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had run off with one of his carpenters for a night in town, and that both of them were convicts on tickets of leave. Nor could he say that her replacement was an aboriginal woman, hideously ugly, and the mistress of his foreman. He had caught them together after vintage one hot night. They were both tipsy from raw wine. He had prodded them to their feet with the toe of his boot, and told them to be more discreet in future. He had never had a fancy for the dark-skinned lubras himself.
    Of course that aspect of life was to be kept hidden from Eugenia. When he had engaged a suitable staff he intended that she should live the life of a lady, busying herself with her music, her painting, her sewing, in short all the occupations which young ladies of her station pursued. He planned to have house parties, such as was the custom in England, the company riding or driving from Sydney on Friday afternoon and staying over Sunday and Monday. It was important to invite the right people so that the name of his wines, Yarrabee Burgundy, Yarrabee Claret and Yarrabee Sauterne would become known and eventually famous, not only in Australia but in London and the English great houses.
    He had taken some early bottles on his last visit to England. The opinion pronounced on it by discriminating men and professional wine tasters had been favourable on the whole. It was a plucky beginning, they had said. At present his product was as raw as the new colony, but it might have a future providing it could be transported such an overwhelmingly long distance. If it could not be, and this was likely, since travelling upset good wine, Mr Massingham would be well advised to turn his attention to converting his fellow-countrymen to the delights of a more civilized drink than rum or beer.
    Gilbert strode along, preoccupied with his thoughts. His way lay through the infamous Rocks district where people lived in the small shacks put up by the first settlers, wattle and daub erections that had never been intended to stand for more than a few years. The walls caved in, the roofs caught fire from faulty chimneys, the tiny windows let in little light let alone fresh air.
    It was a reeking sordid area occupied by prostitutes, female convicts who had been granted their freedom but whose will and ambition had been broken by the long misery of their imprisonment, and by a few honest people whom fate or laziness or lack of ability kept perpetually poor.
    An occasional oil lamp cast a circle of light for a circumference of a few yards, making the darkness between these oases all the more impenetrable.
    Not that such darkness was unwelcome to the pick-pocket or the drunkard lurching home in happy anonymity. It was far from welcome to the servant girl running a last errand for a demanding mistress, or to anyone going about innocent business. It was a curious fact of human nature, Gilbert reflected, that even in a city as new as this one was, vice could be so well established. He had no intention of allowing Eugenia to observe this aspect of antipodean life, any more than he intended her to witness the necessary punishment of his more incorrigible servants. The innocent gaze of her grey-blue eyes—what did they resemble? English bluebells or the smoky blue of the unfolding passion flower?
    A passion flower? Eugenia?
    His lips quirked doubtfully. His musing was abruptly shattered by a disturbance. Running footsteps came behind him, there was the sound of distressed panting breathing. He stopped, and a shape, petticoats flying, fled past him. He saw the woman briefly beneath the lamp on the corner, fair hair tumbling down and skirts held up. Then she disappeared round the corner, and presently two men, walking with long strides, passed him.
    They turned the same corner. If they were pursuing the woman they were not in any great haste. They probably knew where she lived. She must be a prostitute or a ticket of leave woman if she had lodgings in this area, Gilbert reflected. It