While Ewan was away organising the unloading of a wool shipment down at the wharf, I spent the morning in the hotel’s bridal suite, marvelling at the feel of the soft satin sheets and soaking in the bath. After dressing in fresh clothes, I stood on the balcony watching the people walking in the street below. I was tempted to go down and join them but my mind began to fill with questions. How nice it would be to go for a walk down the street and see what I could find. But what should I wear? Most of the women on the street below were dressed in fine clothes. Someone, usually a man, accompanied every one of them. None of the women were walking alone. Should I go for a walk by myself? Perhaps I should wait until Ewan returned? After assuring myself nothing too bad could happen to me with so many people around, I put on the MacDonald tartan coat with the embroidered trim my mother had made for me and hurried down to the foyer. There were no staff in sight. The only sounds I could hear came from the street. I opened the door, stepped outside, and was immediately caught up in the movement of people. I kept pace, hoping, if I walked with purpose, no one would realise I was a woman out on my own.

A cacophony of sounds filled my ears as I walked, only occasionally stopping to look inside shop windows. Displays of women’s clothing were everywhere. I had never seen so many windows filled with goods before. It was while I was gaping at the sight of a beautifully embroidered gown, I first heard the refrains of someone singing. It was a song I remembered well. In my mind’s eye, I could see my father standing at the piano as my mother played and the family gathered around them both. With his head tilted to the sky, his hand on his heart, he would sing about the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond, his fine tenor voice soaring over the hills around our home. I was so attracted to the strains of Scottish brogue, stirred by my memories of Father’s singing, I decided to try and find who was singing. It seemed to be coming from close by, down a narrow lane. Impulsively, I turned down the lane and hurried toward the sound. Soon I found myself standing across the road from the banks of a swiftly flowing river.
A crowd had gathered around the singer, and many of them were singing along with him. Dressed in loose-fitting brown britches, a buttoned-up waistcoat and an open-necked shirt with a bowler hat on his head, he could easily have been taken for a Scotsman, except his complexion was far too dark. Around his neck I could see he was wearing a necklace of feathers and shells.
I didn’t realise I’d been staring at the man until he took off his hat and bowed,  before stepping forward to introduce himself. Grinning, he offered me his hand. ‘Good afternoon, young lady. My name is Billy. Do you like my singing?’
‘Oh yes, I do, very much. It’s a song my father loves,’ I stammered.
‘Ah hah, so your father comes from Scotland then?’
‘Yes, he does.’
‘I learnt a lot of the songs I sing from a Scotsman I once worked for. Perhaps you’d like to hear more. Maybe you’d even be so kind as to place some coins inside this hat in appreciation of my performance.’
As Billy held out his hat and pointed to it, my heart sank. I’d come out without my purse. My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I excused myself.

‘A beautiful young woman like you, dressed in all her finery, out on the streets with no money and no one accompanying her,’ Billy proclaimed and then gestured to the crowd as if to ask them what they thought.
All the people gathered around Billy began to stare at me. They seemed to enjoy the spectacle of my embarrassment. ‘Tramp,’ someone called out. ‘Hussy,’ cried another.
Mortified, I turned ready to run but Billy caught hold of my hand. ‘Would you like me to accompany you?’ He sounded genuinely concerned, but it was hard to trust a man who’d made such a fool of me.

‘No, I’m perfectly capable of making my own way from here,’ I replied, trying hard not to let on how humiliated I felt, but when I tried to pull my hand out of Billy’s grip, his hold was too tight.
‘I’m sorry to put you in such a compromising position,’ Billy whispered, his face close to mine, his voice soft but firm. ‘Please let me escort you home. It’s dangerous for a woman to go about alone around here.’
The way he spoke made me feel his concern was genuine. At the same time, I was starting to realise I wasn’t sure how to get back to the hotel. When Billy let go of my hand, I nodded, moving back through the crowd  as qickly as I could.
Billy followed me at a respectful distance. When I stopped to look for the entrance to the lane I had come down earlier, he approached. ‘Have you lost your way home?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’m a long way from my home,’ I answered. ‘I’ve just arrived in Melbourne with my husband. We’re staying at the Criterion Hotel.’
‘I know that place. It’s not far from here. Let me show you the way.’ Billy offered his arm and we walked together up the lane, turning into Queen Street. When we reached  Collins Street, Billy stopped suddenly. ‘There’s your hotel.’ He pointed to a little further along the road. ‘I’d better leave you here. You don’t want to be seen at the hotel in the company of the likes of me.’
When I pleaded with him to let me introduce him to Ewan, he was adamant. ‘No, I wouldn’t be appreciated by your husband or the people at the hotel. I’ll watch from here and make sure you get back there safely.’
Billy retreated into the shadow of a doorway as I walked to the hotel. At   the front door I waved goodbye. Billy smiled, waved back and disappeared.

Inside the hotel I was confronted by an angry Ewan, his face flushed bright red as he paced up and down. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ he yelled, glaring as he berated me. ‘On my instruction, the concierge went to see if you wanted to order lunch. When you didn't answer his knock, he let himself into our room and found you had disappeared. He was so worried about what might have happened to you, he sent his boy up to the docks to get me. I was just about to fetch the police!’
I had never been in the presence of someone as angry as Ewan was at that moment. ‘I just went for a walk,’ I protested. I may have been old enough to be married but I was still being treated like a child.
Ewan turned on me. Pointing a wagging finger at me, he bellowed. ‘You went out without a chaperone? Have you completely lost your senses?’
‘That’s not a crime, is it?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s not a crime,’ Ewan’s tone softened. ‘It’s just not seen as the right thing for a woman of your status to be walking about all by herself. I was so worried. You never know who might decide to take advantage of you.’
‘But I wasn’t taken advantage of,’ I reasoned. ‘In fact, this kind gentleman with the most beautiful voice, who was singing Scottish songs down by the river, escorted me back to the hotel to make sure I was safe.’
‘He what?’
‘He escorted me back to the hotel.’
‘You walked along the street in the company of a man you didn’t even know!
Who is this man? What’s his name and where is he now?’ Ewan’s scandalised reaction seemed so overblown I began to feel defiant.
‘His name is Billy,’ I replied, my voice steely calm. ‘He was singing a song my father taught me when I was young. I followed the sound of his voice down to the river. It reminded me so much of my father I had to see who was singing.  I found Billy on the banks of the river. He was so kind to me and even helped me find my way back to the hotel. I invited him in to meet you. He declined but made sure  I got here safely. I imagine he’s back at the river now, singing more Scottish songs.’
By this time my defiance had disappeared, and shame was bringing tears to my eyes. Ewan wrapped his arms around me and then guided me upstairs to our room.
Later, as I lay in Ewan’s arms and recounted the morning’s adventure, he suggested we go back to the riverbank next day to try to find Billy so we could thank him for making sure I’d made it back to the hotel safely.
‘He was dressed well and sounded just like a Scottish man when he was singing, but he didn’t have a Scottish accent when he spoke to me.’ I confided. ‘His skin was too dark for a Scotsman anyway.’
‘Perhaps your Billy is an Aborigine,’ Ewan suggested. ‘That place, on the banks of the river you’ve described, is where a lot of the local Aboriginal people gather during the day. They cross from their camp on the other side of the river.’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘He said he worked as a drover for a Scotsman who taught him the songs he was singing.’
‘Well, we’ll find out tomorrow, won’t we?’ Ewan was smiling once again. At last, our first disagreement was reconciled.

Early the following morning, we walked down to the riverbank. A low mist hung over the water, and in the distance, a huddle of people sat in a circle around a fire. Ewan suggested we walk down to ask them if they knew Billy. As we approached, I could hear them talking in a language that sounded a lot like the one Jimmy and Lizzy spoke. When a woman sitting in the circle pointed at us, one of the men turned around. The look on his face made it clear it wasn’t usual for him to be approached by people like us.
Ewan gestured with his hands to show he meant no harm, then explained we were looking for Billy. ‘We just want to thank him for looking after my wife yesterday,’ Ewan said.
The woman smiled and said something to one of the men.
The man frowned then spoke in heavily-accented English. ‘Billy, oh yes, Billy. He’s just over there.’ He pointed to a man a little further along the river who was stoking a fire.
‘Billy,’ I called out, as we got closer.
Billy jumped to his feet and turned, fists raised.
‘It’s okay, Billy,’ Ewan reassured. ‘I came here to thank you for taking care of my wife Flora yesterday.’
Relief flowed through Billy as he smiled in recognition. Lowering his fists, he stepped forward, offering his hand to Ewan. ‘I’m very glad to meet you,’ he said, speaking with such a formal accent he suddenly sounded like an English gentleman.  ‘I hope you don’t mind me escorting your wife yesterday. She seemed a little lost.’
‘Oh no, I’m glad you helped her, she hasn’t been to a big city before,’ Ewan said as he sat on the ground close to the fire and beckoned me to sit beside him.
‘I haven’t been in a big city much either,’ Billy said as he sat down again. ‘I came here from a long way away, along the coast. There was     fighting there a while ago. Too many of my people, the Gunditjmara people, died back then. Most of my family are gone now, so I live by myself in this big city.’
‘My wife comes from the coast,’ Ewan replied.
‘I was born near Warrnambool,’ I added. ‘On a sheep station.’
‘Oh yes, I know that place,’ Billy replied. ‘Plenty of good eels there too. I worked on stations near there doing droving and shearing. I worked for old fella Mackenzie for a long time. He taught me his songs and ways to sing them. After he died, too much sorrow for me. I came here to forget about what happened. Nothing for me now but to sing the whitefella songs old man Mackenzie teach me, and beg for coins from strangers, in this big city they built on Wurundjeri Country.’
There it was again; another part of the terrible story I kept hearing about. Ever since Ewan had first told me about what had happened to Aboriginal people, these brutal tales haunted me. As I listened to Billy, a strong desire to flee, back to the place my parents had come from began to take hold. Even though the British had done similar things to the people of Scotland, if I lived in my ancestors’ country, at least my own life wouldn’t depend on usurping others in order to survive. But of course, it was way too late now; the man I had only just married was obviously firmly tied to the place we were on our way to. I wondered about this station Ewan had described. I knew it was a long way from the sea and close to a town called Bathurst. What a British-sounding name. What was life going to be like for me there? As I asked myself these unanswerable questions, my attention returned to the conversation Ewan was having with Billy, and I was astonished to hear him inviting Billy to come and work on the station where we would soon be living.
Billy hesitated. ‘I don’t know, Mr. Cameron. The place where you live is a long way away from here. It   will take me many days to get there. It’s Wiradyuri country you’re talking about. I’m a salt-water man and it’s a long way from the sea.’
‘No matter,’ Ewan answered. ‘I just want you to know you’re welcome to stay with us anytime. Our homestead is near a town called Bathurst. People there will tell you how to find us. We are always on the lookout for good drovers and if old man Mackenzie taught you to sing, you must have learnt good droving skills from him as well. Here, take this as a small offering for looking after my wife.’ Ewan reached inside his coat, pulled out some notes and pushed them into Billy’s hand. ‘Make this a down payment on you coming to visit us some time in the future. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get my wife back to our hotel and onto the ship that’s taking us to Sydney.’ When Ewan stood up and turned to go, I followed him.
Billy pushed the money Ewan had given him into his waistcoat pocket. ‘Thankyou Mr. Cameron,’ he said. ‘I will come find you one day for sure.’
‘I hope you do,’ Ewan answered. ‘You will always be welcome under our roof.’