Mrs. Lavendar was there, packing the clothes Maggie had bought at Mr. Kirk’s request into an enormous leather trunk with the smell of newness still about it.

“Hello,” she said somewhat breathlessly to the broad bombazine-covered back.

Mrs. Lavendar stiffened. “So that Irishman is done with you, is he?” she asked.

Maggie was as stunned as if the woman had slapped her. “I beg your pardon,” she said, staring.

The housekeeper turned, her eyes keen, seeing through Maggie’s flesh to her spirit. “You’ve made a terrible mistake, lass,” she warned, and Maggie couldn’t tell whether the words were meant to be friendly or sinister. “A terrible mistake.”

Maggie let go of her reticule and it made a thumping sound as it struck the floor. “What on earth do you mean?” she asked, meaning to brazen it out and pretend that Mrs. Lavendar’s insinuation was unfounded.

Mrs. Lavendar turned back to her packing. “I’ll not be explaining to you, miss. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

Maggie remembered some of the things Reeve had said about her employer and it struck her that the malice he’d expressed might be returned, in spades, by Mr. Kirk. “They’re enemies,” she muttered more to herself than to Mrs. Lavendar.

“From the first day they met,” Mrs. Lavendar replied, apparently forgetting her vow not to explain. “If I were you, lass, I wouldn’t go to Melbourne. In fact, I’d leave this house and never come back.”

Maggie rounded the housekeeper’s bulk then, to face her, annoyed. “I’ve got to earn my living, Mrs. Lavendar,” she said coldly. “Just like you do.”

“Mr. McKenna will take care of your living,” Mrs. Lavendar retorted, undaunted, “as long as you please him.”

“This is nonsense!” Maggie cried, too proud to admit to the truth even in the face of this woman’s obvious knowledge. “I was stranded at Parramatta and Mr. McKenna was kind enough to send me home in his carriage!”

Mrs. Lavendar nodded sagely. “If that’s your story, miss, then so be it. I’ve warned you and that’s all I can do.” With that the housekeeper left the room.

Trying to ignore the dread she felt, Maggie went about packing the last of her new clothes.

Chapter 11

THE TRIP TO MELBOURNE WAS A LONG ONE, AND BY THE time the train had reached its destination, Maggie and her two young charges were rummy with fatigue and dawn was breaking, pink and gray. Mr. Kirk, who had spent the night in the club car, was in fine spirits nonetheless. Except for the clinging scent of cigar smoke, he was as impeccably groomed as ever. To Maggie’s relief, his glowering mood had apparently passed.