Margaret, [Mr. Kirk had written] I’ve taken the boys with me to Lightning Ridge, as Mrs. Lavendar will have told you by now. Since the mines will one day come to them, I feel they should be exposed to the workings of the place at every opportunity. Your first week’s pay is included herewith, and I hope that you have had a happy day shopping. I am looking forward to having a hostess under my roof again, as well as a governess. Regards, D. Kirk.

After pushing back the parcels, Maggie sat down on the edge of her bed, her lower lip caught between her teeth. A hostess? Mr. Kirk hadn’t mentioned that duty when she’d accepted this post, but it did explain why he had wanted her to buy such elegant clothes.

Now Maggie felt vaguely ashamed of herself for thinking there had been anything untoward in Mr. Kirk’s generous request that she outfit herself with grand gowns and dancing slippers, and she was very glad that she would have an opportunity to carry out his wishes before he returned to Sydney.

The one question that bothered her as she put five of her new dresses away in the armoire and changed into the sixth, a soft blue gown with puffy sleeves and a ruffled hem, was not one that could be easily put aside, however. What did she, Maggie Chamberlin, daughter of circus performers and late of London’s second-rate theater circuit, know about serving as a rich man’s hostess? What did a hostess do, for that matter, beyond shaking the hands of arriving guests, smiling a lot, and making sure that the servants didn’t spill soup in anyone’s lap?

Gathering up the empty dress boxes and their wrappings, Maggie pondered these questions as she walked down the hall to the rear stairs and descended into the kitchen.

“Excuse me, but where might I dispose of these things?” she asked of Mrs. Lavendar, who was working at the stove.

“Fireplace,” the housekeeper replied succinctly, giving Maggie’s dress a quick assessment before pursing her lips and turning back to salting and stirring and lifting pot lids to peer inside at the bubbling contents of each pan. “You’ve company, Miss Margaret—that woman who was with you the day you came here. I told her to wait in the back garden.”

Tansy! Maggie flung the wrappings into the cold cavern of the kitchen fireplace and dashed out through the rear door, eager to see her friend.

Tansy was pacing along a flower-lined walk, her face red at being asked to wait outside like a beggar looking for a handout, but her blue eyes shone when she caught sight of Maggie in her new dress.