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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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 sho
rtened 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.’
‘Good God.’
‘Shocking.’
‘Appalling.’
‘All of those things, gentlemen, including criminal. It’s your criminal irresponsibility which has brought about the tragedy. I’ve begged and pleaded for special accommodation for such patients, but you will not listen. This is the outcome.’
‘How dare you!’ The Committee member, a stout, red-faced man with stringy hair, drew himself up. ‘Why is there no nurse on duty here to keep order?’
‘There was. I’ll deal with her myself. However, she had been on duty all day without respite. There is simply not enough staff to have patients specially watched. I would also point out that the combined efforts of five people are needed to keep this deranged patient in check.’
With this Old Rose gave a mighty heave, dislodging two of her keepers and tearing the gag from her mouth as she struggled to sit up. The men retreated hastily when she spat at them and began to bawl one of her outrageous ditties. Elly chased after them, bailing them up in the doorway. She raised her voice above the clamour.
‘Don’t you dare to leave. There’s more to being a member of the Committee than a ten-minute traipse around the building once a week. You have a responsibility, all of you, and I hold you to it. Send for whomever you like to take over here, do what you must. But until something is done, I will no longer act as Matron in this hospital.’
~*~
The inevitable special meeting of the Board of Directors convened the following day. Elly presented herself, well-prepared, knowing what to expect, but with a sore heart and a core of anger within, ready to be fanned to a conflagration. She had sent an explanatory note to D’Arcy Cornwallis, begging him to be present, and was relieved see him rise and bow as she entered the Boardroom. She took her seat, comforted to know that she had at least one supporter. Her staff had been excluded, as they were not witnesses to the events under investigation, while the Board apparently discounted the testimony of patients.
Anyone with any right to be there had crowded in. Already the room stank of compressed humanity, not always particularly clean, plus another smell not immediately recognisable. Then she saw the sea of faces, avid, prurient, and knew she could scent the hunters’ excitement as they drew in on their prey. Repressing a shudder, she held herself erect before that collective stare.
The Chairman, Deas Thomson, came quickly to the point, charging Elly with neglect and dereliction of duty. His manner hinted strongly at firing squads, and despite her misery, Elly was entertained. The worst they could do would be to dismiss her. But in the event of such an outcome, she wouldn’t go quietly. The Empire pages would scorch with her comments, she promised herself.
Not bothering to disguise her scorn and anger, she rose to meet the charge.
‘Mr Chairman, members of the Board, this is not a court of law and I am not on trial. Nor are you conducting a military tribunal. You are here to investigate the unhappy events of yesterday, which I shall recount and which may be verified by the six members of the Weekly Committee who were also present. I will add that it was their insistence on my presence to conduct them on their cursory tour of the hospital which forced me to leave
the patient, Charlotte Perkins, in the care of Nurse Jenkins.’
She paused to survey the six gentlemen mentioned, all of whom looked uncomfortable, then continued.
‘Jenkins had been on duty in Ward Two all day, with occasional help from Malone, who assisted in both wards. We currently care for sixty-five women and children. Assistant Nurse Loring oversaw Ward One until my one other available nurse, Irvine, could relieve her, while I planned to do the night duty in Ward Two myself, after the inspection.’
Cornwallis rose and begged leave to pose a question. Deas Thomson nodded.
‘Matron Ballard,’ said Cornwallis. ‘At what hour did you commence your own duties yesterday?’
‘At five a.m.’
‘And you planned to stay up all night in Ward One. Was there no-one else to take your place?’
‘No-one, sir, since the Board has seen fit to restrict the number of nurses I may employ. My staff frequently take on a double load when the wards are as crowded as at present.’
Deas Thomson interposed. ‘The members will recall the Board’s decision not to have nurses on duty at night. The wards were to be locked and the patients confined until morning.’
Cornwallis honed his voice to a fine edge. ‘With yesterday’s inevitable result, an assault on a patient and no-one in authority present to succour her. Which brings me to another point – also stressed by Matron Ballard at previous meetings – the need to segregate the mentally impaired from other patients. Clearly, if this had been done, the child Charlotte Perkins would be alive today.’
A HAZARD OF HEARTS Page 21