The Princess woke in the early hours of the morning and waited till she was sure that all was quiet in the cavernous building, not even a mouse, and then moved quietly out of bed. She was already dressed in jeans and a work shirt. She put on her boots, reached under her bed and pulled out a mid-size backpack. It was stuffed full.

Quietly, she opened the door of her room and crept through the building, watching for early staff, using a side door to exit because the huge front door creaked.

She crept steadily down the driveway and out onto the road that she knew would take her down to Brisbane City and from there she’d find her way out to the bush.

The early morning traffic was sparse. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted a taxi or not. A taxi could give her away later when the inevitable search began and she could be found pretty quickly. She didn’t want to be found pretty quickly. Her brother David and all the rest of the Court would start to panic and start search parties. She knew what she was doing. She needed time---and space---not those commanding officials slinking around, crowding her, managing her.

It had been all she could do to get them to agree to her leaving her little home country in Europe to live in Australia at the Brisbane Ladies’ Academy. They couldn’t see past Swiss and French academies but she’d cajoled and sweet-talked and persuaded because Australia was the place where she wanted to be.

And she’d made it.

Now for the real Australia---the bush.

A taxi pulled up.

‘You shouldn’t be walking alone down this road at this time of night, love,’ the cabbie said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the transport centre to catch a bus. I haff money.’

‘Hop in!’

She kept her face in darkness as best she could, even when paying him, but paying him was a problem. She had no experience of Australian money so, in desperation, held her wallet out to him, saying, ‘Please take what I owe you? I haff to trust you.’

He had a daughter the same age, so took only what she owed, foregoing his tip.

He watched her wander into the busy transport centre and left his cab to catch up to her.

‘Do you know where you’re going, love? You seem lost.’

‘I want to go where there are horses, lots of horses. I don’t know much about Queensland. Could you suggest a place, please, sir?’ She had a slight foreign accent. She was a pretty girl, but plump. She seemed to want to conceal her teeth while talking.

The cabbie thought for a while. Years ago he’d left Charleville, out west, to come to the city.

‘Come with me, love. I’ll help you buy a ticket to Charleville. It’s a pretty big small western town if you know what I mean and as good a place as any to start.’

He was a nice man and he waited with her to ensure that she got on the correct coach. He waved her goodbye as the coach pulled out and the Princess happily waved back. More and more she loved Australia.

She read the ticket as the coach moved out. Why did Australia have towns with French names? She’d have to find out.

The cabbie had told her that it would be some hours and that the driver would ensure that she got off at Charleville. He tipped the coach driver five dollars to ensure that that happened. Before leaving her he’d advised her to look hard at the money she had in her wallet, and there seemed to be a lot, and to get used to the Australian currency.

‘Otherwise people will rob you, princess. They’re not all like me.’

Her head jerked up at his use of ‘princess’ but she relaxed when she realised it was just one of the strange ways of Australians. She had a lot to learn about this wonderful country and its people and now she was among them.

She looked out the window in fascination as the coach moved through the city and then out into the country and then there were horses to be seen. She was tired but there was too much to be seen for her to sleep. And she had to practise that word. They said ‘have’ and she knew she’d mispronounced it. So, quietly in the seat that she had to herself, she kept saying ‘have’ over and over again until she felt she had it right. And then there was the currency, which she studied hard. German had been her native language and currency, but no longer.

Then she was at Charleville and the driver turned to her, but she was ahead of him and was off the coach before he could call to her.

The coach moved off and she was on the footpath outside a big hotel. It was late morning.

Now she should sleep and then perhaps ask people at the hotel where to get a job working with Australian horses. That shouldn’t be hard. This country was full of horses.

She moved into the hotel and found the office and waited. She didn’t know that nobody went to the office in a Queensland country pub. One went into the bar to do business, such as renting a room and the Princess waited quite a while before the publican, Mrs. Martin, working in the bar, spotted her.

‘I wish to hire a room for a time, until I can get a good job working with horses,’ she told Mrs. Martin in her slightly accented, careful English.

Again the Princess was lucky. Mrs. Martin had daughters, now in the city, but she could see that this girl needed help and, perhaps, protection. She was a stranger in a strange land.

She took her to a room, watched as she locked the door, backpack safely inside, then downstairs to the dining room and fed her, and then back to her room, showing her the bathroom on the way, leaving her to wash and sleep.

The bed was soft, and the Princess sank into it with a happy sigh.

****

Two days later, Jim and Linda Ellis booked into the pub and told Mrs. Martin that they were starting a jillaroo school on their cattle property and if she heard of anyone who might be interested, would she put them in touch? He had posters. She told them of her foreign guest.

They interviewed the Princess and signed her up for the school. Linda had her doubts but she was their first enrolment and Jim won the day. They were waiting in town for a new station cook so Linda examined the Princess’s outfit and took her to buy things such as the westerner’s raincoat—an oilskin known as the Drizabone. She needed a big hat too and sturdy riding boots.

They ate with her every day and, at the end of three days, both Linda and Jim had a real affection for the young girl, although they knew little more about her than when they’d first met. She gave little away.

The new cook turned up, and early the next day Jim loaded the station Land Cruiser truck ready to depart.

A problem arose. The cook refused to travel in the back of the truck, in the open; Jim refused to allow Linda to travel there; so it was agreed that Linda should drive and Jim get in the back with Rex, the unfriendly blue-heeler cattle dog. But it started to rain, heavily, and they decided that Jim should drive on the tricky road.

When they stopped to re-arrange places the Princess said, ‘Please? Let me ride there? I have a new raincoat which I wish to wear and I wish to know Rex. This is a new thing about Australia and this is what I came here for to see. I haff never ridden in the end of a truck before.’ She was persuasive and showing just a little glimmer of determination. Jim and Linda agreed, glaring at the cook.

Using her backpack as a rest she leaned in close against the back of the cabin and watched the muddy road recede and the creeks begin to flow and she tried to entice the dog into shelter, but it ignored her. The rain poured down more heavily and Rex eventually crept in beside her, even seeming to snuggle in. She patted him a lot even though he smelt, like a wet cattle dog, and on the way to the property there were enough horses in sight to satisfy even her.

Frequently they stopped while they took her into the cabin of the truck, out of the rain, and gave her hot tea and a big corned beef sandwich, all this so new to her. The cook got little.

Then she insisted on returning to her post, with a bit of the sandwich for Rex. Jim watched in some surprise. Rex was his dog, and his only, but not now, it seemed.

They set off again and the rain came down and she snuggled down into her new raincoat.

She had never been happier.

That night, at The Gums, she lay on her hard bunk, relived the wonderful day, practised the word ‘have’ and slept.

She’d beaten them. No one knew where she was.

When she’d had to give her name she had no false name to fall back on, which was just as well because she wasn’t a very good liar. So she told them—Tessa Pramberg from Austria. That’s what her passport read. She’d made sure of that, when preparing for this exciting adventure.

She had another, diplomatic, passport which read---Her Royal Highness, The Princess Tessadonna von Pramberg du Mont, of the European principality of Bassenburg du Mont.

I was sitting in Supreme Court Number 2, in Brisbane, along with the three other detectives from my squad, awaiting the jury’s verdict in the Lily Osbourne murder case.

Lily had been a beautiful 17-year-old who’d been raped and then strangled with a ligature, and her body dumped in a park on the outskirts of Brisbane. Her next door neighbour, Henry Chang, who’d grown up with her, had been charged and was now on trial. He wasn’t back in the dock yet. I’d spent most of the past three days staring at his left ear, as he sat in the dock in front of us. He was protected by a thick plastic shield. He knew I was there. He kept looking for me from the corner of his eye. I wanted him to know I was there, but not for the reasons you think.

I was Henry’s lone friend in these jurisprudence circles because I didn’t think he’d done it. All the evidence pointed to him—DNA and all that, on the ligature. Henry admitted to having sex with Lily but not to strangling her.

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