A HAZARD OF HEARTS (43 page)

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.

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.