The Quarantine Station

by Michelle Montebello

  ‘I won’t go anywhere.’

  She lit the oil lamp, turned it down low and sat on the edge of Bessie’s bed. Every twenty minutes Bessie winced and clutched at her stomach, and Rose knew these to be valid contractions. Matron Cromwell had taught her about the onset of labour, that it could be a long process and how to time the pains. She’d already made the decision that when they reached ten minutes apart she would run for the doctor.

  ‘Tell me a nice story,’ Bessie said.

  Rose turned her eyes upward in thought. ‘Well, I’m getting better at weaving those lovely native wreaths you taught me to make.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Bessie said, then grimaced through a contraction.

  Rose held her hand, trying to distract her. ‘Yes, I pick bottlebrush, wattle, kangaroo paw and the green leaves from banksia plants. Every week I thread and weave a new wreath to place on Alexander’s grave. His spot is so peaceful out there, behind the cottage, that I often lose hours sitting with him.’

  ‘I’m yet to visit his special spot.’

  ‘You must come one time. We will make a wreath together.’

  At eleven, Thomas arrived and Rose met him on the verandah.

  ‘I’m fairly certain Bessie’s in labour,’ she told him.

  She saw his eyes cloud over and knew he was revisiting painful memories. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Her contractions are fifteen minutes apart. I’ll need to send for the doctor when they get to ten, but I’m worried about leaving her here alone.’

  ‘She’s not going to have the baby in the hospital?’

  ‘She wants to have it here.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll call in on the matron now and let her know. Then I’ll come back.’

  Rose reached for his hand and he leant down and kissed her. He left her on the verandah, disappearing down the hill through the trees.

  Rose returned to Bessie’s bedside as she let out a howl and curled herself into a ball.

  ‘Rose,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I think I’ve soiled myself.’

  Thinking of the blood in Thomas’s bed only months earlier, Rose ripped back the covers and patted her hands along the sheets. It wasn’t blood she found, but a thin, clear liquid and she knew Bessie’s waters had broken.

  Thirty minutes later, there were footsteps on the verandah and Rose opened the door to let the matron and doctor in. She turned up the oil lamp, light growing diffuse as Matron Cromwell sat beside Bessie on the bed.

  Rose could see Bessie’s white face, her clammy forehead, and the way she was struggling with each contraction that gripped her.

  ‘Have you been timing the pains, Rose?’ Matron Cromwell asked.

  ‘I think they’re at three minutes apart now. Her water has broken.’

  Matron nodded. ‘Can you fetch some clean towels and a bowl of hot water?’

  ‘I’ll have to run to the kitchen to heat the water.’

  Doctor Holland grumbled. ‘No time. We’ll make do.’

  Rose collected as many towels as she could find, filled a bowl of water from the ewer and left it beside Bessie’s bed. The doctor opened his medical bag, producing shiny forceps, a scalpel and leather straps to restrain Bessie’s legs. A sharp smell of alcohol filled the room.

  Rose was ordered to leave and she and Thomas sat out on the verandah, holding each other as they listened to Bessie’s whimpers, which eventually gave way to the harrowing grunts of labour.

  Then, after one excruciating scream and a moment of silence, they heard it—the beautiful but displeased cries of a newborn baby.

  ‘I’m terribly disappointed in you both,’ Miss Dalton said, standing at the foot of Bessie’s bed with her arms crossed. She wore a frown that made Rose want to shrink into the floor, but Bessie sat up confidently in bed, holding her new baby daughter in her arms with a contented grin.

  The child slept peacefully, unaware of the chaos she had caused hours earlier, when Bessie had gone into labour and Matron Cromwell and Doctor Holland had been called to deliver the baby.

  The labour had gone smoothly, Matron Cromwell had told Rose and Thomas out on the verandah later, as the sky began to colour, ushering in a new day. But the noise and commotion had caused the other parlourmaids to wake and Miss Dalton to be promptly informed that a baby had been born in the female staff quarters.

  Now, with the sun high in the sky and Bessie and child washed and resting, Miss Dalton had arrived to deliver the inevitable news.

  ‘The rules are clear, Miss Briar, and you have broken many of them. You partook in sexual relations with a male on the station and gave birth to his child. You are hereby relieved of your position as scullery maid effective immediately. You will be given a day to recover, gather your belongings and leave the station with your baby. Without pay or references.’

  ‘I won’t need pay or references,’ Bessie said respectfully. ‘I will be leaving with the baby’s father in two weeks.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘The Duke of Northbury.’

  Miss Dalton gasped, her hand flying to the necklaces at her throat. ‘The Duke of Northbury? Oh, dear lord!’

  ‘He’ll be taking me and the baby with him to England. As soon as the duchess gives birth, we’ll set sail.’

  ‘Goodness me.’ Miss Dalton, pale with shock, sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Bessie Briar, how could you? Oh, the scandal!’

  ‘He loves me,’ Bessie said defensively, holding her child close.

  ‘He’s the first cousin to the king with a royal heir due in two weeks! This can’t get out. We must contain it. We’ll be the laughing stock of the Commonwealth.’

  Miss Dalton took a deep breath and stood. Her voice was resolute. ‘I’m afraid, Bessie, this doesn’t change a thing. You still broke the rules. Pack your belongings and leave the station tomorrow.’ She nodded curtly and left the cottage.

  Rose followed her out onto the verandah where she caught Miss Dalton in a rare, unguarded moment, taking gulps of air.

  ‘I’m disappointed in Bessie,’ she said quietly, ‘but most of all I’m disappointed in you, Rose. You kept this a secret from me for many months. You’re one of my best housekeepers. I expected more from you.’

  Rose couldn’t meet Miss Dalton’s eyes lest she see all the other things she’d been keeping from her, Bessie’s pregnancy the least of all.

  She looked out across the female staff quarters. Women were on their balconies smoking, eyes and ears trained on them, hoping to catch snippets of their conversation for gossip.

  ‘Will you really make Bessie leave tomorrow?’

  ‘She has to go. She broke the rules.’

  ‘Bessie has worked hard here. Can’t we extend her some goodwill in return?’

  ‘If I extend favours to Bessie then I have to extend them to everyone.’

  ‘But the duke is leaving soon. He’ll take Bessie and the baby with him. Please, can’t they both stay until then? I’ll help her with the child. They’ll be no trouble, I promise.’

  Miss Dalton sighed.

  ‘The duke may not take kindly to the head of housekeeping casting his child out onto the street,’ Rose added bravely.

  Miss Dalton threw her a look. ‘If the duke wishes to impregnate my staff then he must deal with the consequences too,’ she snapped. Her hand flew to her chest and she closed her eyes. ‘Forgive me, Rose. I didn’t mean that. It’s been a stressful morning.’

  Rose touched her arm. ‘I understand.’

  Miss Dalton gave her a small smile. ‘Very well. Bessie and her baby can remain here until the duke and duchess sail and not a day longer. I hope for her sake he honours his intentions.’

  Rose let out a relieved breath.

  ‘Speak to the matron and have her prepare some nappies, blankets and a hospital crib. There should be some infant’s clothes lying around too. Bessie is to remain in this cottage with no visitors. She is not to flash that child around. It will only encourage the other maids.’

&nbs
p; Miss Dalton regained her fortitude and stepped down from the verandah, disappearing into the trees, the whispers of the other female housekeepers trailing her.

  Rose went back inside and perched herself on the edge of Bessie’s bed. The child was still sleeping, Bessie staring at her with unreserved adoration.

  ‘She’s perfect,’ Rose said softly. ‘Like a tiny little bud.’

  ‘Would you like to hold her?’

  Rose hesitated. ‘Maybe another time.’

  Bessie nodded. ‘Of course.’

  They fell silent, watching the little infant peaceful in her mother’s arms.

  ‘Have you thought of a name?’ Rose asked.

  ‘I have. I’d like to call her Gwendoline Anne, after my mother.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful name.’

  ‘I’m going to ask the duke to give her a title; Lady Gwendoline. And even though she’s not entirely blueblood, she’s still the rightful heir to the Duke of Northbury’s estate. She was born first.’

  ‘I don’t think it counts if she’s illegitimate.’ Rose bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong.’

  Bessie gazed down at her child. ‘No, I suppose you’re right. Gwendoline is illegitimate. I shouldn’t concern myself if she’s the heir or not. It will be enough that she has a loving home to grow up in.’ A look of concern crossed her face momentarily. ‘The duke hasn’t come to visit her yet. You did pass along the message at breakfast, didn’t you?’

  ‘I slipped him the note, yes.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘He read it discreetly. The duchess was at the table too. I’m sure he’ll speak to me about it at lunch.’ She patted her arm encouragingly.

  ‘Yes. I suppose it wouldn’t be wise for him to come to me here.’

  ‘Not with all the housekeepers out on their verandahs. They’re itching to know who the father is.’

  But when Rose saw the duke at lunch, he didn’t mention the note about Bessie giving birth, and she had to wait for the duchess to leave the room for a few minutes before she could enquire about it.

  ‘Oh yes, I did read that. Did it all go swimmingly?’ he asked, sipping his tea.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace. You have a healthy new baby girl. Gwendoline Anne,’ Rose whispered.

  ‘Jolly good,’ he whispered back. ‘Do they need anything?’

  ‘Just you, Your Grace. They’re both looking forward to seeing you.’

  ‘Lovely. Tell Miss Briar I’ll make the arrangements to visit soon.’

  Blankets, nappies, infant gowns, soap and a crib arrived from the hospital the next day. Bessie almost cried with relief when she saw it all, for she’d been managing without the essentials for the past twenty-four hours.

  In between the lunch and dinner shift, Rose helped her line the crib with blankets and wash the baby in warm soapy water. Together they struggled through assembling the first nappy, the cloth falling off no matter how many pins they fastened.

  Gwendoline was a delightful baby who moved through the motions of sleeping, crying and feeding in precisely that order. Rose marvelled at the array of little sounds she made, the squeaks and grunts, gurgles and cries. And when she opened her eyes, they locked firmly on her mother with such precision that at times Rose had to turn away for fear the grief she still felt for Alexander would spill over.

  Five days passed and the duke had yet to pay Gwendoline a visit. Before the breakfast shift one morning, Rose stopped to check in on Bessie on her way to the kitchen.

  ‘What do you think is taking him so long?’ Bessie asked, kneeling by her bed to change Gwendoline’s nappy.

  ‘I imagine he’s waiting for the right moment. It would be hard for him to leave with the duchess there. And coming here in broad daylight would only attract attention.’

  ‘Maybe I should go to him.’

  ‘He’ll come, don’t worry.’

  ‘Can you say something to him today? Tell him how beautiful she is. We just want to see him.’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Then Bessie burst into tears. Rose threw her arms around her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried. ‘I’m a wretched mess.’

  ‘You’re a new mother and you’re exhausted.’

  ‘I just want him to see her. If he did, then he’d fall in love with her too.’

  Gwendoline cooed in reply.

  ‘Let’s just change the subject,’ Bessie said, sniffing. She stood and returned Gwendoline to the crib. ‘What’s been happening in the kitchen?’

  ‘They’ve brought the third-class scullery maid in. She’s petrified of Mrs March. I daresay the poor girl is anxious to get back.’

  ‘Do they gossip about me much?’ Bessie cast her a sideways glance.

  ‘Not at all,’ Rose said. It wasn’t the truth. She often walked into the kitchen catching Mrs March and the other parlourmaids huddled together in gossip. They always fell silent when she entered and Rose never hung around long, eager to escape an inquisition.

  Later that afternoon, at the duke’s cottage, she tried to speak to him about Bessie and Gwendoline but there was no opportunity, nor did lunch or dinner present any. The duchess remained in the room with them the entire time, and Rose resolved to try again the following morning.

  When she arrived back at her lodgings after dinner with a plate of food for Bessie, the room was empty. Alarm bells rang in Rose’s head. Bessie wasn’t meant to leave the room.

  It was possible she’d taken a brief walk to settle the baby, though something told her exactly where she’d gone.

  Rose lit the oil lamp and sat on her bed to await their return.

  At ten o’clock, Rose heard footsteps on the verandah and the anguished cries of a hungry baby. She flung open the door and Bessie stumbled in. Gwendoline wasn’t the only one crying.

  ‘Goodness, what happened? Where have you been?’ Rose asked, taking the baby from Bessie and pacing around the room to calm her.

  Bessie was trying to speak through great hiccupping sobs. ‘I went to his cottage. He told me to go away. The duchess is in labour. He wouldn’t even look at our baby.’ The words rushed out of her in a flood. Gwendoline wailed incessantly.

  ‘Why would you go there when you were told not to?’

  ‘Because he hasn’t seen his child!’

  Rose pursed her lips. ‘I need you to get a hold of yourself now and feed the baby. She’s very distressed. Then we can talk.’

  ‘I tried to get him to take her. He pulled away, like we were diseased.’

  ‘Bessie, please!’

  Gwendoline’s cries were so loud and shrill Rose thought they must have been heard from the autoclaves.

  Bessie took the child, sat on the edge of the bed, fixed Gwendoline’s mouth to her breast and allowed the baby to suckle. Gwendoline was soothed in an instant.

  ‘That’s better,’ Rose said, touching her temples. ‘Now I can hear myself think.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he take her?’ Bessie asked. ‘His own child.’

  Rose sat beside her. ‘I don’t know. You say the duchess is in labour?’

  ‘That’s what he said. When I knocked on his door, he came out but didn’t seem pleased to see us. Through the door I could hear the doctor and nurse. I could hear the duchess in discomfort.’

  ‘She was a little quiet at dinner. I guess the labour came on shortly after that.’

  ‘My timing wasn’t good, I admit, but he’s had all week to come and see us. Why hasn’t he?’

  Rose couldn’t think of anything to say. If he was free to share his bed with Bessie every night at midnight, surely he could spare some time to see his new baby. The alarm bells sounded in her head again.

  ‘What am I to do?’ Bessie asked, her voice full of angst.

  ‘Perhaps he just needs more time. He has two births to deal with now.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t take us with him? Gwendoline and I will be forced out onto the street.’

  ‘I won’t let that happen,’ Rose insisted.
/>
  ‘It’s not up to you,’ Bessie said, her eyes welling again. ‘You heard Miss Dalton. I’m to leave with no pay or references.’

  For the second time that night, Rose couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Lady Eloise Cordelia Jane Asquith was born six days after her half-sibling, Gwendoline, on a cool and blustery May morning. News spread quickly of the birth, some hailing it an exciting royal event, others excited for other reasons, such as the prospect that the cumbersome duke and duchess might finally be on their way.

  For Bessie, however, the news sent her into decline. Disconsolate, moody and prone to teary outbursts, she confessed to Rose that she’d grown fearful for her future, unsure whether the duke had any intention of taking her, for he had yet to show interest in Gwendoline.

  News of the duke showing off Lady Eloise in the first-class dining room, dressed in a royal gown with the heavy green emerald displayed around her neck sent Bessie spiralling further.

  ‘He doesn’t even like the dining room!’ she cried when she heard.

  Rose became so concerned that she spoke privately with Miss Dalton.

  ‘She fears he will no longer take her and the baby to England with him.’

  Miss Dalton raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I’m hardly surprised it has come to this. She brought it on herself, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Please, can’t she be allowed to remain here with the baby? I’ll help her. They’ll be no trouble.’

  ‘Out of the question,’ Miss Dalton said.

  ‘Then can they be given the means to survive on the outside? Clothes, money, accommodation, good references.’

  ‘Rose, the rules have always been clear. Bessie Briar chose to break them. And if the repercussions were good for Agnes all those months ago, then I’m afraid they’re good for Bessie.’

  A week after Lady Eloise was born, Rose returned to the female staff quarters after lunch service. She had a few hours to spare before she was to return for the dinner shift.

  When she climbed the steps and opened the door to her cottage, she was confronted with a foul smell and Bessie lying in bed staring out the window.

  ‘Bessie Briar,’ she chastised. ‘When was the last time you changed little Gwendoline’s nappy?’