Bowen straightened. ‘I’m the doctor.’

‘Hold out your hand,’ Caleb demanded.

Bowen narrowed his eyes but complied, holding out his right hand. It shook despite the effort Bowen made to control it.

‘There’s your answer,’ Caleb said.

‘And what are your qualifications to tell me what I may or may not do?’ Bowen responded, his colour high with anger.

‘I’m a doctor,’ Caleb said. ‘A field surgeon in the Army of the South.’

Bowen did not respond, his eyes searching Caleb’s face. All anger and indignation drained from him and he nodded. ‘Very well, doctor. Burrell here has everything you need.’

Inside the crib room, Caleb allowed Bowen to inspect the man’s injury as Amos set the Gladstone bag and oak box down on the bench. The crib room smelled of unwashed bodies, blood and fear. A fire had been lit in the hearth and a large pot of water had been set to boil. The injured man’s two companions crouched beside the fire, stoking it into life. Caleb wiped his forehead, as the heat in the room began to rise.

Adelaide pointed to the box. ‘Is that what you wanted?’

He nodded. ‘Thank you, Mrs Greaves.’

She did not move. ‘I’ve also brought bandages and cloths. Can I help?’

He studied her face, noting the fierce set of her chin and the determined light in her eyes. ‘Do you faint at the sight of blood?’

‘No.’

He slipped the catches on the box and opened the lid, revealing the gleaming instruments laid out on dark blue velvet, like fine jewellery.

Adelaide drew in an audible breath and he cast her a warning glance. ‘You can go now,’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘You can start by seeing to the instruments’ sterilisation. Put them in the boiling water.’

Sterilisation of medical equipment before operations had been a new concept during the war—and not one he’d had time to adhere to in the fury of battle—but here and now he had time and he needed to make sure he did everything right. If he failed …

He turned to Bowen. ‘Doctor, what is your opinion?’

Bowen glanced at the shining knife in Adelaide’s hand. ‘You have no alternative,’ he said.

Relieved to have his diagnosis confirmed, Caleb nodded. ‘Despite what I said before, I would appreciate your advice.’

‘But—’ Bowen began then nodded. ‘Thank you. You’ll find what you need in my bag.’

Caleb opened the Gladstone bag and did a quick inventory of the contents. Chloroform and morphine. Thank God. The man didn’t need to suffer.

He turned to the man on the table, who looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

‘What’s your name?’ Caleb asked, although he knew the answer. He needed to distract the man as he prepared the syringe of morphine.