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Rian, Amber and Simon set off again, this time with only one travelling companion.
    Warily, Kitty studied the woman from beneath her eyelashes. She was extremely striking, with dark red hair—hennaed, Kitty was sure—arranged not in the currently fashionable centre-part flanked by sweeps of hair secured in a chignon, but in the long ringlets popular some years ago. She wore no bonnet, but had simplyraised the hood of her heavy velvet indigo blue cape, and her dress of burgundy brocade hugged the impressive contours of her body. Kitty felt positively dowdy in her practical travelling dress and black cape, and had an overwhelming desire to throw her own loathed bonnet out of the window.
    The woman’s skin was powdered to the colour of milk, and her languid eyes, an arresting moss green, were outlined with a hint of kohl. Her jaw was strong and her rouged cheekbones high, and her lips painted a rose pink. Judging by the lines bracketing her mouth and at her eyes, Kitty guessed she was somewhere in her early forties. Not a classical beauty, but definitely a woman to turn heads: Rian’s had been turned in her direction since they had set off again.
    They stopped at Ballan, just short of halfway between Bacchus Marsh and Ballarat, at three-thirty that afternoon.
    ‘I suspect she might be a whore, don’t you?’ he remarked as they stood stamping their feet while the horses were changed yet again. The driver had disappeared into the Ballan Hotel, followed by the mysterious woman.
    Kitty blew on her hands. ‘A bit long in the tooth, don’t you think?’
    ‘I’ve seen plenty older. But not so well preserved, I have to admit. I still wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot bargepole, though.’
    ‘You stared at her long enough,’ Kitty said teasingly.
    ‘So did you. But she is quite mesmerising, isn’t she?’
    Kitty nodded. ‘And we could be wrong. She could just be the wife of some well-to-do prospector who likes to wear a lot of rouge and lip paint.’
    Rian looked alarmed. ‘The prospector?’
    ‘No, the woman,’ Kitty said, smiling.
    ‘Well, if she is, she’s either mute or very retiring. She hasn’t said a bloody word since we left Bacchus Marsh.’
    ‘I wouldn’t think she’s the retiring type—not with that amount of face paint.’
    But the woman turned out to be neither mute nor shy. Her name was Lily Pearce, she said, leaning forward after they set off again and offering her hand to both Kitty and Rian, who in turn introduced themselves, then to Simon, who took it very gingerly.
    ‘I own a business at Ballarat.’ Her voice was low and seductive, her accent revealing a trace of East London. ‘On the diggings of course, not up near the Camp,’ she added, smiling enigmatically to herself.
    Kitty said, ‘That sounds very enterprising of you. And your husband helps you run this business?’
    Lily Pearce gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh, no, I’m not married, Mrs Farrell. Never have been, and never plan to be.’ She turned her attention to Rian. ‘Is Ballarat your destination, Captain Farrell, or Bendigo?’
    ‘Ballarat.’
    ‘Ah, I see. New chums .’ Her eyebrows were raised in amusement.
    Kitty felt her hackles twitch in response to the woman’s apparent condescension. ‘I’m sorry—new chums?’
    ‘Yes, it’s what the diggers call newcomers to Australia and the goldfields. Are you newcomers?’ Again she directed her question at Rian.
    He stared at her for a slightly unfriendly moment. Perhaps, Kitty thought, he has also sensed something vaguely disagreeable about Miss Pearce. ‘Actually, no. We trade at Australian ports frequently.’
    ‘Oh, a sea captain. And now you’re going to make your fortune on the diggings?’
    Rian held her gaze a little longer than was necessary. ‘Who can tell? Other people obviously have.’
    Touché, Kitty thought.
    Miss Pearce smiled slightly. ‘And who is this enchanting child?’ she asked, inclining her head towards Amber.
    ‘Our daughter,’ Rian and