‘Anyway, let us not speak of him. I don’t want to waste our precious time together discussing the duke.’
She happily conceded. She didn’t want to speak of him either. She wanted to disappear into that invisible bubble she always seemed to exist in whenever she was with Thomas, where nothing from the outside world could penetrate. She concentrated all her thoughts on the way her hand was tucked in his and the way their hips brushed as they walked.
A swarm of bats beat their wings overhead as Thomas led her away from third class and into the trees past the male staff quarters. Windows all around were black or illuminated by weak lantern light. The station was quiet; a rare moment of peace.
He guided them behind the cottages and onto the path that led through the bush.
‘Where are we going?’ Rose asked.
‘I want to show you something.’
‘Near your cottage?’
‘Yes.’
He held fast to her hand as the station faded behind them and they picked their way along the path. The wildlife was different at night. Thomas pointed out bilbies and bandicoots, their bright beady eyes glowing in the dark, and he asked her to train her ears for the unusual squeak of the sugar gliders.
He led her from the brush and out onto the clearing where his little weathered cottage stood. The breeze instantly took her hair and nightgown and ruffled it with belligerence.
He guided her closer to the edge so that she could hear the crashing of the waves against the escarpment below, the moon balancing high in the sky, casting silver light across the harbour.
‘Look up at the sky,’ Thomas whispered in her ear.
Rose lifted her head and saw billions of tiny stars above her, splattered against the night. It was more than she had ever seen in her lifetime; certainly more than she’d ever seen in London or down at the station.
‘There are so many of them. How is it possible?’
‘I don’t know. But when I’m out here at night, away from all the lights, there seems to be a million more.’
‘It’s beautiful, Thomas.’
‘I thought you would like it.’
He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it down on the rocks for her to sit.
‘No, it’s too cold. Put it back on,’ she said.
‘I’m not cold. Please sit.’
She reluctantly accepted and sat down on it. He sat beside her and they stared out at the water. It looked like black syrup gently rippled by the current.
Thomas pointed. ‘Can you see all the way across to the next headland?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s South Head and The Gap.’
Across the water, Rose could see the shadowy outline of South Head and the swooping beam of a lighthouse that carved through the darkness like a sword, guiding vessels to safety.
‘Can you see the lights of the ships?’
She counted three anchored in the harbour. ‘Yes, I see them.’
‘They’re waiting to be moved into quarantine tomorrow. They must have failed a health inspection.’
‘Spanish Influenza?’
‘It’s likely. They’re talking of a new law, one that will see every ship quarantined, regardless if symptoms are present.’
‘Every ship? But that will cripple us.’
‘They’ve started erecting tents in the Hospital Precinct. The wards are already full. There isn’t enough space.’
Rose shivered in the cool air, the breeze whipping through her coat. Thomas moved closer and placed an arm around her shoulder. Warmth crept from his body to hers as she nestled into him.
‘Are you enjoying your diary?’
‘Oh, I am. You were correct. When one doesn’t know what to write, they should write in a diary.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘You’re too good to me, Thomas,’ she said, looking up at him. His face was close; inches from hers.
‘You deserve all of it and more. So much more than I could ever hope to give you.’
‘I don’t need much.’
His lips moved closer.
‘Thomas…’
‘I wake every morning thinking of you, Rose. There are things I’ve wanted to say to you.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like how much I’d like to kiss you.’
Rose’s breath caught in her lungs.
‘Can I kiss you?’
Her voice was a whisper. ‘Yes.’
His lips brushed hers softly, yet it was enough to make her heart race and her blood pulse. She parted her lips and kissed him back, and although she had never kissed a man before, with Thomas it felt as natural as if she had been doing it for years.
They sat on the clifftop, beneath the star-splashed sky, high above a sea that rippled like ink. They remained that way and kissed until Rose began to shiver again.
‘It’s getting cold, my love,’ he said.
‘I’m not cold.’
‘I should get you back to your cottage.’
‘I want to stay here with you.’
He smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear that had come loose from her plait. ‘Not tonight, my Rose. We’ve broken enough rules.’
She looked out across the sea, disappointed. Thomas cupped his hand under her chin and turned her face towards his. His eyes were so bright and green in the dark, she felt transfixed, swallowed by them.
‘Don’t be sad. If we can’t spend time together during the day, would you like to see each other here at night?’
She nodded. ‘I would like that very much.’
‘Not every night, for I don’t want you to grow tired, but some nights.’
‘As many nights as we can.’
Thomas climbed to his feet and helped Rose to hers. ‘Come. Let me get you back to your warm bed.’
They left the whistling breeze behind on the clifftop and Thomas led Rose carefully back through the bush, along the path surrounded by night creatures. They crept through the male staff quarters, the station a silent, sleeping giant around them.
Back at her cottage, Rose was reluctant to let Thomas go. She waved at him from the front door and watched as he disappeared into the darkness.
Inside, she shrugged out of her coat and slipped off her stockings and boots. Bessie was fast asleep, her body rising and falling with each breath. Rose had an overwhelming urge to wake her to tell her the news. She’d kissed a boy! And it had been everything she could have hoped for. She was so giddy with happiness that she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
But of course she couldn’t, for this was not a love to be indulged. Strictly forbidden, it broke all the rules and if anyone ever found out what they’d been doing, they’d both be fired. Still, despite this, Rose was helpless to fight it, helpless to control it.
And after that kiss, she didn’t want to.
Rose had barely opened her eyes the next morning when a pleasant feeling washed over her and she remembered the night before and the kiss outside Thomas’s cottage.
She dressed quickly and left the room, skipping down the hill to first class. The air was cold, the sun too weak to thaw the frost and she rubbed her hands together against the chill.
She entered the kitchen just as Bessie was receiving a berating from Mrs March for not scrubbing the skillets properly.
‘Good morning,’ she said, far too cheerfully.
Mrs March whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘What’s got you so merry?’
‘Nothing. Just happy.’
‘She has the duke indefinitely,’ Bessie said, grinning from the sink.
‘I’d heard as much,’ Mrs March said, hands on her hips. ‘He’s asking for you and you only.’
Rose shook her head. ‘That’s not the reason I’m—’
‘Stop gloating over it then and take him his breakfast. The eggs are getting cold.’
‘Yes, Mrs March.’ Rose collected the duke’s breakfast, loaded it onto the serving trolley and pushed it along the road. She sto
pped at the laundry for fresh linen and continued up the hill towards his cottage.
At the verandah, she parked the trolley and climbed the steps to the front door, giving it a light knock.
The duke appeared in the doorway with a wooden smile.
‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ She curtseyed. ‘I have your breakfast.’
‘Do come in,’ he said flatly.
Rose collected the tray from the trolley and stepped into the cottage. The duke watched her as she set the tray down on the table, clasping then unclasping his hands as though he couldn’t work out what to do with them.
She laid out the cutlery and spreads as he hovered over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. He was usually so buoyant.
Then, from behind his closed bedroom door, Rose heard the murmur of voices.
‘My wife is here,’ he said dully. ‘The doctor and nurse are with her in the bedroom.’
Rose set down the teapot she was holding. ‘Your Grace, that’s wonderful news. Has she recovered?’
‘Not quite. She still has a bronchial infection, but they need to free up the bed in the hospital for the more critical, and so it was decided she would relocate here for the remainder of her recovery.’ He said this with a surprising amount of displeasure.
‘I’m pleased to hear she is stable enough to be moved. She’ll be more comfortable here. And once she recovers, you will be on your way and that must be some consolation to you.’
Apparently not, for the duke looked crestfallen. ‘You will still come, won’t you?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing has to change. I still need you. You will come to me each day?’
‘Of course, Your Grace. I will still come.’
His shoulders slumped with relief. ‘That makes me happy indeed. Thank you, Rose.’ He watched her with a strange longing and, as she finished laying out breakfast, his gaze never faltered.
Emma
Present
20th July, 1918
The weather has grown cold in Sydney, though I must say, not as bitterly cold as London.
My days are long and full. I care solely for the duke now. He is a curious man, with an exterior that exudes (if I may) a certain narcissism, yet on the inside he can be surprisingly vulnerable. We talk at length about all matters—England and politics, the war and women’s rights. He doesn’t seem bothered that I am a woman in service and have an opinion. Rather, he seems amused by it.
The duchess has been relocated to the duke’s cottage in first class. She remains ill, fighting a bronchial infection of the lungs. I hear her coughing and gasping for air through the walls, though I have yet to see her. The duke has moved to the dressing room and the duchess now occupies the main bedroom.
I do not serve the duchess her meals nor tend to her room. She has a nurse who sits with her around the clock, and Doctor Holland visits each morning at nine.
The duchess has become somewhat of an enigma. I know she is there for I can hear her coughing. Sometimes I even hear her voice, meek and demure, amidst the wheezing. But beyond that, I have never met her nor does the duke speak of her. Perhaps in his life, she is an enigma too.
I find their relationship intriguing. He must love her, for she is his wife. But there seems to be something amiss, as though their union is fractured or one of convenience. He rarely mentions her, not even in quiet, unguarded moments and never a gentle tap on the door or a visit to her bedside to ensure her comfort. He does not seem overjoyed that she has returned to him.
Alas, it is none of my business. I remain faithful in service.
Rose
Emma placed the diary in her lap and chewed her lip pensively.
‘What are you thinking?’ Matt asked, watching her.
‘Just that she became quite close to the duke. She seemed to know he had marital problems.’
‘Do you think he’s her mystery man?’
‘I’m not sure. She writes about him often. Most of July 1918 has been about him.’
‘That’s probably because they were always together. He occupied her days.’
They had returned to the little room behind the museum and had once again pulled Rose’s suitcase from beneath the dusty grey blanket. Inside, exactly where they’d left them the week before, were the stack of five diaries.
They were nearing the end of the first one, and all entries for July so far had pertained to the duke and Rose’s flourishing relationship with him. She had written almost every day about this man who enjoyed her company and valued her opinion. In other entries, she spoke of a love so great she was powerless to refuse it, though she never gave name to that love.
It left Emma feeling confused. Were the duke and her mystery man one and the same? Considering that Rose had become pregnant with Gwendoline so quickly, her mystery man had to be someone she knew at that point in time and whom she felt strongly for.
‘I guess the only way we’re going to know for sure is if we keep reading,’ Matt said, as though knowing her thoughts.
‘Yes, you’re right. I’m being too impatient.’ She gave a contrite grin.
‘I understand why.’
‘I just wish I’d asked my grandmother more. I should have shown interest long before this.’
‘You were a kid. Kids aren’t interested in stuff like that.’
Their visits together, and there had been quite a few now, had morphed into a routine. They would sit on the hard floor of that tiny back room and read a few pages of Rose’s diary, then they would start talking as they cautiously peeled back the layers of each other’s personality. At some point, they would remember the task at hand and return to the diary.
Matt didn’t seem to mind that it was interrupting his work day and that he would have to make up the hours later. He always seemed happy when she returned to the station.
Emma wasn’t sure what was happening between them or even if she was ready for it, but there was something about Matt that always left her feeling as though she were off balance.
It was the same way she’d felt when she’d first met Drew. She’d been awash with grief back then and desperate for distraction, her heart so vulnerable she’d fallen harder and faster than she could have imagined. And although the circumstances had been different that time, it was the same exhilarating feeling that threatened to undo her.
‘Do you see any similarities?’ Matt asked.
His question brought Emma back to the room. ‘Between me and Rose?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘She was your great-grandmother. Does anything stand out in her diary that makes you think you’re alike?’
Emma stretched her legs out and leant back on her hands. ‘I don’t know. It was a different time back then. There were clear rules in her job and in society. What’s obvious is that, despite those rules, Rose believed in love. She wore her heart on her sleeve. While she was sensible and modest, she loved fiercely. I guess I was like that once, brave as though I’d never been hurt. And I hadn’t been, not back then.’
‘Until the accident with your family?’
‘And other things,’ she said, Drew coming to mind.
‘I think it’s okay to be afraid. We’re all afraid of something.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
He shrugged. ‘I was in a relationship once and I was cheated on. I guess I’m afraid of that happening again.’
‘Oh, Matt, I’m sorry. That’s awful.’
‘It was a while ago. Turns out she was married for the entire two years we were together. And I had no clue. Pretty stupid, huh?’ He shook his head and cast his eyes down to his knees.
‘That doesn’t make you stupid. That makes her stupid.’
‘How can you not know your girlfriend is married? Natalie worked for a bank and had a lot of so-called international business trips. Really, she was just on the other side of Sydney at home with her husband.’
‘Well, she sounds like a talented multi-tasker. I have no idea how she found time for
all that coming and going.’
‘She was a compulsive liar and a cheat. Anyway, it was three years ago. I’m not so angry anymore.’ He gave her a sheepish grin.
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you were. But I’m glad you’ve found a way past it. Hurt can be crippling.’ She knew that better than anyone.
‘What was your family like?’ he asked and she sensed he was keen to get past the humiliation of his failed relationship.
Emma grinned at the thought of them. ‘My parents were both very sweet, though as a teenager, I didn’t always think so.’
‘They were just there to ruin your life, right?’
‘Exactly.’ Emma chuckled. ‘But as an adult now, I realise how amazing they were. They were kind and loving. I hope I can be like that one day.’
‘I think you’re all of those things and more,’ Matt said.
Their eyes held and they smiled.
‘How about your brothers?’
‘They were like any pair of seven-year-old boys to a fifteen-year-old sister. Annoying. They drove me mad. They broke my things and hid my clothes. When I had friends over they were a nuisance and too loud when I was trying to study. But it wasn’t hard to love them. Even though they were terrible little monsters sometimes, I adored them.’
She didn’t choke when she said this. Instead, she smiled nostalgically at the memory—her two baby brothers, forever young in her mind, never growing old. Had they lived, they would be twenty-four, with jobs and girlfriends and a social life that would probably put hers to shame.
‘Your family sounded amazing, Em.’
‘They were. I just wish I’d told them that more often.’
Matt gave her a sympathetic smile, then his stomach grumbled. ‘Oh! Sorry.’ He grabbed it with embarrassment. ‘I didn’t have breakfast this morning. I guess it’s nearly lunchtime.’
Emma glanced at her watch. ‘Matt, it’s two pm. I’ve kept you in here for three hours. We should pack this away so you can get back to work.’
‘I’m not in any hurry.’
‘I don’t want to get you into trouble.’
‘You won’t.’ He smiled a smile so lovely that Emma felt her breath catch.
‘Tell me about your great-grandfather,’ she said, leaning back on her hands.
The Quarantine Station Page 12
