‘Oh, feeling better, are we?’ she said as though she couldn’t believe Rose had been sick.
‘Much better, thank you,’ Rose murmured, setting up the duke’s trolley.
‘No one else has fallen ill, so don’t you go blaming my cooking.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Mrs March.’
Bessie threw Rose a grin as she pushed the cart out of the kitchen. She collected clean linen along the way and headed up the hill to the duke’s cottage. At the door, her heart hammered in her throat as she gave it a knock.
The duke appeared with a stunned look on his face. He opened the door for her and she curtseyed before carrying in his tray and setting it down on the table.
‘Good morning,’ he muttered.
She nodded politely.
‘I didn’t expect to see you. Where’s the fat girl?’
‘Bessie is in the kitchen today, Your Grace.’
‘I see.’
Rose fell silent again as she laid out his breakfast and cutlery. She poured his tea and pulled out the chair for him. When he took the seat, she placed the napkin on his lap and rested the newspaper at his elbow. They remained that way, locked in a silent standoff, neither talking.
‘I’ll tend to your room now,’ she said, turning away.
He grabbed her wrist and she snatched it back as though he had burnt her.
‘Rose, I…’
She couldn’t meet his eye, no matter how remorsefully he was watching her.
‘I want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday.’ He hung his head. ‘I acted appallingly. I’m sorry.’
Tears welled in her eyes as she fought to push them down.
‘I’m just so lonely all the time. And you are lovely; the only one I can talk to. Can we still be friends?’
She shook her head.
‘Rose, please.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She curtseyed and left him at the breakfast table.
Thinking of Thomas was the only thing that got her through breakfast, morning tea and lunch. By afternoon tea, the duke had stopped begging for her forgiveness and had turned sullen. They had reached borderline civility as she served his meals and tended to his housekeeping.
She hadn’t realised how exhausting it could be, how much energy it took to prop up a wall between them and to keep him at arm’s length. She was his maid, not his friend; a line she’d foolishly crossed some time ago and which had almost cost her dearly.
At dinnertime, while she was serving him roast chicken, he asked about Bessie. ‘Maybe that nice kitchen girl could bring my meals tomorrow.’
Rose was unperturbed. ‘If that’s your preference, place the request with Miss Dalton and she will see to it.’
He gave a nod as if that’s what he would do, but the next day and the day after that, Rose waited. No notice was forthcoming about the reassignment of roles.
Rain thrummed the roof of Thomas’s cottage as a thunderstorm brewed somewhere out at sea. Rose lay on her back among the covers, Thomas beside her, his breath slowing, their legs entwined.
‘Do you get tired during the day, my love?’
‘Not at all,’ she lied.
‘I’ve been keeping you up late at night.’
‘Yes but I like it,’ she said wickedly.
Thomas laughed; a lovely, languorous sound amidst the falling rain.
They had been meeting in secret every night in his cottage for the past six weeks and every night, just before dawn, Rose would scurry back to her quarters in the dark, making it there as Bessie stirred awake. This made her tired during the day, sometimes with little more than a few hours’ sleep to see her through, but by the time dinner came around, she was fuelled again by the urge to see him.
Rose rolled onto her side, pulled his face to hers and kissed him. He kissed her back, his hands sliding slowly up her spine, making her shiver with every stroke of her vertebra. He pulled her in close, pinning her pleasurably against him.
‘One day we’ll leave here, my Rose,’ he said. ‘I’ll save lots of money for us, we’ll marry and we can live together as husband and wife. You’ll be the last person I see at night and the first person I wake to in the morning. Nothing would make me happier.’
She climbed on top of him and traced her hands across his chest and stomach. ‘And where will you take me to live, Mr Van Cleeve?’
‘I’ll take you to North Queensland.’
‘Is that where you’re from?’
‘No, I’m from Adelaide in the south, but I’ve always liked the idea of Queensland,’ he said.
‘Is it far from here?’
‘It’s quite further north, near the top end of Australia.’
‘And what’s there?’
‘Well, if we move to Cairns or Port Douglas, there’s warm weather, white sandy beaches and palm trees.’
‘Oh!’
‘Or we could go further inland to Edmonton or Mount Sheridan where there’s farming land.’
‘Will there be animals and lots of room for our children to grow?’ she asked.
‘All of it and more.’
They both smiled.
‘Thomas?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s leave now.’ Her own boldness surprised her.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Now?’
‘Well, you know. Soon. Tomorrow or the next day.’
‘Rose…’
‘We could move to Queensland. We wouldn’t have to worry about the rules anymore, or the fear of getting caught or sneaking around after dark.’
‘It’s not that simple, my love.’
‘But it can be.’
He sighed. ‘I don’t think this is something we should rush. We’ll leave soon, I promise. I only want to save a little more for the purchase of a house. I never want us to have to struggle or for you to go without.’
‘I don’t need much.’
‘But that’s not good enough for me. I want you to have everything.’ He looked crestfallen at the prospect that he’d upset her. ‘Have I made you sad?’
‘No, my love, of course not.’
She dipped her head to kiss him, to try to show him how much she loved him for the kind and generous person he was. She tried not to feel disappointed, only lucky to know a man who wanted nothing but the best for her.
They made love for the third time that evening and she forced the uncertainties from her mind. She concentrated only on the present—the soft rain spattering against the tin roof and the pleasing sensation of her body beneath his.
Just before dawn broke, the rain moved on and Thomas walked her back to first class. Rose bid him goodnight on the road and hurried back to her quarters. She just made it inside the door when Bessie rolled over in her bed.
‘Rose, is that you?’
‘I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I heard a noise outside.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Not quite dawn. Go back to sleep.’
Bessie rolled over and when she was silent again, Rose let out a breath. She would have to be more careful next time. She would have to leave Thomas’s cottage earlier to avoid getting caught.
But it was hard. She had so little time with him as it was and with no end in sight to the rules that bound them, they would have to make do with precious stolen hours.
It was well after Bessie left for the kitchen that Rose finally fell into a troubled sleep.
The following morning, Rose overslept. When she awoke, the sun was high and she scrambled to wash and dress, hurrying down to the first-class kitchen. Breakfast had already started and the dining room was full of passengers as parlourmaids ran back and forth pushing trolleys of food and drinks.
‘Where have you been?’ Mrs March crossed her arms over her ample bosom and frowned when Rose walked in.
‘I slept in. I’m sorry.’
She scoffed. ‘Sick one minute, late the next. Go on, then. The duke’s breakfast is getting cold.’
Rose quickly loaded the trolley, feeling Bess
ie’s eyes on her the entire time. She threw her a small smile and shoved the trolley out the door.
At the duke’s cottage, she knocked and waited for him to greet her or grant permission to enter. He did neither, only grumbling at her from the bureau. She let herself in, curtseyed and took the tray to the table.
She served his breakfast, set out the spreads and toast and poured his tea. He still hadn’t bid her good morning so she excused herself to tend to his room.
He had been acting like that for weeks now, treating her as he had once treated Bessie, refusing to acknowledge her except to throw her looks of disdain. Rose didn’t mind. The quicker he and the duchess were on their way, the quicker she could return to the hospital and put the last few months behind her.
She changed his linen and carried his chamber pot out to the verandah. After rinsing it in the garden, she dried it and placed it back in his room.
While she was assembling his pillows on the bed, she heard a familiar set of knocks against the wall. Rose placed her ear to it and again the knocks came. It was the duchess trying to get her attention.
Having finished his breakfast, the duke had ventured out onto the verandah with his pipe and tea. She quickly stepped out of his room and slipped unseen into the duchess’s, closing the door behind her.
The room no longer reeked of the pungent aroma of onions; each one of them now removed. The duchess looked healthier, propped up on a pillow with a veil of shiny hair and brilliant blue eyes. Sitting on top of her nightgown was the spectacular green emerald on the gold chain.
‘Your Grace,’ Rose said, curtsying. ‘Can I get you some breakfast?’
‘Take a seat, Rose Porter.’
Rose sat in the chair closest to the bed and folded her hands in her lap. ‘You’re looking well today.’
‘I’m much better now. The warm weather is helping.’
‘It’s glorious outside. Perhaps I could move you to a chair on the verandah so you can enjoy the fresh air.’
The duchess leant forward and snatched at Rose’s wrist so violently that Rose gasped. ‘I warned you, parlourmaid, to stay away from my husband.’
Rose winced as the woman’s nails dug into her skin with a vice-like grip.
‘I know he’s been intimate with someone! I know he lies with another woman. I can smell it on him.’
‘Your Grace, you’re hurting me.’
‘It’s the same perfume you wear. Peonies. He reeks of it.’
‘Your Grace, I assure you, I have not been intimate with your husband.’ Not by choice, anyway, she wanted to add.
‘Then why does he have you on his skin? Why do his clothes smell of you, harlot?’ She thrust Rose’s arm away in disgust and turned away. To the wall, she said, ‘He has been coming in here of late. All I can smell is you.’
She turned back to Rose and there was such vehemence in her voice and such loathing in her eyes it made Rose shrink into the chair. ‘I am to give him his heir, parlourmaid. Not you! I have the emerald to pass down. You keep away from him.’
Rose was so shocked, all she could do was let her mouth gape open.
‘Get out! I don’t ever want to see you again.’
Rose leapt from the chair and quickly left the room. The nail marks were still visible on her arm as she darted out the door, past the duke on the verandah and down the steps. She didn’t bother clearing away the breakfast tray. She would come back for it at morning tea.
Her mind whirred with a thousand questions as she pushed the trolley down the hill to first class.
Was someone on the station being intimate with the duke? Someone who smelt of peonies?
It was the same perfume Rose wore every day, but why would he smell of it? Why would it be all over his clothes and skin? Rose and the duke never touched; they’d barely been civil in weeks. It hardly seemed possible that the scent could have come from her.
And yet, if not from her, then whom?
Rose had her suspicions but the match was so unlikely. She would never have placed the two in the same room together, let alone intimate in the same bed. All she knew was the day would drag before she got the chance to find out.
It was well after nine when Rose heard Bessie’s shoes on the verandah outside. The door opened and moonlight spilled into the room.
Bessie gave a start when she saw Rose sitting on the bed. ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed, clutching her chest. ‘You gave me a fright. What are you doing here in the dark?’
Rose stared at her.
‘Are you all right? We missed you at dinner.’ Bessie lit the oil lamp and stooped to peer into Rose’s face. ‘Are you ill again?’
‘Tell me you haven’t been,’ Rose said.
Bessie straightened. ‘Haven’t been what?’
‘Wearing my perfume then sleeping with the duke.’
Bessie opened her mouth to speak then closed it. She turned, reached for her cigarettes on the bedside table and lit one. She exhaled a plume of smoke and sat on her bed.
‘Do you not have anything to say?’ Rose pressed with thinly veiled disappointment.
‘Well, which part are you angry at? That I wore your perfume or that I slept with him?’
‘For goodness’ sake!’
‘It’s not like you can talk, Rose. You’ve been sneaking off to bed with the carpenter. Don’t think I haven’t seen you.’
It was Rose’s turn to fumble for words.
‘I worked it out ages ago, that night when I woke and you were sneaking out. You said you were going for a walk, but I mean, really, a walk? In the cold? At eleven at night? You didn’t come back for hours and I knew you were up to something. I followed you one time, and I saw you disappear into the bush with him.’
Rose closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again. ‘How long have you known?’
‘For weeks,’ Bessie said.
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘Because you’re my friend and I would never pry like that. Your business is your own.’
Rose climbed off her bed and went to sit beside Bessie. Bessie stubbed her cigarette on the window sill, opened the window and flicked it out.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rose said, reaching for her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘But you did.’
‘I know. And I’ve been no better.’
Bessie’s face softened.
‘How long have you and the duke…?’
‘About six weeks. It started a few days after you were unwell with your stomach upset. Do you remember?’
How could Rose forget? It was the day the duke had forced himself on her and the afternoon she’d first made love to Thomas. It was the day that had changed everything for her.
‘I was passing by his cottage one afternoon and he called me over to the verandah. He asked if I’d come by at midnight with a glass of warm milk as he was having trouble sleeping. So I did. That night I took him the milk and well, it turns out it wasn’t milk he was after.’ Bessie smiled sheepishly.
‘So after Thomas and I leave at eleven each night, you sneak out too, at midnight?’
‘Yes. But I never take as long as you. The duke is quick and I don’t have as far to walk. I always hear you come in before dawn. You spend a lot of time with the carpenter.’
Rose dropped her gaze to Bessie’s hands. They were soft and smooth, the tea tree oil having done its job. ‘The duke must like your new hands.’
‘He does. And he likes your perfume.’
Rose looked up. Even in the dim light, she saw Bessie’s cheeks burn.
‘I didn’t mean to steal from you. Honestly. It’s just that when you were working in the hospital, he told me that he missed your scent. So I thought…’ She shrugged. ‘A spray here and there wouldn’t hurt. It makes him happy.’
‘Bessie, the duke is married,’ Rose said. ‘The duchess knows someone has been intimate with him. She can smell the peony on his clothes. She thinks it’s me.’
Bessie looked horrified. ‘Did you g
et into trouble? Are you going to be fired?’
‘I don’t know. She threatened to have me sent back to Bethnal Green last time. I don’t know what she’ll do now. But Bessie, if you’re caught, Miss Dalton will fire you without pay or references.’
‘I won’t be caught. And if I am, the duke will protect me. He told me that he and the duchess aren’t intimate anymore, that he’s falling in love with me. When he leaves for England, he’s going to take me with him. I’ll be employed as the duchess’s lady maid so that we can still be together every night. They don’t share a bed, you know. All that sickliness repulses him.’
‘I don’t think he’s well in the mind,’ Rose said gently. ‘The isolation is affecting him. You shouldn’t trust what he says.’
‘Are you jealous?’ Bessie narrowed her eyes. ‘Because I don’t think that’s fair. You have your carpenter.’
Rose sighed. ‘I’m not jealous. I’m worried for you.’
Bessie’s expression softened. ‘You don’t have to be. I’m happy, Rose, the happiest I’ve ever been. The duke wants me at Somersby Castle with him. He’s promised me new clothes and a huge bedroom. He said he might even introduce me to the king. And the duchess need not know a thing. It’s perfect.’
Rose didn’t know what to say. How could she make Bessie see that none of this was perfect? Taking a scullery maid home to Somersby Castle to pose as the duchess’s lady maid would fool no one, least of all the duchess herself. She would see right through the façade.
‘Tell me about Mr Van Cleeve,’ Bessie said, lying back on her bed.
Rose lay down on the narrow sliver of space beside her so that their shoulders were touching. They both stared up at the ceiling. ‘Well, he’s gentle and caring and he has a wonderful heart. He’s a little older than me, by six years, I think.’
‘Is he your first?’
Rose flushed. ‘Yes.’
‘The duke isn’t my first,’ Bessie said confidently. ‘My first was the teacher who lived next door to us in Leura. He was twice my age.’
The Quarantine Station Page 22