The silky lady followed but unfortunately stumbled and immersed her foot in the river. Loud lamentations followed but to no avail—the dainty boot and the foot it contained remained wet, for all her cries.

‘’Ere,’ the coachman said, proffering the bottle, ‘’ave a pull o’ this.’

She declined with a teeny shudder, turning her head from the blast of his breath.

‘Please yoreself.’ He swallowed again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned back to the raft. He waved at his assistant watching from the other side of the stream.

‘Haul away,’ he bellowed. ‘Min’ you don’ tip ’er over.’

The raft was hauled back to the other bank and the men climbed aboard. They, too, were drawn swiftly and safely across the river. One more trip to pick up the luggage and the coachman’s assistant before they all climbed aboard and were on their way again, swaying and lurching, with no wet clothes and only one wet foot among the lot of them.

Under the trees darkness came early and it was no later than six when the coach drew to a halt. Once again the passengers dismounted.

‘’Ere you go, gents,’ the coachman said. ‘An’ ladies, too, o’ course. This is as far’s we’re goin’ tonight.’

To a wet foot was added consternation. ‘Surely you are not proposing to stop here? In this … wilderness? Is there no inn?’

‘An inn? Lady, between ’ere and Goulburn there ain’t nuthin’. Fumes of alcohol swept over them as he laughed. ‘You’re in the bush ’ere. In the colony. You stay ’ere, you gotter get used to a new way o’ lookin’ at things.’ He slugged again at the bottle of liquor which Lorna thought must be almost empty by now. If it were the same bottle, of course.

‘But where do we sleep?’ asked the woman, close to tears.

‘Women in the coach, men on the ground. If it rains in the night, they kin shelter under the coach.’

‘Is it safe?’ persisted the woman in the silk dress.

‘Safe?’ The coachman glared at her and she quailed, morale destroyed by the traumas of the day. ‘Course it’s safe.’ The wicked tombstones of teeth mocked her as he sneered, ‘Can’ be nuffin else, can it, when you got yore ’usband lookin’ after you?’

Little by little, the invisible sun sank lower. The leaves of the gum trees floated in a golden haze that turned imperceptibly to grey as night came sifting down. Overhead, the harsh blue of the sky paled to silver and then to pearl. Birds gabbled harshly and fell silent. A solitary star gleamed.

Inside the coach it was very hot. The window was closed tight against the poisonous night air. Lorna, used to the cold clear winds of the north, had suggested lowering the window an inch but the vociferous protests of her companions prevented her.

It would be worse for the men, she supposed. Or would it? At least they had fresh air and could walk about if they felt like it. She huddled in her corner, listening to the sighs and muttered complaints of the other women, and waiting for the night to pass. It took a long time.

She must have dozed eventually for when she opened her eyes the grey first light was beginning to filter through the blackness of the forest. It was still dark inside the coach but she could make out the form of the lady in the silk dress facing her in the other seat. Her head was back, her breath whistled in steady repetition through her half-open mouth.

The coach was oppressive and suddenly unbearable. Moving carefully to avoid disturbing her companions, Lorna inched open the door and climbed down.

Outside the air was fresh. Thankful, she took a deep breath and looked about her.