A HAZARD OF HEARTS

by Frances Burke

  He offered Elly his free arm and, scarcely hesitating, she took it. They strolled along the quayside, skirting piles of boxes and casks and removing their toes from the path of the heavy wool drays. Elly was very conscious of the muscular arm supporting hers, and annoyed with herself for being even the slightest bit affected. Paul Gascoigne meant nothing to her, that was certain.

  At George Street, the main thoroughfare, they turned south to mingle with early shoppers patronising the stalls and emporiums so dear to the heart of Sydneysiders. The fashionable parade would not turn out until afternoon, and drunkards from the taverns some hours later. By night the streets would be thronged and rather more dangerous, with the larrikin element abroad and thieves and pickpockets ready to go to work.

  ‘How did you fare with my friend, J.G.?’ Paul asked. ‘Did he offer to help you?’

  ‘He’s a charming man, and yes, he did agree to mention some of the hospital’s problems in The Empire. He agreed with me that the shocking conditions should be brought to public notice.’

  ‘I see.’ Paul’s voice was dry. ‘Did he indicate the, er, tone of the article?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ She stopped and stared at him, suspecting him of irony, exasperated by his ability to ruffle her within a few minutes of their meeting.

  ‘I mean, I know J.G. rather better than you do, and he can be unpredictable. Did you ask him for a total expose, a revelation of the staff’s general ineptness and the Board’s intransigence? Did he promise a trumpet call to action?’

  ‘No, no. I asked for none of those things. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t imagine I’d want such a disastrous public airing...’ Elly swallowed, unable to go on, her mind in a whirl. The journalist had been horrified by what he’d seen and heard on his tour of the hospital, but she had made it clear that she must still tread warily, that the Board must not be alienated, with no actual accusations levelled... No. He wouldn’t...

  Paul’s smile had disappeared. ‘The Empire is a daily publication, but so far I’ve read nothing in it about the hospital. Let’s see if the relevant article is in today. If not, maybe we should pay a call on J.G.’

  ‘Yes.’ Elly’s lips were numb. She had a terrible premonition. ‘Will you look?’

  Waiting for Paul to buy the paper, waiting while he scanned the pages, she clasped her hands to hide their tremor. Paul grunted, and she started, searching his face for verification of her fears. He folded the pages and handed them to her, pointing.

  ‘There it is. You may make your own interpretation.’

  Elly read: “A Disgrace to Our Colony. How many residents of Sydney Town are aware of the parlous conditions obtaining in their only hospital for the poor and indigent?

  “While the Benevolent Society offers asylum it cannot provide the medical care which is the province of the Sydney Dispensary and Infirmary, a crumbling ruin of a building founded on the vicious rum trade and historically associated with an iniquitous convict system which has only recently been done away.

  “Nowadays, this temple to healing is open to the needy upon recommendation of decent members of society. But when they enter its doors, what do they find? Not the calm and expert attention of skilled nurses in wards that are havens of rest and recovery, but a raucous parrot house where abuse is hurled above the screams of the insane or those driven half-mad with pain; where vile legions of insects crawl over helpless patients; and from open drains and cess-pits an army of rats emerges nightly to feast upon the dead.

  “The recently-appointed Acting Lady Superintendent, a skilled and selfless nurse, has charge of some fifty beds, with often more than two patients to a bed, and a meagre staff of slovenly, feckless women; males are left to the tender mercies of untrained wards men. Drunkenness is rife amongst the staff and those patients who can procure liquor through bribery. The lack of a water supply creates enormous problems in the wards and operating theatres, as well as in the infamous kitchen and unspeakable mortuary, where bodies are left to rot until a member of the overworked medical staff can find time to perform an autopsy.

  “These outrageous conditions are presided over by a Board of Directors representing the most prestigious members of our society, including its President, the Colonial Secretary himself, and members of the Judiciary and the Church.

  “We must ask ourselves whether this state of affairs can be permitted to continue. Where is the voice which speaks for all those without a voice? The Empire is that organ. It fights for the rights of the small man, the man without influence, and exposes the discrimination to which he is heir through no fault of his own. The Empire will continue to reveal the injustices in society as long as it exists...”

  Elly crumpled the paper between her fists. ‘How could he do it? I asked him to lead in gently. We want to attract public interest, yes, but not to invite a scandal.’ She turned away, struggling with her emotions.

  ‘J.G. has always been answerable only to himself. He’s a crusader at heart.’

  ‘He’s an anarchist,’ Elly returned fiercely. ‘This article is a bomb that has probably destroyed all I’ve worked for. How will I face the Board? Will I have any staff left when I return? He’s your friend. Why didn’t you warn me?’

  Paul’s brows rose. ‘I thought you would appreciate his style of help. You were so fiercely determined to clean up the hospital and its administration. The system has to be destabilized before you can sweep it away to replace it with another.’

  ‘I didn’t want an earthquake. A few warning tremors would have started the reaction. I thought people would read about some of the difficulties and begin to pay attention. They would seek out the next article and talk amongst themselves, gradually concluding that they should take an interest. Perhaps questions would be asked by influential men, causing the Board to look more closely at our needs...’ She paused. What was the use of repining? The damage had been done. Not even the pleasure of wringing Mr J.G. Patterson’s neck would mend matters. She glared at Paul. ‘I wish I’d never asked you to help. I almost wish I’d never met either of you.’

  Pepper, sensing her distress, gave an anxious yelp and flung himself at her. She clutched his warm, wriggling body for a moment, gazing into his worried eyes. A wet tongue rasped her cheek.

  ‘Down, Pepper.’ Paul tugged the dog away and deposited him firmly in the dust. He held the leash close.

  ‘Don’t be angry with him. He was offering me comfort.’ Elly brushed dust from the front of her cloak.

  ‘Pepper always had more sense than any human being. Allow me to be his deputy. We’ll have a drink and sit down and talk the matter over. Something might be done to mitigate the effects of J.G’s bomb.’

  ‘What?’ asked Elly, baldly. ‘A retraction would be useless. The Board could sue, but as the accusations are based on fact it would only draw further adverse attention. The newspapers would glory in it. It seems to me journalists are able to say absolutely anything they please without fear of reprisal.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s true.’ Paul steered her towards a teashop advertising the finest Lapsang Souchong freshly imported from the Far East.

  Elly pulled her arm away. ‘Where are you taking me? I should go back to the hospital at once and begin damage repair, if I can.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do that couldn’t be put off for an hour. Why let this ruin your free morning? We’ll have a cup of tea –’

  ‘I hate tea.’ Elly heard the petulance in her voice and amended, ‘Buy me a beer instead.’

  ‘Done. Just down this alley into Pitt Street there’s the Metropolitan Hotel which advertises “A Spacious Garden at Rear, with Tropical Trees, etc. Arbours and Seats, a Delightful Retreat for the Hottest Day of Summer.”‘

  ‘Let’s hope it’s as much a retreat from the August winds.’ Elly clutched her skirts as a sudden gust funnelled down the street, raising the dust in clouds and causing Pepper to sneeze.

  Beneath clattering shop signs the three hurried to the shelter of the Metropolitan’s garden and a
seat at an iron table in the sun. Elly, whose lifestyle decreed a modest number of petticoats with no crinoline under workday clothes, had today dressed in a favourite green and blue tartan bodice and skirt, supported by a small cage and with ruffles about the collar and balloon cuffs. She had started out feeling smart, and now basked in her companion’s obvious admiration as he took her cloak, laying it over the back of the chair. It was good to feel young and unfettered for an hour. Paul had been right. There was nothing she could do immediately about the Empire article, so she might as well enjoy her small holiday.

  Declining the waiter’s offer of a Stone-fence (ginger beer and brandy) or a Madame Bishop (port, sugar and nutmeg, recommended for a lady on a cold day) she settled for a beer, the drink she’d learned to like during the drought last summer. Pouring half into a bowl for Pepper, she relaxed and let the sun filter through to her bones while the conversations of the other patrons formed a murmerous backdrop to her peace.

  Finally, with a sigh, she began to discuss the article. Paul suggested several ideas, and one or two occurred to Elly, but no firm conclusions were reached. She found that she preferred, after all, to await the Board’s reaction before she made any move. Paul promised to ask J.G. to write a less vitriolic piece on the hospital and, if possible, to find some aspect to praise. It was a poor enough suggestion, but all they could think of.

  Despite Elly’s demur, Paul ordered more beer, pointing out that Pepper was particularly thirsty.

  ‘He’s growing particularly rotund,’ Elly retorted, ‘and if beer is regularly included in his diet, I’m not surprised.’ She patted Pepper in case he should be offended, while wishing once more that the Board would permit animals in her quarters. Pearl’s monkey was an open secret amongst the patients, but it would only take a word from some ill-natured person such as Jenkins to have her ejected.

  The thought of Pearl made her frown. The girl was unusually withdrawn. She handled the patients with tact and her brisk kindness could curb the most recalcitrant, but Elly knew her heart was miles away in the diggings. She would go when ready, and then what would become of her, a young girl on the road alone, unprotected?

  ‘What else is worrying you?’ Paul asked.

  ‘There are always worries attached to a hospital.’ Elly didn’t elaborate, sure that he asked out of politeness.

  But when she rose to leave he surprised her, speaking with unusual hesitation. ‘Please, stay awhile longer. I want... I have something more to say.’

  ‘I must go back, Mr Gascoigne. It’s not reasonable for me to load my duties onto the others. None of them is fully trained, although ‘feckless’ and ‘slovenly’ does not apply to all.’

  ‘Please. I’d like the opportunity... That is, I don’t believe I explained fully about my work last time we met. I must have appeared like some cockscomb, so self-assured, self-interested... Miss Ballard, will you come to supper one night and meet some of my friends who are involved in the political scene? It won’t be a heavy discussion or speech-making. Nothing of that nature. But if you could just understand what it is we’re fighting for, perhaps you would be interested.’

  Elly stiffened. Not this political rubbish again. Then from somewhere in her memory a conversation resurfaced, of herself saying, ‘He’s stubborn and afflicted with myopia,’ and another voice with a teasing lilt, ‘Now wouldn’t that argue a similarity of nature?’ She’d wondered then if J.G. had been right. Had she become so single-minded as to be blind to other interests just as valid as her own?

  Under Paul’s insistent gaze, she temporized. ‘Where were you suggesting we sup? At your home?’

  ‘No, indeed. There’s a tavern in Bathurst Street, The Earl Grey, perfectly respectable, where people meet to argue and exchange ideas of all kinds, a sort of artists’ cafe, if you like. Thursdays are the popular times.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d like to come, next Thursday.’

  His face lit. The half-smile broadened. ‘May I call at seven o’clock?’

  Elly said graciously, ‘That will be suitable. Thank you for the beer. I must go.’ She gave Pepper a final pat, picked up her cloak and whisked out of the garden into the street.

  Heading uphill to the hospital with the westerly wind at her back, she asked herself why her attitude towards Paul Gascoigne had so suddenly changed, and had no answer. Was it the sincerity that underlay his often teasing manner? J.G. had said he was ruled by a passion for justice, and that appealed to her. Perhaps there was more to the man than mere ambition. Time would show her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The hospital’s entrance lobby had become a dramatic stage, with the porter an open-mouthed audience of one. Backed up against the stair newel, J.G. had his arms raised protectively before him, his expression a mixture of amusement and apprehension, while inches away Pearl hovered, a diminutive fury with hands crooked into claws, her pretty voice shrilling invective. Her bonnet had come off and her braid hung down, swinging with her every movement like an angry cat’s tail.

  J.G. welcomed Elly’s appearance. ‘Thank God you’re here. I can’t make out a word she says, but I’ve no doubt it includes wanting to tear the eyes out of me head.’

  She said sharply, ‘Nurse Pearl, what does this mean? Why have you left your patients?’

  Pearl didn’t appear to hear her. She made a sudden dart at J.G., who ducked and danced aside with an impish smile.

  ‘Sure, now, you’d best watch yourself, girl dear, or you’ll be taking an apoplexy.’

  Spitting furiously, Pearl launched herself at him, only to find herself held around the waist by Elly, who shook her hard. ‘Calm yourself, Pearl. Tell me what’s wrong.’ She glared at the journalist who had dissolved into mirth.

  ‘Your attitude is not helping the situation.’ Leading Pearl to the stairs she sat her down and stood over her. ‘Now, tell me.’

  Pearl clenched her quivering fists in her lap. ‘He has dishonoured us all. He has told the world we are drunken women, uncaring, living in filth. He is a liar, a pig...’ She choked in fury.

  ‘Oh, I see. You’ve heard about the Empire article, although its content has become muddled.’ Elly turned on J.G. ‘So, what have you to say for yourself? I doubt whether any epithet I could apply to you would surpass Pearl’s efforts, in Chinese or English. But I had thought better of you, Mr J.G. Patterson.’

  His dismay was almost comical. ‘But... I hoped you’d be pleased. You wanted publicity. You wanted all the deplorable conditions here exposed.’

  Elly drew on her patience and the shreds of her temper. ‘That’s true. However, at the same time, I asked you to make it a gradual process, an undermining, not a direct attack. Your intemperance has probably caused irreparable damage, and rather than thank you for it, I ask you to abort the campaign entirely. I made a terrible mistake. I thought you were to be trusted.’

  ‘Miss Ballard, I assure you –’

  ‘Son of a diseased monkey!’ Pearl sprang up suddenly and was restrained by Elly.

  ‘Miss Pearl,’ began the hapless J.G.

  Her lips curled in a snarl. ‘I would hide bamboo slivers in your food. I would deliver you to the Death of the Thousand Knives. I would –’

  ‘Here! Before God, I believe you would. Just hold her there a minute longer, Miss Ballard, and I’ll be relieving you of me presence. But I’ll be back and we’ll sort this out like Christians, I promise you.’ Cramming his hat on he stalked outside, where the wind promptly snatched it and whirled it away over the wall.

  Elly began to laugh. ‘Oh, Pearl, what a little fury you are. Would you really stick bamboo slivers in his dinner? Is it like ground glass?’

  Pearl’s stiff muscles relaxed, her face softened. There was a suspicion of laughter about her lips. ‘He thought I would do it. I would have scratched his face if you had not prevented it.’

  ‘I know. I know. Oh, dear, what a day.’ Elly dropped down on the stairs and rested her head against the rail.

  ~*~

  The Earl Grey T
avern, with its welcoming yellow-paned windows aglow, while lively enough, was not the rowdy drinking place Elly had half-feared it would be. Its benches and table-tops had seen hard use but were well scrubbed, while clean cushions covered the window seats. The polished mirrors behind the bar reflected a cheerful crowd, and as she soon found, these patrons were more inclined to forget their wine in conversation which could quickly turn to spirited argument.

  The smoky air, thick with the warmth of many bodies, the smell of pipe tobacco and frying sausages, the soft glow of lanterns hung from beams and a crackling log fire, welcomed Elly in a way she’d never before experienced. In her cushioned corner, with a mug of beer before her and Paul at her side, she felt herself to be on the fringes of a foreign and fascinating world.

  It was primarily a world for men, although there were women present, and Elly found she envied the camaraderie that men could find in such a place. It was more a club than a tavern, its members there to air ideas and ideologies, to discuss new ways of thinking and measure them against the old. She listened to the exchanges taking place around her, a jumble of politics, art, religion, science, plus other topics she could only glean in snatches.

  It didn’t surprise her to see J.G. across the room, arguing vociferously, using his hands to demonstrate a point, but most of the faces were unknown to her. Then a young man with the untamed hair and beard of a pirate and the body of a dancer threaded his way between the tables, hailing Paul in heavily accented English. When Paul waved to him, he grabbed a bottle of wine from the waiter and continued to their table.

  ‘Elly, allow me to introduce Edouard Chevrel,’ Paul said. ‘We don’t stand on ceremony here. Frenchy, this is Elly Ballard.’

  The newcomer bowed, eyeing Elly appreciatively and comprehensively. ‘Mademoiselle Ellee, I kiss your hand.’ He turned immediately to Paul. ‘What’s the latest news? I was going to the meeting at the Royal Hotel but the press is so great I could not get in. Tonight it is a veritable powder keg, with Wentworth and Henry Parkes the match and flint to ignite it.’