He resumed his seat.
Doctor Gault rose to address the Board, ignoring Elly and speaking directly to the Chair.
‘Sir, the point in question is surely whether Matron Ballard, the person in overall charge of the women’s wards, should be held responsible. It was she who insisted upon a weary nurse who was physically unwell staying with the patient. Nurse Jenkins waits outside this room to attest to the fact that she left the patient because she, herself, became ill. She believes she has been mostly unjustly accused and dismissed. Also, there is more to her testimony which I believe you should hear.’
‘Very well, let her be brought in.’ The Chairman drummed his fingers on the table, impatient yet not dissatisfied. Elly saw him glance at Cornwallis, and realised there was antagonism between the two men. Just what she needed, to be embroiled in a personal quarrel with the powerful Deas Thomson. As for that lying Jenkins...
Jenkins swam into the room on a sea of lace and feathers, her elaborate costume far from the neat uniform she’d worn until Elly dismissed her. Invited to give her version of the facts, she fixed her marble-blue eyes on Elly and began.
‘I were worn out from running the ward all day with little enough help from Malone, the lazy skelp, and I got this gripe in the innards. It’s this terrible weather and all the heavy work. Matron wouldn’t listen when I told her I needed to lie down and she made me stay on duty. ‘Twern’t fair, I say. All right for some people to give orders and sit in an office with their feet up. Mine’d swollen something cruel. Then I had to go to the privy in a hurry. What could I do?’
Gault said quickly, ‘What did you do, to see to the welfare of your patient, I mean?’
Jenkins assumed a virtuous expression. ‘I called in at the nurses’ quarters to ask Irvine to take my place for a few minutes, but she’d skived off somewhere. So you see, ‘twern’t my fault. I had to go.’
Elly turned on her. ‘Jenkins, you’re a liar. You no more had the gripes than I had. You made no mention of it to me. Nor, I have discovered, did you issue the calming dose I had ordered for both Mrs Lyddie and Old Rose. In consequence they were both in a dangerously agitated state by the time I left Charlotte in your care.’
‘That’s not true! You’ve always had in for me –’
‘I’ve always distrusted you, and with good reason, it seems. Nurse Irvine was not in her quarters, if indeed you did go there. She had spent the afternoon in the Dispensary and was about to go on night duty in a ward with at least fifteen seriously ill patients needing constant monitoring.’ She whirled on Deas Thomson. ‘You can’t lock people in like animals, leaving them in pain and troubled mind. They need nursing, day and night.’
He frowned. ‘Let us return to the point. Nurse Jenkins avers she was ill and could not remain on duty.’
‘Then she should have come for me. I remained in my office for ten minutes, not with my feet up, but finishing the weekly report. She knew I would then go downstairs to Mr Houston and to meet the Committee. I never left the building and could be easily found.’
Attention fixed on Jenkins, who scowled. ‘She’s the liar, the stuck-up bitch. She wouldn’t listen when I told her I were sick...’ She trailed off as Cornwallis stepped forward to concentrate his considerable personality on her.
‘Miss Jenkins, I warn you there are witnesses prepared to refute your statements – patients in the ward who overheard your conversation with Matron. We also have the evidence of the porter, Will Tripp, who saw you with two of the wardsmen drinking in a nearby tavern soon after you went missing with, er, the “gripes”. Is ale a common cure for such an ailment?’
Jenkins paled. ‘You can’t believe them. They’re all lying, those cows upstairs and Tripp. They’ve all got it in for me. It’s not fair...’ She began to snivel.
Cornwallis’ gaze moved from Jenkins to Gault then on to Deas Thomson. His sonorous voice filled the room. ‘I suggest the testimony of this witness is a tissue of falsehood, designed to injure the woman who dismissed her and to absolve the real culprit, Nurse Jenkins herself, who cared so little for a helpless patient as to go off drinking in a tavern while the child Charlotte Perkins was murdered.’
Jenkins’ screech of protest could barely be heard above the general hubbub of approval, with only a few dissenting voices, notably Gault’s.
Cornwallis’ voice rose above the others. ‘Also, gentlemen, you will recall a previous occasion when Nurse Jenkins incurred censure for inciting riot in the wards. I am disinclined to believe anything said by such a proven trouble-maker.’
Obviously irritated, Deas Thomson rose from his seat to call for quiet. He asked members of the Board to vote on the charge against Matron Ballard of neglect and dereliction of duty, and was then able to formally dismiss the charge. He ordered the former Nurse Jenkins to leave the hospital, never to return.
Jenkins promptly went into a fit of hysteria and had to be carried out, stiff as a paling, heels drumming. Elly wondered what her unwilling porters would do with her. Perhaps they’d leave her propped up in the corridor for Will Tripp to deal with? It was a pleasant thought. Still, she couldn’t leave her unattended. With the Chairman’s permission she had Jo-Beth sent for to take Jenkins to the dispensary, then returned to her seat.
Deas-Thomson had recovered his temper. ‘Matron, you have been vindicated and your actions approved by the Board. Do you have anything more to say?’
‘I do. Gentlemen, I beg you, don’t let this terrible thing happen again. At the very least, will you provide separate accommodation for deranged patients, with appropriate carers? Charlotte Perkins wasn’t an important person, but she had a right to her life. It’s our moral duty to see patients like her protected.’
The Chairman was grave. ‘You point us the way, Matron. It shall be as you wish.’
Elly bowed, as grave as he, then left the boardroom, victorious yet knowing the opposition had been merely knocked out for the duration. How many more battles were to follow? And how could she ever consider abandoning the war and its victims for any reason whatever?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
With an hour to spare, Elly stepped out of the hospital gateway and raised her face to the sun, its warmth a benediction on her pale cheeks. She knew she needed to get out more into the fresh air. The home visits hardly qualified when she moved from hospital to carriage to overheated, stuffy bedrooms then back again. It would be a welcome change to go on foot, even on this short errand.
Macquarie Street was rapidly gaining favour as a plum residential area, with its remarkable views and proximity to the shops. Almost every week, it seemed, attractive sandstone terrace houses sprang up, their balconies adorned with iron lace work, the facades edged with low railed fences. Elly had gone only a few steps down towards the harbour when a horse trotted up beside her and she stepped back as Cornwallis dismounted to block her passage. He swept off his hat and bowed, his gaze searching her face with an uncomfortable intensity.
‘You’ve been avoiding me, Miss Ballard. What have I done to deserve such treatment?’
Although his tone was light, Elly heard the note of pique and regretted it. He had supported her when she most needed help, and deserved her civility.
‘Not avoiding you, sir, but anything which takes me away from my duties. I’m aware how greatly I am in your debt –’
‘Nonsense. Please abolish the thought. If ever a fighter deserved to win you did, with such an army of slow-tops and gubernatorial boot-lickers arrayed against you. I thoroughly enjoyed the engagement. However, you really should have allowed me to celebrate victory with you.’
‘Of course you are right.’ Elly thought for a moment. ‘Allow me to make amends. Will you be my guest for dinner one night soon? I’m afraid circumstances don’t permit me to entertain here at the hospital, but I’m told Tattersall’s Hotel fare is not to be despised.’
‘Delighted, dear lady. An excellent choice, if I may say so, especially as I’ve not yet seen the more recent additions to their private Art Gallery. You
will permit me to fetch you in my carriage and see to the wines.’
His eagerness made her uneasy. However, she’d committed herself, so named a date a week away, hoping that no emergency would arise to spoil the arrangement. She would not mind, but he would take a postponement as rejection.
Elly held out her hand. ‘You must forgive me. I have an errand, and my time is limited.’
He glanced at the parcel of books under her arm. ‘You’re on your way to Piddington’s Bookshop? May I escort you? I have business in the same direction.’
Salvation appeared over his shoulder in the form of J.G. who sauntered down the street twirling a gold-topped cane like a bandsman with his drumstick.
‘Thank you.’ She gave Cornwallis her best smile. ‘However, I’ve arranged to accompany Mr Patterson to the Subscription Library.’
Side-stepping, she moved quickly to intercept her friend. ‘J.G. you’re late. I had almost given you up.’
J.G. neither blinked nor paused, but bowed extravagantly over Elly’s free hand, cane extended at an angle to support his doffed hat, his whole manner aping a Regency dandy.
Elly said playfully, ‘You need a third hand for your hat, Monsieur Macaroni, unless you abandon your delightful cane.’
‘It serves a double purpose as a hatstand, thus freeing me to greet a lady with style.’ J.G. glanced at the vexed Cornwallis, grinned mischievously, and deliberately kissed Elly’s fingers. He then straightened and put his hat back on at a rakish angle. ‘Good-day to you, sir.’ With a nod to Cornwallis, he swept Elly about on his arm, saying out of the side of his mouth, ‘Where are we supposed to be going?’
‘To the Library,’ she hissed back, twisting around to say goodbye to Cornwallis.
J.G. took her books and hurried her away at a brisk trot.
At the corner of Bent and Macquarie Streets where the imposing Library building rose like a Greek monument, Elly, breathless, pulled him up.
‘Thank you, J.G. We can now moderate our pace. He’s not following.’
‘It’d be beneath his dignity, since we didn’t ask him to join us. What a rude pair we are.’ He glanced at her quizzically.
‘I haven’t run away from him, precisely. I can’t explain. It’s... It’s his air of proprietorship that worries me. He’s so accustomed to power, to swaying others. He sweeps me along without giving me time to think.’
‘He’s a power in the Colony, to be sure, with a finger and just about every toe in any pie worth the baking. Some say he has too many interests.’
‘What do you mean?’
J.G. shrugged and guided her up the steps under the archway, swerving past a number of other citizens bent on the same errand. ‘I’ve heard talk of him being a remittance man, banished, at least until he comes into the title. Still, in business, as in politics, there are always voices to denounce the rich and powerful. Sometimes there’s truth in rumours of chicanery and false dealing. Sometimes it’s mere envious spite. In this case, I’ve not yet discovered which.’
Elly said in a troubled tone, ‘I don’t like to listen to tales about other people. I’ve always found Mr Cornwallis to be honourable in his dealings with me. However, I’ll maintain a proper distance. Now please, let’s talk about something else.’ She added more cheerfully, ‘I expect you attended the important Mr Wentworth’s departure for London in all his glory?’
J.G. held the door open for her. ‘Yes, indeed, I saw the great man off, just to be sure we were rid of him and his recommendations for a Colonial House of Lords filled with Rose-water Liberals. He’ll make the spring sitting of Parliament with time to spare. The Chusan’s the fastest steam packet we have.’
Elly wrinkled her nose. ‘“Nasty-smelling tin cans afloat. Give me a clipper any time”. I quote Jo-Beth, who fell victim to the charms of a great sailing ship during her voyage from China.’
‘Which just about drowned her in the end. You don’t catch a “tin can” breaking in two from worm rot. No, steam- ships are the coming thing. They’ll sweep the seas clean of sail before long. That’s progress, girl dear.’ He flung out an arm, almost knocking the hat off a bewhiskered old gentleman. ‘I beg your pardon, sir.’
Glaring at J.G., the man clutched his low-crowned beaver, whispering hoarsely, ‘Kindly remember this is a library, sir, and moderate your voice.’ He stomped off, leaving J.G. affronted.
‘Ye’d think I’d brought in a brass band,’ he complained.
He placed the books on the desk, adding, ‘Speaking of progress, how goes the campaign to improve the hospital? And don’t be thinking I’m after another article. I just want to know.’
‘It goes at snail speed,’ Elly confessed. She began to inspect the volumes in a nearby bookstand. The combination of smells in a library pleased her, a pot-pourri of ink and paper and paste and a fustiness that went well with high ceilings and walls lined with gilt-lettered spines; books by the yard; information by the hundredweight; entertainment for years to come. ‘We’re training new staff,’ she explained, ‘Yet the number of improvements has been small. Nothing major has been attempted, like the drains. Thank Heaven winter’s on its way, to kill off flies and mosquitoes.’
‘I thought, with the Hon. D’Arcy Cornwallis’ support...?’ J.G. paused delicately.
‘He can only do so much as one Board Member. He’s championed me twice already. Besides, I don’t like to be indebted to him, to feel he expects repayment.’
J.G’s brows rose. ‘Surely not.’
‘Oh, I can’t be specific. It’s just... he likes my company and... apart from all else, I’m simply too tired these days to socialise.’
‘Hmm. You are quite pale and Ophelia-like.’ He studied her while she tried to decide whether the volume of memoirs by an Anglican Archdeacon of Wandford Parish would interest her. Finally she could ignore her discomfort no longer. ‘What is it, J.G.? Have I a smut on my face?’
‘Despite your scruples, I’ve decided to drop a warning word in your ear. Whatever his business methods, the Dishonourable D’Arcy has a sizeable reputation with the ladies, as well as with women of another order. Take care, girl dear.’
Elly discarded the Anglican Archdeacon, saying in a carefully lowered voice, ‘I know you mean well, J.G., so I’ll forgive you for introducing the topic once more. But as I’ve told you, Mr Cornwallis’ behaviour towards me has been most proper. A reputation for gallantry is hardly unusual amongst men of means, and until I’ve good reason to question his behaviour, Mr Cornwallis will remain my friend. Now, will you abandon the topic, or must I abandon you?’
J.G. clutched at his heart, well-concealed beneath a grass-green striped waistcoat. ‘You couldn’t be so cruel.’ His eyes danced.
‘I could, you know.’
‘Then I won’t risk it. Cornwallis as a topic of conversation is now dead, coffined, entombed and surrounded by churchyard yews.’
‘That could have been better put. However, if you will fetch me a volume just beyond my reach – yes, the one on Wanderings Through New South Wales, I’ll forgive you. Thank you. And now, J.G., I think you should continue your interrupted stroll, with my sincere thanks for a timely rescue.’
J.G.’s mobile brows went up. ‘Dismissal? Oh well, I should be slaving over my next column. By the way, did you know Paul is due back this week?’
Elly’s grip tightened on Mr Bennett’s Wanderings. ‘Back from where? I’ve not heard from him since we saw Pearl off on the river steamer almost three months ago.’ Her level tone concealed her true feelings. These lay close to the surface, swelled by the memory of an encounter on the sands of Botany Bay, of rapturous moments in Paul’s arms, and the torment of endless broken nights since.
How hard she had tried to drive him away, out of her thoughts, out of her life. He had said he understood, concurring in her decision not to allow a lightning passion to interfere with either of their goals. When they met on the wharf to farewell Pearl he had stayed aloof and gone happily off with the other men, making no effort to contact
her since.
But how his indifference hurt, despite having brought it on herself. So she had built a high, thick wall around her hurt, hardening it into indifference. She told herself she no longer cared what Paul Gascoigne did, and had believed it until this moment.
The grievance in J.G.’s voice penetrated her thoughts.
‘Don’t I know it’s all of three months! The spalpeen left on one of his nomadic campaigns up country, after depositing his dog with me. So far I’ve lost five pounds in girth exercising the mutt, not to mention a bedroom slipper and as nice a ham as ever graced a board. I’ll give him three months when I see him.’
Elly’s clutch on the book loosened and she smiled. ‘Is Pepper misbehaving? I expect he misses his master. He’s been gone all this time?’
‘Either he’s travelled much further than planned or been delayed by an accident.’
Her heart banged against her ribs and reeled back. Accident! She knew so well what it meant to be alone in the bush, injured, with nowhere to turn for help.
J.G. grasped her arm. ‘You’re not going to faint on me, are you? You’re the colour of a Gloucester cheese.’
She gathered herself. ‘No, I won’t faint. I shall go to the desk and ask for Pickwick Papers, plus Volume Three of Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley series. Goodbye, J.G. Thank you for your escort.’
He let her go reluctantly, took two paces, then turned back again as she said, ‘You will let me know if Paul arrives home safely?’
‘To be sure I will.’ He waved his cane at her and went off, to work, Elly supposed, watching him disappear through the heavy door. But her thoughts were with Paul Gascoigne, wondering where his travels had taken him, whether he was safe, whether he ever thought of her.
~*~
The dinner with the Hon. D’Arcy Cornwallis had been a mistake, Elly thought, a week later. Despite being her guest he had, without her knowledge, secured a table in a secluded bay of the restaurant which gave an appearance of privacy and particularity, then proceeded to turn the evening into something she had not intended. Saute of goose and kidneys aux champagne, with side dishes of partridge and truffles, were not enough to leaven a situation which called for the greatest tact. J.G.’s warnings should have been heeded.
A HAZARD OF HEARTS Page 22