The play was the one thing Maggie had left of this debacle that had overtaken her almost the minute she’d stepped off the ship from England, and she brightened at the thought of it. Perhaps if she threw herself into the role of Kate, if she allowed it to consume her, she would forget Reeve McKenna. Why, by the time he came back from his sea voyage, she might have progressed to disdaining him. She might even be the toast of Sydney, with men twice as handsome and twice as rich seeking her hand.

She sagged. It didn’t really matter how handsome or well-to-do those other men might be: None of them would be Reeve. “When will we start work, Philip?” she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

“Tomorrow,” Philip answered, rising from his crouching position to his full height. “I’ll send a carriage ’round for you at half past nine, so be ready.”

“I will,” Maggie promised, entangling her feet in her skirts and nearly falling when she tried to stand. If Philip hadn’t been quick to catch her arm, she would have tumbled into the grass.

Surprisingly, Philip bent his head to give Maggie a soft, tentative kiss. “Be very careful, little one,” he warned. “There are sharks in the waters you’re sailing, and they have big teeth.”

With that cryptic remark Philip turned and walked away, taking the stone walkway that led around the side of the house. Maggie closed her book and sighed. She hated it when people made ambiguous statements like that and then just walked away.

She started back toward the house, only to have the idea of visiting Tansy dawn upon her. Tucking her book into the pocket of her dress, Maggie decided to try to find her friend. She would telephone Lady Cosgrove for the address.

In the kitchen she found Cora sitting with a cup of tea, her shoes off, her face pallid.

Pleased to see her new friend, Maggie smiled. “Hello, Cora.”

Cora gave a cordial nod and smiled wearily. “I may be too old to look after a four-year-old,” she confided out of the blue. “Maybe I should have stayed in Chicago.”

Still set on finding and using a telephone, Maggie was somewhat inattentive. “Have you been in Australia long?”

“Only a few months,” Cora replied, taking a delicate sip of her tea. Her expression was serious again. “Meant to marry Henry Carver, a missionary. But he passed on, poor dear, while I was still at sea.”

Maggie’s mind had stopped its wandering. “Oh, Cora, that’s terrible—I’m so sorry. Do you ever think of going back?”

“Hardly anything but that,” Cora confided. “If I can keep this job for six more months or so, I’ll have my passage saved.”