A HAZARD OF HEARTS (18 page)

‘Yes.’ Elly’s lips were numb. She had a terrible
premonition. ‘Will you look?’

Waiting for Paul to buy the paper, waiting while
he scanned the pages, she clasped her hands to hide their tremor. Paul grunted,
and she started, searching his face for verification of her fears. He folded
the pages and handed them to her, pointing.

‘There it is. You may make your own
interpretation.’

Elly read: “A Disgrace to Our Colony. How many
residents of Sydney Town are aware of the parlous conditions obtaining in their
only hospital for the poor and indigent?

“While the Benevolent Society offers asylum it
cannot provide the medical care which is the province of the Sydney Dispensary
and Infirmary, a crumbling ruin of a building founded on the vicious rum trade
and historically associated with an iniquitous convict system which has only
recently been done away.

“Nowadays, this temple to healing is open to the
needy upon recommendation of decent members of society. But when they enter its
doors, what do they find? Not the calm and expert attention of skilled nurses
in wards that are havens of rest and recovery, but a raucous parrot house where
abuse is hurled above the screams of the insane or those driven half-mad with pain;
where vile legions of insects crawl over helpless patients; and from open
drains and cess-pits an army of rats emerges nightly to feast upon the dead.

“The recently-appointed Acting Lady Superintendent,
a skilled and selfless nurse, has charge of some fifty beds, with often more
than two patients to a bed, and a meagre staff of slovenly, feckless women;
males are left to the tender mercies of untrained wards men. Drunkenness is
rife amongst the staff and those patients who can procure liquor through
bribery. The lack of a water supply creates enormous problems in the wards and
operating theatres, as well as in the infamous kitchen and unspeakable
mortuary, where bodies are left to rot until a member of the overworked medical
staff can find time to perform an autopsy.

“These outrageous conditions are presided over
by a Board of Directors representing the most prestigious members of our
society, including its President, the Colonial Secretary himself, and members
of the Judiciary and the Church.

“We must ask ourselves whether this state of
affairs can be permitted to continue. Where is the voice which speaks for all
those without a voice?
The Empire
is that organ. It fights for the
rights of the small man, the man without influence, and exposes the
discrimination to which he is heir through no fault of his own.
The Empire
will
continue to reveal the injustices in society as long as it exists...”

Elly crumpled the paper between her fists. ‘How
could he do it? I asked him to lead in gently. We want to attract public
interest, yes, but not to invite a scandal.’ She turned away, struggling with
her emotions.

‘J.G. has always been answerable only to
himself. He’s a crusader at heart.’

‘He’s an anarchist,’ Elly returned fiercely. ‘This
article is a bomb that has probably destroyed all I’ve worked for. How will I
face the Board? Will I have any staff left when I return? He’s your friend. Why
didn’t you warn me?’

Paul’s brows rose. ‘I thought you would
appreciate his style of help. You were so fiercely determined to clean up the
hospital and its administration. The system has to be destabilized before you
can sweep it away to replace it with another.’

‘I didn’t want an earthquake. A few warning
tremors would have started the reaction. I thought people would read about some
of the difficulties and begin to pay attention. They would seek out the next
article and talk amongst themselves, gradually concluding that they should take
an interest. Perhaps questions would be asked by influential men, causing the
Board to look more closely at our needs...’ She paused. What was the use of
repining? The damage had been done. Not even the pleasure of wringing Mr J.G.
Patterson’s neck would mend matters. She glared at Paul. ‘I wish I’d never
asked you to help. I almost wish I’d never met either of you.’

Pepper, sensing her distress, gave an anxious
yelp and flung himself at her. She clutched his warm, wriggling body for a
moment, gazing into his worried eyes. A wet tongue rasped her cheek.

‘Down, Pepper.’ Paul tugged the dog away and
deposited him firmly in the dust. He held the leash close.

‘Don’t be angry with him. He was offering me
comfort.’ Elly brushed dust from the front of her cloak.

‘Pepper always had more sense than any human
being. Allow me to be his deputy. We’ll have a drink and sit down and talk the
matter over. Something might be done to mitigate the effects of J.G’s bomb.’

‘What?’ asked Elly, baldly. ‘A retraction would
be useless. The Board could sue, but as the accusations are based on fact it
would only draw further adverse attention. The newspapers would glory in it. It
seems to me journalists are able to say absolutely anything they please without
fear of reprisal.’

‘I’m afraid that’s true.’ Paul steered her towards
a teashop advertising the finest Lapsang Souchong freshly imported from the Far
East.

Elly pulled her arm away. ‘Where are you taking
me? I should go back to the hospital at once and begin damage repair, if I can.’

‘There’s nothing you can do that couldn’t be put
off for an hour. Why let this ruin your free morning? We’ll have a cup of tea –’

‘I hate tea.’ Elly heard the petulance in her
voice and amended, ‘Buy me a beer instead.’

‘Done. Just down this alley into Pitt Street
there’s the Metropolitan Hotel which advertises “A Spacious Garden at Rear,
with Tropical Trees, etc. Arbours and Seats, a Delightful Retreat for the
Hottest Day of Summer.”‘

‘Let’s hope it’s as much a retreat from the
August winds.’ Elly clutched her skirts as a sudden gust funnelled down the
street, raising the dust in clouds and causing Pepper to sneeze.

Beneath clattering shop signs the three hurried
to the shelter of the Metropolitan’s garden and a seat at an iron table in the
sun. Elly, whose lifestyle decreed a modest number of petticoats with no
crinoline under workday clothes, had today dressed in a favourite green and
blue tartan bodice and skirt, supported by a small cage and with ruffles about
the collar and balloon cuffs. She had started out feeling smart, and now basked
in her companion’s obvious admiration as he took her cloak, laying it over the
back of the chair. It was good to feel young and unfettered for an hour. Paul
had been right. There was nothing she could do immediately about the
Empire
article,
so she might as well enjoy her small holiday.

Declining the waiter’s offer of a Stone-fence (ginger
beer and brandy) or a Madame Bishop (port, sugar and nutmeg, recommended for a
lady on a cold day) she settled for a beer, the drink she’d learned to like
during the drought last summer. Pouring half into a bowl for Pepper, she
relaxed and let the sun filter through to her bones while the conversations of
the other patrons formed a murmerous backdrop to her peace.

Finally, with a sigh, she began to discuss the
article. Paul suggested several ideas, and one or two occurred to Elly, but no
firm conclusions were reached. She found that she preferred, after all, to
await the Board’s reaction before she made any move. Paul promised to ask J.G.
to write a less vitriolic piece on the hospital and, if possible, to find some
aspect to praise. It was a poor enough suggestion, but all they could think of.

Despite Elly’s demur, Paul ordered more beer,
pointing out that Pepper was particularly thirsty.

‘He’s growing particularly rotund,’ Elly
retorted, ‘and if beer is regularly included in his diet, I’m not surprised.’ She
patted Pepper in case he should be offended, while wishing once more that the
Board would permit animals in her quarters. Pearl’s monkey was an open secret
amongst the patients, but it would only take a word from some ill-natured
person such as Jenkins to have her ejected.

The thought of Pearl made her frown. The girl
was unusually withdrawn. She handled the patients with tact and her brisk
kindness could curb the most recalcitrant, but Elly knew her heart was miles
away in the diggings. She would go when ready, and then what would become of
her, a young girl on the road alone, unprotected?

‘What else is worrying you?’ Paul asked.

‘There are always worries attached to a hospital.’
Elly didn’t elaborate, sure that he asked out of politeness.

But when she rose to leave he surprised her,
speaking with unusual hesitation. ‘Please, stay awhile longer. I want... I have
something more to say.’

‘I must go back, Mr Gascoigne. It’s not
reasonable for me to load my duties onto the others. None of them is fully
trained, although ‘feckless’ and ‘slovenly’ does not apply to all.’

‘Please. I’d like the opportunity... That is, I
don’t believe I explained fully about my work last time we met. I must have
appeared like some cockscomb, so self-assured, self-interested... Miss Ballard,
will you come to supper one night and meet some of my friends who are involved
in the political scene? It won’t be a heavy discussion or speech-making.
Nothing of that nature. But if you could just understand what it is we’re
fighting for, perhaps you would be interested.’

Elly stiffened. Not this political rubbish
again. Then from somewhere in her memory a conversation resurfaced, of herself
saying, ‘He’s stubborn and afflicted with myopia,’ and another voice with a
teasing lilt, ‘Now wouldn’t that argue a similarity of nature?’ She’d wondered
then if J.G. had been right. Had she become so single-minded as to be blind to
other interests just as valid as her own?

Under Paul’s insistent gaze, she temporized. ‘Where
were you suggesting we sup? At your home?’

‘No, indeed. There’s a tavern in Bathurst
Street,
The Earl Grey
, perfectly respectable, where people meet to argue
and exchange ideas of all kinds, a sort of artists’ cafe, if you like. Thursdays
are the popular times.’

‘Thank you. I’d like to come, next Thursday.’

His face lit. The half-smile broadened. ‘May I
call at seven o’clock?’

Elly said graciously, ‘That will be suitable.
Thank you for the beer. I must go.’ She gave Pepper a final pat, picked up her
cloak and whisked out of the garden into the street.

Heading uphill to the hospital with the westerly
wind at her back, she asked herself why her attitude towards Paul Gascoigne had
so suddenly changed, and had no answer. Was it the sincerity that underlay his
often teasing manner? J.G. had said he was ruled by a passion for justice, and
that appealed to her. Perhaps there was more to the man than mere ambition. Time
would show her.

The hospital’s entrance lobby had become a
dramatic stage, with the porter an open-mouthed audience of one. Backed up
against the stair newel, J.G. had his arms raised protectively before him, his
expression a mixture of amusement and apprehension, while inches away Pearl
hovered, a diminutive fury with hands crooked into claws, her pretty voice
shrilling invective. Her bonnet had come off and her braid hung down, swinging
with her every movement like an angry cat’s tail.

J.G. welcomed Elly’s appearance. ‘Thank God you’re
here. I can’t make out a word she says, but I’ve no doubt it includes wanting
to tear the eyes out of me head.’

She said sharply, ‘Nurse Pearl, what does this
mean? Why have you left your patients?’

Pearl didn’t appear to hear her. She made a sudden
dart at J.G., who ducked and danced aside with an impish smile.

‘Sure, now, you’d best watch yourself, girl
dear, or you’ll be taking an apoplexy.’

Spitting furiously, Pearl launched herself at
him, only to find herself held around the waist by Elly, who shook her hard. ‘Calm
yourself, Pearl. Tell me what’s wrong.’ She glared at the journalist who had
dissolved into mirth.

‘Your attitude is not helping the situation.’
Leading Pearl to the stairs she sat her down and stood over her. ‘Now, tell me.’

Pearl clenched her quivering fists in her lap. ‘He
has dishonoured us all. He has told the world we are drunken women, uncaring,
living in filth. He is a liar, a pig...’ She choked in fury.

‘Oh, I see. You’ve heard about the
Empire
article,
although its content has become muddled.’ Elly turned on J.G. ‘So, what have
you to say for yourself? I doubt whether any epithet I could apply to you would
surpass Pearl’s efforts, in Chinese or English. But I had thought better of
you, Mr J.G. Patterson.’

His dismay was almost comical. ‘But... I hoped
you’d be pleased. You wanted publicity. You wanted all the deplorable
conditions here exposed.’

Elly drew on her patience and the shreds of her
temper. ‘That’s true. However, at the same time, I asked you to make it a
gradual process, an undermining, not a direct attack. Your intemperance has
probably caused irreparable damage, and rather than thank you for it, I ask you
to abort the campaign entirely. I made a terrible mistake. I thought you were
to be trusted.’

‘Miss Ballard, I assure you –’