Mathinna didn’t know what an orangutan was, but she’d heard talk of savages around the elders’ campfire—British whalers and sealers who lived like animals and sneered at rules of common decency. Lady Franklin must be confused.

Robinson gave a short laugh. “This is a bit different. The Aborigines are human, after all. Our theory is that by changing externals you can change personalities. We are teaching them to eat our food and learn our language. We feed their souls with Christianity. They’ve surrendered to clothes, as you can see. We’ve cut the hair of the men and impressed modesty on the women. We’ve given them Christian names to aid the process.”

“The mortality rate is quite high, I understand,” said Sir John. “Delicate constitutions.”

“An unfortunate inevitability,” Robinson said. “We brought them out of the bush where they knew not God, nor even who made the trees.” He gave a small sigh. “The fact is, we all must die, and we ought to pray to God first to save our souls.”

“Quite right. You’re doing them a great service.”

“What is this one’s name?” Lady Franklin asked, returning her attention to Mathinna.

“Mary.”

“And what was it originally?”

“Originally? Mathinna was her Aboriginal name. She was christened Leda by missionaries. We decided on something less . . . fanciful,” Robinson said.

Mathinna didn’t remember being called Leda, but her mother had hated the name Mary, so the Palawa refused to use it. Only the British called her Mary.

“Well, I think she’s charming,” Lady Franklin said. “I’d like to keep her.”

Keep her? Mathinna tried to catch Robinson’s eye, but he didn’t return her gaze.

Sir John looked amused. “You want to take her home with us? After what happened with the last one?”

“This will be different. Timeo was . . .” Lady Franklin shook her head. “The girl is an orphan, you said?” she asked, turning to Robinson.

“Yes. Her father was a chieftain. Her mother remarried, but recently died.”

“Does that make her a princess?”

He smiled slightly. “Of a sort, perhaps.”

“Hmm. What do you think, Sir John?”

Sir John smiled beneficently. “If you wish to amuse yourself in such a fashion, my dear, I suppose there’s no harm in it.”

“I think it will be entertaining.”

“And if it isn’t, we can always send her back.”

Mathinna did not want to leave the island with these foolish people. She did not want to say goodbye to her stepfather and the other elders. She did not want to go to a strange new place where nobody knew or cared about her. Tugging on Robinson’s hand, she whispered, “Please, sir. I don’t—”

Slipping his hand from her grasp, he turned to the Franklins. “We will make the necessary arrangements.”

“Very well.” Lady Franklin cocked her head, appraising her. “Mathinna. I’d prefer to call her that. It will be more of a surprise if she achieves the manners of a lady.”

Later, when the governor’s party was distracted, Mathinna slipped behind the brick houses where everyone was gathered, still wearing the ceremonial wallaby-skin cape her father gave her before he died and a necklace of tiny green shells made by her mother. Wending her way through wallaby grass, silky against her shins, she listened to the barking dogs and the currawongs, plump black birds that warbled and flapped their wings when rain was on the way. She breathed in the familiar scent of eucalyptus. As she slid into the bush at the edge of the clearing, she looked up to see a geyser of muttonbirds erupt into the sky.