The Quarantine Station

by Michelle Montebello

  ‘I agree but there isn’t a priest on site.’

  ‘She will try to arrange day release for us so we can travel into the city to have it officialised.’

  Thomas smiled ruefully. ‘Hardly the ceremony I had in mind, but if it means we can live together, then we should do it. What about your things in the old room?’

  Rose shook her head sadly. ‘I can’t go back there, not after what I saw. I asked Miss Dalton to pack my suitcase and store it somewhere. I’ll collect it another time. There isn’t much there, just some old diaries, clothes and Bessie’s belongings.’

  Despite being out in public, Thomas reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Would you like to take a walk down to the cove? We haven’t been there for some time and I have an hour free.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said regretfully. ‘There’s someone I need to see first.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  She wished she knew the answer to that.

  Rose found Matron Cromwell in the medicine room of the third-class hospital, counting morphine vials in the cabinet. She closed the door and leant against the opposite bench to watch her.

  The matron didn’t look up. Her lips moved as she murmured numbers from them before writing on her inventory sheet.

  ‘Which child did you put the emerald on?’

  Matron Cromwell paused, hand suspended in the cabinet.

  Rose waited for an answer, but when one wasn’t forthcoming, she crossed her arms. ‘Matron?’

  Matron Cromwell turned around. She looked tired and her heavy bulk seemed to droop under Rose’s questioning gaze. ‘I wondered when you’d come by with that question.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Rose closed her eyes, breathed, then opened them again. ‘Was there anything that made you choose one child over the other?’

  The matron put down the inventory sheet and leant against the bench. They stood facing each other, an incomprehensible nightmare laid out between them.

  ‘When I collected them both from their cribs in the maternity ward, the room was full of smoke and I couldn’t see well. I’d realised the emerald had slipped from Lady Eloise’s neck when I trod on it on my way out. When I picked it up, I looked at each infant, but I didn’t know who it had come from.

  ‘Outside with you, in that split second, I thought I chose the correct child. But the more I think about it, the more I’m unsure.’ Matron Cromwell furrowed her brow. ‘It was chaotic, there were people everywhere and my eyes and lungs were burning. And those infants, so alike. How can I be absolutely certain?’

  ‘So what should we do?’

  Matron Cromwell straightened. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘We might have swapped the babies, Matron. We have to do something.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Matron Cromwell hissed. ‘And we do nothing. We don’t even know if an error was made. Can you imagine if we marched up to the duke and duchess and told them we might have accidentally swapped the king’s second cousin with an illegitimate bastard?’

  Rose cringed. ‘Please don’t call Gwendoline that.’

  ‘Be reasonable. What’s done is done. We should never speak of it again.’

  ‘But Matron, the wrong child could be sent to Somersby Castle. That could meddle with royal bloodlines.’

  Matron Cromwell almost smiled. ‘Well if that’s the case, so be it. Bessie Briar got the last laugh.’

  A week later, as the last of the autumn leaves fell, the Duke and Duchess of Northbury left the shores of Sydney, setting sail for England.

  They took with them a baby girl.

  Emma

  Present

  Sometime around midnight, the rain moved out to sea, leaving behind an argent moon that lit the way. Matt led them from Rose and Thomas’s cottage back to the former male staff quarters, stepping across muddy puddles and past dripping branches that wet their faces.

  ‘I’ll radio Ted and see if he’s still around to pick us up,’ Matt said, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his other hand closed around Emma’s.

  ‘It’s after midnight. Wouldn’t he have left already?’

  ‘There were two ghost tours booked.’ Matt glanced at his watch. ‘We might still catch him.’

  ‘I’m happy to walk.’ Despite the earlier rain, the evening had grown pleasant, the air heady with wet eucalyptus and wattle.

  ‘It’s a long way.’

  ‘I have good company.’ She smiled at him.

  For nine hours they’d been confined to the cottage while the rain fell. They’d spent that time pouring over the last of Rose’s diaries. Rose had documented her life as a new mother throughout the early 1920s, the highs and lows she and Thomas experienced, along with the joy of marrying and Gwendoline’s probation period coming to an end, with an invitation from Miss Dalton to stay.

  This decision appeared to have sparked a chain reaction. The station had come to the realisation that inviting families to live on the site wasn’t going to throw order into chaos, but rather open the door to a plethora of qualified staff who wouldn’t previously have been able to apply under the ‘no children’ rule. The station adapted, throwing itself into a new age.

  Rose explained the love she and Thomas felt for the little child they were raising. She had developed an inquisitive nature and a demure manner; a beautiful young soul whom they adored with all their hearts.

  Notably absent were any diaries from 1926, the year they had fled the station.

  ‘If they still exist, I know where I might find them,’ Matt had said.

  Now, as they walked, he squeezed her hand. ‘How do you feel about everything? We’ve uncovered a lot in the last few weeks.’

  ‘Well, I like the fact that you and I aren’t related.’

  ‘I like that part too,’ he said, his smile wide in the dark.

  ‘I also think that even though Rose wasn’t my biological great-grandmother, she’s always been a part of my life through Gran. And so I will always think of her as mine.’

  ‘That’s a good way to look at it.’

  ‘What I’m unsure about is how much my mother and father knew.’

  ‘Given your name, it seems likely they knew the whole story.’

  ‘And I think that’s what upsets me the most. Everyone knew about this. Gwendoline, my mother, my father. They must have known the babies were swapped, for why else would they have called me Emerald? It’s not exactly a common name. And yet, no one thought to tell me about it.’

  ‘Maybe they always planned to but never got the chance.’

  Emma nodded sadly.

  They reached Cottage Road and began the long walk back to Reception. A swarm of bats circled overhead, beating their wings against the night.

  ‘It’s incredible to think that something as inconsequential as placing an emerald on a child had the power to change so much,’ Matt said.

  ‘And yet it did.’

  ‘Do you know what this means, Em? Gwendoline is the real Lady Eloise, the true daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Northbury. She’s a second cousin to the king. That means your mother, Catherine, was the duke’s granddaughter and the king’s third cousin. You’d probably be permitted a title and land rights under the British Crown.’

  Emma cast him a look. ‘That all sounds very serious and probably hard to establish.’

  ‘And you’d have to stir up a lot of old ghosts to get to the bottom of it. But Bessie Briar’s child and her descendants may not have any legal claim to the titles they would have inherited. As for the land, we could be talking about castles, estates; acres and acres of Crown land that you and Gwendoline would be entitled to.’

  Emma breathed deeply. So many truths had been absorbed that night, so many still to come. She was barely digesting all that she’d learnt and it would be some time before she could get her head around titles and land rights and castles.

  She recalled the photograph of Rose and Bessie laughing outside the first
class kitchen, realising again that neither of those women were biologically linked to her. That in itself was extraordinary. ‘I wonder what the duke and duchess look like. If they have my brown hair and blue eyes. If my mother looked anything like them.’

  ‘We could Google a photo.’

  ‘I need to see my grandmother,’ Emma said suddenly.

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘I have to. Knowing what we know, she could probably fill in the blanks.’

  ‘It’s almost one in the morning. They’re never going to let you wake her up and start a conversation.’

  Emma glanced at her watch. ‘I guess it is a bit late.’

  They arrived back at reception. The station was deserted in that place of ghosts, where the past roamed freely after dark, whispering secrets from the shadows. In the carpark, Matt and Emma’s cars were the only two still there. Even Ted’s bus stood locked and solitary outside the reception door.

  ‘Stay at my house tonight,’ Matt said. ‘We can visit Gwendoline together in the morning.’

  Emma leant her body into his. ‘And does this stay come with breakfast?’

  ‘It comes with all sorts of things,’ he replied, kissing her.

  ‘A bed without rats or dust?’

  ‘A very clean and comfortable bed, as a matter of fact.’

  She kissed him in return, slowly, sensually, knowing that the ten-minute drive to his house would be the longest of her life.

  They barely made it through his front door when clothes were flung from their bodies. Nor did they make it to his bed, landing somewhere in the hall between the bathroom and kitchen.

  It was as if all the turmoil of the past weeks had bubbled over with the sweet knowledge that what they had was able to be explored, that they weren’t bound by history or blood ties. They were absolutely, unequivocally allowed to let this happen.

  On the cool timber boards of his Fairlight home, she gave him everything she had with complete abandonment and she was fairly certain she woke the neighbours in the next street with her orgasm, but she didn’t care.

  Never had she felt more alive, ready to take on the next day and the day after that. After years of living a solitary life, of robotically moving through the motions and never taking a gamble, she was ready for this almighty leap of faith.

  Later, they relocated to the shower where Emma washed her hair then they washed each other, laughing like teenagers. Matt ran his hands over her body, suds sliding down to be swallowed by the drain. He pulled her into him, kissed the insides of her wrists, her collarbone, her neck, her lips.

  Emma couldn’t think of a more perfect moment in her life until she heard his voice soft and low in her ear. ‘I’m crazy about you, Emma Wilcott.’

  Her stomach danced at his words as she beamed from ear to ear.

  Because she was crazy about him too.

  Gwendoline

  1926

  The boat arrived on a crisp autumn day.

  Gwendoline had been running in the cove with her friends, kicking up sand, dipping her toes in the water as it lapped calmly against the shore. The air filled with their laughter as they chased each other, all the kids that belonged to working parents on the station—housekeepers, doctors, nurses and groundsmen.

  Growing up on the station was a constant adventure and all that Gwendoline had ever known. She had lots of friends and an abundance of space to roam.

  Her mother, Rose, completed two hours of home-schooling with her each morning before she set off for her hospital shift and after that, the rest of the day was Gwendoline’s to explore.

  And while they weren’t ever permitted to leave the station, weekends with her mother and her father, Thomas, were never dull. There were picnics in the cove and fishing out in the bay with her father. They made wreaths to lay on Bessie’s grave, who Gwendoline understood was her real mother who died when she was an infant. They laid wreaths on Alexander’s grave too; Rose’s son, who’d died at birth seven years before.

  They lived in a cottage, high on a cliff, with the harbour sprawled around them like a carpet of sapphires. On clear days, Gwendoline could see all the way across to South Head. She could see the Macquarie Lighthouse and yachts bobbing in the water.

  So small was she high up on that cliff that she often wondered about the world beyond the station. What lives were people living across the water? What were children like her doing?

  Sometimes, like the tiniest whisper in her ear, she had the oddest sensation that she didn’t belong there, that perhaps she was in the wrong place.

  Gwendoline was the first to see the boat arrive that morning. She pointed it out to her friends and it was met with cries of glee, for fewer boats arrived these days.

  It anchored out in the bay, a magnificent naval ship with the words HMS Renown on the hull and a flag with a large Union Jack flapping from the bow. Gwendoline and the other children watched as a rowboat was sent out to collect a single passenger. This was intriguing, for usually all passengers disembarked. The rowboat collected just one man.

  ‘Gwendoline, lunch.’

  Gwendoline turned, squinting against the sun, and saw her mother standing at the top of the cove calling for her. A slender hand shaded her eyes, blocking the sun as she too, stared out at the anchored ship with the coat of arms and Union Jack flag.

  Rose stepped down onto the sand, hurrying towards her as the man in the rowboat reached the wharf. He climbed out and straightened his tailor-made tweed suit and hat. He had no luggage with him, just a piece of paper flapping in the breeze as he walked.

  ‘Children, head back now and wash up before lunch,’ Rose said quickly.

  The instruction was met with groans, but they dispersed obediently as Gwendoline remained where she was, watching her mother with interest. Her face had grown tight, a frown appearing on her lips.

  The man had seen them and he stepped down onto the sand, approaching briskly. Rose moved Gwendoline behind her.

  ‘Hello there, ma’am,’ he said pleasantly, removing his hat and holding out his hand to shake hers politely. ‘I’m Mr Williams, personal assistant to His Royal Highness, the Duke of Northbury, first cousin to the king.’

  ‘Mrs Van Cleeve.’

  ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Van Cleeve. Where may I find,’ he consulted a piece of paper, ‘a Miss Dalton, Head of Housekeeping?’

  ‘Miss Dalton is no longer here. She left the station in 1920.’

  He consulted his paper again. ‘How about a Matron Cromwell?’

  ‘She passed in 1922 from tuberculosis.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘That’s a terrible shame. I’m here in an official capacity. Can you point me in the direction of the superintendent?’

  Rose’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘The superintendent is off-site today. And we don’t allow the public to walk freely throughout the station. Perhaps you can relay your business through me.’

  The man hesitated.

  ‘I’m a sister at the hospital. Quite senior,’ she added.

  He looked around, eyes sweeping the cove. There was no one else on the beach. He sighed. ‘Very well. I come on behalf of the duke and duchess. They resided here for twelve months from 1918 to 1919. In fact, they had a child here, young Lady Eloise.’

  Gwendoline noticed how pale her mother had become. ‘I vaguely recall them,’ she replied.

  ‘Jolly good. So you were around during that time?’

  ‘I was.’

  Mr Williams’ eyes fell on Gwendoline, who was peeking out from behind her mother’s uniform. ‘And who do we have here?’ He bent down to meet her at eye level. ‘What’s your name, little one?’

  ‘Gwendoline Van Cleeve.’

  ‘And how old are you?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Seven? Interesting.’ Mr Williams’ eyebrows went up. ‘What lovely dark hair you have, Gwendoline. And those eyes, bluer than the ocean.’

  Rose pushed Gwendoline behind her again. ‘You’ve come a long way, Mr Williams. What is it we
can do for you?’

  ‘I’ll be frank. The duke and duchess are concerned that on the night of a hospital fire in May 1919, their baby infant, Lady Eloise, was accidentally swapped with another child.’

  Rose gasped. ‘Why would they think such a thing?’

  ‘I’m not going to beat around the bush, Mrs Van Cleeve. Little Eloise is a delightful child, highly spirited and extremely outspoken, with dark brown eyes and a head full of golden curls. And while Lady Cordelia adores her, she has voiced her doubts to her husband and he shares the same concern. They do not believe the child is theirs.’

  ‘Well, that’s quite an assumption to make,’ Rose said, her voice quivering slightly. ‘Perhaps the child’s hair will darken and her eye colour will change.’

  ‘She’s seven years old. I doubt there will be significant change now. It’s beside the point. The duke has spoken to me in confidence. He believes the child they are raising belonged to a scullery maid by the name of Bessie Briar, one that he fathered in 1918.’

  Gwendoline had been listening languorously to the conversation but her ears pricked up at the mention of Bessie’s name. What was the man saying? That the girl he called Lady Eloise, with the dark eyes and golden curls, was Bessie’s real daughter.

  ‘I was there the night of the fire, Mr Williams. I held both infants in my arms.’

  ‘So you were there? You handed the baby to Lady Cordelia?’

  Rose’s spine straightened. ‘I did.’

  ‘And you are certain you gave them the correct child?’

  Gwendoline saw her mother hesitate. ‘I am.’

  ‘Intriguing.’

  Rose chewed her lip. ‘What would happen if, in the unlikely event, a mistake did occur?’

  Mr Williams smiled encouragingly at her. ‘Well, I would take the correct child with me back to England, the exchange would be made at Somersby Castle and the incorrect child would be shipped back here.’

  ‘Like a business transaction? They’re just children, Mr Williams.’

  ‘It’s the best way.’

  Gwendoline was sure her mother had almost swooned. ‘I’m awfully sorry, but you’ve come a long way for nothing.’