In the neat cursive style they were becoming used to, Rose described in greater detail her time at the hospital and the patients she’d met and treated. She seemed to have found a passion for what most people would have thought a gruesome task.
The next few entries caught their attention. After five weeks of working at the hospital, in late September 1918, Rose was summoned back to first class by Miss Dalton. She wrote of the duke’s unreasonable demands that she return to his service, and her vexation that a decision like that could be made so easily at the behest of a passenger.
Upon working for the duke again, she met the duchess, still in poor health but who had mustered the strength to warn Rose away from her husband.
Matt placed the diary down. ‘That’s interesting.’
‘The duchess believed there was something improper between them.’
‘It doesn’t necessarily mean there was.’
‘Or that we can rule it out entirely,’ Emma countered. ‘It’s not a stretch to consider he might have been her mystery man.’
Matt still looked unconvinced and picked up the diary again. His eyes skimmed quickly over the next page and a sound escaped him. ‘I think I found something.’
25th September, 1918
Oh diary! What a day it has been. What a wonderfully thrilling and terrifying day. I have so much to tell you, most of which I know will embarrass you, so I apologise in advance.
You know of whom I speak―the love of my life, the one that fills my heart with a joy so abundant I want to scream it from the rooftops!
We have shared an intimacy that I did not realise was possible between a man and a woman. An intimacy so incredibly passionate that it makes me shiver just to think of it again.
We did not intend for it to happen; quite the contrary. Just this morning, service at the duke’s cottage turned out to be one of the most horrifying of my life. The duke has been unwell in the mind. I fear the isolation and the duchess’s health complications have sent him mad. He thought it appropriate to attempt to take what was not his.
I will never forget that moment on his bed, with his hands near my sacred places. I thought I would be ruined. And yet, surprisingly, it is possible to find strength when backed into a corner. His ego will not be the only thing bruised today.
I fled from his cottage and I went to my love. So tender were his words and so gentle was his touch that the awfulness of the morning faded and I was helpless to resist. I gave him my flower.
My heart is so full right now, dearest diary, I fear it will burst! This must be what love feels like. Not a single minute idles by when I don’t think of him. I crave his arms, his voice, his bed.
Oh diary, I must be making you blush, for I certainly am! I will embarrass you no more. I will lock these words away and they will forever be our secret.
For now, Rose
Matt put the diary down and turned to Emma. ‘I think that confirms it. The duke wasn’t her mystery man.’
‘No. In fact, it seems like the duke attacked her and she fought him off. Which means Gran’s father must be someone else.’
‘Probably the man she went straight to afterwards and lost her virginity with.’
‘The man she loved.’
Matt smoothed his hand over his jaw. ‘Does that also mean we can rule out the duke as the one Gwendoline might have been waiting for by the wharf?’
‘I guess so,’ Emma said thoughtfully. ‘He doesn’t seem to fit into the equation anymore.’ And yet, even as she said it, she heard Gwendoline’s words. It was all to do with the duke, you see.
‘So we’re back to square one,’ Matt said. ‘We don’t know who Rose’s mystery man was, who Gwendoline’s father was, who she was waiting for by the wharf and why they left the station suddenly in 1926.’
‘Still so many questions.’
Matt sighed.
‘I’m going to go back through Gran’s boxes in storage. There has to be a photo album with a picture of her father in it or a birth certificate with his name, at least.’
‘Have you not seen anything like that before?’
‘Not that I recall. When they left the station they didn’t take much with them except for one suitcase. I also think Gran was a bit of a wild child, not unlike me at that age.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘She ran away from home when she was a teenager. I’m not sure that she kept in touch with her family after that. It will make her father harder to trace.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m going to have to leave for Eastgardens shortly. Gran will be arriving soon.’
‘If you want company, I could come along for the drive.’
‘Really? I don’t want to bore you with another trip to the nursing home.’
He leaned across to kiss her on the lips; one, two, three, four of them. ‘Being with you is anything but boring.’
Later that afternoon, Matt reversed the car into a parking spot on the quiet tree-lined street in Eastgardens and they climbed out. The rain had eased to a sprinkle and the sky was multi-coloured as sunshine spilled through the clouds.
They crossed the street and pushed through the front doors. Anastasia Thornbury hurried over to them and pumped Emma’s hand keenly, in a warm and most un-Anastasia like way.
‘Ms Wilcott, it’s so wonderful to see you. Your grandmother has arrived and she’s in her room waiting for you.’
‘Thank you, Ms Thornbury. Did her transfer go okay?’
‘Perfect. I oversaw the details myself. I even had roses waiting for her in her room. She does like roses, doesn’t she? I was told she does.’
Emma exchanged a look with Matt.
‘You’ll also be happy to know that we’re revising our patient care policy. We’ll be introducing new measures, like locking the front doors at eight pm and installing security cameras at all the exit points which will be monitored by our new security team.’
‘That’s great,’ Emma said. She flashed Anastasia a smile.
The woman looked slack with relief. ‘Let me know if you need anything at all, Ms Wilcott. I’ll let you get to your grandmother now. She’ll be happy to see you.’
Emma signed the visitor book and she and Matt headed down the corridor to the north wing.
When they were out of earshot, Matt leant in. ‘Wonder what brought that on.’
‘I suspect the police have been questioning Gran’s disappearances too,’ Emma said. ‘Either that or the media paid her a visit. I doubt Gran’s the first patient to have wandered from here.’
Gwendoline was sitting up in bed when they arrived. Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was resting on her lap.
When they entered the room, Emma tut-tutted over the book and Gwendoline snapped it up, shoving it quickly to the bottom of her bedside drawer.
‘I’m stopping by the bookstore to get you a new book,’ Emma said, stooping to kiss Gwendoline’s cheek.
‘I don’t want a new book,’ Gwendoline said petulantly. ‘I like the one I have.’
‘Wouldn’t you like a new story?’
‘Don’t touch my book.’
Emma sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. She wasn’t going to argue. She was just happy to have her back safe. ‘How are you feeling, Grandma?’
‘They took me to the hospital yesterday. Did you know that? I came back today.’
‘Yes. Do you recall going for a walk two nights ago?’
Gwendoline looked perplexed. ‘A walk?’
‘Yes, you went for a walk,’ Emma explained gently, not wanting to frighten her.
‘Did I go anywhere nice?’
‘Bumbora Point. You were sitting on the wharf. Do you remember who you were looking for?’ Emma could see her trying to search the far corners of her brain for the answers.
‘I don’t know anyone at that place. Where is it?’
‘Port Botany,’ Emma said.
‘They took me to the hospital yesterday. Did you know that?’
Quietly despairing, Emma patted Gwendoline’s hand. ‘Yes,
Grandma. I knew that.’ She turned to Matt. ‘I want you to meet someone. This is my friend from the Quarantine Station, Matt.’
Matt stepped forward and held out his hand for Gwendoline to shake. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Emma.’
Gwendoline gave a sharp intake of breath and gestured towards her bedside table. ‘My glasses, Emma dear. Quick, get my glasses.’
Emma found the glasses. She handed them to Gwendoline, who pushed them onto her nose and leant forward to take Matt’s hand.
‘It’s not possible.’ She studied him closely. ‘You look just like him.’
‘Like who?’ Emma asked.
‘You could be the same person.’
Emma looked at Matt. ‘Do you know what she’s talking about?’
Matt shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’
Emma looked from Gwendoline to Matt and back again. ‘Okay, Gran,’ she said, prying Matt’s hand from her grip. ‘You’re still worn out. Just settle back there on your pillow and I’ll get you a glass of water.’
Gwendoline relented and lay back, closing her eyes.
‘Sorry about that,’ Emma said, smoothing the bed covers down, tucking Gwendoline in firmly. ‘She gets a bit confused.’
‘I understand.’ He turned to the bedside table and picked up the framed photograph. ‘Is this your family?’
Emma moved beside him. ‘Yes, that’s them.’ She took the frame, wiping dust from the glass with her sleeve and handing it back to him. ‘That’s my mum, Catherine, and my dad, John. And that’s Max and Liam. The terrible twins!’ she added with a laugh. ‘They’d just turned six and lost their two front teeth when that photo was taken.’
‘They look like fun kids.’
‘They were. They’d be all grown up now with jobs and girlfriends had they lived.’ She turned away as emotion shook her voice.
‘You look a lot like your mum. You have the same eyes.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘You have a beautiful family.’
‘I wish you could have met them. They would have liked you.’
‘I would have liked them too.’ He returned the frame to the table and touched the roses in the vase. ‘Anastasia said Gwendoline loves roses.’
‘She loves them because of Rose.’
‘And yet as a teenager she ran away from her and never kept in touch. Why?’
Emma looked across at Gwendoline, who had fallen asleep and was snoring softly. She looked childlike in the bed, swamped by the covers, her tiny body too small for them. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never asked.’
They left Gwendoline to sleep and Emma and Matt climbed back into his car and drove to the storage facility to search through Gwendoline’s belongings again.
Unsurprisingly, they turned up nothing that represented her time at the Quarantine Station or answered the questions that still confounded them. There were no photographs or letters, birth certificates or health records, nothing that could tie Gwendoline to anyone or anything.
They packed the items back into boxes. Matt rolled the storage door down and Emma locked it with the key.
‘I didn’t expect to turn up anything new,’ she said with a sigh as they headed back to the carpark. ‘I’ve been through those boxes hundreds of times. I would have remembered seeing something significant.’
‘Did your mum ever talk about her grandparents? Did she mention Rose or Rose’s husband?’
‘She never talked about her grandfather, but we sometimes spoke of Rose.’
‘What about the boat and the wharf?’
‘If my mother knew about this mysterious boat and who might be sailing on it, she never said anything to me.’
They climbed into Matt’s car and he navigated them onto Anzac Parade and back to Kensington as the sun bled into the horizon. He parked the car out the front of Emma’s apartment block.
‘Would you like to come up?’ Emma asked.
He responded with the kind of kiss that told her yes, the kind that would probably always give her butterflies whenever she thought of it.
She tucked her hand into his and they walked up the steps to her apartment.
Rose
1918
Beneath an indigo sky, Thomas guided Rose back along the path towards the station.
He held fast to her hand, and she to his, as if the sanctity of their love for each other depended on it. They had spent the afternoon in his bed, exploring one another, Rose viewing the naked male anatomy for the first time and marvelling at how beautiful and strong it was.
She thought she’d known Thomas’s touch by heart―the way he held her hand or circled her waist with his arms. Never had she realised that a closeness beyond that could exist between a man and a woman.
As the afternoon slid into dusk, they acknowledged with regret that she had to return to first class before her absence was questioned.
Just before the path opened onto the male staff quarters, Thomas held her close and whispered into her hair. ‘Was your first time all that you thought it would be?’
‘Everything and more.’ The place between her thighs told her so as they ached with a pain and pleasure she had never thought possible.
‘I’m so glad.’
‘Can I come back tomorrow night?’ she asked, turning her eyes up to him.
‘I will come for you at eleven. Wait up for me.’
‘I couldn’t possibly sleep.’
He kissed her so deeply and unreservedly that she wanted to run back down the path with him to his cottage and never return. The entire night and day until she saw him next would be an agonising wait.
‘You should go, Rose, before Miss Dalton and the others start searching for you.’ He let go of her and she reluctantly crept through the shadows back towards the station.
She found the road and, in the growing darkness, walked briskly until she reached her cottage. She had barely made it through the door when she heard Bessie climbing the verandah steps behind her.
‘Oh Rose, you’re back.’ She hurried to give her a hug. ‘I saw Mr Van Cleeve earlier. He said you were ill and off to the hospital. Are you not well?’
Rose hid her face in Bessie’s shoulder as it reddened with guilt. She rarely told lies, but since she’d arrived, it felt like they were all she’d been telling. ‘I was sick to the stomach but I’m much better now.’
Bessie pulled back with a perplexed look. ‘Sick to the stomach? That’s odd. Mr Van Cleeve said you had a migraine. Anyway, you look better. Was it something you ate?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Bessie plonked down on her bed. ‘Mrs March threw away two pints of sour milk this morning. Perhaps you drank from those by accident.’
‘Perhaps.’ Rose turned away to hide her guilt and lit the candles in the lantern. ‘Who took care of the duke today?’
‘I did. He was awfully quiet through lunch and dinner. He didn’t ask for you like he normally does. Maybe my new hands are helping.’ She studied them in the dim light and seemed pleased with their progress.
Rose sat on her bed and watched the flickering shadow from the candle flames crawl up the walls.
‘Will you be well enough for service tomorrow?’
‘I think so.’ The last thing she wanted to do was face the duke, to be in the same room with him and serve his meals, but to request another position would mean she would have to tell Miss Dalton why and she doubted that conversation would go in her favour.
‘Well, the duchess has recovered a little. Her fever broke this evening and her lungs have cleared.’
‘Oh that’s wonderful to hear,’ Rose said brightening.
‘The doctor was there while the duke was eating his dinner. He told us the news. The duke perked up a little then and was a bit friendlier to me. He said my hands looked nice. The tea tree oil is helping.’
‘Show them to me.’
Bessie stood and thrust her hands out for Rose to see.
‘Inde
ed. They are healing. The skin is smoother and you have no more open wounds.’
‘They started itching a little yesterday, for the hot sink doesn’t help, but I just apply the oil whenever I can.’ Bessie yawned and untied her apron, slipping her uniform down. ‘I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.’ She pulled on her shift and climbed in, burrowing deep under the covers.
Rose undressed also and as she unlaced her corset, she thought of Thomas doing the same thing only hours earlier, how gentle he’d been as he’d picked at each loop, how terrifying and freeing it had felt to stand before him in little more than her bare skin.
‘You have a strange smile on your face,’ Bessie said sleepily. ‘Are you sure you’re well?’
Rose slipped her shift on. ‘I think I’m just tired. Goodnight, Bessie.’
‘Goodnight, Rose.’
But Rose wasn’t tired. She listened for Bessie’s snores on the other side of the room and when she finally heard them, she reached for the diary in her bedside drawer and unlocked it.
For the next hour, against the circle of candlelight, she told her diary all that had happened that day, from the duke’s improper advances in the morning to the afternoon she’d spent with Thomas in his cottage. Of the way his hands had roamed her body and the kisses that had made her head swim. Of the way she’d hungrily kissed him back, surprising even herself with how much she had wanted him. Of the way they had lost all good sense, there on the edge of the cliff.
The next morning, Rose awoke with anxiety gnawing at her stomach. She had heard Bessie leave sometime before dawn to fire up the ovens, and she was grateful for a moment to herself to collect her thoughts.
While she was still giddy with the secret knowledge that she was more womanly than before, it was tainted by the prospect of facing the duke again. She couldn’t be sure how he would react. Would he lash out at her or be remorseful? Would he seek to do it again? Would he blame her for it and tell Miss Dalton she’d been the instigator?
All of these possibilities twisted inside her as she washed, dressed and headed to the kitchen. The parlourmaids were setting up the dining room when she arrived, and Mrs March was pulling loaves of bread out of the oven.
The Quarantine Station Page 21
