The Ivory Rose

by Belinda Murrell

  ‘Ned,’ called Jemma desperately as she fell. Jemma’s head hit the floor with brutal force, jolting pain through her body like an electric shock. She felt herself go limp, then it seemed as though she was floating.

  Through the mists of pain and darkness and time, Jemma could hear Ned’s lovely Irish brogue: ‘Jemma, are ye all roight? Plaise speak to me, lovely lass! Jemma … Jemma …’

  ‘Ned … Ned …’

  ‘Jemma, darling?’

  Jemma’s eyes flickered open. The space was filled with painful, bright, fluorescent light. She could hear tiny beeps and smell flowers.

  The source of the smell became apparent from the vast bank of flowers by her side – blues, pinks, creams, purples, oranges, whites, yellows and reds.

  ‘Jemma, darling, can you hear me?’

  The words crumbled through Jemma’s foggy brain. They were beautifully, deliciously familiar.

  ‘Mama?’ Jemma’s eyes darted around. She was in a pale-grey room in a narrow, high bed surrounded by grey curtains. Behind her was a bank of monitors, beeping and flashing red lights. She had an oxygen tube in her nose, a monitor on her finger and a drip feeding into a vein on top of her hand.

  Beside her sat her mother, Elizabeth, a look of unbelievable joy on her face. She leant forward in a vinyl, plastic hospital chair, a book on her lap, her hair scraped back into a greasy ponytail. She wore stained jeans and an old, oversized man’s T-shirt. Her face was pale and puffy, with dark circles under her eyes and creases of sorrow around her mouth. Jemma thought she had never looked more beautiful.

  ‘Mama!’

  ‘Oh darling, darling girl,’ cried Elizabeth. ‘You’ve come back to us.’

  With trembling arms, Elizabeth cradled Jemma gently, as though she might break, tears pouring down her face.

  ‘Oh, we’ve been so worried. You’ve been in a coma. The doctors can’t understand it. Oh thank goodness you’re awake, my darling, darling girl,’ sobbed Elizabeth, smearing away the tears with the back of her hand. ‘I must call Daddy, he’s gone out to get us some coffee. I’ve hardly left your side for days. I’ve been reading to you.’

  Elizabeth held up the book on her lap. It was The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

  ‘It was your favourite, remember?’ babbled Elizabeth. ‘Maggie gave it to me – you’d been reading it to Sammy. I used to read it to you when you were younger, then you read it yourself over and over.’

  Shaking and fumbling and crying, Elizabeth found her phone and pressed the button to summon Dan, who ran in a few moments later, coffee slopping from two styrofoam cups. He threw the cups in the sink and gathered Jemma up in his arms, oblivious to tubes, drips and monitors.

  ‘My baby girl. My precious Poss.’

  Two doctors followed soon after, along with a bevy of nurses, shooing Elizabeth and Dan out of the room.

  Jemma groped around her neck for the familiar feel of her ivory rose. It was gone, and she felt a keen sense of loss. She thought back to everything that had happened. Could it all have been a dream? A coma-induced hallucination? Did I imagine it all – Georgiana and Ned and Connie and Molly and Agnes and Harriet Rutherford?

  Jemma fell back on her plasticky pillow, exhausted. The doctors checked everything – pulse, blood pressure, blood tests, reflexes – and ran a series of CAT scans and X-rays.

  They pronounced her perfectly healthy but couldn’t explain the strange, angry red rash and cracked skin of her hands.

  ‘It must be some strange sort of allergic reaction to the drugs we’ve been giving you,’ the doctor decided. Jemma smiled – her raw, calloused hands seemed proof that she had really travelled back in time to 1895 to scrub floors, pots and clothes.

  Finally, she was allowed to go home, taking with her armfuls of flowers and cards.

  Ruby came to visit, coming up to her turquoise and sage-green bedroom. Jemma wallowed in its comfort and prettiness, with her white desk, crowded bookshelves and appliquéd cushions.

  Jemma lolled back on her bed, wearing her pink shorty pyjamas and thick socks, revelling in the clean, sweet-smelling sheets and soft mattress.

  Ruby perched on the side of the bed. ‘We were all so worried about you, Jem. Everyone at school has been writing cards and sending flowers.’

  ‘I feel fine now,’ Jemma assured her. ‘It is so great to see you – I really missed you.’

  The two friends grinned at each other.

  ‘Could you do me a favour, Rubes? Could you ask mum if we can look at the laptop for a while? I’m not usually allowed to upstairs, but I just want to google something – it’s really important.’

  Ruby looked puzzled but ran downstairs and fetched the computer.

  ‘I promised your mum we wouldn’t do anything she wouldn’t approve of.’ Ruby opened the laptop and passed it to Jemma.

  With trembling fingers, Jemma typed in the words ‘Rosethorne’ and ‘Georgiana Thornton’, then clicked on a copy of an article.

  Heritage Mansion for Sale

  Rosethorne, a heritage-listed Victorian– Gothic mansion in Johnston Street, Annandale, is to be auctioned today. Rosethorne is one of several nineteenth-century mansions on Johnston Street, which are collectively known as the Witches’ Houses because of their turrets, which resemble witches’ hats.

  The row of mansions was built during the 1880s by renowned builder and Mayor of Sydney John Young. Young planned to establish Annandale as a model suburb for the gentry, but the depression and resultant property slump of the 1890s meant the area evolved into a working-class suburb.

  The houses are renowned for their striking architectural features, including gargoyles, lions, turrets and towers.

  Rosethorne was the childhood home of pioneer female doctor Georgiana Rose Thornton. The house was named after her mother, Rose Thornton. Georgiana had a tragic childhood, losing both her parents by the age of twelve. She was brought up by her guardian, Harriet Rutherford, until her aunt was certified insane and committed to Callan Park Lunatic Asylum after the mysterious disappearance of a young maidservant. Georgiana then lived with a local doctor’s family while she completed school.

  Georgiana Thornton was one of the first women to study medicine at Sydney University and qualified as a doctor in 1907. She worked amongst the poor families of Annandale for many years, for little or no renumeration, as well as practising at Sydney Hospital. In 1915, frustrated by the Australian Army’s refusal to allow female doctors to enlist, Doctor Thornton travelled to England and enlisted in the Royal Army Medical Corps. She served at Gallipoli and in France and was awarded the Military Medal for bravery, continuing to operate on patients while under German air attack. She is credited with saving the lives of hundreds of Allied soldiers during World War I.

  At the close of the war, Doctor Thornton returned to her home at Rosethorne, where she married a returned soldier, Edward O’Farrell, whom she had operated on during the withdrawal from Gallipoli. Georgiana never had any children due to a severe illness she contracted during childhood. Georgiana died in 1977 at the age of ninety-four.

  Rosethorne House is a significant piece of Annandale history, and its auction is expected to raise considerable interest.

  Jemma read the article with tears streaming down her face. Georgiana had lived! She had become a famous, pioneering doctor, saved hundreds of lives, won the Military Medal for bravery. Georgiana had had a long and rich life, and died in 1977.

  ‘Are you all right, Jem?’ asked Ruby, her face creased with concern. ‘Shall I call your mum?’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ sniffed Jemma, wiping her hand across her eyes. ‘I’m happy – well, just a little bit sad.’

  There was a soft knocking on the door and Elizabeth came in carrying a tray.

  ‘Hi girls, are you hungry?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘I made you a cup of tea and some banana bread.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. That sounds great.’

  Elizabeth handed them each a cup of tea and a plate with a slice of banana bread, which was looking
rather scorched and crumbly.

  ‘It’s a bit dry,’ Elizabeth commented, screwing up her nose. ‘I think I might have burnt it a little.’

  Jemma examined the banana bread more closely. ‘Mum, did you bake this? You never bake anything!’

  Elizabeth looked a little shamefaced. ‘Well, I’m taking a couple of weeks off until you go back to school, so I thought I’d try some baking. I know Milla bakes for you girls a lot; I thought I’d give it a go. How hard can it be?’

  Jemma looked at the banana bread again and traded glances with Ruby. ‘Mmmm. Looks delicious, Mum.’

  ‘Fibber!’ admonished Elizabeth.

  Jemma took a tentative nibble, chewing slowly and swallowing with some difficulty. Ruby bravely took a bite of hers.

  Elizabeth laughed, throwing her hands in the air. ‘All right. Enough!’ She took the two plates away and placed them on the desk. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lousy baker. I’ve got some Tim Tams in the cupboard – would you prefer those?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ chorused Ruby and Jemma.

  ‘Obviously, I’ll never make a baker.’ Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

  ‘Maybe we can do some baking together while I’m off school?’ suggested Jemma tentatively. ‘I’m told I make a pretty good scone.’

  Elizabeth looked surprised, then smiled. ‘Sure. That would be fun. The other thing we need to do is plan your birthday party. I’ve checked with Luella and she’s happy for us to book out the whole nail salon, so we can ask at least twelve people. I researched a quote on those cute little noodle boxes. All we need to do now is pick a date, draw up the invitation list and design the invitations.’

  Jemma took a deep breath. She glanced at Ruby. Ruby smiled.

  ‘Actually, Mum,’ Jemma began. ‘About my birthday party … What I’d really like to do is have a sleepover here at home.’

  Elizabeth frowned, pushing her sleek hair back behind her ear.

  ‘But darling, I’ve already …’ Elizabeth paused, thoughtfully. ‘Oh? A sleepover? What exactly did you want to do?’

  Jemma smiled, ticking off items on her fingers. ‘I want to have my four best friends over for dinner – just something simple, like spag bol. I want to listen to music, sing, dance and laugh. I want to watch DVDs till late, then have everyone sleep on the floor of my room. I want to stay up half the night chatting, then wake up early in the morning and cook up a big batch of pancakes.’

  Ruby laughed. ‘I’d better help cook the pancakes,’ she suggested. ‘The last batch you made was gross!’

  ‘There’s not much room in here …’ Elizabeth hesitated.

  ‘A hundred years ago there were probably six kids sleeping in this room every night! Maybe seven!’

  Elizabeth examined the familiar face of her daughter. It had somehow changed since the fall down the stairs. She looked more determined, more confident, a little older, a little sadder. Above all, she looked infinitely precious.

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ agreed Elizabeth. ‘A sleepover it is! A perfect, sleepless birthday celebration.’

  Jemma threw her arms around her mother’s neck.

  ‘Thanks, Mum. That would be awesome.’

  A week later, Jemma was well enough to walk around to Rosethorne. It felt strange walking the busy streets of Annandale, and she was sad to see the ugly blocks of flats replacing two of the gracious Witches’ Houses. It was odd to see the beautiful gardens of Kentville replaced by tiny semis and terraces that were actually a hundred years old.

  It felt great to be wearing denim leggings and her black Fantastique sparkly T-shirt and silver ballet slippers, instead of layers of stifling petticoats, stays and heavy boots.

  A blond-haired boy, one of her neighbours, rode past on his skateboard. He saw her, then stopped, holding up his hand in a salute.

  ‘Hey, Jemma,’ he called. ‘Glad to see you up and about again. I heard you were pretty sick.’

  ‘Hi, Tom,’ replied Jemma, shyly pushing a tendril of fair hair behind her ear. Tom had never spoken to her before. ‘I was in hospital for a week in a coma, but I’m okay now.’

  He smiled at her. Jemma noticed he had dark, chocolate eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  ‘That’s pretty rough.’ Tom kicked at an old aluminium can in the gutter. ‘Glad you’re okay now. Will you be back on the bus soon?’

  Jemma smiled back. ‘Next week – I go back to school on Monday.’

  Tom jumped back on his skateboard with a lazy wave. ‘Awesome, see you then.’

  Jemma smiled to herself and continued down around past the Abbey into Johnston Street and along the front row of the Witches’ Houses.

  She ran her fingers along the rough stone wall spotted with lichen and moss. She paused on the footpath and glanced down onto the bitumen road between the parked cars. That was the spot where she had first seen Ned and his dancing green eyes. She glanced up at the stone facade of Rosethorne, with its gracious tower and turret. There was movement at the window.

  A lace curtain twitched and a small, pale face of a little girl peered down, smiling in welcome – then disappeared.

  Jemma took a deep breath. She opened the latch on the high, arched gate and climbed the steps. The garden at the front was overgrown with weeds, but a thick vine of purple wisteria wound up over the face of the house, its chandelier blossoms filling the air with a sweet scent.

  The front door flew open and Sammy raced out, flinging her arms around Jemma’s waist.

  ‘Jemma,’ she squealed. ‘Jemma, you’re back!’

  Jemma hugged Sammy hard. ‘Yes, I’m back,’ she replied.

  Maggie came running to the door, panting breathlessly. As usual, her caramel hair was piled in a wispy, messy bun. She had streaks of grey clay on her face and hands, but she beamed with pure joy to see Jemma again.

  ‘Jemma, it is so good to see you. We were so worried. Are you feeling all right? Come in, come in.’

  Jemma stepped through the front door into the entrance hall of Rosethorne.

  It was so, so different to the way it looked in 1895. And so, so different to the way it had looked a couple of weeks ago, when she had fallen down the stairs.

  Maggie and Sammy had obviously been busy. All the boxes had been cleared away, and the reception rooms had been freshly painted in a pale, soft green. The floorboards had been polished to a golden, honey hue and the rooms simply furnished with a few pieces of old timber furniture.

  ‘It looks beautiful.’ Jemma stroked the freshly painted walls with her finger. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘When you fell down the stairs, I felt terrible,’ explained Maggie. ‘Somehow I blamed myself because the house was so dilapidated. I couldn’t work on my exhibition because I was so worried about you.’

  ‘Oh, Maggie – your exhibition?’ cried Jemma.

  Maggie shrugged and continued. ‘I started working on the house to keep myself busy. Your dad came around to let me know how you were doing, and he pitched in and started helping, then Ruby’s parents came around to help too, and in a couple of days we seemed to achieve miracles. It made us all feel better to be doing something, anything, to keep ourselves preoccupied.’

  ‘Wow.’ Jemma gazed around. ‘I think it looks great.’

  ‘We made a lovely little discovery while you were away, too,’ added Maggie. ‘Shall we show her, Sammy?’

  Sammy nodded vigorously, skipping ahead towards the stairs. ‘Naughty Shadow ran away,’ she called, jumping up the stairs two at a time, her plaits flying. ‘We called and searched everywhere when you were in hospital.’

  Jemma and Maggie followed behind Sammy more sedately.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Jemma looked at Maggie with concern. ‘Did you find her?’

  ‘We found her hidden behind some boxes in the studio,’ shouted Sammy from the top of the stairs. ‘Just about when you woke up again. That’s where we found her when we first moved in – living in the old stables – and she just sort of adopted us.’

  Sammy ran into he
r own room, the door flying open. Jemma and Maggie followed closely behind.

  Sammy was kneeling beside a cardboard box on the floor, which was lined with a red flannel sheet.

  ‘Is Shadow hurt?’ asked Jemma, frowning, crouching down beside the box.

  ‘No.’ Maggie assured her. ‘Quite the opposite.’

  Shadow looked up at Jemma with her wide, unblinking green eyes. She twitched her whiskers in welcome. Curled up beside Shadow were six fat, black slugs. On closer inspection, they were kittens, dark as midnight, their eyes shut tightly against the light.

  One moved its head upwards and opened a milky eye just a slit. It looked like he was winking at Jemma.

  ‘Look, Mama,’ shrieked Sammy. ‘Her eyes are opening.’

  ‘You can cuddle one if you like, Jemma,’ offered Maggie. ‘Shadow doesn’t mind as long as you’re very gentle.’

  Jemma carefully picked up the kitten that had opened its eye and cuddled it to her chest.

  ‘You can choose one, Jemma, for your very own,’ announced Sammy, stroking the soft, velvety black fur between the ears.

  Jemma’s heart jumped with exhilaration, then plummeted. She shook her head regretfully.

  ‘No, Sammy. I can’t. I’m not allowed to have pets at home, but I can come and visit the kitties lots while they’re here.’

  Sammy jiggled up and down with excitement. ‘But you can, you can! Your mama said.’

  Maggie smiled at Jemma and Sammy. ‘I rang your mother this morning,’ she explained. ‘I told her about the kittens and asked her if you would be allowed to have one for your own. At first she wasn’t sure, so she talked to Ruby and Milla. Then she rang me back and said yes.’

  Jemma’s heart danced. ‘Wow!’ she was lost for words – her very own kitten!

  ‘You can’t take it home for another few weeks, until its old enough to leave its mother, but you can choose whichever kitten you like,’ offered Maggie. ‘They’re all black, so it’s hard to tell them apart – we might need to paint its paw with nail polish so you can tell which one’s which!’