She froze in horror at the scene of absolute devastation. There wasn’t a stick of furniture unbroken, not a brass railing that hadn’t been torn from its moorings around the dark polished oak bar, or a bottle left whole. The bar itself had been deeply scored, and in places it looked as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. But it was the ruined mirror that made her want to cry, for it had been in her family for four generations and had hung behind the bar for almost a hundred years. Now it was in a thousand pieces, the beautiful ormolu frame reduced to a splintered wreck.

Sal couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. She turned away from the wreckage and, still carrying the dog over the glass, headed for the stairs.

The Dog and Drover had eight bedrooms, which opened on to the broad first-floor veranda that overlooked the street. They did good trade during round-up time, or when drovers and shearers needed a bed for the night after a heavy drinking session. These rooms were still as she’d left them, but when she entered the room she shared with Bert, her gaze flew to the ransacked drawers, the open, empty safe and the jewellery box that lay on the bed.

She set the dog and satchel down and reached for the little velvet box where she’d kept the few precious bits and pieces her grandmother had left her. Everything was gone but for a cheap necklace of coloured glass. It was only then that she noticed the mangled photographs that lay scattered on the floor. Bert had taken the silver frames as well.

She sat there, cradling the jewellery box, deep in thought as the dog sniffed around the room and explored the almost empty wardrobe. Bert had been handsome and charming when she’d met him, and she’d gone against all her parents’ warnings and married him anyway. She’d soon come to regret that terrible mistake, and was no stranger to Bert’s ugly temper and mean ways, but until today she hadn’t realised how much he must have hated her. Hated the pub too – because it had never been his.

Her parents had never approved of Bert, and they were determined to protect her as best they could by signing the pub over to her when they retired. The deeds had been lodged with a Sydney lawyer under the strict instruction that only Sal could redeem them – it had been vital that Bert didn’t get his hands on her legacy. And although he’d knocked her about and tried to make her turn it over to him, she’d stood firm and continued to defy him. It was her only defiance. He’d forced her to give in to everything else.