The Ivory Rose (14 page)

‘Doctor Anderson, could I ask you a question?’ Jemma asked tentatively.

‘Yes, Jemma, of course,’ replied the doctor kindly. ‘Is it about your memory?’

‘No,’ Jemma shook her head. ‘It’s about some babies I saw today, who were very skinny but with big, swollen heads. It looked really strange. What could cause that?’

Doctor Anderson sighed and put down his medical bag. ‘Where did you see these babies, Jemma?’

‘There’s a baby farmer, Ma Murphy, who lives in Breillat Street,’ Jemma explained. ‘I took her some bread and helped her with the babies. There were twelve of them, sleeping in
boxes. They were very quiet and still. I’m … I’m worried they’re going to die.’

Doctor Anderson pushed his spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose and rubbed his forehead as though he had a headache. Georgiana sat up, listening in horror, her quilt pulled up to her chin.

‘It sounds like some of the infants might have fluid on the brain,’ Doctor Anderson decided. ‘It’s caused by being administered strong narcotics, such as laudanum, to keep them quiet. That, together with malnutrition, would cause the babies to die a slow and agonising death.’

‘No,’ cried Georgiana.

‘How can she do that?’ demanded Jemma, trembling with anger. ‘It’s murder – why doesn’t someone stop her? She’s starving them to death.’

‘That’s barbaric,’ Georgiana added. ‘How could such a thing happen?’

The doctor patted Jemma on the arm.

‘It’s complicated,’ Doctor Anderson explained. ‘Infants die all the time. About one in ten babies will die before their first birthday, and nearly one-quarter of children die before they turn five of some illness or the other.’

‘Why do so many children have to die?’ demanded Georgiana, who had never considered how the poor people lived just a few streets away.

Doctor Anderson sighed, stroking his beard with his forefinger. ‘Georgiana, mostly it is ignorance and poverty. Disease is caused by poor sanitation and poor diet. I’m certain many of those deaths could be avoided with proper medical care and nutrition.’

Georgiana shook her head in disbelief. ‘But what about doctors – surely you could save them?’

‘Many parents can’t afford to call doctors, or they wait until it is too late. Or the damage is done to their tiny bodies before the disease takes hold. Many children are just not strong enough to survive the illness.’

Doctor Anderson closed his eyes and continued rubbing his forehead, as though trying to banish the image of sick and dying children.

‘No, but Ma Murphy is deliberately starving these babies,’ Jemma insisted.

‘If she actually strangled or smothered the babies, then it’s easy to prove murder,’ continued Doctor Anderson firmly. ‘But while I’m sure this woman, Ma Murphy, is neglecting the babies, they may not die, or if they do it would be hard to prove the deaths are unnatural.’

Jemma shook her head in disgust. ‘How can you say that?’ she demanded. ‘You’re a doctor. It’s your job to save lives – not make excuses!’

Jemma ran from the room, her head throbbing.

‘Jemma!’ called Georgiana. ‘Jemma, are you all right?’

Jemma ignored the call and ran down to the cellar to pretend to fetch coal.

On Saturday morning, Miss Rutherford had a migraine and kept to her bed. Agnes spent the morning fussing over her, carrying up pots of chamomile tea, iced water and wet cloths.

Georgiana was up, but Miss Rutherford kept sending messages via Agnes that she was making too much noise – pacing up and down her room, slamming a book, playing the grand piano – so at last Agnes suggested that Jemma take Georgiana for a walk out of the house to give Miss Rutherford some respite.

‘You’re to make sure Miss Georgiana dresses warmly and stays out of draughts,’ Agnes instructed. ‘Don’t talk to any strange men, and don’t go into the laneways. Some of those larrikins have been known to entice well-to-do children into back lanes and steal the very clothes off their backs.’

Jemma nodded, looking attentive, although inside she was bubbling with anticipation at the thought of escaping the chores.

‘Walk up Johnston Street a couple of blocks to Hinsby Park,’ ordered Agnes. ‘It’s not far. Walk Miss Georgiana around the park a few times, perhaps sit in the shade. It would be good if you could keep her out of the house for an hour or so, but be careful not to tax her strength.’

Both Jemma and Georgiana were overjoyed to escape the confines of the house. Connie gazed after them imploringly – she had to scrub Georgiana’s room with carbolic acid to kill any lingering germs.

‘What do you normally do with your days, Georgie – I mean, when you’re well?’ asked Jemma as they strolled up Johnston Street, passing the long row of imposing Witches’ Houses.

‘Well, when Miss Babot was my governess I did lessons most days – British history, geography, botany, drawing, algebra, arithmetic, reading and writing. Miss Babot used to take me on excursions. We’d go by ferryboat over to Manly or catch an omnibus into the city or to the beach at Bondi. That was fun.’

Georgiana sighed, kicking a pebble along the path.

‘Until a few weeks ago I had lessons twice a week with a dancing master in Glebe and German lessons with a Fräulein around the corner. When I first started getting sick, Aunt Harriet thought it was better if I stayed home, so I’ve read nearly every book in the house.’

‘What about friends? Don’t you get lonely?’ asked Jemma, thinking about the amount of time she spent with her own friends during and after school.

Georgiana stared at her black lace-up boots, which Jemma had polished that morning to a lustrous shine.

‘My aunt doesn’t like me to spend time with most of the children around here. She thinks they’re too common and a bad influence. I used to play with a family that lived next door, but their father’s business went bankrupt a couple of years ago and they moved away. The new family is Catholic and my aunt doesn’t approve of them.’

‘Because they’re Catholic?’ asked Jemma, surprised.

Georgiana nodded.

‘That’s just silly!’

Across the road, Hinsby Park was filled with flowers, neatly kept lawns and rose beds. While pretty, it was hardly an exciting place to visit. Two nannies, covered in shawls and bonnets, sat gossiping on the park bench, high-wheeled perambulators parked beside them. Their older charges ran up and down the path in their royalblue velvet dresses and lace collars, bowling hoops along with sticks. Two matching, fluffy white dogs barked at their heels.

‘Shall we keep on walking?’ suggested Jemma. ‘Are you feeling all right? Perhaps we should walk up to Booth Street.’

Georgiana nodded, her eyes shining.

Once again, Booth Street was a hive of people, horses, bicycles and carriages. A swaying double-decker omnibus, crowded with passengers, rumbled by, the driver flicking his whip at the four magnificent draught horses.

The girls strolled along, peering into the shops, dodging pedestrians and half-starved, slinking dogs. There was the butcher and baker, a musical instrument repairman, the
boot and shoemaker, and the photographer. The pub on the corner was already crowded with unemployed men drinking ale and telling yarns.

Hawkers, with laden baskets and barrows, called out their wares.

‘Muffins. Get your fresh muffins.’

‘Apples, crunchy and delicious.’

‘Pies. Hot pies – a penny apiece.’

The grocer sold sacks of flour, oatmeal, sugar and sago alongside matches, candles, twists of boiled lollies and tins of treacle. Next door, the Italian greengrocer proudly displayed mounds of polished red apples, bright oranges, cabbages, onions and potatoes.

‘Shall we visit the costumier?’ asked Georgiana, pointing into another shop. ‘We don’t have any money, but we can look at the goods.’

Georgiana pushed her way into the shop. The interior was dark and crowded with a long timber counter down the centre. Shelves held rolls of muslin sprigged with roses, rich velvets, practical navy serge, heavy lace and pale cottons. Higher up were displayed sun bonnets, straw boaters and broad-brimmed hats.

A laconic shopgirl glanced up from where she was rolling braid, then ignored them.

‘We’d like to look at ribbon, if you please,’ ordered Georgiana imperiously, standing beside the counter.

The girl wandered over and pulled open drawers under the counter that were filled with rolls of satin ribbon, braid and lace trim, in a rainbow of colours and widths. Georgiana
ooohed
over a wide, periwinkle-blue satin.

The shopgirl had obviously decided they were not
worthwhile customers and returned to her braid, nose in the air.

Jemma pulled open another couple of drawers that held dozens of pairs of soft kid gloves and a selection of fringed Spanish shawls made of silk. Jemma ran her work-roughened hand over the fine fabric, marvelling in its soft, rich texture.

Georgiana pulled a crimson shawl from the drawer and draped it around her shoulders, admiring her image in the mirror. This earned her a snooty glare from the shopgirl.

‘Are you quite all right there, miss?
Madame
doesn’t approve of her merchandise being handled.’

Jemma tossed her head, annoyed by the girl’s superior manner. ‘My mistress is seeking a very expensive present for her aunt,’ she retorted, her own nose firmly in the air. ‘However, there obviously isn’t
anything
suitable here.’

The girl flushed and hurried forward, her demeanour completely changed. ‘Oh, in that case, perhaps I can show you our paisley shawls, or an ivory fan?’

‘No, thank you,’ Georgiana said flatly, dropping the silk back on the counter, her tone freezing in its civility. ‘But please tell
Madame
that Miss Thornton called by and was very disappointed that she was not available to assist.’

Georgiana swept out of the shop, followed by Jemma. As soon as the door thudded behind them, the girls collapsed in giggles.

‘What a Miss Toffee-nose!’ Georgiana said. ‘Did you see her face when you said we wanted to buy something expensive? That was hilarious!’

Jemma laughed, clutching Georgiana’s arm.

‘I wonder what
Madame
will say when she hears your message?’

‘Miss Toffee-nose will be
far
too scared to tell her.’

The girls hurried down the footway, chattering and giggling.

‘Oh, look, there’s Molly,’ called Jemma. ‘Hello, Molly.’

Molly was carrying a laden wash basket, wearing her usual tattered clothes. A young boy limped along beside her with another huge basket. A flicker of recognition crossed Molly’s face, but when she saw Georgiana her face closed down and she marched on.

‘Molly,’ Jemma repeated. ‘This is Georgiana. Where are you going?’

Molly reluctantly stopped, shifting the basket onto one hip, and nodded stiffly at Georgiana.

‘Tommy and I have to deliver the shirts today,’ Molly explained. ‘Ma’s helping a neighbour who had a baby.’

‘Oh, lovely,’ replied Jemma. ‘Was it a boy or girl?’

‘Boy, but the little ’un died. The mother’s taken poorly and Ma’s trying to save her.’

‘Oh no,’ Georgiana sympathised. ‘That’s terrible – why didn’t they call the doctor?’

Molly shrugged her thin shoulders in resignation. ‘It’s probably just as well. They already have four children and can’t really afford another mouth to feed, or a doctor. Ma’ll help as best she can. If it’s God’s will, the mother will get better. If not, the children will end up in the orphanage, I guess.’

Georgiana looked horrified. Tommy put the heavy basket down on the footpath and rubbed his sore leg.

‘What have you done to your leg, Tommy?’ Jemma asked, trying to change the subject.

‘Nothin’,’ replied Tommy with a scowl.

Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s had it all his life. The midwife wrenched his leg when he was being born and it never grew properly. That’s why he has to work hard at school – he’ll never get a job at the timber yards with a bung leg like that.’

Jemma felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. There was so much poverty. So much sickness. There didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do to change things.

‘Anyway, come on, Tommy. We’d better get these shirts delivered to the tailor.’

Jemma waved goodbye distractedly. Molly marched off, Tommy struggling along behind.

‘I can’t believe they haven’t called a doctor,’ confided Jemma. ‘How much is a life worth?’ She was so preoccupied with thoughts of the dead baby and the dying mother and the incompetent midwife that she stepped out onto the road without looking.

A sulky bowled by at a clipping rate, driven by a man with a walrus moustache and a black bowler hat. The man cursed and dragged the horses up, the left horse rearing. Georgiana grabbed Jemma’s arm and pulled her back onto the footpath.

‘Watch where you’re going, lass,’ shouted the driver, shaking his whip. ‘I could’ve killed you.’

Jemma was shaking with shock at the near miss.

‘That’s the second time you’ve nearly been run over, Jemma.’ Georgiana rubbed Jemma gently on the arm.
‘Lucky I was here to save you,’ she teased. ‘I must be your guardian angel.’

‘Thanks, Georgie,’ Jemma replied with a trembling smile.

I thought I was here to save Georgiana’s life
, Jemma thought.
Not the other way around
.

‘Let’s go home,’ suggested Georgiana. ‘That’s quite enough excitement for one day.’