A HAZARD OF HEARTS (22 page)

‘Nevertheless, I thank you. And my patients will
have cause to do so if the Board can bring itself to actually disgorge some
money. It’s a dear wish of mine to see each patient in a bed of her own, not
forced to share with at least one other. And those cess pits. Oh, don’t let me
start. I’d be boring you here forever.’

‘I’m not bored. But, may I offer you some
refreshment? Perhaps a glass of wine before you return?’

‘No, thank you. I don’t need any stimulant.
Quite to the contrary. I feel I could walk back on air. The relief is enormous,
I assure you, to know that I’m not to be dismissed, that I have another chance
to fulfil my dreams.’ She rose and held out her hand.

He rose also. ‘Permit me to escort you to the
gate.’

‘No. Thank you again, but I shall do very well
alone. Goodbye, Mr Cornwallis.’

He surprised her by taking her hand and carrying
it to his lips, which just brushed her gloved knuckles.

‘Rather, au revoir, Miss Eleanor Ballard.’

‘I wish she had let me go with her to face
the Board.’ Jo-Beth scrubbed energetically at the stained sheets then stretched
to ease her aching back. ‘It must have been a severe ordeal.’

Pearl, arms bared to the elbow, her dark hair
lank from steam, let her wash load fall back into the tub. This balanced on
trestles in the courtyard, a makeshift affair set up near the kitchen water
butt. There was no laundry outhouse, as such, since Elly, in a fit of rage at
its dark, dank filthiness, had ordered it torn down and its resident vermin
incinerated in the rubble. A new one had been promised, but meanwhile the
scrubbing and rinsing went on outdoors, with water discharged across the pitted
sandstone slabs and down the nearest drain amid prayers that it would not back
up to overflow the yard.

‘Our Matron is quite able to manage the Board.
She’s as competent as any ten men.’ Pearl checked the load in the basket beside
her then went back to her rubbing – an additional task laid on the nursing
staff as the washer-woman had failed to arrive this week.

Jo-Beth surveyed her cracked and swollen hands,
grimaced, then plunged them back into the scummy water. There was a nip in the
early spring air, enough to redden her cheeks and remind her of her home in
Boston. There the leaves would be turning the same shade, along with others of
gold and silver, falling to create a carpet only God could loom. She could
almost smell the wood smoke from farmers burning off, hear the skeins of geese
clack across the pale sky on their way south for the winter. But she didn’t
miss the house, with its atmosphere so cold and repressive. She didn’t miss her
bullying mother and the father who never once supported his child against
tyranny. Sighing, she dragged her attention back to the prosaic present.

‘I agree as to Elly’s competence. However, the
Board is still writhing over the
Empire
article. They’ll make her pay
for it somehow. They still hold the purse strings. What’s become of the extra
money supposedly voted for improvements? I haven’t seen any of it.’

‘No one has. I expect Elly will bring it up at
the next Board Meeting, and the next, continuing until she’s worn them down. It’s
simply typical male procrastination.’

Jo-Beth glanced at her. ‘You don’t like men
much, do you?’

‘You could say so. Would you take one end of
this sheet to help me wring it?’

Jo-Beth obliged, saying, ‘Then it’s just as well
we don’t nurse in the men’s wards, although the poor creatures could do with
some professional care. They don’t get it from those wards men.’

She thought about yesterday’s incident when Elly
had asked for a tent to be set up in the yard for an infectious case. The wards
man had insolently informed her that he took his orders from Doctor Houston,
not the Acting Matron, although, of course, when Doctor Houston returned the tent
was set up immediately. It looked to Jo-Beth as if the medical staff had
mounted a campaign against Elly, part of which was to encourage disobedience
amongst the lesser orders. She said as much to Pearl.

Pearl snorted. ‘Did you hear Jenkins’ complaints
about the uniforms? She thinks she’s discriminated against, having to wear
blue, along with the two new trainees, while Elly and I wear grey. Mind you,
she fancies herself in the new white cap.’

‘Ah, she’s just jealous of the title that goes
with the colour. While she’s competent enough, Elly won’t leave her in charge
when she can’t trust her. We had a maid back home with the same guileful
expression. One day she ran off with the married under-gardener and two silver
candlesticks.’

Feeling the tug of memory, she hastily changed
the subject. ‘I’m not surprised that you don’t like men after your experiences.
I sometimes wonder whether I do, myself. Life would be much simpler without
them.’

Yet so much greyer, she thought, recalling just
how colourless her life had become in past weeks. She still had faith that
Ethan would be returned to her, but as each day passed this was undermined by
the unremitting toil; the inability to sleep through exhaustion and fear of her
dreams; the lack of news. She haunted the quayside at the end of the working
day, buttonholing passers-by, questioning passengers and crew of incoming
ships. Had they heard of someone rescued from the sea? Had they spoken to any
survivors of shipwreck? The coastline was littered with wrecks of all kinds,
and survival stories were not unusual.

But she never heard of a ship’s master saved, a
man who had commanded a clipper then lost her through the savagery of nature.
She returned from such expeditions worn out and dispirited, yet unable to rest
for more than a few hours before waking to another dawn of hope, soon to be
eroded through the long busy day.

She let the sheet fall into the basket and stood
gazing out vacantly through a gap between the buildings to the trees in the
Domain. Above them rose a sky filled with painted clouds. Nothing moved. It was
an unreal scene, a fitting backdrop to her present mood.

Pearl murmured sympathetically and put out a
soapy hand to press Jo-Beth’s rolled-back sleeve.

‘I’m being self-indulgent, Pearl. Today I can’t
fight off the melancholy. I’m afraid that sometime in the future I’ll have to
reconcile myself... But I can’t, I won’t believe he’s gone forever.’ Jo-Beth
hung her head to let the slow tears fall into the washtub. ‘Added to which, I
despise myself. I ache for some of the comforts I left back home, my music, my
books, and a warm bath with scented soap. To me this is mere existence,
deprived of the small luxuries and social intercourse that smooth life’s path.
I took them too much for granted. And I hate washing other people’s linen.’ She
sobbed helplessly.

Softly Pearl said, ‘You are a human being. Don’t
berate yourself for human weakness under stress. I think the way you have
adapted to new circumstances shows great courage. Now, leave the washing. Go
walking in the Domain. You need grass and trees and sky to soothe your spirit.’

~*~

A few days later there were two new
admissions, a Mrs Wynham with her youngest child, a girl of two years. They
were accompanied by an imperative Paul Gascoigne demanding immediate assistance
for his protégées, beginning with a bed, an attending physician and the Matron’s
own presence as surety for Mrs Wynham’s comfort.

Elly being absent, Pearl placed the two patients
in Ward One and called Doctor Gault away from his dinner to examine them. He
hastily did so, prescribing a paregoric draught then returning to his meal,
clearly glad to be rid of Paul, with his air of slight menace. Pearl, while
washing both patients, discovered them to be frail, under-nourished and
suffering from fleas and lice. She was particularly concerned over the baby
girl, Anne, whose hold on life seemed so tenuous. When they were settled she
sought out Paul, waiting impatiently below in the hall.

‘Who are they, Mr Gascoigne?’

‘They’re my friends.’ His manner challenged her.
‘Why? Are they not deemed suitable to occupy one of your beds? I’ve paid my two
guineas, you know. I may recommend someone to the Infirmary.’

‘There’s no need to be hostile. I place no
boundaries on help. I simply want to know anything about Mrs Wynham’s
background which might help us care for her.’

Her spirited response brought out his familiar
half-smile. ‘You sound just like Matron. My apologies, Nurse Pearl. I’ve heard
tales of the difficulties experienced by some who seek help at the Infirmary,
particularly those living in poor circumstances. Not to put too fine a word on
it – slum-dwellers with no-one to speak for their character.’ He hesitated,
then continued smoothly, Mrs Wynham is unwed, with three children by different
men. She occupies a ruinous hut down at The Rocks.’

Pearl nodded. ‘Then you must have lied to gain
admittance for her. I don’t blame you. The rules are nonsensical. What has
morality to do with health care, and by what right do we turn away someone who
is sick? Come up to Matron’s office where you can give me the details you’ve
invented, for the sake of Doctor Gault and any of the other moralists around
here.’

Paul followed her upstairs, saying, ‘When will
Miss Ballard be back? I’d hoped to speak with her.’

‘It’s her afternoon off, the first in weeks. So
I don’t expect her until supper time. Will you leave a message?’

‘No. No, thank you. I’ll call again to see how
Mrs Wynham does, and the baby.’

He completed his business, leaving Pearl
undecided over his interest in the Wynham family. How much was altruism, how
much political motivation, or even simply an excuse to call on Elly? Paul
Gascoigne’s many-layered personality interested her. Which aspect was the
reality? The restless man, his actions propelled by some underlying need which
he might be hiding even from himself? Did Elly know the answer?

~*~

In the storeroom, a stuffy cubicle lined
with shelves and thick with the smell of chemicals, where, as a trusted
assistant Pearl was now permitted access to drugs and other valuable items, she
paused in her work, ears pricked. A shadow fell over her and she sprang about,
her arm raised with a bottle of ammonium ready to throw.

J.G. flinched, saying in a placatory voice, ‘I
mean no harm, I promise. Please put the bottle down.’ He grinned as Pearl
slowly lowered her weapon. ‘I’m minded of a lass in a pub I know in Dublin. She
always kept a bottle by her hand for emergencies.’

Pearl’s heart still pounded. The old habits of
vigilance and self-protection stayed long after the need had gone. Besides, it
might have been the wards man who had twice tried to corner her and take
liberties, a creature with the eyes of the rapist watchman who caught her in
the grounds of her first owner. The terror of a six year old victim lived on in
the woman who could never quite drop her guard. Yet in later years she had
learned to judge men and knew J.G. would not harm her.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘I want to talk to you, when you can spare a
moment.’

He was too mild, she thought. He was up to
something. ‘I’m very busy.’

‘You’re also off-duty at present. I checked with
the Matron.’

Pearl replaced the heavy ammonium bottle on the
shelf. ‘You mean Elly will talk to you? After what you did to her, to us all?’

‘Ah, now, there’s a lass doesn’t hold a grudge.
We’ve come to an understanding, Miss Elly Ballard and me, and all’s well
between us.’

‘I hold grudges extremely well.’ Pearl wasn’t
giving in a fraction to this practised charm. She thought him unreliable. She
would not let herself like him.

J.G. pulled up a drum of whitewash and settled
himself on it. ‘I, on the other hand, can’t help letting grudges slip through
me fingers like quicksilver. And I have the patience of Job.’

What did he want? Did he suspect? No, he couldn’t.
She was far quicker and more intelligent than he would ever be.

Pearl, now a superior few inches higher than the
seated man, said, ‘Very well. Say what you want then let me get on with my
work.’

He glanced up obliquely, then down at his hands.
‘Why did you do it, girl dear? Don’t they feed you well enough in this place?’

She stiffened. ‘Why did I do what?’

‘Steal my timepiece.’

There was silence in the tiny room. Pearl froze,
unable to think beyond two words. He knew.

J.G. still spoke to his hands. ‘I’ve had me
pocket picked enough times to know when it’s happened again.’

‘You... let me do it?’

‘I’m as curious as a billy goat. I want to know
why you did it. You’re no ordinary thief.’

Pearl knew the blood had risen to her face. A
thief. Yes, she was a thief. What did others know of her struggle to stay
alive, to gain her freedom, to wangle her way across the seas in the hope of
finding her last remaining relative? What did this self-righteous scribbler
know of hardship or abuse, of the need to always stay ahead of the ravening
pack?

‘Well? Why did you steal from me?’

She compressed her lips.

‘Tell me.’ The tone was firm but not vengeful.