A HAZARD OF HEARTS (29 page)

Jo-Beth waved airily to the disappearing
figures, remarking, ‘I’ll warrant they’ve gone off quite happily to some tavern
to discuss the next cockfight, or Governor Fitzroy’s latest scandalous
escapade. Look, here comes the pie-man. Do let’s buy some of his wares for the
noon meal. My stomach quails at the thought of hospital food.’ She darted over
to the little iron box with the smoke belching from its chimney, returning to
waft hot pies under Elly’s nose and make her stomach gurgle in anticipation.

Back at the hospital Elly found all calm and
orderly. Jenkins marched the length of her ward like a prison guard, welcoming
the two trainees with snarled orders that sent them scurrying. Even the
mentally disturbed women who made a habit of disrupting the wards most days, merely
picked at their sheets, one talking to herself, the other bawling the usual
lewd verses. But everyone had grown used to Mad Mrs Lyddie and Old Rose by now
– everyone except Elly, who petitioned the Board in vain for separate
accommodation for the ‘mental’ cases, while struggling, along with the rest of
the staff, to maintain order.

While munching her pie secretly and guiltily in
her office, glad not to be hearing Jenkins gulp her greasy soup in the communal
dining room, Elly questioned whether she worried unnecessarily. So her finest
trained nurse had gone. It wasn’t a calamity. She still had Jo-Beth, a willing
if unorthodox helper, while Malone and Irvine added daily to their experience.
Perhaps she’d been unfair to Jenkins, as able a nurse as Pearl, when she chose.
Yet she lacked empathy, and had not been tested in a real emergency. Elly could
not like her, sensing a quality in her beyond hardness. She suspected the woman
enjoyed the sight of pain. Could this be so? She had no right to think it, not
without proof. All the same, she would not promote Jenkins just yet.

~*~

A few weeks later Jo-Beth cajoled Elly into
accompanying her on a shopping trip down George Street, and Elly soon found
herself in unaccustomed surroundings watching Jo-Beth’s metamorphosis into lady
of fashion. The room had been lined from waist height to the ceiling with
polished cedar shelves stacked with bolts of fabric, bonnet boxes, feathers and
fans, plus many other aids to apparel to delight the female eye. Below, deep
drawers held buttons and laces, artificial sprays, clips, hooks and
belt-buckles, handkerchiefs, turbans and scarves. The counter-tops were heaped
with colour, an indiscriminate patchwork waiting to be sorted, for choices to
be made. The air hummed with feminine indecision.

Urged by Jo-Beth, Elly obediently fingered the
striped fabric then let it slip back onto the counter in a pool of silver grey.
Her thoughts were totally divorced from shopping and dresses. She disliked
dallying through the various emporia lining George Street, as much as Jo-Beth
enjoyed it, and would far rather have walked a beach with the sea-wind in her
hair. Yet she valued her friend’s company too much to complain. It made her
happy to watch Jo-Beth emerge from her grief and enjoy being frivolous once
again.

Around them the noise level rose as assistants
ran to serve the more affluent women of Sydney Town, who whiled away an
agreeable hour in Mr David Jones’ establishment before lunch and an afternoon
drive in the family carriage. Elly fidgeted, sighed, then smiled dutifully as
Jo-Beth turned to her.

‘Look, Elly. This ribbon is a perfect match. I
could use it to trim my bonnet and create a completely new ensemble. What do
you think?’ She laid the ribbon against the taffeta, her head to one side, considering.

‘I think you will grace the day in it,’ said a
male voice. Captain Alan McAndrews appeared at her side. ‘Good day to you Miss
Loring, Miss Ballard.’

Elly gave him her hand while studying Jo-Beth’s
reaction. No-one could doubt her pleasure in the encounter, nor miss the
unconscious preening gesture with which she greeted the Captain.

McAndrews swaggered a little and touched his
moustache. ‘Fortune’s tide flows with me today. Ladies, will you honour me by
taking some refreshment before continuing with your arduous expedition?’

‘Hardly arduous, sir,’ said Jo-Beth. ‘So far we
have visited only two shops and purchased nothing.’ She smiled coquettishly,
lifting a corner of the taffeta. ‘Then you approve this?’

‘Most certainly. It will suit your striking
colouring most admirably.’

‘Elly?’ queried Jo-Beth.

‘It’s very pretty. Buy the ribbon as well.’

‘Well I will. And if you wish it, we’ll drink
tea with Captain McAndrews before we go back.’ Jo-Beth turned to the
shop-assistant while Elly conversed pleasantly with the Captain.

He found a chair for her then stood at his ease,
cap under arm, each glossy strand of fair hair in place, and no doubt aware of
the fine figure he cut.

Hiding her amusement, Elly said, ‘It’s uncommon
for us to be found dawdling the morning away in idleness. Only recent additions
to our staff have made this possible.’

He nodded. ‘I heard the Board had increased the
numbers of nurses, and why. You, Matron, are a notable combatant. We could use
you in our ranks, by Jove.’

‘Indeed? We’ve also recently been promised
separate accommodation for patients who are mentally disturbed, which will be a
great relief to us all, not least the other patients.’

McAndrews’ moustache twitched and Elly hid a
smile. So the gallant soldier didn’t relish such talk. She found it strange how
the most manly courage could melt away in the face of madness. Of course, it
wasn’t hard to be physically brave if you had the brawn to overcome your
opponent.

The sunny April day had brought people into the
street which rang with the cries of pavement sellers and touts for custom, from
goats milk cheese to a mining lease from a disillusioned digger standing
between the grandiose pillars of the Savings Bank. Further up George Street a
tea house advertised itself with a sign on an awning, and there the two
shoppers and their escort made the most of several buns along with the fragrant
brew, while Elly covertly studied the demeanour of her companions.

Certainly Jo-Beth showed little sign of
infatuation, whether as the result of her upbringing or simply because she felt
none. McAndrews, on the contrary, used the slightest opportunity to touch
Jo-Beth’s hand, to perform small services such as cutting her bun, or
retrieving a dropped parcel. His hot gaze devoured her to a point where Elly
began to feel uncomfortable. Lost in thought, she found she had missed some of
the talk which had turned to war. McAndrews had forgotten his posturing and his
ardour in the scent of battle as he excitedly sketched a map on the table with
a teaspoon.

‘This is the Crimean Peninsula which is in
question, and which Russia is determined to control, along with the rest of
Turkey. It’s my belief Britain will go to war over it, may even be at war by
now, if we but knew the truth. We daily await confirmation with every ship.’

Jo-Beth drew in her breath. ‘War! Would you have
to go, Captain McAndrews?’

‘I might. Would you care greatly if I did?’

Jo-Beth dropped her gaze. ‘Of course. We must
all deplore our friends running into danger. Tell me more about the Turks’ wish
for independence.’

‘It’s a myth, independence. Any one of the major
nations would like Turkey to come within their sphere of influence. The Tsar,
as head of the Orthodox Church, disguises his aggression by declaring himself
protector of the many Christian subjects in Turkey. He doesn’t seem to believe
we’d go to war to stop him.’

‘But you do.’ Jo-Beth’s expression clouded,
obviously with a vision of the misery to result from countries at war.
Impulsively she turned to him. ‘You must not go. Promise me you will not go.’

‘My dear...’ He put out a hand to hers, then
swiftly withdrew it. But the message was unmistakable.

Summer panted into its last month, bringing
with it storms which thundered down on the town each afternoon to saturate the
heated air to an unbearable level of humidity. Houses grew mould indoors and it
seemed half the population arrived on the hospital doorstep suffering heat
exhaustion and either gastric or respiratory problems. The staff stretched
themselves to the full over impossible hours; tempers shortened as the mercury
climbed and sweat failed to evaporate from clothes and bedding. The misery
factor multiplied when windows could not be opened above the drains and the
water shortage grew desperate. But for Elly the worst torment was the
mosquitoes which hatched in thousands in stagnant pools to descend like angry
clouds on bare skin.

On one of the hottest, louring days, little
Charlotte Perkins was admitted, once again the victim of a Grand Mal epileptic
attack. Elly had her placed in isolation in a screened section of Ward Two and
watched her until the fitting ceased and the girl lapsed into coma. She then
called in Jenkins who, about to go off duty, energetically resisted Elly’s
request for her to stay with Charlotte until she recovered.

‘It’s not my job. I’ve finished my work for
today.’

‘I know, but it’s not for long. The girl must be
watched while she’s so helpless, and I can’t spare any more time. I should meet
the inspection committee in ten minutes but have still to finish my report; the
water cart hasn’t arrived so I must send for another; and Doctor Houston wanted
to see me half an hour ago. If you will just stay for thirty minutes more I’ll
relieve you then and allow you extra time off tomorrow. Will you oblige me in
this?’

Jenkins folded her lips and glared. ‘No. I want
to get off my feet.’

Selfish little bitch, thought Elly. Each one of
them was tired out and wringing wet and wishing she were elsewhere. But in this
hospital the patients came first. Oh, to have Pearl back again.

She schooled her emotions. ‘You may sit down
while you wait. All I ask is for you to see no harm comes to this child until I
can relieve you. Well, Jenkins?’

Something in her tone seemed to penetrate
Jenkins’ wall of rejection. Her gaze flickered to the patient then back to
Elly.

‘All right. Thirty minutes.’ Arms crossed, she
flung herself down on the end of Charlotte’s cot.

‘Thank you.’ Elly brushed her fingers over
Charlotte’s knotted curls, pulled the sheet straight under the girl’s chin. She
seemed even more frail than when last admitted almost a year ago. So many of
the children she saw were undernourished, uncared-for, running wild in back
lanes amongst piles of filth and dead animals, exposed to all forms of vice and
disease. But this one had spirit. She’d bitten Jenkins on that far-off day when
the black cordial was being forcibly administered. Elly smiled at the memory as
she hurried away.

Doctor Houston had left without waiting for her,
so she finished off her report, tidied her hair then descended to the front
hall to meet the committee members when they arrived, sweltering in their
fashionable broadcloth and beaver. She led the way to the theatres, the first
item on the inspection agenda for today. They were on their way upstairs when
screams broke out overhead, rising into high-pitched shrieks as Elly raced
ahead, ignoring the comments of ‘Not again,’ ‘This is indefensible, Matron’,
from the men puffing along behind.

Elly burst into Ward Two to find half the
ambulant patients gathered at one end in a sort of scrum, women piled on top of
one another, bare legs waving from beneath their shifts, with the shrieks
issuing from somewhere within the pile. The partition around Charlotte’s bed
had fallen down and the cot was empty. There was no sign of Jenkins.

‘What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happened? Where is
Charlotte?’ Elly tore at the heaped bodies, forcing her way through. Her heart
beat so hard and fast her head swam. This was no ordinary ward uproar. She
feared something terrible had happened involving the helpless Charlotte.

A moment later she knew the truth. Old Rose lay
spread-eagled on the floor with bodies sitting on her arms and legs and even on
her stomach. Her eyes had turned up in her head while her lips were drawn in a grinning
rictus. She continued to shriek with laughter, until Elly thrust a corner of
sheet into the nearest pair of hands, saying, ‘Gag her.’

 She turned to Charlotte, thrown in the corner
like a crumpled doll with all the sawdust let out. Gently Elly smoothed aside
the tumbled curls to reveal a face swollen almost beyond recognition. A bubble
of froth hung on her blue lips and the girl had the fixed stare of a statue.
The marks around her throat clearly demonstrated how Charlotte’s coma had come
to end in violent death.

Elly swallowed. ‘Where’s Jenkins?’

One of the older women replied, ‘She went off
just after you did, Matron.’

A chorus of horrified gasps behind her told Elly
the committee had pushed their way through the scrum.

‘She went off.’ She whispered the words to
herself. Then she straightened Charlotte’s shift around her pathetic limbs and
rose to face the Committee. She trembled, but her voice did not.

‘Gentlemen, you now see the results of your
policy of keeping the mentally afflicted in the general wards.’ She pointed to
Old Rose. ‘That woman is quite deranged, and has just murdered an innocent
child who lay helpless in a coma.’