Chapter FourNo one answered the knock on the door. Matilda and I looked at one another in confusion. The squatters might welcome us or kill us, but no one in outback Australia would simply ignore a visitor.
I knocked until my knuckles were raw, and both of us called out—in a casual tone at first, but with increasing volume and rudeness. Still there was no answer. The delicious smell wafting out was tinged with burning.
Matilda tried the handle, gently at first and then rattling it with increasing fury and frustration. It broke off in her hand.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I forgot I was wearing an iron corset.’
The handle left a hole in the door. I crouched to look through it. When I saw part of the kitchen engine I knew something was wrong. The door to the burner hung open, and some of the coal h
