Miss Dalton appeared in the kitchen looking flustered. ‘Gather round please, everyone. I have an important announcement to make before we sit down to breakfast. You too, Mrs March.’
They gathered in the middle of the kitchen to listen to Miss Dalton speak.
‘A passenger boat came through the Heads early this morning and was inspected by health officials. They discovered a suspected outbreak of Spanish Influenza.’
There were gasps and murmurs.
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ Miss Dalton said. ‘I fear the pneumonic flu has made it to our shores. Let us pray it is the only case we see. But that’s not all.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Passengers on board include the Duke of Northbury and his wife, the Duchess of Northbury. The duke is the first cousin to His Majesty, the King.’
‘Cousin to the king? What’s he doing all the way out here?’ Mrs March asked.
‘I am told the duke is here in an official capacity. I do not know any more than that. His business is his own.’
Bessie squealed. ‘A visit from royalty!’
‘Those plates won’t wash themselves, Bessie Briar,’ Miss Dalton snapped. ‘We have lunch service in a few hours.’
Bessie returned to the sink, plunging her raw hands back into the scalding water.
‘So who caught the influenza then?’ Mrs March asked.
‘I understand that the duke is well, but the duchess has taken ill. So too, have a number of their crew. There was a stop at a port in Papua New Guinea where one of them is believed to have contracted it. And, of course, it spread from there.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘The duchess and infected crew have been taken to the Hospital Precinct. The other crew members are in isolation. But the duke has absolutely refused to go there. He wishes to be brought straight here to first class.’
‘The duke won’t go to isolation?’ Mrs March looked outraged. ‘But he has to. He’s been on an infected ship, sleeping next to his infected wife. He’s going to make us all sick by coming straight here.’
‘He has yet to present any symptoms and as we believe is the case with Spanish Influenza, it is extremely fast moving. So let’s hope he hasn’t contracted it. In any case, we will set up a room for him here in first class where he can carry out his isolation in comfort. He will not visit the dining room for the next two weeks and I will tend to him personally.’
‘Will the duchess recover?’ Rose asked.
Miss Dalton looked grim. ‘That answer I cannot give you.’
Mrs March harrumphed and went back to sorting the staff breakfast. The small table in the kitchen was cleared and reset with cutlery and plates, and Mrs March served eggs and sausages with toast and jam. Bessie poured tea for Miss Dalton and the parlourmaids, and Rose pushed out a chair for her to join them.
Bessie coloured at the gesture. ‘I’m the last one to eat, Rose. Only after all the dishes are done.’
‘Oh.’ Rose coloured too. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.’
‘That’s all right. I’m used to it.’
The parlourmaids and Miss Dalton ate while Bessie went back to scrubbing the dishes, and Mrs March prepared a plate of breakfast for the duke.
When the meal was over, Miss Dalton dismissed them and Rose pushed in her chair, feeling guilty for leaving Bessie behind, who was still cleaning up. With two hours to spare before she had to return for the lunch service, Rose went back to the cottage to change out of her uniform and wash her face and hands.
She slipped the stockings off her feet and contemplated unlacing her corset. There was something terribly freeing about being on the station, where daily life was more about survival than the rigid dress code of society. She untied the corset, her waist crying out in relief and tossed it into her suitcase with her stockings, remembering that she would have to put both back on before next service, otherwise risk the wrath of Miss Dalton. Then she slipped a blue tunic straight over her petticoat.
It was a warm morning when she stepped back out and she wandered again down to first class. She wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. There was time to spare and she wanted to explore, but the station was vast and she didn’t want to become lost or end up somewhere she wasn’t supposed to, like the unhealthy ground where the hospitals and isolation were.
Rose thought about returning to the cove to run her fingers through the sand. She walked down Main Axial Road and hesitated out the front of Thomas’s workshop. It was unlikely he would be there, his work taking him all around the station. She wasn’t even sure why she had stopped there, only that going to the cove had reminded her of him.
She shook her head and decided to keep walking when he stepped out of his workshop and almost collided with her.
‘Rose!’
‘Thomas.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
‘I apologise. I was just out for a walk and…’
He was watching her so intently that her breath caught.
‘Well, I thought to stop by and say good morning and then I decided you might be busy and so I was going to keep walking…’ She was rambling, her cheeks burning.
‘It’s a lovely morning for a walk,’ he said.
She breathed. ‘Indeed.’
‘Are you going somewhere in particular?’
‘I was thinking the cove.’
He nodded. ‘The cove. Lovely.’
‘Yes.’
‘If you would like some company, perhaps I could join you.’
‘I would like that very much,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘Okay. I just have to check on something for Mrs March and then I’ll be right back. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?’
‘Not at all.’
Rose watched Thomas hurry across the street to the first-class kitchen. She heard Mrs March’s booming voice as she explained of a mishap with one of the larder shelves. She barely heard Thomas at all, so softly-spoken.
He emerged from the kitchen and trotted back to her. Bright sunlight had turned his hair auburn and his eyes were hazel with flecks of green and gold. He smiled at her and for a moment she thought he was going to take her hand, but he swung into step beside her and they strolled down the street towards the wharf.
Soon they were on flat ground by the shower blocks and autoclaves. On the beach they sat and untied their shoes and Rose, in the absence of stockings, felt the warm, soft sand between her toes.
‘It’s just marvellous,’ she said, dragging her fingertips through it.
‘The cove is one of my favourite spots on the station.’
‘I can see why.’
They stared out across the water, sunlight twinkling off the surface. A large vessel painted with the royal coat of arms was anchored and bobbing in the bay.
‘Did you hear?’ Rose asked.
‘About the king’s cousin?’
‘Yes. His ship was quarantined because of Spanish Flu. His wife, the duchess, has taken ill.’
‘I’d heard. It’s not often we get royalty coming through the station. In fact, I can’t remember it ever happening before. And it’s our first case of Spanish Flu. That can’t be a good sign.’
‘I do hope the duchess will recover.’
They sat quietly as the water broke gently against the sand. Rose heard the raucous laugh of that bird again and turned to Thomas.
‘Tell me, what animal makes that maniacal sound?’
Thomas laughed heartily. ‘That’s a kookaburra.’
‘A what?’
‘A kookaburra. It’s a bird native to Australia. We call him the Laughing Kookaburra or sometimes the Bushman’s Clock. He’s a happy fellow and yes, he does have a crazy laugh.’
‘A kookaburra,’ she said, trying out the word. ‘He has an equally crazy name.’
Thomas laughed again and placed his hand over hers. Rose felt something pulse through her like electricity. For a moment, she thought he might leave it there, but he pulled it away and traced it through the sand.
‘So tell me, Rose Porter, you’ve travelled a long way from home. That much I know. What made you embark on such a journey?’
‘I wanted a new life.’
‘But why? What makes a young lady decide to leave her home and take on the world?’
Rose looked up to the sky, feeling the sun on her face. She felt it warm her muscles and bones, melting away the England damp. She felt it invade every fibre of her in such a way that she wanted to open up to Thomas, to tell him everything about her and learn all that she could about him. Suddenly, it felt as if they were the only two people for miles.
‘When my parents decided to move us from Bethnal Green to the country to escape the war, my father also decided I should marry. The butcher’s son in the country town we were moving to was his choice.’
Thomas let out a low whistle.
‘Perhaps I was impulsive and childish, even a little ungrateful, but that wasn’t the life I wanted. I didn’t want to marry the butcher’s son, to have his babies and run his household. I wanted to see new things, to learn and be educated. That’s not to say I don’t wish for marriage and children, for certainly I do, but perhaps with someone of my own choosing. Someone I actually like.’
‘You’re a sensible girl, Rose, though I suspect not one who conforms so easily.’
‘Time will tell if I’ve made the right decision.’
‘You could have just moved to Scotland. It would have been a lot closer and you still would have made your point.’
Rose laughed out loud. ‘Yes, you’re probably right. In hindsight, Australia was a bit far.’
‘I’m not complaining. In fact, I’m glad for it,’ he said.
Rose’s heart flipped.
‘So what do you like to do when you’re not marrying butcher’s sons and settling in the English countryside?’
‘I’m good with a needle and thread and can get by as a seamstress.’
‘But is that what you love to do? Is that what excites you and makes your heart want to burst?’
‘I like to write,’ Rose said. It was something she had never admitted to anyone before. Her father would have thought it silly. ‘I enjoy writing. I’m not terribly gifted at it nor do I have a preference; stories over poems for example. I just like words. I like to learn new ones and see how they look on a page. I love the way the meaning of a sentence can change entirely just by tinkering with a few words.’
‘Tinkering. I like that word.’
‘What about you, Thomas Van Cleeve? What do you love to do? What makes your heart burst?’
‘I love carpentry. I love wood. I love to build and fix things. I love tinkering, as you say.’
‘So you’re already doing what you love?’
‘I believe I am.’
They sat on the sand for the next hour, talking of life and dreams. It was with heavy regret that she took Thomas’s hand and he helped her to her feet. The lunch shift was due to start and she had to return to her cottage to change.
Thomas walked her back up to first class and she said goodbye to him at his workshop. He disappeared inside and she continued up to the female staff quarters to change back into her corset and uniform.
She passed a large cottage on her way; still part of the First Class Precinct but separate from the other buildings in that it wasn’t connected by walkways or close to any of the first-class amenities. It was freestanding and nestled among the blue gums. Accommodation perfect for isolation.
There was a man standing on the verandah, staring at her as she passed. He was smoking a pipe and wore a crisp white shirt and brown tweed pants. He looked only slightly older than Miss Dalton, with dark hair and eyes so deep and blue they seemed to pierce a hole straight through her.
He gave her a half wave as she walked by and she quickly averted her gaze, continuing up the hill to her quarters.
She felt the duke’s eyes on her the entire way.
Emma
Present
Emma scrawled her signature in the visitors’ book and started down the north corridor of Eastgardens Aged Care towards Gwendoline’s room. She visited her grandmother twice a week, on Tuesday and Saturday mornings and she always brought with her a bunch of Gwendoline’s favourite flowers—red roses.
She found her grandmother sitting up in bed staring blankly out the window. Emma leant forward, kissed her soft cheek and went in search of the vase she regularly used, locating it on the top shelf of the narrow wardrobe.
‘How are you feeling today, Gran?’ Emma called out from the bathroom where she filled the vase with water from the tap.
‘I’m lovely, Catherine. How are you?’
Emma forgave the slip. ‘I’m good.’ She placed the vase on the bedside table and sat the roses in it, arranging them neatly, noticing that Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was out again. ‘I see you’ve been doing some reading. Would you like me to get you a different book? There are plenty in storage I could dig out for you.’
‘No thank you, dear. I like the one I’ve got,’ Gwendoline said, leaning across to tuck the book safely away in her bedside drawer.
Emma finished arranging the roses and cleared a spot at the back of the table to place the vase. The framed photograph of her family caught her eye, as it always did, and she picked it up.
It had been taken when she was fourteen, a photo of the five of them on a boat on the Hawkesbury River—her mother, father and twin brothers, Max and Liam.
She remembered that day like it was yesterday. It had been sweltering hot, everyone eager to swim and water ski, a moment of captured conviviality.
She placed the frame down and sat on the edge of the bed. Gwendoline was watching her closely.
‘You brought me roses,’ she said.
‘I always bring you roses, Gran.’
‘That’s because you’re a good girl.’
Emma gave her a sad smile. ‘I haven’t always been.’
Gwendoline reached forward to pat her hand understandingly. Emma studied the frail fingers on her own, the translucent skin and the ridges of blue veins. It was old age at play, when the body wilted and the mind failed. When a person was no longer the powerhouse they once were, reduced to something feeble and childlike.
Panic tugged at Emma’s heart. I can’t lose you too.
‘How’s work?’ her grandmother asked.
‘Good. Busy.’
‘Are you getting out much and meeting new friends?’
‘I don’t have time for things like that, Gran.’
‘You don’t have time or you’re not making time?’
Emma looked down at her jeans and ignored the remark. Her grandmother could be forgetful sometimes. At other times she could express an irritating degree of lucidity.
‘Well?’
‘You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.’
‘Oh but I do worry. Ever since…’ She trailed off, her eyes growing shiny.
Emma squeezed Gwendoline’s hand. ‘I know. I miss them too.’
‘Life hasn’t been easy for you, Emma.’
‘No, but I get on with things.’
‘Yes, I suppose. You’re much like Catherine in that way. She was the strong one.’
Emma’s heart tightened at the sound of her mother’s name. Her eyes stung as she swallowed back her emotion. ‘So, guess where I went on Sunday.’
‘Tell me.’
‘To the Quarantine Station.’
‘The Quarantine Station?’ Gwendoline’s eyes brightened. ‘How wonderful! I lived there when I was a little girl, did you know that?’
‘I did and I want to hear more about your time there, Gran. I’ve never really asked you about it before.’
‘Probably because it would bore you terribly. It was a long time ago.’
Emma tucked her legs up onto the bed to get comfortable. ‘When I visited on Sunday, I saw the Former First Class Precinct as well as third class and Asiatics. I also visited isolation and the hospitals. Then I went down to the wharf. Where
the boats came in.’ Emma said this last part carefully and watched Gwendoline for a response.
Gwendoline’s eyes glazed over and Emma sensed she was no longer seeing the room before her, with its single bed and sterile white walls. She’d retreated somewhere else.
‘Gran?’
‘Those places do bring back memories, lots of them.’
‘So you were born on the station?’
‘Yes, in 1919, the year of the hospital fire.’
‘The hospital fire? Yes, I heard about that. The first-class hospital burnt down.’
‘That’s right. It was also the time of the Spanish Flu pandemic.’
‘The station must have been busy.’
‘The busiest it ever was. The staff weren’t always allowed to have children on site. I recall my mother saying once that there was a strict rule in place preventing staff from fraternising with each other because the station didn’t want to raise everyone’s babies. But after the pandemic was over, they changed the rules.’
‘What was your life like? Did you go to school? Were there other children to play with?’
‘Yes there were other children there while I was there. There was no school or governess on site so we were homeschooled each morning. And after that, we were free to wander.’ She sighed. ‘Oh and what a marvellous playground it was! Of course, it was still a working station and there were areas that were out of bounds, like the hospital and isolation, but we were allowed access to the rest of it.
‘We’d chase each other through the accommodation, down among the graveyards, around the Gravedigger’s Cottage. Oh, how we tormented that poor man.’ She chuckled at some private thought.
‘So both your parents worked at the station?’
‘Yes, your great-grandparents were both employed there.’
‘Why did they leave with you suddenly in 1926?’
Gwendoline’s eyes clouded over again.
‘Gran?’
‘I waited every day at the wharf,’ she muttered. ‘Every day.’
‘Who did you wait for?’
‘I used to sit on the edge at high tide and dangle my toes in the water. Every time a new boat came, I’d hold my breath and wait, hoping it would be him. Then one night, my parents said we had to leave.’
The Quarantine Station Page 6
