Despite his exhaustion, Caleb lay awake for a long time, listening to the tick of the night insects, seemingly louder than the thump of the battery. He thought of Adelaide and how much he had longed to see her and talk through the events of the past few days. She was the only person in Maiden’s Creek who would understand his grief at Bowen’s death.

She was his ‘grand girl’ but from his strange reception tonight, he wondered if she had really agreed to step out with him. Had he misinterpreted her intentions?

He had to admit he had limited experience in courting a woman. Before the war there had been nice girls he had escorted to social events, but that hardly constituted a courtship. The war had ended all that had been good and wholesome in his life. He had seen at first hand the results of the base instincts of men who had been reduced to nameless, faceless soldiers. While he hadn’t been a monk, his own encounters with women had always been short-lived, satisfying mutual loneliness and need but never involving the heart. And after the war? Apart from a girl in San Francisco, there had been no one.

He wondered if Penrose would be any use as a source of advice about what would be considered proper. Penrose, who had lost his heart to one of Lil’s girls? Maybe not.

From somewhere in the town below him came the sound of tuneless singing that, for a short moment, drowned out all other noise. He thought again of Bowen. What had prompted Bowen to see to his registration as a doctor? Had the old doctor seen a lost soul who craved stability and purpose or had it simply been the opportunity to lessen his own workload? Whatever the reason, Caleb didn’t know whether to thank him or curse him.

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Three

Netty sat down on the end of Adelaide’s bed. Adelaide uncurled and, with a shuddering sob, sat up.

‘Who was at the door?’ she asked.

‘Caleb. I sent him away. Told him you had a headache.’

With a shaking hand, Adelaide brushed the long strands of hair away from her face. ‘Netty, you had no right—’

‘I could hardly tell him you were on your bed sobbing your heart out over another man, could I?’

Adelaide blew her nose on her sodden handkerchief. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

‘It’s not about what I want, is it? It’s what’s best for Danny. It has to be about what’s best for Danny.’

When Netty said nothing, Adelaide continued, ‘If I do what Richard wants—marry him and return to England—Danny will have a father, respectability, a place in society.’

‘He said your father’s dead. I know one should speak no ill of the dead, but I bet there was no one to mourn him at the graveside.’