“I know,” Mathinna said. “My sister died there.”

“Did she?” Hazel gave a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“It was before I was born.”

Hazel shook her head slowly. “Ruby has to survive. I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t.”

After Hazel left the room, Mathinna closed her eyes. She thought of all the people she’d lost. The sister she never knew and her long-dead parents. Her stepfather, Palle, standing on the ridge on Flinders as she sailed away. Did he think of her? Did he worry? She wished she could let him know that she was all right, but she had no way to reach him. And besides, she didn’t know that she was.

Government House, Hobart Town, 1842

Mathinna was sitting in the kitchen outbuilding one morning, a week after the Franklins returned from Launceston, practicing times tables on a slate, when Mrs. Crain appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, Mathinna. Lady Franklin requests your presence in the red drawing room.”

She looked up, heart thumping in her chest. Lady Franklin had not requested her presence since the dinner dance. “What does she want with me?”

Mrs. Crain pursed her lips. “She did not say. And it is not for you to inquire.” She would not meet Mathinna’s eyes.

The brocaded draperies in the drawing room were closed. The oil lamps cast strange shadows. Mathinna had to squint to make out the figure of Sir John, standing at the bookcase with his back turned, hands clasped behind him, motionless as a gargoyle. Lady Franklin sat in a chair, a book of maps open in her lap.

“Come in, come in. Mrs. Crain, you may stay. This won’t take long.” She motioned Mathinna forward with an impatient flutter of her fingers. Closing the atlas, she said, “How are you, then? Well enough?”

The question allowed only one response. “Yes, Lady Franklin.”

“How do you occupy yourself these days?”

“She was studying mathematics when I found her, madam,” Mrs. Crain reported.

“Ah. Good for you, Mathinna. I wouldn’t have expected that, in Eleanor’s absence.”

“I have nothing else to do,” Mathinna said sulkily. She’d never spoken to Lady Jane in such a tone, but there seemed little point in niceties now.

Lady Franklin didn’t seem to notice. She gave a light laugh. “Boredom is a great motivator, I always say. You know, Mathinna, there are those who believe that higher learning is beyond the grasp of your people. Perhaps you are proving them wrong. Of course, there are certain . . . limitations to what can be taught and the progress one might expect to make. No doubt it has been as frustrating for you as it has been for us. Certainly we have tried . . . twice.” Addressing her husband’s back, she said, “Would you like to participate in this conversation, Sir John?”

Without turning around, Sir John said, “I would like for you to get on with it.”

Mathinna stared at his back. She thought of their early morning strolls. She thought of the cockatoo. The two of us don’t speak the same language.