For, while playing the gentleman still, Cornwallis succeeded in discomforting her with his gallantry. His conversation had become loaded with innuendo that might have been acceptable to ladies of a different order, but not to Elly. Still she hesitated to speak her mind, restrained by gratitude for his earlier help, plus the need to retain the goodwill of at least one Hospital Board Member.
She wriggled and manoeuvred the conversation away from personal topics, yet as often as she succeeded he would angle it back with a compliment or substitute a speaking glance. He used his eyes as a weapon. She felt like an animal being gently, inexorably herded into a pen. If he had touched her she thought she must have risen and left him, but he was not so crude, contenting himself with words plus a magnetic gaze which pinned her to her seat, establishing a silent, yet unmistakable claim upon her.
Smothering her anger at his familiarity, she refused dessert, impatient for him to end his meal. Finally she asked him to take her home.
Cornwallis called for a liqueur for the lady.
‘No thank you. I’d like to leave now, if you please,’ Elly repeated pleasantly but firmly, drawing her wrap around her shoulders to cover the low neck of her gown.
‘But Eleanor – I may call you Eleanor? The night has scarcely begun. I had plans –’
‘So have I plans, which include a great deal of work to be done before I can sleep. I apologise for cutting short this pleasant interlude. However, I did say “dinner”, not a full evening’s entertainment. So, Mr Cornwallis, if you don’t mind...’
His hand shot out to grasp her wrist, holding her in her chair. She stared at the square, polished nails, at the dark hairs springing above the knuckles.
He said, ‘But I do mind, very much. I had anticipated a great deal from this interlude. When a charming woman issues an invitation to join her for dinner, I expect to enjoy her company for several hours. Nothing was said about an abrupt termination as soon as the meal ended. I protest, Eleanor. I have been ill-used.’ His voice had an unmistakable edge which warned Elly, even as it added to her anger.
She pointedly waited until he released her, then leaned towards him, injecting warmth into her tone.
‘I’m extremely sorry if there has been a misunderstanding. I thought I’d made it clear that at present we are so inundated with work I can’t be spared for long. I’ve been on duty in the wards all day and have several reports to fill out, accounts to be checked, inventories... You see how it is? I doubt whether I’ll be abed before one o’clock yet must rise again at five.’ She drooped a little.
Cornwallis frowned then settled back, his stare disconcerting. ‘A pity, indeed. But I see that you are weary and console myself with the anticipation of future meetings. There will be such occasions, will there not?’
Elly inclined her head with a smile. ‘Indeed, I hope so.’ She gathered her skirts and he rose to draw back her chair.
Having arranged prior payment for the meal, she moved quickly to the stairs, accepting his arm as support, but careful to maintain distance between them. She climbed into the closed carriage waiting outside, trusting her escort would keep to his own seat. During the short journey uphill to the hospital Cornwallis spoke of commonplace matters until they arrived at the gate in the wall, where he assisted Elly to alight. She would have dismissed him then but somehow found herself accompanied to the main door.
When she held out her hand he folded it between his own, saying deliberately, ‘I shall not conceal from you my disappointment at the loss of your company, especially as you have not been averse to spending a whole day in the company of Mr Gascoigne.’
Astonished, Elly replied, ‘That was weeks ago. I’ve had no social engagements since the New Year – although I fail to see what concern it is of yours, Mr Cornwallis.’
His gaze intensified while he tightened his grip, almost crushing her fingers. ‘You cannot fail to be aware of my regard, my deepest admiration. You’re a lovely woman, Eleanor, and I must know you better. No more avoidance. I will not accept a refusal.’
She looked at the closed door with longing, knowing her key lay buried in her reticule and the porter had gone off duty. She tried to tug free. ‘Mr Cornwallis, pray... You embarrass me. I had no idea... Of course I have a regard for you, but –’
‘You’re most attractive when you’re provoked, my dear. I’m all admiration.’ His arm went around her waist, pinning her to him.
The unexpected change to lechery caught her off guard. His face, distorted with sudden passion, loomed far too close for comfort, his gaze burned with an almost tangible heat. Warring emotions held her speechless. The satiric mouth smiled and, overcome by sudden loathing, she struck at his imprisoning arm.
‘Let me go. How dare you treat me like some street drab.’
His grip tightened. Now his full-lipped mouth hovered over hers, their breaths mingling. His voice, also, had changed, harsh, stripped of deference, thick with nuance.
‘You mistake me, my dear. I treat whores quite differently. You, I fancy, are more than a cut or two above such creatures.’
Was this a nightmare, after all? Elly wondered. Would she wake thankfully at any moment in her bed? It couldn’t be D’Arcy Cornwallis addressing her in such a way.
Straining her head back, she said with as much dignity as she could, ‘I had hoped that a gentleman would recognise a lady by her behaviour, Mr Cornwallis. Kindly release me at once.’
His laughter jeered at her. ‘A lady doesn’t dip her hands daily in filth and disease. No, my dear, you make a brave show, but you’ve stepped down into the lower echelons of public entertainers and other working class women. You’re available, and believe me, I’m more than willing to make our liaison worthwhile to you.’
Elly gaped. A moment later he had tilted her chin to fasten his mouth on hers, hard, hurtfully, allowing her no opportunity to protest. Elly was suffocating. Restrained by a strength such as she’d never imagined, she was powerless and afraid for the first time, crushed, immobilised, her mouth ravaged ruthlessly. When he suddenly let her go she fell back against the door, fingers to her bruised lips, too breathless to find words to hurl at him.
A second later he landed hard against the wall beside her, his grunt of surprise followed by an oath. Before he could straighten up Paul was upon him, gripping him by the coat lapels as he dragged him down the steps into the courtyard.
‘You bastard! How dare you touch her!’ Paul’s fist met Cornwallis’ jaw with a terrific crack and he went down, sprawled across the flags to lie still. Paul bounded up the steps to Elly. ‘Are you all right? Did he hurt you?’
Elly shook her head. ‘My self-esteem is wounded, nothing else. Thank Heaven you appeared when you did.’
He turned her to the light above the door and examined her face, his eyes blazing. ‘He did hurt you. Your lip is cut.’
Frightened by his expression, she said hastily, ‘It’s nothing. Paul...’ She began to tremble and was grateful when his arms came around her in comforting support.
‘It’s all right, Elly. Just reaction.’ He glanced down at Cornwallis, still lying on the pavement. ‘I must have hit him harder than I thought.’ He sounded quite happy about it.
‘I’d better see –’ Elly began, but Paul held her back.
‘Let him lie for the moment. I’d have intervened earlier if I hadn’t been some distance away, enjoying a pipe while I waited for you. J.G. said you were worried about me.’
Elly gently withdrew from his hold. Her poise had returned, and with it the memory of their last encounter, as well as his avoidance of her for so long.
‘I was concerned because you’d been gone for so many weeks, with no word. I’m glad you’re back safely.’ She glanced down at Cornwallis, now struggling to his feet, supporting his swelling jaw. Her anger flared up, cooled only slightly by the spectacle of Cornwallis’ humiliation.
But the man who stood glaring at her was not a figure to be mocked. Violence emanated from him in almost visible waves. H
is shoulder muscles bunched under his coat as he lurched forward into the light. Elly shrank against the door, while Paul moved in front of her, his fists clenched. Cornwallis maintained his gaze for a long moment, then turned and limped out the gate to his carriage.
Haunted by the man’s malignant expression, Elly said, ‘Paul, did you see his face? It was evil.’
‘We’ve made a bad enemy there,’ he agreed. ‘Guard your back from now on at the Board Meetings.’
Elly decided not to think about that until she had to. She’d born enough for one night. ‘You be careful, too. Don’t go down any dark alleys alone. I’m not being melodramatic. I truly believe he’s capable of anything.’
Relaxed now, Paul took her reticule from her and extracted her key. ‘I’ll keep it in mind. Now, you’ve had a trying evening and should be in bed. I called only to reassure you of my safety. I’ll bore you with my traveller’s tales some other time.’ He opened the door, giving her the key. ‘Sleep well, Elly, and don’t trouble your head over that brute. We can deal with him.’
‘I hope so. Thank you for the rescue, Paul.’
He kissed her cheek then left, collecting his hat at the bottom of the steps and closing the gate in the wall behind him.
Elly bolted the door, taking the stairs slowly, like an invalid, she thought, determined to do her last round of the wards before going to bed. Her lip stung, her bruised ribs protested and her brain felt battered by a jumble of thoughts and questions, too much to sort out tonight. She’d think about it all tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Elly’s contact with the male wards remained limited, but she had introduced a stratagem of her own for any patient about to undergo surgery, ensuring that once delivered to the theatre he was bathed by her in carbolic solution and rendered as clean as possible before the surgeon arrived. However, this, together with her increased hours outside the hospital meant she was overworked, and Jo-Beth decided to offer her services for preparation in the theatre.
She surprised Elly at her desk, chin on hands, staring out the window at a vista of ragged cloud. The sun had played hide-and-seek since dawn, and winter had laid its finger on the town. Children scuffed through the fallen leaves, playing running games to warm themselves, while their elders moved briskly along the street below.
Elly spoke without turning her head. ‘Look out there. The year has turned and we are into our second without having achieved anything worthy of notice. It’s been such a struggle, for so little.’
Jo-Beth patted her friend’s shoulder.
‘You’ve achieved more than you realize. The whole atmosphere of this hospital has changed for the better. You’ve banished dirt and slovenliness and introduced hope, Elly. People don’t come here as a last resort; they know they will be cared for. That’s something to be proud of.’
‘I suppose so. You’re right. I must banish depression before it blights anyone else.’ She rose. ‘I should be in the theatre in ten minutes.’
‘Let me help, Elly. Surely I can carry out the preparation if you instruct me.’ Jo-Beth searched her friend’s worn face with concern. Elly hesitated only a moment. ‘I’d be very glad of your help. But... are you sure? It would involve handling male patients.’
Jo-Beth said airily, ‘Sedated male patients. I can manage them.’
Down in the theatre the man waited, buckled to the table. He regarded the two women with the terrified eyes of a bolting horse, every muscle in his body straining against the straps. Jo-Beth’s gaze, however, was riveted to his naked body. Her face hot, she moved quickly to the bench to pour carbolic into a bowl of instruments. Elly, who always knew the name of the theatre patient, tried to reassure him while she raised his head to help him drink from a flask.
‘Mr Brown, I see you’ve already imbibed rum. Now here is laudanum to further dull your senses. Try not to be afraid. Mr Wykeham is a good swift surgeon. The tumour will be removed from your groin and you’ll be back in the ward in no time at all.’ She beckoned to Jo-Beth to fetch a bowl and cloths to the table.
Jo-Beth obeyed, reluctantly, keeping her head averted.
Elly said, surprised, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Will you wash the patient?’
‘We’ll both do it. I want to demonstrate how thoroughly this must be done, particularly in the operative area. You begin with the head.’
She must not be silly, Jo-Beth told herself. She would be controlled and serene, like Elly. He was only a man – a human being in need.
They worked together down the man’s body. As the sedative mixed with the alcohol already in his system it began to take effect. He gave a loud snort and Jo-Beth looked up to see a maudlin smile replace the terror in his features as he said suddenly, ‘Pretty hair.’
Jo-Beth jumped. The flaccid lump of muscle under her hand twitched and began to swell. She hurriedly let go, watching in growing horror as it rose even higher, until it seemed to point straight at her, a great red finger of pulsating flesh. She stepped back from the table, dropping her cloth.
‘Elly.’ She swallowed then tried again. ‘Elly, something’s wrong.’
‘What is it?’ Elly’s quick glance appraised the situation. After an obvious struggle, she dissolved into laughter. ‘Oh, Jo-Beth. Have you never seen a naked man before?’
Hanging her head, Jo-Beth whispered, ‘Never.’ Her cheeks felt like beacons. She’d have given anything to rush out the door and hide the evidence of her extreme embarrassment.
The patient tittered then began humming untunefully. But when she forced herself to look at him, Jo-Beth realised he was unaware of her, wandering in a half-drunken world where his fear was masked, if not laid to rest.
Elly controlled her laughter, although her eyes still sparkled. ‘I’m sorry, Jo-Beth. Under the circumstances, naturally the patient’s tumescence has come as a shock. However, you have to understand that it’s a natural reaction to your touching him, even when he’s only half awake. A nurse who works out in the community grows accustomed to dealing with the other sex. It’s one of the reasons why nurses are so lowly regarded, because we will put aside our gentility and see the patient as someone in need, not a particular man or woman.’
She’s right, thought Jo-Beth. This was not the time or place for maidenly modesty. She picked up the fallen cloth, dipped it in the carbolic solution and wrung it out, then set to work resolutely. This would be the cleanest patient ever to pass into Mr Wykeham’s not-so-clean hands.
As she worked, Jo-Beth’s dilemma returned to the forefront of her mind, and she burst out with it. ‘Elly, I need to talk to someone.’
Elly merely nodded and began cleaning instruments, while Jo-Beth continued. ‘I feel such a fool, as well as disloyal to Ethan. Yet I can’t go on forever marking time in the hospital, waiting, hoping, fearing. It tears me in two.’
‘You wanted a miracle, Jo-Beth.’
‘Yes. I wore out my knees pleading with God to restore my love, but He’s failed me. Maybe I’m simply not worthy.’
Elly turned on her. ‘Never say that! Never. I forbid you to denigrate yourself in the name of religion. You are as fine a friend as anyone could hope for; you’re compassionate; you do your best for the patients; you’ve survived all your difficulties with dignity. You deserve happiness.’
‘Why, Elly... Thank you. You know what I’m about to tell you, don’t you?’
‘You’ve decided to marry Alan McAndrews. I approve.’
‘He’s not Ethan. He’s not in any way like him. But he’s kind and thoughtful, and he loves me. Of course, his wealth and position are not to be sneered at.’ Her self-derogatory tone evoked an immediate response.
‘You’re doing it again, decrying a perfectly natural desire to return to the life you’ve always known. Jo-Beth, don’t you realise what an opportunity this gives you to help the nursing profession in a practical way?’
Elly’s enthusiasm had its effect, and Jo-Beth said more cheerfully, ‘I know. A lady of means and influe
nce could persuade others of similar standing to interest themselves in raising funds, and provoke discussion at political dinners. Pressure could be brought to bear upon highly-connected husbands and brothers.’
‘Exactly. You will never be an idle socialite, Jo-Beth, not with your brain. So you may forget guilt and anticipate a happy life with a clear conscience – after you’ve finished washing the patient’s legs.’
~*~
The Empire offices were scarcely overwhelming, thought Elly, unless she adopted noise level as the criterion. Seated in the tiny space reserved for visitors while someone sent for J.G., she covered her ears against the machines’ assault, feeling the vibrations rise up through the floorboards.
Men rushed in and out of doors, waving papers, attending machines, shouting to one another above the incessant din in a pattern of controlled hysteria. Odours peculiar to the printing trade: ink, chemicals, machine oil, made her wrinkle her nose, while she thought the battered furniture and general sparseness of the newsroom more suited to a poorhouse than a successful newspaper. Was Henry Parkes unable to afford better? How could he get anyone to work in such an environment, let alone detach himself sufficiently to produce the roaring diatribes that galvanised half of Sydney Town?
A comparison with the more staid Sydney Herald, the organ of squatters and men of wealth, had quickly decided her in favour of The Empire’s vitality and willingness to take risks. She’d long forgiven J.G. for the trouble his hospital article had caused her, and now counted him as a good friend. It was as a friend she now needed his help.
He bustled in within a few minutes, striped shirt-tails billowing from beneath his waistcoat, his ink-stained hand held out to her.
‘‘Tis a fine day when the lady of my heart calls to interrupt my work,’ he bellowed.
Elly shouted back, ‘J.G., how many hearts do you have and how do you keep track of them all?’ She leapt as an almighty crash shook the building and the clatter of machinery stopped. She lowered her voice. ‘What’s happened? Has it blown up?’
A HAZARD OF HEARTS Page 23