Adelaide hurried up the deserted main street, carrying an envelope containing the latest telegram advising that the vaccine had left Melbourne and would be with them on the next day, roads permitting. As she stepped onto the verandah of the police station, the front door opened and a man hurried out, colliding with her. He caught her by the arm before she fell onto the road.

‘I’m sorry, Adelaide. I didn’t see you there.’

Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Caleb. You’re forgiven. You must have a lot on your mind.’

He stood holding her arm and staring at her with sunken, red-rimmed eyes as if he had never seen her before in his life. He looked like a man who needed a good night’s sleep.

‘I’ve brought a telegram.’ She held it up. ‘The vaccine will be here tomorrow.’

‘That’s excellent news. Have you been vaccinated?’

She shook her head. ‘No, none of us have.’

He tightened his grip. ‘Then make sure you are the first in line. If anything were to happen—’

‘Caleb, you’re hurting me.’

He dropped his hand with a mumbled apology. ‘I’m sorry. Losing track of time. What day is it?’

‘Thursday. How is Mrs Murray?’

‘She will be dead by tomorrow morning,’ he said in a flat voice.

Adelaide closed her eyes. ‘Poor, poor woman. And her family?’

He paused. ‘Her son—’ He began and looked away. ‘He’s showing the symptoms and it is likely he will follow his mother. The other two will be all right.’

Adelaide thought of little Robert Murray in his mother’s arms as she showed him off to the ladies in the post office, and she wanted to weep. ‘I knew them …’ she said, dashing at the tears that welled in her eyes. ‘Forgive me. I think we are all feeling the strain. How are you managing? It all seems to have fallen on you and Bowen.’

‘I will be glad when this is over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get up to the Murray house.’

Adelaide glanced at the envelope in her hand. ‘And I must give this to Sergeant Maidment.’

Caleb caught her arm again and she looked at him. His dark, haunted eyes held hers. ‘Adelaide, I’m sorry … for everything. There will be time to talk when this is over.’

He dropped his hand and his firm footsteps echoed on the wooden verandah boards. She did not move. Only when she could be certain he had gone did she dare to breathe.

Caleb sat on the verandah of the Murray house, a pannikin of tea provided by Posy on the bench beside him, as he took a few minutes to smoke his pipe. The rich scent of tobacco masked the stench of the sick room. As he picked up the pannikin a knock on the palings made him start, slopping the hot, horrible liquid on his hand.

‘Who is it?’