The Quarantine Station

by Michelle Montebello

  She stole a brief nap, wrote in her diary then glanced at the growing pile of clothes and undergarments next to her bed that needed laundering. There had been barely any time to get her washing done. Between service with the duke and nights spent with Thomas, she felt like she existed in an endless tailspin.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and began to sort through the pile, putting her intimate items—petticoats, corsets, underwear and stockings—aside to wash separately while the rest of her dresses and uniforms could go to the laundry.

  It wasn’t until she’d finished sorting her clothes that she realised it had been some time since she’d had to wash her bleeding cloths. The room ground to a sickening halt and something cold reached into her bones as she stretched her memory back. Four weeks… Six weeks… Eight weeks. How long had it been?

  Rose rushed to her bedside table and pulled opened the bottom drawer. Down beneath the pairs of gloves and rolls of stockings lay a wad of clean bleeding cloths. She stared at them. They stared back. And it occurred to her.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bled.

  Emma

  Present

  ‘That smells wonderful!’

  Matt beamed as he stirred gravy in the pan. ‘Roast chicken is about the only thing I do well. Everything else you eat at your own risk.’

  Emma laughed. ‘You’re one up on me. I burn water.’

  He turned the heat down and checked the chicken resting in the tray. ‘This should be ready to carve soon.’

  Emma climbed down off the stool and moved around to the cupboards and draws, collecting cutlery, plates and napkins. Her knowledge of his kitchen was improving with each new visit and visits were become increasingly frequent.

  They had fallen into a bubble of spending their free days together, lying around in bed, drinking coffee or eating at the cafés along Manly’s Corso.

  They spent long hours reading Rose’s diaries and the amount of stolen treasures they’d acquired from the station, in moments of temporary madness, now littered his coffee table. It was against station policy to take archives off site without permission, but they couldn’t help themselves. Rose had slipped deep under their skin. How addictive it had become to leap into her diary pages and transport themselves to her world.

  And at the end of the day, it was for Gwendoline. Emma never lost sight of that. Eastgardens Aged Care had improved their patient security but without the wanderings, Gwendoline had become increasingly frustrated and prone to greater slips from reality. The doctors told Emma that her condition was worsening, but Emma felt it was more than that. It was the station her grandmother longed for; memories she chased but couldn’t catch hold of, something from her past that she was trying to get back to.

  Matt served chicken and salad onto plates while Emma poured the wine. They ate at his dining table and talked about their day in a rhythm so natural that it still surprised her. It was almost too effortless; an inexplicable perfection that she had to remind herself not to try to understand but rather to just let be.

  They finished eating, stacked the dishwasher and carried their wines to the coffee table. Sprawled across the table top were Rose’s diaries; the puzzle pieces of a mystery they were still trying to solve.

  They had read the first four cover to cover—June 1918 to October 1918. Settling against the couch, they sipped their wine and Matt retrieved the last diary, placing it in his lap. He turned to the first page and after just a few words Emma sensed they’d finally stumbled across something significant; something they’d been waiting to read for months.

  13th October, 1918

  I write to you today, dear diary, as the carrier of a burdensome secret, one that has stolen the ground from underneath me. I do not consider myself a naïve girl, uneducated or lacking in sense, but I was naïve about this.

  We ignored the rules, we pushed the boundaries, we gave in to our indulgences. How selfish lovers can be. Now I bear the weight of that selfishness. I have carried this secret for weeks now and I cannot begin to tell you how heavy it is, crushing me inside.

  Every day I am ill to the stomach and exhaustion pervades my body. I cannot stand the smell of food, nor the taste, and can barely hold down a few sips of water. Hiding this from everyone has become almost as wearisome as the sickness itself. But I cannot tell them what I’ve done, this sorry state of affairs I’ve fallen into.

  In any other scenario, I would think this a miracle. I would be overjoyed at the changes to my body, irrelevant of how laborious they have become. I would welcome the strange stretching and tugging inside my stomach and the way my breasts have swelled. I would look forward to the next nine months with anticipation of the blessed new arrival.

  But how can I? I’m terrified! I can’t tell anyone the truth. I haven’t even told my beloved. He would never look at me the same way again for I’ve ruined everything for us. We’ll both be fired and kicked off the station at a time when the outside world is as destitute as the Western Front.

  What am I to do? There will come a time when I will no longer be able to hide it. And God help me when that time comes.

  Rose

  Matt placed the diary down on his lap and let out a breath. ‘I’m guessing Rose has fallen pregnant with Gwendoline.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma replied. ‘She doesn’t say it explicitly but it’s obvious. And she’s terrified.’

  ‘She mustn’t have been thinking straight either. She took a risk writing these words. It could have gotten her fired if they’d fallen into the wrong hands.’

  Emma took the diary from Matt’s lap and ran her fingertips over the words. The fear and panic was jumping off them. You must have been so scared, she thought of her great-grandmother.

  ‘She kept it a secret from her lover,’ Matt said.

  ‘Though I’m not sure why. I always got the impression he was a nice man, whoever he was. He would have understood.’

  ‘Times were different back then. A woman falling pregnant out of wedlock was not viewed upon favourably. Society thought of them as whores and most were spirited off to homes for unmarried mothers until they gave birth and their child was adopted out. Rose had a lot to be concerned about, including rejection by her lover.’

  ‘She was worried they would both lose their jobs. It clears up one aspect at least. Her lover was definitely an employee.’

  ‘And the rules were clear for employees back then,’ Matt said. ‘The station was no place to raise a family. There was no school and they didn’t have funding to feed extra mouths. Rose would have been dismissed instantly for falling pregnant.’

  ‘Yet something transpired in her favour because she gave birth to my grandmother and remained on the station for another seven years. And Gran has always maintained that the three of them left in 1926. Not two, three. I’m assuming the third person was her father.’

  ‘Who we now know wasn’t a passenger. He worked there.’

  ‘We need to know who she fell pregnant to and who Gran was waiting for by the wharf. That person arriving on a boat.’

  ‘It could have been anyone.’ Matt chewed his lip. ‘Her father is the missing link.’

  ‘I’m certain he’s not the duke. He didn’t work there and Rose would have hinted at it by now.’

  Matt reached for the diary and turned to the next page, ready to read again, but it was blank. He flicked through the remaining pages and found nothing. ‘This is the last entry. She wrote one page and didn’t write anything else.’

  Emma leant across him for a better look. ‘Did we leave any diaries at the station, ones that we haven’t read yet?’

  ‘There were five in total. This was the last one.’

  ‘How are we going to know what happened to Rose?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Emma pursed her lips determinedly. ‘I’ll visit Gwendoline tomorrow before work and speak to her again. But I hate to admit it, without the wanderings, she’s become despondent, like we’ve taken something away from her. She har
dly eats and when she talks it’s just confusion.’

  Matt reached out and stroked her bare shoulder, a gesture that still threw her with force and she realised again, with that simple touch, just how much she was falling for him.

  He sat up and reached for a photograph they’d taken from Rose’s suitcase, a black and white shot of two young women. It was Rose and Bessie Briar, taken in August 1918, according to the inscription on the back. They were smiling brightly into the camera, Rose in her black housekeeping uniform and Bessie in a brown dress and apron, a bonnet taming a tumble of fair curls.

  ‘This was taken out the front of the first-class kitchen,’ Matt said. ‘I recognise the building.’

  Emma stared at the photograph, searching it for clues, wondering who might have taken it. Rose was incredibly beautiful, with thick dark hair twisted away in a knot at the nape of her neck. She had a warm smile, slender shoulders and was clutching her friend’s arm as if they had been struggling to contain their laughter when the camera clicked.

  The moment of joy was more candid than one might expect of an early twentieth-century photograph, when serious expressions were customary. It was obvious she’d felt comfortable in that immediate circle of three—herself, Bessie and the mystery person behind the lens; her lover, perhaps, whomever that was.

  ‘What I wouldn’t give to step inside this photograph back to 1918 to ask her what happened,’ Emma said. ‘Who did she fall pregnant to? Who was Gwendoline’s father? And what made them run suddenly in 1926?’

  ‘It’s all linked.’

  ‘Yes. And I hate to admit it because it makes everything more complicated, but the duke is part of it. We can’t discount him.’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  Emma looked up.

  ‘It’s a little crazy but I think it could help.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We should take Gwendoline to the Quarantine Station.’

  Emma frowned slightly.

  ‘Hear me out,’ he said quickly. ‘I think it would be good for her to be back in the place she’s been trying to find. We could take her to the wharf. It might trigger memories and get her talking. She has the answers in her head, we just have to get them out.’

  Emma was unsure if she loved or hated the idea. ‘I don’t know, Matt.’

  ‘We can take it as slow as we need to.’

  ‘It’s a lot of walking.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘She goes on night walks all the way to Foreshore Road.’

  Emma punched him. ‘You know what I mean. I don’t think she’s physically up to it.’

  ‘The shuttle bus will be there. I’ll speak to Ted. He’ll be happy to drive us around. And the team will love it. We never get people like Gwendoline coming by anymore. Most of her generation are gone.’

  Emma sighed. The idea was plausible, she just worried about pushing her grandmother beyond her limits. But what if this was Gwendoline’s last chance to see the station, her last chance to make peace with her memories and to help Emma understand them? What if tomorrow Gwendoline was gone and Emma was left with a pile of puzzle pieces and the knowledge that she had failed at helping her grandmother sort through them?

  If that were the case, the idea made sense.

  ‘I suppose I could speak to the nursing home. Though their security policy is pretty strict now.’

  ‘We can only ask.’

  ‘Okay,’ Emma said with a smile. ‘Let’s do it.’

  He pulled her into him and hugged her. She closed her eyes, melding into his chest. His shirt smelt quintessentially male, like cologne and soap.

  ‘When’s your next day off?’ he asked, moving a strand of hair from her eyes.

  ‘Tuesday.’

  ‘Perfect. Tuesdays are quiet. It won’t overwhelm her with too many people.’

  ‘Do you have Tuesday off?’

  ‘No, but I can still take you both around.’

  She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you. It means a lot that you’re doing this. It always has.’

  ‘At first the mystery got me, but then you got me, Em.’

  His hazel eyes caught the dining room light, flecks of green and gold. She leant forward to kiss him, the feel of him on her lips sending her stomach somersaulting. He responded with such need that it took little more than a moment for clothes to be shed and 1918 was temporarily shelved.

  Anastasia Thornbury had qualms about releasing Gwendoline for the day. Their new patient care policy allowed for day release but only under exceptional circumstances. According to Anastasia, a visit to the Q Station could hardly be deemed exceptional but, after some convincing, and after Emma signed a waiver, she relented.

  On the following Tuesday, a morning that augured a warm spring day, Emma collected her grandmother from her room, bundled her into the car and drove her north to the Q Station.

  As they followed the flow of traffic along the Sydney Harbour Bridge, Emma explained where they were going and her grandmother responded, first with an audible intake of breath, then a small cry of nervous glee that made Emma smile.

  They arrived at the Q Station carpark and she swung into a spot. Matt emerged from the reception building to greet them, opening the car door to help Gwendoline out. ‘It’s nice to see you again,’ he said.

  Gwendoline peered intently at his face. ‘Have we met before?’

  ‘Yes, at Eastgardens, though only briefly.’

  ‘You remind me of someone,’ she said, reaching out to touch his cheek with her fingers. ‘Goodness me, you’re just like him. You have his hazel eyes.’

  Emma saw the unease on Matt’s face. She stepped in, took Gwendoline’s hand and offered him a smile. ‘I’m sorry. She has a habit of doing that.’

  Matt smiled back, but his troubled look remained.

  Emma looped her arm through Gwendoline’s and together with Matt, they took sure and steady steps towards reception.

  Once inside, Emma was surprised at how many people were waiting for them. She saw the receptionist, Joan, the tour ladies from the museum and Ted, the shuttle bus driver, along with a few faces she didn’t recognise, including a man in a suit who stepped forward to greet them.

  ‘I’m Anthony, the station director,’ he said, shaking Emma’s hand. ‘We are so pleased to have your grandmother visit us. When Matt told us about her story, we wanted to be here personally to greet her. We don’t get visits from people like Gwendoline anymore.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emma said. ‘That’s very kind.’

  ‘And this is for you, Gwendoline,’ Joan said, bending down to pass her a small posy of red roses. ‘We heard these were your favourite.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ Gwendoline said, taking the roses and attention in her stride. ‘They are indeed.’

  ‘We have so much to learn about your time here,’ Rebecca from the museum said. ‘We’d love to include some of yours and Rose’s experiences in our tours.’

  There were lots of nodding heads and eager faces.

  ‘I’m sure you have much to see today,’ Anthony said, clapping his hands together. ‘Why don’t you make a start and we can arrange a time later to meet with you both. The shuttle bus is yours for the day.’

  ‘And there’s a packed lunch in there too,’ added Joan proudly.

  They took turns shaking Gwendoline’s hand as she moved along the line like station royalty, eyes bright and speech intelligible, smiling, chatting and handing back the flowers to place in water until she returned. The station, like the fountain of youth, seemed a temporary cure for Gwendoline’s ailments.

  Outside by the shuttle, Emma helped her up the steps and into a seat. She reached for Matt as he moved down the aisle to take the seat behind them.

  ‘Thank you for arranging all that,’ she said, touching his hand.

  Matt smiled. ‘Hope it wasn’t too much excitement for her.’

  ‘Are you kidding? She loved it.’

  Ted closed the door and the bus rumbled to life. ‘Where’s our first s
top today?’

  ‘The wharf, please,’ Emma said decisively, wanting to get straight down to business.

  Ted navigated away from the reception building and along Wharf Road, rolling past first and second classes and eventually coming to rest on the gravelly road outside the shower blocks.

  They helped Gwendoline down from the bus as the sun burned fiercely and the water in the cove shone like crystals.

  Gwendoline took a few steps along the gravel and turned in a slow circle, taking in the shower blocks, the autoclaves, the former boiler room—now a restaurant and café—the museum and wharf.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Oh, how I remember this.’ A small smile spread across her lips. ‘After passengers had their health and status classified, they came here to the showers for a scrub down. Their luggage was transported on these tracks. They called it the funicular railway.’ She turned again, pointing her finger. ‘Autoclaves for luggage fumigation. The boiler room. The inhalation chamber. It all looks so different and yet in some ways, it hasn’t changed at all.’

  ‘Did you used to come down here as a child?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I did,’ Gwendoline said. ‘I used to play all around here. I’d sit by the boiler room with the other children and watch the women go in and out of the showers. We were allowed to do that, you see, play anywhere we liked, except the hospital and isolation. But that never stopped us.’ She chuckled at some private thought. ‘We used to sneak in and out of there all the time.’

  ‘Did you play at the beach?’

  Gwendoline turned and squinted in the direction of the cove. ‘Yes, with my mother. She adored the cove. She always said it was the place she fell in love.’

  ‘With your father?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Well, that’s another story.’

  ‘Can you tell us?’ Emma pressed.

  ‘She didn’t want me to know. She worried constantly, you see. But I eventually found out what happened.’

  Matt and Emma exchanged a look.