A HAZARD OF HEARTS (13 page)

The days raced by, full and hectic. Only in
those early waking moments before she forced her feet out of bed onto the floor
did she allow her mind to wander into personal fields. Sometimes she thought
about Paul Gascoigne. Yet more often his quizzical regard faded in the memory
of a darker, more intrusive gaze that had disturbed her in the Board Room, and
whose owner remained a mystery.

~*~

A knock sounded at her door and Nurse
Jenkins sidled in, her thin mouth surly as she began a litany of complaints.

‘That Sarah Hodges has taken to her bed with the
quinsy and now there’s only me and old Betsy to look after the two wards. The
kitchen’s had another fire so there won’t be no dinner today. And what about
the black cordial? Matron Box –’

‘There will be no black cordial, as I told you. I
am Acting Matron now, so you will kindly remember your orders.’ Elly held the
impertinent stare coolly, until Jenkins’ eyes dropped. ‘As for the dinner, if
it’s anything like yesterday’s or the day before, we’re better without it. I’ve
put on a boiler with beef bones and vegetables and another cook will start
tomorrow, after that appalling kitchen has been cleaned out. It’s no more than
a lean-to, set far too close to those even more dreadful privies.’

Jenkins smirked, and Elly folded her lips on
further complaints of her own. ‘Get back to your work, please. I am reminded
that the commodes left in the wards overnight were not emptied this morning
until eight of the clock. This should be done by six at the latest, with any
spillage cleaned up immediately. I’ll see Nurse Hodges and decide what might be
done for her. Meanwhile, please be so kind as to relieve Betsy Haybrook of any
liquor she’s carrying on her person, or has secreted in the wards. You may warn
her I shall conduct a thorough inspection later today before the official
Committee rounds.’

Jenkins flounced out, leaving Elly to
investigate Nurse Hodges’ claims of illness. She had already met opposition from
the so-called nursing staff, male and female, who appeared to have the merest
smattering of medical knowledge with little common sense between them. What
they lacked in training they made up in good-will towards the patients, but their
clumsy efforts often caused pain and difficulty while contributing little
towards the patients’ recovery.

She had already dismissed two maids – both of
them dirty, light- fingered and no loss to the hospital – but the nursing staff
were no better. Of the three women, one was elderly and feeble and fond of gin,
and the other just plain lazy, while Jenkins herself clearly intended to be as
obstructive as possible within the bounds of dismissal. The wards men, coming
under the Superintendent’s control, resented any suggestions from Elly and
could not be compelled.

Nurse Hodges sat up in bed in the cramped,
airless nurses’ quarters, sipping from a brown bottle which she hastily hid
under the blanket when Elly entered. Her cap had fallen over her forehead and
strings of hair hung across her face.

‘‘Mornin’ Matron,’ she wheezed. ‘I got the
quinsy real bad. Can’t swallow a morsel. Can’t hardly get a word out.’

‘Indeed, I’m sorry to hear it Nurse Hodges. Be
so good as to open your mouth.’

Sarah gaped, and a little wooden stick appeared
in Elly’s hand, flashing up to depress Sarah’s tongue. Elly turned the woman’s
face to the window, peered down her throat, then withdrew the stick, placing it
in a bag at her waist.

‘It’s not quinsy, you’ll be glad to know. A
small amount of inflammation with mucous, nothing serious. You may get up and
dress. Be ready to resume your duties within twenty minutes, if you please.’

‘But... me throat. ‘Tis raw as a whore’s arse – ‘

‘Be quiet. There’s nothing wrong with you except
laziness.’ Elly stripped back the blanket ruthlessly. ‘Out you come.’

Sarah slid her legs over the bedside, glaring. If
she was a cat she’d spit, thought Elly, smiling despite her annoyance, and
pointing to the brown bottle.

‘Come along. I’ll give you a cup of tea before
you start. It will do you far more good than “Mother’s Ruin”.’

She left Sarah struggling into her patched
woollen gown, sweat and food-stained and bursting at the seams, and made a mental
note to order decent, washable uniforms. Her mind dwelt on staff deficiencies,
and she knew she’d have to approach the Committee about an increase. Three
nurses simply couldn’t do the work. Also, Elly wanted someone on duty in her
wards during the night. But where could she find reliable women?

Only four members of the twelve appointed to the
Weekly Committee made their appearance, full of importance and more interested
in the refreshments awaiting them in the Boardroom after the inspection. They
had no desire to view the wards men’s or servants’ quarters above the ruinous kitchen,
nor any other out-buildings. They would inspect the wards and, possibly, the
theatres. They were busy men, Acting Lady Superintendent Ballard must
understand.

Only too well, Elly thought, as she led the way
upstairs.

The warm day had encouraged effluvia from the
drains to seep through the floorboards, causing handkerchiefs to be clapped to
noses. The men’s wards were inspected, the patients questioned as to their
treatment by the staff and their answers filed away mentally to be forgotten,
as Elly could see. Nobody mentioned the obvious fact that someone had failed to
reach a privy in time, although the party left in some haste to inspect the
female wards.

The first seemed orderly enough. There was a
distinct lurch about Nurse Haybrook’s walk, while the fumes of spirit wreathing
her head would have made lighting a match inadvisable. But to Elly’s relief the
nurse managed to stay upright until the party left for the second female ward.

Here Elly’s eagle eye swept ahead, detecting no
fault. Nurse Jenkins stood at attention at one end of the room while those
patients who could sit up, did so, with smiles pinned on their faces. Yet Elly
felt uneasy. It was unusually quiet. Then suddenly the ward erupted. Every
mouth opened, every woman and child screamed. Missiles flew from bed to bed,
blankets were flung back and patients began to dance half-naked, shouting and
singing lewd verses. Elly surprised a satisfied expression on Nurse Jenkins’
face, before she recollected and, with a frown at Elly, plunged into the fray,
hitting out and making matters worse.

The stunned committee departed en masse to
confront Elly in the corridor.

‘Disgraceful. Lack of control. A serious error
made. A report to be submitted. Utter madhouse.’

These words and more filtered through to Elly,
to be instantly obliterated by the rage shaking her like an ague. Jenkins! That
sly little snake. She’d planned this uproar to discredit Elly, and succeeded. Why
the patients had co-operated had yet to be discovered although, she suspected threats
or bribery.

Elly drew herself up to face her accusers. ‘Gentlemen,
pray excuse me while I deal with this emergency. If you have completed your
inspection, I invite you to partake of refreshments in the Board Room with
Mister Houston, who awaits you downstairs in his room.’ She nodded coldly, opened
the door and stepped back into anarchy.

Jo-Beth stood on the quarter deck and
watched the Captain take his sextant from its case, handling the instrument
carefully. Sunlight flashed on the brass fittings, dazzling her vision.

‘You see the sun is almost at its zenith,’ he
told her, ‘which determines the ship’s noon time. We measure the angle with the
horizon to compare the ship time with Greenwich Time as per the chronometer,
then convert the difference to degrees. Each hour equals fifteen degrees, and
thus we determine our longitude.’

He turned to the mate, who also had his sextant
raised to meet the horizon. ‘Ready?’

‘Aye, sir.’

The two men lowered their instruments at the
same time, and the Captain said, ‘Then make it noon.’

The mate raised an arm to signal the striking of
eight bells. The ship’s day had officially started.

‘How do you determine latitude?’ asked Jo-Beth, anxious
for any excuse to stay by Ethan’s side. He was circumspect before his men, but
his eyes rested on her at this moment, bright with desire, following her
slightest move. Her lips tingled as if kissed and she had to look away,
unwilling to reveal the turbulence he could arouse in her. She’d never felt
like this before in her life. It was exhilarating. New sensations, erotic
thoughts crowded out common sense. She wanted nothing more than to be in this man’s
arms, shut away from the rest of the world. How painful strong emotions could
be, and how easily one could lose control.

Against her wishes the memory of a very painful
scene with Pearl flooded back, bringing with it shame and regret. How could she
have so misjudged her? Only through jealousy, an emotion so strange to Jo-Beth
that she hadn’t recognised it in time. Now Pearl refused to talk to her and their
precious friendship was shattered. If she’d only seen Ethan’s interest in Pearl
for what it was, admiration for a young woman’s courage and quick-wittedness,
and curiosity over her adventures. But no, she, the self-confident Belle of
Boston, had to suspect, to follow, to eavesdrop on perfectly innocuous
conversations, seeing betrayal where none existed.

On the fatal afternoon in question she had followed
Pearl when she left the saloon to stretch her legs on deck, claiming she
twitched with impatient longing to rush to the wheel and drive the ship onward
faster, to the eventual meeting with her brother.

Ethan was standing there, gazing up into a mass
of spars and rigging where the cross trees on the raked-back masts strained to
hold the great wind-filled sails. The ship seemed to fly, its curved hull
skimming the wave-tops, its wings spread forty feet on either side of the
mainmast to lift and glide like the mighty albatross.

‘A “soldiers” wind on the beam, Miss Pearl,’
Ethan said. ‘We’ve just logged her at eighteen knots. If the wind stays in its
present quarter we’ll pick up time.’

Pearl turned her elfin face to him, asking how
long he intended to sail the great clippers, whether he would spend his life on
a heaving deck, and what Jo-Beth thought of the idea.

Eaten with suspicion, Jo-Beth watched her Ethan
draw close to Pearl and drop his voice. She heard the word ‘love’ and felt her
heart jolt. Momentarily blinded by pain, she forced herself to look again and
saw Ethan smiling. His voice carried to her easily.

‘Singapore in twenty-four hours, Miss Pearl. I’ll
take some of the payment for your jewel in silver coin so you can sew it into
that little foul-weather jacket of yours. He tweaked her collar then moved off,
obviously pleased at her startlement.

Jo-Beth joined Pearl in a few strides and
grasped her arm. ‘What did Ethan say to you?’

‘He knew about my jacket.’ Pearl seemed put out.

‘Bother your jacket! What was he saying about
love?’

Jo-Beth’s voice was harsh enough to cause a
seaman nearby to glance up. She lowered her tone. ‘Why was Ethan talking to you
about love?’

Pearl answered composedly. ‘He spoke of his love
for the sea and for the great white bird clippers, and how they will soon be
replaced by ugly steamships with their bellies constantly in need of stoking
with coal.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I speak the truth.’

‘He drew close to you and lowered his voice. He
didn’t want to be heard.’

Pearl snorted. ‘Of course, he didn’t want his
men to hear. Poetic images of his ship as a bird afloat would hardly enhance
his
image as Master. He has no desire to be laughed at.’

Releasing her grasp on Pearl’s arm, Jo-Beth
stepped back, grey eyes hard as agate, her tone deceptively soft. ‘You like
him, don’t you?’

‘Yes. He has the heart of a dove.’

‘I agree. He is a kind man – the man I love with
a consuming passion. He’s mine, Pearl. Don’t try to take him from me.’

Pearl’s mouth fell open. ‘Take him? Whatever
makes you –?’

‘Because you would fail. And do you know why?
Because I am his kind and you’re not. His skin and mine are the same colour.’

~*~

‘Latitude?’ Ethan repeated Jo-Beth’s
question, bringing her back to the present. ‘That also is dependent upon the noon
sun sight, with a reference to tables. A simple enough matter with clear skies,
but a problem in bad weather. Excuse me while I check a course alteration.’

With his hot gaze removed, Jo-Beth moved away restlessly,
stopping to watch the sand run through the half-hour glass, then walking on,
miserably conscious of Pearl up in the bows, as coolly remote as if she dwelt
behind glass.

It was discouraging.

~*~

The call at Singapore Island had been a disappointment
to Jo-Beth, with sultry weather and loneliness spoiling a trip in an open
carriage through the picturesque tropical scenery, studded with exotic flowers
and alive with birds that looked as if they’d fallen into paint pots. Pearl had
stayed aboard ship, anchored in the roads. She had received Jo-Beth’s
peace-offering, a tiny monkey on a chain, with cool thanks and no more.