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Fleur was aware of Tom lifting his hand in salutation, but the girl stepped back into the shadows and disappeared. ‘Who’s she?’

‘No idea,’ he replied.

‘Shall we ask?’

‘Best not to be nosey with them,’ he cautioned her.

‘As I say, horrible people,’ she repeated.

‘Well, my mother came from them, but she wasn’t horrible . . . she was wonderful. It’s all right. I’d rather remember my mother dancing and laughing than lying in a closed box and being lowered into the ground.’

‘Children!’ Miss Jackson was back at the door. Fleur and Tom both threw a glance upwards, but the girl with the ribbon had not reappeared. Fleur instantly forgot about her as she turned her attention to the housekeeper.

‘Bring that plate and glass back now, child,’ Miss Jackson said, her glare landing firmly on Tom. ‘And you,’ she said, pointing at Fleur, ‘hurry along. Your father’s ready to leave.’ She didn’t wait for their reply, slamming the door shut behind her.

‘I better go,’ Tom said.

‘I hope we’ll meet again, Tom Catchlove,’ Fleur said, and she surprised herself by stepping forward and, on tiptoe, planting a kiss on his mouth. It was over in a blink and he stared open mouthed at her. She giggled. ‘I thought you needed one.’

He wiped the back of his sleeve over his mouth. ‘Thanks.’

They emerged from the parlour into the hallway, where Fleur could see her father still speaking quietly with Tom’s aunt. As Mrs Darnell looked towards her housekeeper, Miss Jackson pushed past them both to fetch her father’s hat. Fleur skipped into the room that held the coffin, where Tom had darted. He looked suddenly bereft.

‘They’re gone,’ he said unnecessarily.

‘My father brought the hearse . . . that’s the big car to carry coffins. He’ll have taken her there.’

‘I wanted to say goodbye.’

Fleur stepped forward and took his hand. ‘Tom, it’s important to bury your mother and Amy very soon.’

‘I know, I could smell it,’ he admitted, and she was pleased she hadn’t had to explain that the dish of purplish, almost black water beneath the table was a special substance to mask the odour of death.

‘I’ll just take this and empty it. Anyway, they’ve already gone.’ She walked back towards the parlour and the sink.

He followed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Their bodies came here with you on the train, but their spirits were set free back in your Flinders Ranges. Now they’re following you, looking out for you. They’ll go back with you.’ She tipped the purple contents into the sink and had to stand on tiptoe to reach the tap.

Tom helped her. ‘Do you think so?’ He turned that soulful gaze on her. Fleur nodded. ‘Will I see you again?’

She rinsed and flicked the water away until the dish was dry enough. Tom obliged, turning off the tap. ‘I hope so,’ she answered. ‘We’re friends now and I don’t have any my own age.’ She grabbed his hand gently to prove it was true.

He held their linked hands up and surprised her again, this time by kissing the back of her slender hand. ‘I won’t forget you, Fleur Appleby.’

‘Promise?’

‘I have to show you the Flinders,’ he said, grinning. ‘We made a deal.’

She laughed. ‘Then I’ll wait for you.’ She wished she could protect him. Take him home with them and ask her parents to adopt Tom Catchlove as they’d adopted her and given her so much love and security.

‘Fleur?’ Her father was at the door, his voice gentle as always.

Tom dropped her hand.

Henry turned to him and lifted his tall hat. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Tom. We’ll take good care of your mother and sister.’

‘Bye, Tom,’ Fleur said. ‘Keep your promise.’