There was no kitchen, only a gas stove, a tiny sink, a wall cupboard in a corner. Eleanor ventured over. She did not wish to touch anything. She wanted to handle each and every thing. She opened the cupboard, surveyed a small array of crockery and some glassware. Someone else’s crockery, someone else’s glassware—there was nothing of Miss Trent here. She selected a glass, filled it with water and returned to her patient. She held it out to her, watching closely as Miss Trent opened her eyes, raised her face in a tight little smile, took the glass.

Eleanor sat, unbidden, on the edge of the settee. She watched as Miss Trent took a sip. Miss Trent’s hand shook. She closed a second hand over the glass, steadying herself. She did not look up again, seeming discomforted by the silent gaze of her visitor.

Her lashes were wet with tears.

‘What is your name, my dear?’

After all, one wished to be absolutely certain.

‘Miss Trent.’

Eleanor nodded. She did not offer her own name, or any other name, in return, and if Miss Trent thought this odd she did not say so. How could she?

‘You are from England, I think,’ said Eleanor. She did not explain how she knew this. Let Miss Trent wonder.

‘I—yes, I am.’

‘And how long have you been in New South Wales?’

‘I arrived in February.’

Four months.

‘And have you no family at all here?’

Miss Trent shook her head. She did not speak.

‘You are alone then.’ Eleanor paused, let the words sink in. ‘But why stay, if you have no one? Have you not considered returning?’

‘I have no one there either.’

‘Then you are truly quite alone.’

The colour, such as it had been, was quite gone from Miss Trent’s face. Her very essence drained away, so that one could not judge what this woman might be like ordinarily. And Eleanor did wish to know, she wished it very much.

Eleanor stood up. She went to the French doors, where it was safe. She stood looking out at the tangle of garden below.

‘How old are you, Miss Trent?’

There was a faint pause. ‘I am twenty-two.’

‘I am forty.’ Eleanor addressed the French door, the tangled garden. ‘I have recently begun to wear spectacles for reading, though I have kept this fact from my husband. Curious the secrets between a husband and a wife.’

Miss Trent made no reply.