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Crossing her arms over her flat chest Thelma said in a kindly tone, "You're a kitchen help now, that's what you are."
    "You don 't have to try and be nice to me. I'm a slave, no matter what you may call me. That English pig picked me out, and I had no say in the matter."
    "Now you listen here, girl!" Thelma wagged a finger, turning such a look of disdain on her that Isabella cringed away as if struck. "Tiger 's a gent in every sense of the word. He isn't a nob by birth, but he's the finest man who ever walked this earth. So get that into your head. I don't know what an English gent did to you that made you hate them so, but never—d'you hear me?—never, ever, call him a pig while you're working alongside me, or I'll send you off back with the whores you shared the ship with. An' how would you like to be packed off to the factory at Parramatta, eh?"
    Isabella bent her head, more to hide the stubbornness she knew was clear in her eyes than anything else. She 'd heard talk about the female factory on the ship; the crew loved to tell tales of the awful fate that awaited the women who went there. English this Tiger Carstairs might be, but Isabella was no fool. If this woman expected her to lick his boots so she could remain here, then that's what she would do. Her pride had been sorely tested in the past months, and she was prepared to grovel if that's what it took to have a clean bed to sleep in and food in her belly.
    "Now, Bella my girl, you can sleep in here." Thelma's voice was kindly again as she ushered Isabella across the kitchen. "Dougal will most likely sleep in the stable. Is he really your lover? He don 't look like he's even found out what to do with his men's parts yet." Her lips twitched with the makings of a smile.
    Suddenly Isabella knew she had no wish to lie to this woman. "No." She pulled a face, a laugh bursting forth. "But Mr. Carstairs, he got that idea in his head, and I wasn't about to argue with him. Dougal and me became good friends on the ship. Him and Gracie are the only real friends I ever had. She's a real tough one, is Gracie. I don't know what I'd have done without them two. I was lucky to get Gracie as a messmate. She was in charge of our group of six. It was her idea to cut my hair." Isabella fingered her rat's tails wistfully. Once her hair had fallen to her waist, had been her ma's pride and joy. "Gracie reckoned it'd be better all round if I looked ugly and like a boy. Those men on the ship look on all the con women as whores, whether they are or not."
    "Wise woman, this Gracie. I 'll find out where she's gone so's you can see her. Your hair will grow, don't fret. You'll never have to cut it again. As long as Tiger is your master, you'll have nothing or no one to fear. Now, here's your room." Thelma opened a door in the corner and gestured for Isabella to enter.
    The room held a low narrow bed with a small square cupboard beside it. Another embroidered cloth dangled over the edges of the cupboard and a china water jug and bowl sat on it.
    "Here's some clean clothes. Good job Tiger didn't come home with someone built like a barge, or they wouldn't have fit, eh?" Thelma glanced over Isabella and chuckled as she lifted a curtain across a corner to reveal pegs knocked into the wall with garments hanging on them.
    Perhaps that 's why he picked me, Isabella thought, to fit into the clothes he already had waiting here. She could think of no other explanation. It certainly wasn't for her beauty. And once he'd had a taste of her sharp tongue it was a wonder he hadn't let her go with that Malloy. When she thought of how fate had stepped in she felt ill. Someone up there must be watching over her. Tiger Carstairs wasn't so bad, for an Englishman, even though his tongue matched her own in sharpness. This Thelma seemed to think he was some sort of paragon anyway.
    "What you got in your bundle then? Did you manage to bring any of your own things with y ou, girl?" she asked, eyeing Isabella's