Empty.

Then the second drawer, and the third.

She opened the wardrobe. All of her clothes were gone except for the red dress, which hung forlornly on a hook.

“Yes, my dear, today is the day,” Mrs. Crain said, her voice falsely cheerful, when Mathinna tracked her down in the main dining room. “We’ve packed a nice steamer trunk with all your shoes and dresses. The wallaby skin you came with is in there too. And you’ll find a mince pie and an apple in that old rush basket. The driver will be here soon, so you might want to hurry along and say goodbye to . . . well, to whomever you wish.”

“Where are Lady Franklin and Sir John?”

“Out, I’m afraid. A previous commitment. But they said to tell you that . . .” For the first time, Mrs. Crain seemed to fumble over her words. “Well, that they feel certain that this decision . . . this next step . . . is the right one. For you, and for them. For all of us, frankly. And that we must rise to meet the challenges ahead with . . . with fortitude.”

When Mathinna left the dining room and went out onto the stone apron of the driveway, she encountered a wooden cart with open sides holding a small trunk and her rush basket. The driver, wearing a patched jacket, slouched against a wheel. Seeing her, he nodded. “There’s certainly no mistaking ye. Ready?”

“You’re here for me?” she said with surprise. She’d never ridden in a cart.

“You’re the only black girl here, ain’t ye? Going to the orphan school?”

Mrs. Wilson had been right. She felt a chill in her bones.

“There’s a plank in the back,” he said, sensing her trepidation. “Ye don’t have to sit on the straw.”

“Oh.” It was difficult to swallow. “I—I was told I’d have time to say goodbye.”

He shrugged. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry to get back to that place.”

Hazel was in the far courtyard, hanging clothing on the line. When Mathinna told her she was leaving, she dropped the damp clothes into a basket. “Now?”

“There’s a cart out front.”

“A cart.” Hazel shook her head.

“They’re sending me to the orphanage.” Mathinna felt her heart constrict as if it were being squeezed. “I’m . . . I’m scared.”

“I know ye are,” Hazel said with a sigh. “But you’re a strong girl. It won’t be so bad.”

“You know it will,” Mathinna said in a quiet voice.

Hazel’s eyes met hers. She did. “I come on Sundays to see Ruby. I’ll try to find ye.”

“They won’t allow it, though, will they?”

Hazel cocked her head. Then she nodded toward a barrel. “Sit there for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Mathinna sat on the barrel, gazing up at the gum trees with their stocking-cap leaves and straggly white flowers, the clouds beyond like spun sugar. A parrot alighted on a bush near her and cocked its head, its eyes as dark as seed. Just as suddenly, it rose into the air, a flash of red against the sky.