‘I can’t stay, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I have to get down to the wharf. Three troopships entered the Heads earlier. It’s all hands on deck to process the soldiers and get them into the inhalation chambers.’
‘Where will we put them?’
‘The accommodation and hospitals are full. We’ll head further up the headland at first light to clear bush for more tents.’
‘They’ve fought a long and bloody war only to have to come home and sleep in the bush with the snakes,’ she said grimly.
‘We can’t release them back out into the population without time in quarantine.’
Rose bent to unlace her shoes. When it was time to remove her dress, she turned her back to Thomas as she had become accustomed to doing so he wouldn’t notice the bloat of her stomach, and slipped off her tunic, petticoat and stockings.
She hadn’t quite gotten her shift on when she felt his arms slip around her naked waist. She stiffened imperceptibly, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘I wish I could stay with you, my love,’ he said, kissing the back of her neck. ‘I’d give anything to lie beside you right now.’
‘I wish you could too,’ she said, turning to face him.
‘Are you sure everything’s all right?’
She pulled her eyes away from him. They were like a doorway into her soul where it was all there on display for him to reach in and see. To know her shameful secret and what she had done to their future. ‘Yes, I’m all right.’
‘Would you tell me if something was wrong?’
Her breath caught. It was on the tip of her tongue. Tell him. ‘You should get back to the wharf.’
She heard him sigh as she turned and slipped on her shift.
He pulled back the covers for her and she climbed beneath them. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll see you in a few hours.’
‘I love you, Thomas.’
He reached down and kissed her. ‘I love you, too.’
He left the cottage and through the window, Rose watched him disappear down the path and into the darkness. It was some time later that she finally wept herself to sleep.
Rose woke the next morning to the sound of Thomas pouring water from the ewer into the bowl.
‘Good morning,’ she said, feeling nausea sweep over her as it did every morning.
‘Good morning, my Rose.’ He washed his face and hands, then dried them with a towel.
‘What time is it?’ she asked.
He walked to the bed and bent to kiss her. ‘Not quite dawn.’
‘Are you leaving already?’
‘I have to get back down to the wharf. There’s much to do.’ He pulled on a clean shirt and pants. ‘You’re not due to rise for another two hours. Stay in bed and sleep.’
She watched him as he ran a comb through his hair and a hand over his jaw, assessing the stubble. ‘I can run a blade over that tonight, if you like.’
He smiled. ‘Thank you, my love.’
‘Thomas,’ she said sitting up in bed.
‘Yes.’
‘The war is over.’
‘It is.’
She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. ‘How would you feel about leaving?’
‘The station?’
‘Yes.’
He glanced at her for a long time before replying. ‘May I be perfectly honest?’
‘Please.’
‘I’m not comfortable with the idea yet.’
Rose’s heart sank. ‘Oh.’
He sat on the bed beside her and took her hand. ‘That’s not the answer you were looking for, was it?’
She shrugged, feeling emotional suddenly. ‘You said we could leave soon. That’s what you said months ago.’
‘Yes, but the war is over now and there are thousands of men returning from the front, thousands more men looking for work. I wouldn’t be able to secure a job on the outside, let alone accommodation for us.
‘Here, we have everything we need. We’re saving our wages and putting all that we can away. We’ll have enough money for Queensland soon, but not yet.’ He shook his head resolutely. ‘If we leave now, it would be to our own detriment.’
Rose blinked the tears away.
‘I don’t want us to have to struggle. I want us to be comfortable and to have children knowing we can provide for them. I don’t want to live day to day, wondering when our next meal will be. That’s not the life I want for you.’
‘I told you I don’t need much.’
He watched her with intrigue, his eyes boring into her soul. She had to look away, uncomfortable under a gaze so full of questions.
‘No, you’re right.’ She forced a smile. ‘We should stay. It was just a thought.’
He looked towards the window at the changing sky. ‘I have to go, but let’s talk more when I’m back later.’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
When he left for the wharf, Rose didn’t fall back to sleep. She laid awake turning panicked thoughts over and over in her mind. She turned them over until the sky coloured and the sun rose on Sydney.
Unable to sleep or stomach the ginger tea Matron Cromwell had suggested, Rose washed and dressed for work. She avoided the nauseating smells of Mrs March’s cooking by helping set up the dining room then, unable to put it off any longer, she crossed the road to the kitchen, barely inhaling as she loaded the duke’s breakfast trolley.
As the sun climbed over the towering eucalypts, she pushed the cart up the hill and climbed the steps to the duke’s cottage, knocking on the door. To her surprise, it wasn’t he who opened it, but the duchess, dressed and out of bed.
‘Good morning, Rose,’ she said demurely. ‘Do come in.’
Rose curtseyed, carried in the breakfast tray and set it down on the table. For weeks, Mrs March had been preparing meals for two, with the duchess taking a tray in her room while the duke dined at the table. And, until recently, for reasons owing to isolation, only the nurses had been allowed to tend to the duchess’s housekeeping. Now, Rose tended to both bedrooms.
This was the first time since they’d arrived at the station that the duchess was not buried beneath a pile of covers with sallow skin and dishevelled hair, but regally tall in a slate grey dress, hair swept into a bun and eyes shining as deeply blue as her husbands. She had a touch of makeup on―rouge on her cheeks and a hint of red on her lips.
The duke was at the walnut bureau writing and he stood when he saw Rose. ‘Ah, good morning. Time for a spot of breakfast, I see. Marvellous.’
Rose set the table, laying out the spreads and teapot, lining up the cutlery and plates. The duke pulled out the chair for the duchess to sit. Rose noticed the large emerald stone resting on her neckline against collarbones that no longer protruded skeletally from her skin.
‘You’re looking well, Your Grace,’ she said, laying their napkins and pouring tea.
‘Thank you,’ the duchess said. ‘I’m feeling better. Perhaps some toast and jam.’
‘Certainly.’
‘I’ll have the sausages, eggs and potatoes,’ the duke said cheerily. ‘I’m ravenous! I’ve been working up quite an appetite lately.’
The duchess shot him a scathing look.
Feeling a marital war about to erupt, Rose served their breakfast, curtsied and retreated quickly to his bedroom. She pulled sheets from the duke’s bed, noting as she did each morning that, despite the duchess’s improving health, they were still residing in separate bedrooms.
When she gathered the pillows to beat outside, she caught a familiar whiff of peony, so strong it was as if Bessie had been lying there only moments before.
She suspected the duke was still drugging his wife to sleep, for how else could such acts take place in the room just next door to her? Still, she was no fool. She knew something was amiss, if her husband’s ravenous appetite was anything to go by.
Either way, Rose couldn’t concern herself with their affairs. She had her own troubles to deal with. And now that the war had ended and the duches
s was well again, she prayed there would be no reason for them to stay.
Rose skipped the staff dinner, too ill to eat, deciding to stay in her room and nap. At nine-thirty she heard Bessie’s shoes on the verandah and the door creak open.
Bessie walked in, plonking herself down on her bed with a noisy squeak of the springs. ‘Argh, what a day.’
‘How was dinner?’ Rose drew herself up into a sitting position.
‘The same as always. You haven’t been to one in a while. You skip lunch too. Are you unwell?’
‘I’m just weary. All those late nights.’
‘Well, I brought you something.’ She sat up, reached into her apron pocket and produced a bundle wrapped in cloth and tied with string. She tossed it across to Rose. ‘Yorkshire pudding and an egg custard.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose placed it on her bedside table for later.
‘I understand about the exhaustion. I could do with a full night’s sleep. The duke is insatiable.’
‘The duchess is up and out of bed,’ Rose said. ‘She was looking well today. Has he spoken of their plans to depart?’
‘I expect they will leave soon, but he will take me with him.’
Rose leant forward. ‘I know he says that to you, but how can you be sure?’
‘Because I am.’
‘The duchess knows he’s being unfaithful. She’ll never allow you to go with them. I don’t want you to be disappointed.’
‘He won’t leave me, not now.’
Rose straightened. ‘What do you mean “not now”?’
Bessie looked sheepish in the lantern light. ‘Not now I’m carrying his child.’
Rose heard her own sharp intake of breath. ‘Bessie Briar.’
‘Don’t look so shocked, Rose.’
‘I don’t mean to. I just…’ She was speechless, but she could hardly chastise. Had she not gone and done the same thing? Was she not sitting there in that room in the same state—unmarried, pregnant and having broken a thousand rules?
All she could think to do was sit beside Bessie on the bed and give her a hug. She folded her arms around her friend and they sat there for a long time. That’s when Rose told Bessie of her own circumstance. Eleven weeks pregnant, horrendously ill and with a maternity corset hidden under her bed.
‘Have you not also been unwell?’ Rose asked, surprised that anyone could experience the first trimester of pregnancy and not look and feel as poorly as she.
‘Once or twice I’ve felt a bit peaky, but mostly I’m just tired.’
‘I feel terrible all the time. Just thinking of food makes me vomit. Is it normal to feel so sick?’
Bessie shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I’ve never been pregnant before.’
‘How far along are you?’
‘I think I’m thirteen weeks. I can’t believe this! We’re going to have our babies at the same time.’ Her blonde curls bounced with her sudden jubilance. ‘Have you told Mr Van Cleeve?’
‘No, I…’ Rose looked down at her lap. ‘I haven’t been able to find the words.’
‘What are you frightened of?’
‘That he won’t want me anymore. That I’ll be fired and he won’t want to leave with me.’
Bessie squeezed her hand sympathetically. ‘I don’t think Mr Van Cleeve would do that to you.’
‘I’ve asked him twice if we could leave, but he says he wants to stay.’
‘Yes but have you given him all the facts?’
Rose shrugged sadly.
‘Once you do, I’m sure he will know what’s best,’ Bessie said. ‘And if not, then you and the baby will have a home at Somersby Castle with me and the duke.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘Yes. He’s thrilled. He said finally he’ll have an heir. I mean, it’s not ideal. Obviously I’m not his wife, so the baby will be illegitimate and not blueblood, but life doesn’t always go to plan. And if he waits for her, then he’ll be waiting forever and he’ll have no child to carry on his name or legacy.’
Rose grabbed hold of Bessie’s hands tightly. ‘He will never leave her, Bessie,’ she said kindly. ‘He’s under obligation to stay with her. The royals don’t divorce. He can’t marry you.’
‘I don’t care for marriage and I don’t care if he stays with her. What I care for is ensuring our child has everything he or she could possibly need in life—a good home, a meal on the table, clothes on its back, an education. I want my child not to be privileged or entitled, but to have the basics, to be comfortable and loved.’
Her words made Rose want to cry. Fiercely maternal and protective, they were the words of a mother who had already formed a bond with her unborn child.
Her hand went to her stomach. It was the same feelings she’d been trying to resist because then her pregnancy, and all it brought with it, would be a tangible thing and not just a dream she might actually wake from.
‘How do you know he will be true to his word?’ she asked. ‘And not disingenuous.’
Bessie smiled. ‘Because he loves me. And I love him. We make each other happy.’
Rose sighed glumly.
‘Don’t look so worried for me. So we’ll never be married and I’ll never share his bed entirely. I’ll always be his mistress, but I don’t mind. I’m not beautiful like you, or educated or desired, so I have to take what life gives me. And it has given me this wonderful opportunity.’
‘I would hardly call myself educated. I lack sense, I assure you.’
Bessie reached for her hand. ‘Don’t be hard on yourself.’
Rose stood and went to her bed, dropping to her knees to reach beneath it. She pushed aside her suitcase and her fingers closed over the maternity corset pressed against the wall.
‘Here, take this,’ she said, handing it to Bessie.
‘What is it?’
‘The maternity corset I told you about. The matron gave it to me. It will hide the swelling of your stomach so that no one will notice you’re with child.’
‘You’ve told the matron?’
‘I have. She’s going to examine me in a couple of weeks, once I’m properly into the next trimester.’
‘What’s a trimester?’
‘The different stages of pregnancy. There are three. I’m about to start the second and you already have. You should arrange an appointment with her.’
Bessie shook her head adamantly. ‘I won’t need an examination. I feel fine.’
‘I think you should go. The matron will understand. She’ll help you.’
‘I don’t need an examination and I don’t need that,’ she said, pointing to the corset. ‘I won’t be having my baby here so I have nothing to worry about.’
Rose frowned.
‘And you have nothing to worry about either. You’ll leave with Mr Van Cleeve before the baby is born or you’ll come with me to England to have it.’
‘Bessie…’
‘Keep it,’ Bessie said, folding her hands around the corset and placing it in Rose’s lap. ‘You’re smaller than me. You might start to show soon. I’m a lot bigger. No one will know the difference between a pregnant stomach and too much roast beef.’ She laughed, but it sounded hollow and sad.
Rose looked down at the corset. ‘Are you scared?’
‘A little.’
‘All of it scares me—the pregnancy, the birth, raising the child. I don’t know the first thing about it.’
‘You know more than you think.’
‘I’m not ready.’
Bessie threw an arm around her shoulders. ‘You are ready. And you’re not alone. We’ll do this together as best friends should. Don’t worry, Rose. Everything will work out. I promise.’
By the beginning of December, three weeks after the war ended, Rose started to feel better. As each day progressed she could keep down more food, tolerate more smells and last the hours on her feet without feeling utterly exhausted.
Another strange sensation took hold of her body, something akin to energy, as though the weariness wer
e melting away with the cool mornings. She saw this reflected in Bessie as well who looked less tired and whose skin was starting to glow.
Rose visited the matron for her first examination at the hospital. The matron had her lie on a bed in the maternity ward where she examined her privately.
She prodded her stomach, pushed her legs up to inspect her internally, which Rose found dreadfully unpleasant, and asked her a multitude of questions about cramping, bleeding, nausea and her diet.
Matron enquired again if she’d told Thomas.
‘I haven’t,’ Rose said, climbing down from the bed and adjusting her undergarments and dress. ‘But I will soon.’
‘I think you should,’ the matron said as she made notes on a clipboard. ‘This pregnancy won’t slow down and if you are still intimate with each other, he will notice soon.’
The matron was right. She could only hide her growing stomach and breasts for so long before he would see the changes.
‘And I noticed you’re wearing the corset.’
‘Yes, every day. Thank you for loaning it to me.’ Rose ran her hand over the shape of it beneath her dress. ‘What can I expect from this next trimester?’
‘You should feel increased energy and appetite. Your areolas will darken and your stomach and breasts will continue to grow. You’ll gain weight, grow thicker hair and your skin will brighten.’
‘Wow. Such changes,’ Rose said wearily.
‘It’s nothing that your body won’t know how to handle. I fear it’s your mind that is struggling to catch up.’
‘Should every pregnant woman have an examination?’
‘Yes, it’s recommended.’ The matron looked up from her clipboard. ‘Why do you ask? There isn’t another pregnant parlourmaid on site is there?’
Rose turned quickly away. ‘I was just curious.’
But the matron continued to stare at her anyway.
After lunch service, Miss Dalton appeared in the first-class kitchen, flustered like she’d just completed a sprint around the station.
‘Gather around everyone,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I have important news.’
The Quarantine Station Page 27