Douglas Keir, restless now and unable to settle, but married to Elizabeth and with a young family to support, moved north to Redruth when news broke of a copper oxide find in the local stone. This time he set up as a builder, not a miner, grew rich, and eventually moved with his wife and children to a vast lease north of Redruth. Here the Natives (as related by Mrs Keir) gave ‘a great deal of trouble’, stealing sheep and bags of flour and spearing one of the shepherds. Douglas and his station hands took action:

Where life has been taken, those who do not know its value should be made to feel and see how Sacred we hold it. As a consequence, the men did not retreat until they had left many Blacks stretched on the grass. As has been proven from the start of time, a little cold lead soon forges an understanding between the Races.

Christ, a local massacre, thought Hirsch. He wondered if the story was passed down. There were no Aboriginal people in the Tiverton area. To his knowledge, only two families in Redruth. He had never thought to wonder about it.

He glanced at his watch again: 9.55. Bundling Mrs Keir’s journals into his briefcase, brushing dust from his hands, sleeves and trousers, he stood, straight-backed, and waited.

Right on time, Nan Washburn tapped on the door, stuck her head around it, finally walked in. ‘Paul.’

‘Nan.’

She rubbed her hands together, a dry rasp. ‘So far, so good. Daryl’s walking from his house and I just saw Adam’s brother drop him off.’

Hirsch pulled out a chair. ‘I think you should be at the head of the table, one boy on either side.’

He’d given some thought to the dynamics. Sitting at the head of the table would grant her some authority. And the boys, if separated, would be denied the opportunity for warning kicks or insolent nudges under the table.

Just as she got comfortable the door swung wide and Adam Flann sauntered in. ‘So—this where it’s all at?’

He turned, beckoned, and Daryl entered, shoulders hunched, eyes darting.

‘Good morning, Daryl,’ Nan said. ‘Good morning, Adam.’

Cobb, soft and gingery, bumfluff on his cheeks, shot her a look. ‘Hello, Mrs Washburn.’

He glanced at Hirsch. Was he supposed to do the apology now? Hirsch shook his head minutely.

Adam Flann was looking at Nan. Not hostile, just detached. He said nothing.

‘Sit,’ Hirsch ordered. ‘You there, you there.’

‘What, here?’ Adam said, slipping onto his chair in his graceful, effortless way, apparently enjoying himself. Nan exchanged a look with Hirsch, then turned to Daryl with a smile and a be-seated gesture of her hand.