‘Nonsense. It’s just a fever,’ Murray said, but his tone had lost its conviction. He jerked a finger at Caleb. ‘Who’s he?’

‘This is Dr Hunt,’ Bowen replied.

Murray frowned. ‘Doctor?’

‘Yes,’ snapped Caleb. ‘I had my suspicions at Shady Creek so I came after you. Too late to prevent the idiocy of you lodging in a public house in the centre of town.’

‘He’s right,’ Bowen added. ‘You could not have done anything worse if you tried. Consider yourself now in quarantine, along with everyone in the hotel.’

The maid gave a cry and fell onto a chair, burying her face in her apron. ‘I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen,’ she wailed.

‘Have you been in contact with anyone with a fever and a rash?’ Bowen asked.

Murray drew a breath, ready, no doubt, to bluster a denial but the maid jumped to her feet.

‘I said we shouldn’t have come back,’ she cried.

‘Be quiet, Posy,’ Murray barked.

Undeterred, the maid continued, ‘We was visiting the mistress’s sister in Melbourne. She had a new bairn she wanted to show the missus. We were staying with Mrs Evans and her family in Latrobe Street when Mrs Evans’s cook got taken ill. Missus said we had to leave at once, so we did. I’ve seen it before. I knew what it was.’ Posy’s voice rose to hysterical levels. ‘I told him.’ She pointed a finger at Murray.

‘We just have to get her home. She’ll be fine once we’re at home.’ Murray made a lunge for the door, but Caleb stepped in front of him. He caught the man by the arms and thrust him back.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Caleb said. ‘Your wife has smallpox. Do you not understand, man? If smallpox gets into this town, it will devastate the population.’

Murray’s bluff and bluster evaporated and he buried his face in his hands.

Caleb laid a hand on the man’s shaking shoulders. ‘What’s your wife’s name?’

‘Elizabeth—Lizzie,’ the man said, his voice muffled by his hands.

‘And your son?’ Caleb smiled at the little boy, who stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes.

‘Robert, and this is our maid—’

‘Posy Edwards, sir,’ the girl answered for herself in a small, tight voice. She touched her face with shaking fingers. ‘I had the smallpox when I was a girl. Does that mean I won’t get it?’

Caleb nodded. ‘What about you, Murray?’

The man thrust his sleeve up, revealing an ugly little scar on his left. He glanced at his son. ‘But not the boy or … or …’ He turned his stricken gaze on his wife.

Caleb did not reply. He returned to the sick woman and took her hand. He looked down into her feverish eyes.

‘I’m going to die, aren’t I?’ she said.