‘Rose! I was just thinking of you. Do come in.’ He stepped out of the way. ‘Are you well this morning?’
She curtseyed before entering the room. ‘I am, Your Grace. And you?’
‘Splendid.’ He watched her place the tray on the table, remove the cloches and set out the spreads. She lined up the cutlery, though he hardly seemed bothered with protocol these days and sometimes even grabbed the knife and fork himself.
‘How is the duchess this morning?’ she asked, pulling the chair out for him to sit.
‘She is no better, no worse,’ the duke replied, taking the seat. ‘Doctor Holland is in with her now. I rarely go in there, to be honest.’
‘Are you worried about contamination?’
‘They say it’s her asthma now that’s making her weak.’
‘Why are you still afraid?’
The duke sighed almost sadly. ‘I’m not afraid of getting sick. It’s just that…’
Rose placed a napkin on the duke’s lap and poured his tea. She dropped two cubes of sugar into the cup and stirred through milk.
‘She’s always been sickly, Rose, for as long as I can remember. Bad lungs. And, as terrible as it sounds, I fear I’ve become weary of it.’
‘Had you known the duchess long before you married?’ Rose moved around the table to serve him bacon, poached eggs and sausages.
‘Since we were children,’ he said, looking up at her with a wistful smile. ‘We grew up together. She’s my third cousin and a second cousin to Queen Victoria.’
‘I see.’
It was not unusual for them to speak freely these days. Rose used to resist the conversation as though Miss Dalton herself were in the room listening. Now, after all these months, it was as natural as if they had known each other their whole lives.
He seemed to crave his interactions with Rose, for his time was otherwise limited to the doctor and nurse, and on rare occasions, the duchess through a closed door. They had become unexpected friends, or at the least, had found a commonality in their co-patriotism.
‘I remember as a child she wasn’t allowed to play in the gardens or have dirty hands,’ the duke went on. ‘She would have to stay inside, away from the dust and flowers. Everything made her wheeze.’
‘That must have been hard for her as a child.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes. My father assured me she would outgrow the sickliness when we were betrothed. I was unsure about the marriage, to be perfectly honest. Cordelia has always been beautiful, but at fourteen, it didn’t seem likely she would outgrow her poor health. It’s why she’s yet to give me an heir. I should never have brought her here. I should have known she’d catch the first sniffle going around.’
As if on cue, Rose heard a raspy, wheezy cough escape from the bedroom behind them and the muffled voice of the doctor saying something that Rose couldn’t identify. She could barely hear the duchess at all; her voice meek, almost inaudible.
‘Sit with me, Rose,’ the duke said, pushing out the chair next to him and motioning for her to sit. Rose hesitated, then lowered herself, placing her hands in her lap. He offered her tea but she declined.
He was a different man from the one she had encountered on her first day of service, when he’d been on a mission to secure more troops for Britain. How impressive he’d been with his many responsibilities and many letters to write. This quarantine business is ghastly, she remembered him declaring with self-importance, as though he couldn’t bear to have it slow him down.
Rose hadn’t seen him at the walnut bureau in weeks, his papers and pen untouched and a fine sprinkling of dust settling over the chair. The duke seemed resigned to the fact that he would be stranded in this foreign land for the unforeseeable future, unable to go anywhere as long as his wife was ill. He spent his days on the verandah, staring out across the station with an almost peaceful and childlike vulnerability.
‘She asks about you, you know.’
He was watching her with intense blue eyes, and Rose was brought back to the room. ‘The duchess?’
‘Yes. She can hear you speaking through the wall.’ His voice lowered. ‘She’s curious about you. She wants to know what you look like. She imagines you’re quite beautiful. I daresay she’s right.’
Rose shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘I don’t mean to cause her distress.’
He waved a hand. ‘I have assured her there’s nothing untoward going on between us. You’re just the parlourmaid.’ But his eyes searched hers with hope.
Rose stood quickly. ‘I best be getting on with the morning, Your Grace.’
His face fell. ‘Yes, of course. I’ve held you up long enough.’
She curtseyed and retreated to his bedroom, stripping the linen and carrying the sheets and chamber pot out to the verandah. She moved back and forth across the living room to fit the bed with clean linen, to tidy and dust and beat the pillows outside as the duke ate his breakfast silently and with a vacant expression.
When he finished, she cleared away the tray, bid him good morning and caught his sad little wave before she closed the cottage door behind her.
Rose pushed the serving trolley back along the road towards first class. The landscape of the station had altered in recent months. Tents were popping up everywhere. The population had tripled and she rarely saw Thomas at all during the day, their trips down to the cove long over, even a fleeting moment outside his workshop a thing of the past.
Rose offloaded the duke’s linen into the steaming tubs of disinfectant and returned the breakfast tray and trolley to the kitchen. She was joking with Bessie and helping Mrs March prepare the duke’s morning tea when a housemaid poked her head through the kitchen doorway.
‘I’m looking for Rose Porter.’
‘That’s me,’ Rose said, looking up from the clotted cream she’d been spooning into a dish.
‘Miss Dalton wants to see you in her office immediately.’
Rose shared a look with Bessie while Mrs March made a funny noise that sounded much like what have you done now?
Rose wiped her hands on her apron, put aside the cream and started up the road towards Miss Dalton’s office.
She knocked tentatively on the door.
‘Is that you, Rose? Come in.’
She pushed the door open. Miss Dalton was in her usual place behind her desk, a pen in her hand as she signed a document. She put the pen down and waved to the chair opposite her. ‘Please take a seat.’
Rose sat, holding her breath, wondering what she could have been called in for this time.
‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ Miss Dalton said. ‘The Hospital Precinct is overrun. They do not have enough staff to cope. We’ll need to contribute maids from housekeeping to assist the medical team. I’ve nominated you from first class.’
Rose audibly gulped. ‘You’re sending me into unhealthy ground?’
‘Yes. I realise it’s a tall ask, but they need help in the hospitals.’
‘I’m not sure I’d be of any use. I have no medical training.’
‘I realise that and so does Matron Cromwell. Your duties will include changing bed linen and towels and taking the soiled ones to the laundry. You’ll empty chamber pots, deliver meals to patients and perform any other housekeeping tasks the matron requests of you. This will free up the nurses to concentrate on the medical side of things.’
‘For how long?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘Won’t the government give us more hospital staff? We’re in the middle of a crisis.’
‘I wish it were that simple, but the government isn’t the problem here. People are hardly lining up to fill our hospital positions because of the risks involved.’
Rose pushed down a lump of fear and gathered her resolve. ‘Who will see to the duke?’
‘I’ll ask Bessie. We have a new third-class scullery maid starting tomorrow. She can help Mrs March in the interim.’
‘Bessie will be perfect,’ Rose said. ‘The duke is lonely. She’ll be like a b
reath of fresh air, something to lift his spirits.’
‘How do you know the duke is lonely? You speak out of turn, Rose.’
Rose stumbled. ‘No, I just mean it’s something I sense. He’s not happy.’
‘Of course he’s not happy. His wife is unwell. He’s probably beside himself with worry. But we do not concern ourselves with that. We are in service.’
‘Yes, Miss Dalton,’ Rose said sheepishly.
Miss Dalton pursed her lips. ‘You will report to the first-class hospital at once. Matron Cromwell is expecting you.’
‘My first shift starts now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Should I inform the duke?’
‘I’ll take care of that.’
Rose nodded, heart pounding a little harder in her chest.
‘You will see things at the hospital, Rose,’ Miss Dalton said soberly. ‘Things that you have never seen before, things that will shock you, that might repeat in your head for a long time. I want you to be aware of that.’
‘I understand.’
‘And hygiene is important. Wear your mask and scrub your hands often.’
‘I will.’
‘Matron Cromwell will fill you in on the rest of the requirements.’ Miss Dalton stood and held out her hand for Rose to shake as if they were parting ways forever. ‘Good luck, Rose Porter.’
Rose left Miss Dalton’s office and walked briskly back down Main Axial Road. She passed the kitchen and the duke’s cottage, but didn’t stop at either.
She continued as instructed to a place she’d never been before. A place that, from day one, she’d been told to stay away from because of the danger it posed. The Hospital Precinct.
Rose tried to quell the fear rising up her throat, certain that if she stopped to think about the task she’d been assigned she would turn and run back to first class. She passed the morgue and laboratory, bodies lined up along the path draped under sheets ready for autopsy.
She strode by quickly, trying not to breathe, the smell of death and decomposition working its way into her nostrils no matter how fiercely she tried to keep it out. She moved her legs harder, carrying her away from the morgue and deeper into unhealthy ground.
Five minutes later, she reached the Hospital Precinct and circled her way around the doctors and nurse’s living quarters, interconnected by similar walkways and verandahs to those in first class. It was there that she collided directly into Thomas.
‘Rose!’ From behind a surgical mask he looked surprised to see her. He tugged it down. ‘What are you doing up here? Are you lost?’
‘No. I’ve been assigned to work in the hospitals.’
‘You’re going to be working up here?’
‘I won’t be treating patients. I’ll just be doing housekeeping.’
‘But, Rose…’ He glanced around to ensure no one was watching them, then reached for her hand, closing it tightly in his. ‘It’s not safe up here.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said with false bravado. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘I work everywhere on the station,’ he said, pulling her into the shadow of the building. ‘Rose…’
‘It’ll only be for two weeks.’
‘I don’t like the idea.’
‘It’s my job.’
He closed his eyes, took a breath and opened them again. ‘Get yourself a mask.’
‘I’ve been inoculated.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Okay, I will.’ She reached up and kissed him and he responded, his lips parting against hers, and she felt a familiar wave of desire wash over her. ‘Will you come for me tonight?’
‘Of course.’
He held her close and she rested her head on his chest, pausing to inhale the smell of his shirt, wishing she could remain there forever. With great reluctance, she said goodbye and watched as he walked back towards healthy ground.
The first-class hospital was an impressive building, connected to the doctors and nurse’s quarters by a direct walkway. The view across Port Jackson to Sydney was lovely, though it was probably the last thing on the minds of the people who occupied this part of the station.
The third-class hospital was a separate building across the way and in between the two lay a sea of tents and makeshift beds that had been set up to cope with the influx of patients.
Rose had never seen such a pitiful sight. People were everywhere, moaning and writhing in pain, clammy with fever, their faces a bluish hue and their coughs laced with blood-stained sputum. It was Spanish Influenza and her hand went instinctively to her mouth, afraid to breathe the same air.
Forcing her eyes away, she found a nurse hurrying from the tents towards the first-class hospital and she hurried after her. ‘Excuse me. Can you help me?’
The nurse was young with black hair and vivid green eyes. She pulled down her surgical mask to talk. ‘I can try.’ Her accent was thick Irish.
‘I’m looking for Matron Cromwell. Do you know where I might find her?’
The nurse pointed to the first-class hospital. ‘She’ll be in there. I’m going inside. I can take you to her if you like.’
‘You are most kind. Thank you.’
The nurse began walking again. ‘You’re not from unhealthy ground. Do you work in accommodation?’
‘I’m a parlourmaid in first class.’
‘I can tell,’ she said, indicating Rose’s black uniform and white apron.
‘I’ve been assigned to help in the hospital for two weeks.’
‘We’ll be glad for the help. I’m Dolly.’
‘Rose.’
They climbed the steps of the hospital and Dolly led the way across the verandah and into the building.
The scene was only slightly more orderly inside. Beds were crammed symmetrically against the walls, leaving a walkway down the middle where doctors and nurses bustled. The patients there were in no less pain than outside.
Dolly urged Rose quickly through the middle, past racking coughs, shivering bodies and lungs ravished by Spanish Influenza.
She ushered her through a door and into the next room where the mood was a little less chaotic. They passed through a small closet-like room where medicines and equipment were stored. There were ewers and bowls for hand washing, stacks of towels and bed linen, vials of medication in cabinets, jars of gauze, syringes and steel dishes of all sizes.
Dolly led the way to a closed door and gave it a light knock. She opened it a touch to poke her head through. ‘Matron Cromwell, I have Rose for you, from first-class accommodation.’ She moved aside for Rose to enter and whispered, ‘Good luck,’ before slipping away into the ward.
Matron Cromwell stood and moved around the desk to stand in front of Rose. She was heavyset with broad shoulders, grey hair and a serious face. A light moustache graced her upper lip and Rose couldn’t help watching it as she spoke. ‘You’re Rose Porter?’
‘I am.’
Matron Cromwell’s eyes travelled up and down her. ‘Is that a London accent? You’re a long way from home.’
‘Indeed.’
The matron nodded. ‘Very well, let’s get started. You’ll need to change. You can’t go wandering around the wards in a housekeeping uniform.’
She walked across the room to a narrow closet and opened it, extracting a hanger with a long white starched dress and a cap to match. ‘I keep a set of clean uniforms in here for visiting staff. You will need to come here and collect a uniform from me daily. Be sure to register the collection in this log.’
She handed the uniform to Rose and held up the log for her to see.
‘After each shift, you will take the uniform off and send it with the rest of the laundry to be disinfected in the steam tubs. You must never take your dirty uniform onto healthy ground.’
‘I understand.’
‘Here’s a surgical mask. Wear it at all times. Be vigilant with hygiene. Scrub your hands often. There’s an ewer and bowl in the medicine room next door where you can wash up. You
may get changed now, and then I’ll show you around.’
Rose paused, wondering if she was expected to change in front of the matron or leave the room and change elsewhere. When she realised the older woman wasn’t offering any further instruction, Rose untied her apron from the back and slipped it over her head. She undid the clasp at the nape of her neck and slid her housekeeping uniform down, standing in only her petticoat, corset and stockings.
‘Have you been inoculated?’ Matron Cromwell asked, returning to her desk and picking up a clipboard.
‘I have,’ said Rose, sliding into the white uniform and pinning the nurse’s cap to her hair.
‘You should be aware it’s no guarantee.’
‘I am.’
‘You come highly recommended by Miss Dalton.’
‘That’s kind of her,’ Rose said, folding her housekeeping uniform and apron and placing it on a chair next to the closet.
Matron Cromwell looked up. ‘Let’s get started then. I’m extremely busy.’
She gestured for Rose to follow her to a door behind her desk. ‘Through here is the maternity ward,’ she explained as they walked. ‘We keep the babies down this end of the hospital, well away from the main ward. If you work in the main ward, you are not allowed in maternity, for obvious reasons. Be sure not to forget it.’
Rose heard the gurgle of babies as they stepped into the maternity ward. It was a tiny space, with three cots side by side, a newborn infant in each. One began to cry and the wet nurse stood from her desk and went to it.
‘The babies go straight back to their mothers once they’re born, but if the mother doesn’t survive, they usually end up here for a little while.’
She closed the door to the maternity ward and they traversed back through her office and into the main ward. Passing through the medicine room again, the matron pointed out various items that would be of use to Rose—washing bowl, fresh towels and linen, a hessian bag for soiled material.
They continued into the main ward and Rose was confronted again with the chaos of earlier.
The Quarantine Station Page 15
