Henry succeeded better in controlling his desire when Aoife came to him at night. He learned to enhance his own pleasure by taking time to make sure that she was comfortable. He realized that her days were hard, and on the night of the ball he asked for a hot bath to be prepared in his quarters afterwards – his only extravagant wish, as far as he could tell, and extravagant it was, but Aoife’s face when she saw the steaming tub was his greatest reward. They enjoyed the bath together. Aoife could not get over the scented soap that had turned up from somewhere – Porter, no doubt. They lay in the tub, her hair brushing his face, and he loved every minute. He asked about her family.

  Aoife lifted her arms and let the water run off them when she began to tell him her story. He did not interrupt her, trying to imagine what it must have been like.

  Her parents were of Irish origin, but both had been born in Australia. Her great-grandfather had been shipped to Sydney for fraud and imposture, her great-grandmother for begging. They had built a life for themselves in the Antipodes after they had served their time. In Aoife’s description, the country was a paradise, and Henry was surprised to hear how much of it she had seen. Her parents had died when she was young – her father in an accident in the gold mines in a town called Ballarat; her mother shortly after in another accident that, as Aoife described it coolly, could have been her own fault and not really accidental at all. The seven children were between one and eleven, with Aoife the only girl, aged six. Relatives from all over the country distributed the children among themselves. The siblings were separated forever.

  Aoife ended up with the family of her father’s brother. They were dairy farmers, tenants in the south. She described the landscape in the brightest colours: a peninsula with a ragged coastline and so much wind, eucalyptus trees, dunes and a stretch of sandy beach where a waterfall came down from the cliffs, bringing forth a rainbow on sunny days. She had spent seven years there, mostly happy. There were new brothers and sisters, well, cousins, really, and she learnt to read and write, she helped on the farm, with the chickens and the geese, the sheep and the cows. And then things changed. “The men“, she said darkly, “started looking at me. My cousins, but other men as well. I did not know what was going on. My God, I was twelve!“ She made a fist, and Henry caught her hands in his, trying to reassure her. So Aoife had been causing a stir from a very young age. Her aunt had had enough at some point, enough of having to even out conflicts and watching her own husband insisting on having his niece on his lap every night. She sent her away, far away, to the north and the east, hoping that the girl would be married off to someone eventually. “I was twelve!“ Aoife was still angry. Henry held her gently.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  In Queensland, in the tavern run by another aunt, among the sugar cane cutters, life was rough. In the town of Mackay, there were men in abundance, and Aoife eventually realized what they wanted from her. Yes, sometimes the word ‘marriage’ had been uttered, but she did not want to stay in this dusty land with a sweaty cutter, nor did she want a migrant sheep shearer or a seaman, she did not want to stay in Queensland at all, which was sometimes dry and hot, and then flooded. Now it was Aoife who wanted to leave. After two years, she did, with a man who had promised to marry her once they made it to Sydney, who treated her like a slave, and who left her standing in the street in front of a tavern the second he had met an old friend of his in Darling Harbour. Barely fifteen, she was facing the city on her own.

  But she was lucky, for she stood out once more, this time to a woman. The French wife of a British merchant happened to spot her from her coach as she was walking forlornly through the streets. “I was a beggar”, she said. The lady had the coach stop and called Aoife to her, and five minutes later, the beggar girl had become a maid. Her new mistress turned out to be unusual enough: no longer young, she had lived a lot and forgotten nothing, which enabled her to understand Aoife’s situation at a glance. Madame Elise had been a girl like Aoife, stranded in a French harbour town. She had attracted men but she had never been attracted to men herself. Madame Elise had learned the hard way. “'Courtesan', I believe, is the polite word, But she really started out as a whore“, Aoife said. In the end, Elise had landed her husband, a man much older than her, who was willing to live with the fact that his wife had a past instead of a family.

  “They were wonderful, Madame Elise and Mr Daylesford.“ Madame Elise had taught the girl who had only known rape that there was pleasure to be had. Henry got the impression that Mr Daylesford had also figured in these teachings, but Aoife praised her mistress above everything. Then Mr Daylesford had died in a robbery in the docks, and the ladies had set out for Europe. In Indochina Madame Elise suffered a fatal heart attack. “I had started to learn French. We wanted to live in France – and then it was all over.“ Aoife had been stranded in another town, on her own, with a small sum of money left to her by Madame, a couple of dresses and a letter of reference, and since the passage to Europe was already booked, she decided to try her luck. In England, the Daylesford family had directed her to Lady Wotton, and here she was. “And now the water is cold“, she closed.

  Now you are here, Henry thought as he rubbed her dry. She giggled and jumped into bed, which had been warmed by the hot water bottle.

  “Come on, I don’t want to bore you any longer. The night is short.“

  She was right, and she was also irresistible. He would ask all his questions some other night.