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‘He’d better not make himself sick on these biscuits,’ the pursed lips managed to grind out. ‘They’re rich butter shortbreads.’
‘Oh, I’ll make sure he doesn’t, Miss Jackson,’ Fleur said, as if those same butter shortbreads couldn’t so much as melt on her sweet-sounding tongue.
‘Mind you do, girl.’
‘My name is Fleur, Miss Jackson. I don’t think you’d like it if I simply called you “woman”, would you?’
‘I beg your pardon!’
‘Yes, that was too forward. My parents tell me I should not always speak my mind.’
‘Indeed, you should learn to hold your tongue,’ the woman snapped, her mouth pressing together until even the original line disappeared.
Fleur wanted to laugh; she knew that in this moment alone, she was untouchable. But Tom wasn’t. And she didn’t want him to bear the brunt of her cheekiness. She formed a contrite expression. ‘I am very sorry. I did not mean to be rude. In fact, I try very hard to be polite at all times to everyone because my mother says that everyone – even children – deserve respect.’
‘Your mother’s right. You mind what she tells you.’
‘Oh, I will, Miss Jackson. I’m glad you agree.’ Fleur wondered if the housekeeper would catch on to what she was actually saying. ‘Thank you again.’ She turned away and walked carefully back towards Tom, determined not to spill a drop of the milk they’d been given, along with the shortbread.
‘You took a chance.’ He looked impressed.
She shook her head. ‘Not really. My mother scolds me. She says that speaking the truth isn’t always considered polite and gets me into trouble.’
He grinned. ‘Sometimes you have to fib to protect someone’s feelings.’
She smiled. ‘Do you do that?’
‘Yes. I think we all have to.’
‘I suppose, but I have to learn how to. So you have a cousin? Your aunt said she was ill.’
‘I haven’t seen her. It’s as though Mrs Darnell is keeping her hidden in case she catches a disease from us.’
Fleur laughed but then stopped as Tom continued.
‘Mrs Darnell told me we’re not family.’
‘She didn’t!’ Fleur said, sounding appalled.
He simply nodded.
‘Why do they want your mother’s body, then?’
He shrugged. ‘Because she’s a Wintrow.’ He adopted a mocking tone. ‘And no Wintrow is buried in forsaken land.’
‘They said that?’
‘Mrs Darnell said it to the doctor at the bush hospital when he contacted her.’
Fleur sensed she was pressing a bruise and needed to change the subject for Tom’s sake. ‘What are your interests, Tom?’ she asked, remembering that it was important to put a grieving family at ease. She didn’t remember her father ever asking such a question of the bereaved, but he normally didn’t speak to children.
‘I’m from the wilderness beyond the Flinders Ranges, so I am interested in its landscape and the work we do out there.’
‘Tell me more. I have never seen where you come from.’
‘I’ll show you one day.’
She smiled. ‘All right.’ It sounded as though they’d made a deal so she turned it into one, pretending to spit on her palm before she held out her hand to shake. ‘Is that a promise?’
