Word of the incident had spread and people—newspapermen and policemen and others who had just appeared—were arriving outside Parliament House, and at the same moment the guests were departing so that the small party outside quickly became a crowd and it was some little time before a cab was found. When one was at last secured it was the footman who held an umbrella over Alasdair’s head as they splashed through the puddles to board it and his secretary who followed behind shielding his wife, who held out his hand to assist her to step up into the cab, who closed the door on them and who stood and watched as the cab pulled away.

The driver laid a rug over their knees and Alasdair leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. His heart had not stopped its overly rapid beating. He was more frightened now, he found, than when the thing had happened, was shaking it seemed, and that was humiliating. He held his hands very tightly together and did not speak. He thought instead about the vote in three weeks’ time. He thought about the national government that would be formed in a year, or perhaps two years, and how he might be a minister in that government. Australia’s first national government. That would be a thing, that would be a moment for the history books. And the parliament would be in Melbourne. He opened his eyes and pondered this, the length of time that parliament might be in session and that one would be required to be in Melbourne. Away from home.

‘Alasdair, it was horrid,’ said Eleanor in a low voice. ‘That man—’

Alasdair started. A part of him had forgotten his wife was seated beside him in the carriage.

‘Charles Booker-Reid blames anarchists,’ he said, and he laughed to show her he was not at all afraid.

But Eleanor did not laugh. ‘Do you believe that to be so?’ Her voice was almost lost in the patter of rain on the cab’s roof.

They did not face each other; the hansom cab did not allow for it. One must sit side by side facing the rear of the horse, seeing it shake its head and snort, hearing its harnesses rattle, seeing the flick of the driver’s whip from above and smelling the foul coils of smoke from the man’s pipe, and in this darkness, on this night, one stared ahead at nothing.

‘The man was an Aboriginal, I am certain of that,’ said Eleanor when he did not reply.