“I don’t need all of them. They’re meant to be shared. It’s just I’ve never had anyone to give one to.” She jiggled them with her fingers. “The thing is, they’re tangled together. Will you help?”

“I want one, Mama,” Ruby said.

Mathinna lifted the clump of necklaces over her head and handed them to Hazel. “You were the only person who was truly kind to me in all the years I lived with the Franklins.”

Hazel felt her heart twist. She hadn’t done much, after all. It was terrible to realize that her paltry gestures were the only real affection Mathinna had been shown. She thought of how Mathinna had wandered around the property after the Franklins had gone on holiday without her.

Looking down at the necklaces in her hands, Hazel took a breath. “Well . . . I have become skilled at knots.” Running her fingers over the shells, she worried the clusters until they loosened and the necklaces fell into three separate long strands. She looped them over the web of her thumb and forefinger and held them out.

Mathinna took two necklaces and draped them around her own neck. Then she slung the third around Ruby’s and held it up, showing her the iridescent green shells. “I watched my mother make this. She used a wallaby tooth to prick these tiny holes, then rubbed the shells with muttonbird oil to make them shiny. See?”

Ruby touched the necklace daintily with the tip of her finger.

“Just imagine you’re the thread,” Mathinna told her. “And the people you love are these shells. And then they’ll always be with you.” When she leaned in close, Hazel caught a whiff of alcohol on her breath. “It’s good to know you are loved. You know your mama loves you, don’t you, Ruby?”

Ruby nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

Hazel thought of her own childhood—how little tenderness she’d been given. She and Mathinna both had had to take whatever scraps they could get. “Come with us,” she said impulsively. “We live just a few streets away, in the home of a doctor. There’s a room, a small room, but it would be your own. Ye could get back on your feet.”

Mathinna laughed, a laugh that started deep in her gut and rose into her throat. “I am on my feet, Hazel.”

“But drinking, and—and staying up all night . . . You’re too young, Mathinna. You’re not meant for this kind of life.”

“Ah—I don’t know. What kind of life am I meant for?”

For a moment both of them were silent. It was hard to know what to say. Hazel listened to the cawing of seagulls, the raised voices of vendors hawking their wares in the market across the street.

“If I’d stayed on Flinders, I’d probably be dead,” Mathinna said finally. “If the Franklins had taken me to London, I’d still be trying to be somebody I will never be. Here I am. Living the only life I was given.” Abruptly, she stood, swaying slightly. “Don’t worry about me, Hazel. I’m a wanderer. I’ll be all right.” Spreading her open hand across her chest, she said, “Tu es en moi. Un anneau dans un arbre. You are in me, like a ring inside a tree. I won’t forget it.”