‘You should try it in winter,’ Penrose said with a smile. ‘It really is a sleigh ride. I’ve seen a horse team sliding down it on their haunches.’

Mrs Russell lurched and swayed, only her iron grip on the leather strap above her seat stopped her landing in Caleb’s lap. The sinews of her wrist stood out and Caleb guessed that beneath the grey kid gloves she wore despite the warmth, her knuckles were white.

‘You should see the bullock teams bringing in the mining and other equipment,’ Penrose said.

‘Nothing short of a miracle,’ Russell added, the muscles of his jaw clenching as they swung around another bend.

Caleb’s grip on the strap relaxed as the road levelled out to a gentle curve that brought them into a valley. He leaned out the window, craning to catch his first sight of Maiden’s Creek. Steep slopes rose from the curve of the creek, leaving little room on the flat ground for the rough and tumble town that crowded the banks of a fouled waterway. Cabins constructed from split logs clung like barnacles to the vertiginous sides of the hills, spoil heaps from mines spilled down to the creek bank and, beyond them, tall chimneys belched smoke. Overlaying it all was a steady cadence: bump, bump, bump; a sound he remembered from his time on the Californian goldfields.

‘I’d forgotten how much noise a stamper makes,’ he said, conscious of having to raise his voice to make himself heard.

Penrose nodded. ‘At the moment it’s only a three-headed stamper. Wait till the five-header arrives.’

‘The silence at night must be deafening,’ Caleb said.

‘Oh, it doesn’t stop at night,’ Penrose said. ‘Only on Sundays and, yes, the silence is deafening. You get used to it.’

Mrs Russell sighed. ‘When the new stamper arrives, Mr Russell will be seeking a transfer to a more congenial town.’

Russell shot his wife a mutinous glance that conveyed he had no intention of seeking a more congenial post. ‘If it’s any consolation, Hunt,’ he said, ‘they don’t have a battery up at Pretty Sally yet, so you’ll find it a little more peaceful.’

‘Any recommendations of places to stay?’

‘The coach will set you down at The Empress,’ Russell said. ‘That’s probably the best hostelry in town. Mrs Riordan has an excellent reputation for keeping a respectable place.’

‘Unlike most of the hostelries,’ Mrs Russell put in. ‘It even has a piano. The only one in Maiden’s Creek.’

Caleb thought of the treacherous road they had travelled and wondered how they had brought a piano into Maiden’s Creek, let alone the equipment needed for a mine the scale of the Maiden’s Creek Mine.