A grand lady swept into the shed at that moment, dressed in a finely made gown of the most disturbing pea-green color Maggie had ever seen. The skirt was smocked between silken stripes of a vile olive shade, and the train was flounced and trimmed in ribbon. A tiny hat with one limp yellow feather dangling to the side capped a head of snow-white hair, carefully coiffed. Kind blue eyes looked out of an eager, generously powered face.

“Good morning, girls,” the matron said in an operatic voice touching upon every note in the scale. “My name is Lady Cosgrove and I’ve come to take you to the Girls’ Friendly Society. You shall have baths and hearty breakfasts and then we’ll see to your placement.”

Maggie started to step forward, to explain that she had an appointment at Number 15 George Street this morning, but she stopped herself. A bath and breakfast sounded very good and besides, if she left too hastily, Lady Cosgrove might decide that she was of an ilk with those women who had sneaked away during the night. That would never do, and anyway, she certainly didn’t want to present herself at Mr. McKenna’s theater in this state of untidiness.

Without a word she joined Tansy in one of the wagons.

The day was sunny and hot, but Maggie paid little attention to the weather: She was too enthralled with Sydney itself. Far from the outpost of thatched roofs and barefoot natives she had expected, it was a cosmopolitan city with trolley cars, macadamized streets, telephone wires, and towering business buildings. Indeed, it was as modern as New York or London but infinitely cleaner and much more spacious. The waters of the harbor were of a startling aqua color, reminiscent of Mr. Reeve McKenna’s eyes.

“Pretty place, ain’t it?” Tansy asked, giving Maggie a knowing nudge in the ribs. “The Queen’s Jubilee is this year, you know, in June, and there’ll be parties and races and illuminations too.”

Eventually, the three wagons came to a lumbering stop in front of somber brick house of English-estate proportions. One of the drivers opened the high wrought-iron gates that separated the house and its beautifully kept lawn from the sidewalk, while another proceeded to help the passengers down from their straw-filled wagons just as though they were ladies of the court.

Lady Cosgrove, of course, had arrived first, not in a wagon but in a costly black curricle, and she greeted each emigrant with a warm handshake and a smile as they passed through the gate.

Tansy entered just before Maggie did, giving a little curtsy and muttering, “Your ladyship.”

Maggie’s knee would not bend; she’d never curtsied in her life, except at the end of a performance, of course. “Pleased to meet you,” she said somewhat woodenly, and made to move on up the walk.