A HAZARD OF HEARTS (11 page)

‘Captain Petherbridge is scarcely likely –’
Pearl began again.

‘Oh, no doubt it was just a breeze brushing my
skin to make me shiver. Yet I wish... No, never mind.’

Pearl held her peace, but watched even more
closely, unable to decide whether the sexual tension developing between the
Captain and Jo-Beth was any more than mutual attraction denied. Whatever it
might be, it was growing, and Pearl found it all quite interesting.

The still shadows lay deep around the life-boat.
But now, within those shadows there was movement, as two figures clutched and
strained together, mouth upon mouth, breast to breast and thighs pressed so
hard against one another that the pulsations throughout Ethan Petherbridge’s
body shook Jo-Beth as if with fever. She was on fire. Her corset and petticoats
stifled her. She longed to be free of them, to know this man’s flesh against
her own.

With Ethan’s hands at the neck of her gown her
own hands went up to tear at the collar, pulling it aside to let the heat out
and allow Ethan’s questing fingers to enter. In her wildest moments she’d never
known such sensation, such a slipping of the boundaries as her body’s demands
overtook her will. Her numbed mind allowed one brief clear thought to form,
that this was victory, but it was also folly, then sank back into chaos as a hand
closed on her breast, sending a current of exquisite lightning through her. Nothing
existed beyond his arms and the taste of his mouth on hers.

‘My own beauty,’ Ethan murmured against her lips
before stepping back from her, withdrawing his hand and closing the neck of her
gown with precision.

Jo-Beth clutched at the chain on the life-boat
while the world still reeled around her. When it steadied, she opened her eyes,
struggling against her confusion. A stray beam from a lamp on the masthead
revealed Ethan’s expression, amused and uncompromising. His voice, so
thrillingly deep, so expressive, was firm.

‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Are you now satisfied?’

The moment stretched and expanded while Jo-Beth absorbed
the shock. Ears ringing, her breath trapped in her throat, she was immobilised.
Seconds later she felt a blush rising to flame in her cheeks, releasing her. Her
hand swooped but was caught and held. Her swift indrawn breath tangled in a web
of angry tears and she choked, livid with herself, with him, with the whole
situation.

‘You can’t go on behaving this way, you know.’ He
sounded infuriatingly reasonable. The fingers of her free hand curled. ‘You will
end by ruining yourself. You must know it. I respect your intelligence. I
admire your wit, and no less, your lovely person. But at present you’re
behaving like a fool.’

‘How dare you! Let me loose.’ Still incoherent,
she tried to tear her hand free, discovering it might as well have been encased
in rock. With her other hand she raked the skin of his fingers, and heard him
laugh as he captured her, drawing her closer, forcing her to look up into his
bearded face.

‘Little cat. Be still and listen for once to
someone who has your welfare at heart. Oh, yes. All appearances to the
contrary, I am not unwounded by your arrows. You might even say I’ve reached
the point of surrender. My feelings – ‘

Jo-Beth had recovered her voice, which she now
made as glacial as possible, considering the combustion going on inside her. ‘I’m
not interested in your feelings. Release me at once.’

Surprisingly, he did, so suddenly that she
rocked back against the life-boat. Her rage was fuelled by a mental image of
her appearance. With shaking fingers she rebuttoned her collar, clutching at
her hair slipping down, knowing she resembled the slut he had all but named
her.

Ethan watched her, his voice warming as he said,
‘You’re still young and inexperienced, despite your efforts to convince me
otherwise; and I understand your need to rebel against the confines of your
life. But this is not the way, my dear. Believe me.’

‘Why should I? You know nothing about me,
except...’ Chagrined, she paused.

‘Except that through habit, wishing to annoy
your parents, you determined to enslave the nearest eligible male. It’s a
dangerous game if you meet the wrong opponent. Fortunately, I’ve fallen in love
with you, and will protect you from yourself.’

‘A game! You will protect... Ohh!’ Jo-Beth
crammed her fists against her mouth to stifle her shriek of outrage. The
arrogance of the man – so sure in his judgement of her, yet blind to her tumble
into the pit she’d dug for him. For the truth had hit her along with the
hurricane of passion only minutes before. She was desperately in love with her
proposed victim. It was fully thirty seconds before the rest of his statement
penetrated.

‘Did you say you loved me?’ Her incredulity drew
another laugh from him.

‘I did say that. Do you dislike it?’

She thought about the past few days and how her
casual desire to capture this man had escalated into a driving need. Could he
possibly feel the same – that the game they played had become a hunt in
earnest, a pursuit that must end in consumation? She recalled the heat between
them, her desire to bury her whole body in his, to know his flesh on hers...
and shivered. ‘How can I believe you?’

‘A man who didn’t love you might not have
stopped when I did.’ He regained her hand and raised it to his lips. The brush
of his moustache reawakened the quiver of excitement that had preceded her
headlong dive into the maelstrom. ‘I do love you, Jo-Beth. I love your untamed spirit,
your perfect body, your eyes so full of truth and courage. I want you by my
side as I sail the oceans of the world. Will you come with me, my heart?’

She was gripped by a sudden longing to respond. What
a life that would be, change, adventure, untrammelled save for the loving
restraints of a husband who had earned her respect. She knew his crew trusted
him. He was kind – witness his treatment of Pearl – while his integrity shone against
the shabbiness of so many others. And he could make her heart soar. Searching
his face in the dimness, seeing only the gleaming eyes holding hers, she knew she
wanted him, whatever the cost.

There would be a price. This man, straightforward,
toughened by his lifestyle, would not easily compromise. Accustomed to command,
he’d find it hard to give way to her; she’d have to fight him at times. But
that sort of conflict would add spice to their lives. And she knew he would
never use his great strength against her.

Yet she hesitated. ‘Would you love me always,
Ethan? Would you really keep me at your side, wherever you go, whatever you do,
as your companion and friend, as well as wife?’

‘Always and forever. You need never fear chains
again, my lovely rebel.’

‘Then I will love you and wed you, Ethan
Petherbridge, and we’ll sail the world together.’

As he stepped forward eagerly, she fell into his
embrace, her mouth raised to meet his in a kiss that was a tender promise for
the future.

Elly stood inside the door in the eight
foot high stone wall and gazed across a stone-paved court at the building facade.
It was the centre one of three – long, double- storied, the pillared verandahs
giving a chilly shade on this crisp March morning. A sharp wind blew uphill
from the harbour, rattling the square-paned windows and pressing Elly’s skirts
against her legs. Gum trees and young Moreton Bay figs clashed their leaves
around the Old Convict Barracks on the corner, and dust flew up, discouraging
the usual Hyde Park saunterers. It was no day for lingering to admire the view,
magnificent as it might be. Elly grasped her meagre bag of necessities,
supplied against her conscience by Paul Gascoigne, and walked up the front
steps.

Peering into the empty porter’s office, she
crossed an unswept lobby, feeling grit crunch under her boots. At the foot of a
staircase she turned left down a hallway but had only gone a few yards when a
door sprang open suddenly and a man darted out, almost knocking her over. Elly
reeled back, dropping her bag.

‘Who the hell are you?’ He paused, eyed her
closely. ‘I beg your pardon, madam, but I’m in the devil of a hurry.’

He grabbed the bag, thrusting it into her hands,
closing the door behind him at the same time. Narrow as a churchyard rail, he
emitted a medicinal odour that reminded Elly of her father, while the stains
and smears on his coat proclaimed his calling all too well.

Elly said quickly, ‘Sir, can you direct me to
the Matron’s room?’

Already on his way down the corridor, he threw
his words over his shoulder. ‘Upstairs to the right.’ He disappeared through
another doorway.

Elly retraced her steps to the lobby and climbed
the stairs, which creaked under her feet, as did the bare boards on the top
floor. A white-washed corridor ran the length of the building, its walls
cracked and dingy and broken intermittently by scarred doors. One door bore a
sign with LADY SUPERINTENDENT printed on it. She knocked loudly, since the
building resounded with voices calling, moaning, some even shrieking – muffled
by the closed doors, but still distressing to hear. Elly was startled when, with
her hand raised to knock once more, the Matron’s door opened and a starched cap
shot out almost in her face.

‘Come in. Come in. Sit, do. I’m that distracted today
I don’t know whether I’m on my head or heels.’

The owner of the cap, a dumpling of a woman in a
tight black bombazine dress and the tiniest boots Elly had seen on an adult,
fluttered back to a table squeezed in under the window and sat down.

Wondering whether everyone in the building made
a habit of going through doors like charging bulls, Elly accepted the
invitation to enter a room lined and compressed by wall cabinets into a slit
little wider than the window. She took the only other chair, opposite the
table, and found herself face to face with the woman. Sunlight pouring through
the uncurtained glass cruelly revealed lines of worry in a skin like pitted tallow,
but the woman smiled hopefully as she held out a hand to Elly.

‘I’m Mrs Box, the Matron, only the Board prefers
the title “Lady Superintendent”. My dear, welcome to the Sydney Dispensary and
Infirmary. We take in the poorer citizens on recommendation, you know. Now that
transportation has ceased, the old idea of a convict establishment has gone for
ever.’ She took a breath. ‘You have come in answer to the advertisement, of
course. Now, tell me all about yourself.’

Elly glanced around the room once more, mentally
preparing her approach, noting the partition dividing a once reasonable space
to create more of an alleyway than an office. Through the thin wall she could
hear quarrelling voices and the clangour of metal being dropped.

She raised her own voice. ‘I’m afraid I know
nothing about an advertisement, Matron. I landed at the Sydney Quay only twenty
minutes ago and came straight here in the hope of obtaining a nursing position
with you.’

The plump shoulders sank. The starch seemed to
go out of the Matron’s bonnet. ‘Oh, dear, how vexatious. I did so hope... You
seemed like someone... A definite improvement on the usual style of
applicant...’

Elly studied the woebegone face. ‘What is the difficulty,
Matron? Perhaps I can help.’

The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t know... They said
it must be someone well qualified. I can’t go on without a trained assistant. But
it’s so difficult to find... ‘ Her hands picked agitatedly at her collar.

Elly’s heartbeat quickened. ‘You’re seeking an experienced
nurse? What qualifications must be met?’

The woman peered at her more closely, her
interest sharpened. ‘Why, well, experience in nursing, of course, plus the
control of staff and patients. It would be such a help if you could make out
reports for the Board of Directors. Mr Deas Thomson - he’s an Honourable, you
must know – is most particular in the matter of reports. But there are so few
women able to...’ Again she drew in her breath. ‘Could you do it?’

Elly thought rapidly. Dared she try for it,
without any real credentials? Yet this could be her entree to the medical
world, where opportunities might occur, or be made to happen.

‘I believe I could satisfy the Board as to my
suitability, Mrs Box. How many wards are there?’

The Matron began to tick off items on her fingers.
‘There are seven in all, two female, both on this floor, with twenty beds to
the ward, although we fit more than one person to each bed. There are two
honorary physicians plus two honorary surgeons on staff, augmented by the
divisional surgeons, with Mr Hugh Houston as our resident in charge.’

‘How many nursing staff do you have?’

‘We have three female nurses with twelve wards
men for the male patients.’ Mrs Box paused, perhaps seeing Elly’s expression
alter. ‘We are sadly understaffed, but the Board has promised this will change.
I could perhaps arrange a slightly higher salary. Should you prove
satisfactory.’

The hastily tacked-on phrase at the end amused
Elly, now aware of Matron’s desperate need. Well, she’d give good value and
earn the extra money. ‘How much are you offering, Mrs Box?’

‘Twenty pounds per annum, all found.’