘Gammon. Ethelred Fitzharris? An earl’s son and a famous actress? An allowance? Never heard the like. The man is a drifter, a sponger, hoping for hospitality from each house with his tale.’

‘At least it’s an entertaining one,’ said Clancy, attacking mutton chops and fried potatoes. ‘Plant collecting? Seems unlikely. I’ll send Taylor over to Drinkwater to see what they know of him there. Meanwhile, we have no choice but to continue to care for him. He is in no state for a journey back to Drinkwater or Gibber’s Creek.’

‘Or to do a job of work,’ said Ezekiel sourly. He wiped the gravy from his plate with a hunk of bread.