A HAZARD OF HEARTS

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A HAZARD OF HEARTS Page 31

by Frances Burke


  Dressed in fresh muslin and carrying a pretty, frilled sunshade, Jo-Beth set out to walk through the Botanical Gardens out onto the promontory known as Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. The water curving in so closely to lap the point glinted like sequinned silk. Surely, she thought, there could be no more lovely harbour view in all the world, with the naval ships bobbing at anchor and colourful ferries beetling between the green and gold foreshores.

  On the rocks below, a native fisherman stood with his spear poised as if cast in bronze, while his catch flapped in a pool at his feet. Behind Jo-Beth, below the brow of the hill, children played ball in the gardens, oblivious of the heat. To the east a bay lay edged in sand where gulls strutted amongst the tide wrack. In the shade of a Moreton Bay fig tree Jo-Beth furled her parasol and proceeded to think seriously about her position.

  The thing she longed for with all her heart had been denied her, and it was time she accepted that Ethan was not coming back. She did not enjoy nursing. Yet there were other avenues of support open to her. With her knowledge of fabrics she could be assistant to a linen draper, or a dressmaker. She’d always had a good eye for fashion and wielded a clever needle. Then there was the best opportunity of all – marriage to Alan McAndrews.

  It probably wasn’t fair to accept his love and give so little in return. But life wasn’t fair; she’d learned that lesson. She could make Alan happy, even without caring deeply for him. It wasn’t as though she’d tried to deceive him or build false hopes. He knew all about Ethan, and willingly accepted the friendly affection which was all she could offer.

  As chatelaine of his home and social adjunct to his career, she would be superb. She had the background and training. It would be a good bargain for them both. Because she needed to return to her own stratum of society. Elly had recognised this, even while praising Jo-Beth’s compassion and her willingness to hide her distaste for the blood and ordure that was part of nursing – plus the noisy, stuffy wards, the ordeals witnessed in surgery, and the vermin.

  Jo-Beth took off her gloves and inspected her hands, rough and chafed despite all her efforts. She missed the comforts of a lifestyle she had undervalued when it was hers. She would have exchanged them all gladly for the freedom of the high seas with Ethan. But that brief glimpse of another reality had been cut off. Now, as Elly had pointed out, she could choose a different way, easier, although not without responsibility.

  When Alan returned home he would expect her, as his wife, to ornament their position in London society. No doubt he would approve her helping with organised charities, supporting hospitals, pressuring for the endowment of institutions and changes in discriminatory laws affecting the underprivileged. With her background and her new knowledge and experience she could do this. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she’d keep her part of the bargain faithfully.

  A chittering sound emerged from her large reticule and she opened it to release Peanut. The little monkey’s boot-button eyes darted in all directions.

  ‘So you’re awake, lazy one. Run about then. Take your exercise. That leg is strong enough now. But no more tumbling into drains.’ She tweaked the end of the bandage on Peanut’s twiglike limb, feeling a tail wrap around her wrist and tug. ‘No, I’m not coming. Be off with you.’

  Head to one side, the monkey regarded her, then sprang up onto her shoulder, pulled a strand of hair behind her ear, then disappeared into the lowest branch of the fig tree.

  ‘Mischief!’ Jo-Beth straightened her hat and pulled on her gloves. She felt almost as though she were girding herself for, not battle, but for an irrevocable step onto a stage. Which was the reality and which the performance? What part did Jo-Beth, Belle of Boston really play in the drama? How would the story end?

  The tall figure she expected to see loomed over the crest of the hill and she rose to greet Captain Alan McAndrews.

  ‘Miss Loring… Jo-Beth.’ His usual urbanity had deserted him. She saw his anxiety in his tightened mouth, his exaggerated low bow. The waxed points of his moustache quivered.

  ‘I was watching for you.’ She smiled, beckoning him to sit with her on the granite slab. This was the day and the moment. For just an instant, she allowed Ethan’s features to overlay the paler, less decisive face before her. She pictured golden brown eyes narrowed against the wind, a firm bearded chin jutting, a mouth that could soften in a remembered kiss, so passionate, so adoring.

  Squeezing her eyelids tight, she forced the image away. It was useless. She had chosen her way, and would now put aside these memories forever, while looking to the future.

  Alan’s voice trembled. ‘Jo-Beth, you know why I asked you to meet me. I’m living in torment. Please, I implore you, give me my answer today.’

  She went to speak, but he hurriedly continued.

  ‘You should know that my duty here ended with the departure of Governor Fitzroy. I intend re-joining my regiment in London almost immediately. There is a possibility that I may even be sent on to the Crimea.’

  She paled. ‘Oh, I pray not!’

  ‘Do you, my love? Do you care?

  ‘I care a great deal.’

  ‘Enough to marry me? To spend whatever time we may have together in my homeland?’ His gaze trapped hers, pleading rather than demanding.

  She took a deep breath, ready to commit herself. ‘I’ll… I…’ The words would not come. She met his gaze, but unseeingly, blinded by a sudden illumination.

  ‘What is it, my love? Why do you hesitate?’ He grasped her hands and tried to draw her close.

  She resisted, still gazing inwardly at the sudden vision of the future that had presented itself in all too believable magnitude. Why had she not seen it earlier? But she had. She’d been hiding it from her consciousness, deliberately, seeing only the advantages, trying to persuade herself that this was the best, the only way.

  What a fool she was not to know herself better. Marriage to this kind man would mean a slow death to the woman she had become, a woman whose passions had been aroused and who had experienced, and now valued her independence. Oh, she could channel this vigour into works of duty, service to others – for a time. But she now understood, with rock hard surety, that eventually she would reach breaking point and, to save her sanity, would destroy the relationship and bring grief to this man who loved her and deserved better.

  She rose and looked down at him, feeling the flush of shame in her cheeks. ‘Alan, I’ve been blind and selfish. I’m so very sorry to have misled you, but I can’t accept your flattering offer.’

  ‘Don’t! Don’t be so polite when you’re stabbing me to the heart.’ He sprang up and grasped her hands so tightly that the seams of her gloves marked her for an hour afterwards. His eyes blazed, his voice was a throttled cry. ‘Why? I’ve waited for months, and you never gave me cause to feel discouraged.’

  She met his rage and pain with her chin raised. ‘I didn’t know how much I had changed during those months, Alan. I did intend to wed you and to be as good a wife as possible. But now the moment has come, I find I can’t do it. It would be disastrous for us both.’

  ‘You’re wrong – ‘

  ‘Hear me out, I beg you.’

  ‘It’s the memory of your sea captain, isn’t it? You’re trapped in a fantasy of what might have been.’

  ‘No. You would be justified in thinking so, if I were the old Jo-Beth. But I’m not. Please, let me try to explain.’

  Releasing her, he turned aside, hiding his expression while ostensibly looking out over the harbour. His arms were crossed, as if he held himself in. ‘Very well.’

  ‘It’s difficult to say just when I changed. I only know that I’m not that same wild, spoilt girl who took ship from China and was washed up on the shores of the Colony to begin a new life. I suppose I’m trying to say that I’ve finally learned to stand alone. In the company of two of the finest, most courageous women, I found a core of strength within myself and built upon it. Now I know I can’t go back to dependence, to submission. You would not enjoy marriage to
the person I’ve become.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘I know. You need someone quite different, Alan, and I pray that one day soon you will meet the right woman to love you as you deserve to be loved.’ She came to him, laying a hand on his sleeve, but he threw it off, his face still turned aside.

  ‘I cannot believe that you would have encouraged me, only to bring me down.’

  ‘I hardly believe it myself, my dear. I did not mean to give you pain.’ Sighing she picked up her parasol and beckoned to Peanut.

  McAndrews turned to face her. ‘You will not reconsider?’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Then I will bid you good day.’ He clapped on his cap and bowed stiffly. ‘Permit me to wish you happiness in whatever future awaits you.’ He stalked off.

  Her eyes followed him until he disappeared below the lip of the hill. She wanted to cry, to assuage her own guilty pain, but tears would not come. There would be no release for either of them except through the passage of time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Elly, poised on the footway outside the old Hyde Park Convict Barracks, sniffed the spring air and felt rejuvenated. On impulse she bought a sprig of mimosa from a flower seller and pinned it to her collar, then crossed the street to the park, where other Sunday strollers paraded inside the railings. What little grass managed to grow here was regularly cut up by horses and vehicles, and the young trees had scarcely reached the proportions necessary for a park. Still, it was the hub of the city, the meeting place for all classes, not just residents of mansions lining Elizabeth and Macquarie Streets.

  Shop girls and clerks strolled arm in arm or sat close together on one of the many benches; military men showed their paces on horseback; families took the air in their carriages. Elly expected to see Paul riding with his ward, knowing that Lucy practiced her new skills as a horsewoman at every opportunity. Elly told herself she approved of Paul’s interest in the girl. After all, Lucy had no other family to rely upon.

  It was good, too, for Paul to escape his involvement in politics and remember that he was still a young man in need of exercise and diversion. Nights spent at meetings in smoky taverns and beer halls and days of visiting prospective constituents, listening to complaints, arguing, pleading and explaining, must wear him down.

  In the near distance a pair of riders drew off the carriageway and stopped. Elly recognised Paul and Lucy mounted on handsome bays, both in the highest spirits. Lucy glowed with youth, thought Elly, contrasting her shabby tartan gown with the gloss on the girl’s smart blue velvet habit. Paul was coaching her in mastery of her animal, but she was clearly inattentive, her gaze roaming to catch the glances of young military men who also exercised in the park.

  A voice spoke above Elly’s head.

  ‘Persephone, you gild the spring. I particularly admire the touch of mimosa.’ D’Arcy Cornwallis bowed from the saddle of a magnificent black stallion. He glanced ahead at the two approaching riders and Elly could have sworn his lip curled for a second.

  Paul’s welcoming expression froze and he yanked at his horse’s mouth, while Lucy treated Cornwallis to a slumberous smile and an inviting glance. Her astonishment when Paul leaned over to grasp her reins, pulling her mount around, made Elly smile. But the way Paul stared at her, then deliberately looked away, was enough to kill any amusement. Without any effort at politeness, he spurred his own horse into a trot and dragged Lucy away with him.

  ‘How impetuous.’ Cornwallis laughed ironically, moving the stallion up closer to Elly, his hand on hip, perfectly at ease. ‘Have you forgiven me yet, Eleanor? I’ve been most patient, I believe.’

  Puzzled by his attitude, as if there had been only the mildest of differences between them, Elly answered, ‘I have accepted your apology, but I don’t care to continue our acquaintance, Mr Cornwallis, and I’d rather you didn’t try to force your company upon me.’ Her mind was with Paul and his obvious, hurtful conclusion that she had an assignation with Cornwallis. He should know her better.

  When the black stallion lowered his muzzle to blow gently in Elly’s face, she automatically put up a hand to stroke his velvety nose, catching a softened expression on Cornwallis’s face as he patted the horse’s neck.

  ‘I apologise for Tartar’s manners. Like his master, he’s always had an eye for the ladies.’

  Affection for an animal did not alter the basic character, Elly thought. How would the man react if the horse refused to obey orders?

  Cornwallis continued, ‘When have I forced my company upon you, Eleanor?’

  Recalling the stream of notes, flowers and pressing invitations which had plagued her since her return from Bathurst, Elly replied, ‘You refuse to accept dismissal.’

  ‘I have never accepted dismissal from anyone, certainly not from a woman. You’re too hot-blooded, my lady.’ The black stallion fidgeted, dancing from side to side, a sure indication of his rider’s restlessness.

  Elly was disdainful. ‘For you, of all people, to make such an accusation! Now, please understand me. You discomfort me and you have certainly demonstrated your opinion of me. It would be better if we were not to meet ever again.’

  ‘Very well.’ The words were clipped, although his expression did not alter. ‘I shall no longer importune you. But we shall see who dismisses whom in the long run, Miss Eleanor Ballard.’ He raised his hat and rode off, leaving Elly uncertain whether she’d been threatened or reprieved.

  She carried her ruffled feelings back to the hospital, her pleasant mood destroyed.

  An hour later she was called out with Doctor Cooper, one of the younger district physicians, to attend a confinement at Darlinghurst Gaol. Mrs Burton, a thin lady of nervous disposition and wife to the gaol governor, had haunted Elly for months, declaring that she would not survive the birth if the Matron were not present.

  Elly, knowing the woman had lost three children in stillbirth and barely survived herself, had readily agreed to help. This time she made her preparations buoyed by the thought that the stork-like Doctor Cooper actually appreciated her as an assistant. He had even adopted her recommended practice of washing in carbolic solution, and passed on this modern attitude to the medical students under his direction.

  They arrived to find Mr Burton in a panic and his wife on her knees beside the bed calling upon all the archangels for protection in her coming travail. Doctor Cooper’s examination showed the birth to be still some way off, so the stout little governor, reassured, excused himself on the grounds of duty.

  Later, with the patient made comfortable, Elly strolled to a window above the prison yard and halted in shock. She was staring down on a gallows and the preparations for an execution. She watched as if in a trance as a prisoner was brought out, hands bound, both he and his squad of guards marching in step to a drum. Other guards had lined up behind prisoners being paraded to witness a salutary lesson, while a party of onlookers had collected by the steps – Mr Burton, a clergyman and, of all people, D’Arcy Cornwallis. He stood bare-headed, tensely absorbed in the scene before him.

  Drums rolled, and Elly covered her mouth, unable to drag her gaze away from Cornwallis, who savoured the poor condemned wretch’s terror with a smile, before turning to speak to Burton. The gaoler appeared to expostulate, gold glinted in the sunlight, then Cornwallis stepped forward past the clergyman reading from his Bible, up the steps, and took the rope from the hangman. He fitted the noose around the prisoner’s neck, drew it tight, all the while staring into the man’s eyes, then stepped down from the gallows. The drum ceased, the signal came, the prisoner dropped. Elly could have sworn she heard his neck crack. Covering her face, she turned from the window, just as her patient screamed and went into convulsions.

  Forcing from her mind the horrible scene she had just witnessed, Elly went to work. Puerperal convulsions were a dreaded and serious complication occurring only too often, but Elly had never accustomed herself to the sight. Mrs Burton’s paroxysms increased at an alarming rate until
she was constantly wracked. Her face registered terror at her body’s involuntary spasms. Her arms and legs hit out as Elly and a maidservant fought to hold her down so she could be bled.

  Doctor Cooper panted from his exertions. He had taken off his coat and rolled up his shirt sleeves, appearing thinner and more stork-like than ever. ‘We’ll try a cold douche to the head, Matron, and if that doesn’t answer, a large foetid enema of turpentine.’

  These, together with other remedies, including mustard cataplasm to the legs, having failed, he turned to Elly. ‘The poor woman is unconscious, but I fear for the child if this continues. Her movements are too violent for me to attempt to use instruments for the delivery.’ He drew Elly away from the bed, lowering his voice. ‘Have you by chance heard of Doctor Tracy, a physician at the Melbourne Lying-in Hospital?’

  She shook her head. ‘Does he suggest a remedy in such cases?’

  ‘Chloroform, administered for two minutes at most. It acts the more rapidly after bleeding.’

  Elly glanced back at the writhing patient, drenched with sweat, her contorted face a reproach to them both. ‘Then try it, Doctor. If it does nothing else it will ease her pain.’

  She bathed the sunken face and held the woman’s head still as a pad with a few drops of the anaesthetic was placed under her nose. Elly could feel the muscles begin to relax, and then, with an almost magical swiftness, the paroxysms ceased and Mrs Burton fell into deep sleep.

  Doctor Cooper wiped his forehead. ‘I wasn’t sure of the effect on a woman in labour. I hope to God it hasn’t affected the child.’

  ‘The baby’s heartbeat is strong.’ Elly put down her stethoscope. ‘What if the convulsions recur?’

 

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