A HAZARD OF HEARTS Read online

  He managed to be both aloof and amused, staring down his long nose and piping, ‘Young lady, permit me to point out who is the qualified medical practitioner here. What-ever your limited experiences, they are not to be compared with my own. I must ask you to leave me with my patient.’

  Elly tilted her head back to meet his gaze and tried to sound more pleasantly amenable than she felt. ‘Of course I’ll go, if you want me to. Yet I could be of assistance to you. I know the townsfolk and the background to their troubles. I can assist you in operations, care for your patients in convalescence. I can even make all my father’s notes available to...’

  His look of dismay stopped her. What had she said? More urgently now, seeing denial in his face, she added, ‘Doctor Ballard’s large experience in care of burns would be valuable, particularly in the matter of muscle atrophy caused by immobilising the limb...’ Again she stopped, warned by something in the atmosphere.

  For some seconds Harwood stared down at her, his cold eyes locked with a pair as vividly blue as the southern summer skies and presently just as hot, betraying Elly’s true feelings.

  ‘Madam, I’m not answerable to you or any person other than my confreres, and I certainly do not require your assistance. Kindly leave, Miss Ballard.’

  Angry tears stung beneath her lids as she swept out, aware of Bessie’s hostility and Harwood’s barely repressed contempt. She hurried off down the dusty street towards her own small cabin set at a distance from the others in the shade of several eucalypts, the trees so despised by this interloper. She breathed in their aromatic scent as she sped inside to throw down the medical bag which accompanied her on her visits to patients. Ex-patients, more like. Doctor Harwood had made it clear he didn’t want her near them.

  Having placed the kettle on the fire she sat down in her father’s chair, a solid Windsor wheel-back that had come from his home in Perthshire and stayed with him throughout his travels. That chair, more than anything in her life, epitomized her father. He’d occupied it when seeing patients, exuding the confidence that helped start the healing process; and again, each evening after dinner, he’d been there, book in hand, pipe drooping, for an hour of unspoken companionship. While she had this chair her father’s presence remained with her.

  Her half-tame currawong swept down from the trees to land on the windowsill, cocking a golden eye. Sunlight burnished his elegant black back and a stream of liquid notes poured from his throat.

  Elly glared at him. ‘I’m parboiled, sticky and enraged,’ she told the bird. ‘I have a right to be. The temperature is over one hundred degrees in the shade and that man is a charlatan. He can’t possibly have earned a medical degree. Father would have stripped away his pretence within a day. “Injurious humours”, indeed!’

  The currawong carolled, and Elly dragged herself out of the chair to make a pot of tea. She ignored the empty meat safe hanging overhead, its curtain of sacking dried hard in the heat, and took a knife and tin from the dresser, carrying them to the well-scrubbed table. Only the heel of a loaf remained, as hard as the sacking, but she could soften it in the tea. Cutting an extra slice she fed pieces absentmindedly to the bird while she turned over her problem.

  This new man had swallowed the loyalties of The Settlement as easily as a snake taking eggs in an untended nest, and he clearly planned to be rid of her. That alone increased her suspicion that he wasn’t the qualified medical man he pretended to be. Might he be afraid of revealing himself before someone with even a small amount of medical knowledge? Someone like Elly? If he was acting a part while intending to take over her dead father’s practice in The Settlement, he couldn’t risk having her around to question his credibility, because he’d know she’d stand up to him if she caught him risking the lives of her townsfolk.

  A shadow passed across the window and she looked up to see Old Susan peering in. Elly beckoned and the woman’s sun-furrowed cheeks screwed themselves into ingratiating lines as she hastened through the door and dropped onto a bench, her body sagging like the week’s wet wash.

  ‘Can you spare a drop o’tea, Elly? I got something to tell you.’

  Elly reached for another cup, recalling that Old Susan took almost as much pleasure in the fine china as she did in swilling the brew around her toothless gums while dreaming up new, interesting symptoms to confound her father. It was easy to give her pleasure.

  ‘What did you want to tell me?’

  The faded eyes followed her movements as the pot was heated and tea carefully measured then ladled in. ‘Some’un should warn you. There’s talk in the town.’

  Elly replaced the kettle and straightened up. ‘What kind of talk?’

  ‘Bad talk. That new doctor’s been saying things, like you don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘I know he wants to prove himself superior.’ Elly hid her worry under a smile, adding almost to herself, ‘He’s so insecure he has to make me look inadequate to bolster his image.’

  Old Susan looked confused. ‘I don’t know about that, but I do know he’s blaming you for Juniper Jones’ bad back and Millie Cross’s baby’s croup and –’

  ‘All right, Susan. I understand. It’s no good me pointing out that Juniper disobeyed my instructions to stay in bed and instead went out and chopped wood until he collapsed, or that the Cross baby lies in a damp cot and never sees the sunlight. I could quote any number of other cases where people refuse to help themselves. No doctor on earth can cure human wilfulness, but Harwood has to see someone take the blame.’

  Old Susan nodded, although it was doubtful whether she appreciated, as Elly did, the crux of the situation. The townspeople needed to believe in Harwood’s skill. They were delighted at their luck in obtaining a new doctor so suddenly after the death of the old one, and of course they believed he would naturally be superior to any unqualified female, however useful she’d been in the interim.

  Also, she knew that her passionate dedication to her patients, her fear that he would harm them, had delivered her into his hands. He was using her own outspokenness against her, deriding her methods from the pinnacle of his own unassailable professional heights.Well, if she wasn’t wanted here, if the loyalty of her neighbours shifted, she supposed she would have to go. There were other towns where she could put her skills to good use amongst strangers, if she must.

  Depressed at the thought, she finished her tea and cleared up. Time would solve her problem, she thought, as she sent Old Susan off with a piece of loaf for her supper.

  ~*~

  It only took another two days. On her way to the store for supplies Eleanor heard a terrible outcry behind her, and turned to see Molly O’Bannion rush from her cabin screaming that her Maureen was dying. Elly dropped her basket and ran, with half the loiterers following. Inside the cabin she almost fell over the pig, then righting herself, discovered that Dr Harwood had managed to be ahead of her. His lean shape bent over a child who writhed on her cot, her lungs straining for air. The doctor had taken his tin of medical instruments from his pocket, laying out the contents on a box beside the cot. He fumbled amongst them, dislodging flakes of rust and nameless encrusted material.

  Elly pushed up the canvas over the window to let in more light. ‘What is it? An obstruction?’ she asked.

  He turned a sweating face to her. ‘God knows. A nut or fruit stone, perhaps.’

  ‘Have you put her over your knee and thumped her back?’

  His nod was unconvincing and, seizing the small body, Elly tried the remedy several times but without success.

  The little girl now lay limp in her arms, all her failing energies concentrated on drawing the next breath.

  ‘I can’t shift it. What about forceps?’

  He said sharply, ‘I’ve tried, dammit. They will not reach.’

  ‘Cut her throat.’ It was the mother, Molly O’Bannion, panting from her hysterical outburst. Her fat face had gone the colour of dough and she clutched at her breast as if something pained her there. They barely had time to regi
ster shock at her words when she continued, ‘The old doctor did it. He cut into Jim Ridley’s throat to save him. Ask her. Ask his daughter.’

  She pointed at Elly, who shook her head. ‘Too dangerous. Let me try the forceps.’

  Harwood rounded on her. ‘Kindly put my patient down again and move back. I am about to make an incision.’ Sweat now oozed from each pore of his face to trickle down his chin. His pale eyes shifted away from Elly’s as she laid the child back on her cot.

  ‘Wait. Do you... Are you familiar...?’ She stuttered to a stop. Drawing a deep breath, she said firmly, ‘Those instruments have not been cleaned since their last use.’ She swept around to the crowd who had pushed into the cabin. ‘Someone fetch my medical case for Doctor Harwood. Dorothy O’Bannion, bring me your father’s whiskey, at once.’

  She turned back to see Harwood hovering over the small patient, his dirty scalpel poised in uncertainty.

  Unable to help herself, she cried out, ‘Stop! Wait. The child can still breathe a little...’

  With an arm like a whip he swept her aside, sending her staggering back into the arms of the onlookers. ‘Stay out of my way. Keep her off,’ he ordered.

  Hands clamped down on Elly’s shoulders. She stopped struggling and willed her tone to be reasonable. ‘At least clean the blade first with the whiskey, and swab the child’s throat with it before you cut.’

  He turned his back and proceeded with the operation.

  There was a mewling sound, like a kitten whose tail has been trodden on. The doctor gasped then straightened up. Elly tore herself free and sprang forward.

  ‘What is it? My dear Lord! You’ve nicked the jugular vein!’ Her face as pale and sweaty as his, she plunged her finger into the wound to apply pressure. With the other hand she scrabbled at the coverlet. ‘Quickly, what are you...?’ She stared at him. He had frozen, his expression glazed, the dripping scalpel arrested in mid-air.

  Elly let go the coverlet and shook him.

  With a jerk he dropped the scalpel and reached for the forceps, rammed them into the wound and rummaged as if clearing a blocked drain. Before Elly could react, the forceps had pushed her finger aside, widening the nick into a hole. Blood poured over her hand, warm and viscous.

  ‘Look what you’ve done.’ His voice was shrill. ‘I told you to keep away, you stupid woman. Now it’s too late.’ He thrust her aside with bloody hands. A woman screamed, and once again Elly found herself restrained by others. She watched helplessly as Harwood made futile attempts to stop the flow of life from little Maureen O’Bannion’s body.

  The child grew steadily paler. The blood streaming onto the floor slowed to a steady drip, then stopped. With a last flutter of the lips the child stopped breathing.

  Silence filled the cabin, except for the moaning mother kneeling by the cot. Sick with anger and frustration, Elly locked gaze with the spurious doctor. There was now no doubt left in her. No true medical man would have made such a dreadful error. But while she sought for words to express her feelings, he was ready to defend himself by attack.

  ‘This woman is a danger to your community,’ he piped. ‘I hold her directly responsible for the child’s death. Due to her interference at a crucial point in the operation my blade was forced against the main vein in the neck and irreparable damage occurred.’

  Elly saw the ring of darkening faces harden against her, sensed the growing tension. She could practically smell it, the age-old urge to find a scapegoat.

  ‘That is a lie,’ she said calmly. ‘It was your hand that made the slip. When I tried to help you stop the bleeding you pushed me aside and compounded the damage with your forceps. You have the hands of a bullock driver and with them you have killed a child.’

  Uproar broke out behind her. As helpless as a doll, she was pulled about by the men and women holding her and others who tried to join them. Molly O’Bannion turned a tear-ravaged face to her, screeched ‘murderess’, then collapsed.

  Elly had to shout to be heard. ‘Listen to me. You know nothing about this man, this so-called Doctor Harwood. Have you questioned his credentials, or heard any good report from someone who has had dealings with him? How do you know whether he’s qualified to touch your children? Ask him for proof.’

  Several heads nodded. The room quietened, while the imprisoning hands relaxed enough for Elly to stand alone and rub her bruised shoulders.

  ‘Bluff, pure bluff.’ Harwood’s voice had reached its highest pitch, emerging as a squeak. ‘I resent your attempt to impugn my character. I will have you know the crowned heads of Europe –’

  ‘Will you stop pontificating and attend to the poor woman at your feet?’ Elly indicated the prostrate Molly O’Bannion. ‘And someone might take care of the child’s body. Then I suggest everybody else should go outside. This is no place to conduct your kangaroo court.’

  Her tartness had an effect. People began to move out, the exodus continuing until there were left only Elly, Harwood, Molly and the women about to lay out the child. Molly had recovered her senses, without any assistance. She sat staring hopelessly at the wall, her grief etched into her puffy face. Elly prepared for battle. Her deep anger at the unnecessary death overlaid her personal response to the accusations. For the sake of the township she had to prove this man a dangerous idiot.

  Harwood gave her no chance. Grasping her arm he thrust her out the door to face the encircling men and women. Heat poured down on her braided head. The sun was like molten lead, dragging her down.

  ‘This woman,’ Harwood began in the high voice that no longer seemed slightly comical but carried the conviction of a powerful orator, ‘This woman has killed one of your children. Because she has formerly been useful when supervised by her father, you’ve been led to believe in her skills as equal to those of a proper practitioner. But she is not a doctor. She has not been properly trained or accredited. She’s merely a nurse assistant. Yet she holds a high opinion of herself, even deeming it proper to interfere with a surgeon at work. Therefore she is dangerous. Shall you harbour a ticking bomb in your midst? Shall you go about your daily lives never knowing when she may explode into a furore of pseudo-medical activity and kill someone else? Shall we live with that?’

  ‘No!’ It was a united roar from twenty throats. Old Cyrus Bennetts, the hotel rouseabout whose smell kept others at a comfortable distance, and whose ulcerated leg Elly had treated over long weeks of battle with infection, shook his fist at her. His stubbled face was twisted with hate. Women who had cried over Elly in gratitude when their children recovered from the fever, and others she had trudged miles to help, leaned towards her to hiss, even to spit. The tremor in her legs moved up through her spine until her whole body shook.

  I don’t believe this, she thought. How could they turn on her, even if they preferred Harwood and his remedies? She’d done nothing to deserve such hatred. Surely they knew she would never harm their children in any way. But she read only animosity in the ugly faces, almost unrecognisable as belonging to friends and neighbours. This was the unthinking mob, swayed by emotionalism. She’d never seen one before. It frightened her. It was as though the crowd had one face, one accusing gaze, one voice that menaced.

  Harwood tightened his grip, painfully.

  ‘Let me go at once,’ she whispered, ‘or I’ll kick you.’

  He released her, perhaps in surprise, and Elly confronted the crowd. Choosing one person, Old Susan, who had as much cause as anyone to be grateful to the Ballards. Elly addressed her directly.

  ‘Susan, you know me better than that. Will you listen to a stranger who knows nothing about me? She swept her gaze across the faces, noting each one. ‘All you good people, my friends of years, I ask you to remember who I am, and for how long my father served you all. He was a brilliant doctor who chose to make his great skills available to you, when he might have been acclaimed in the world. He never refused a call for help. He cared desperately that none of you should suffer.’

  Harwood raised his voice above hers.
‘We all know and appreciate the work of Doctor Ballard. But he’s gone, and his daughter brazenly tries to assume his mantle.’

  Elly spread her hands. ‘That’s not so. Few trained men could emulate Robert Ballard. I don’t aspire to do so. But he taught me well. I’m experienced enough to help you in many ways. What happened here today –’

  Harwood shouted her down again. ‘She’s only a woman. Don’t listen to her. Her humility is false. The truth is, she believes herself to have equal standing with a professional man. Does not her arrogance demonstrate the danger? How often has she failed you? You there, Juniper Jones, still as crippled as the day you fell down, despite this woman’s efforts. And you, Colgrave. Did she give you back power in your legs? Will you ever swing hammer to anvil again before you die? No, you will not, because she failed in her treatment, overreached herself, in fact, and condemned a good man to a life of misery.’ He pointed dramatically to the brawny fellow balanced on rough crutches, his limbs trailing between them.

  The crowd roared ominously, but Harwood raised a hand. ‘This woman should be got rid of, before someone else dies. I urge you, friends, to wrench out this canker in your midst, to dismiss it from your lives.’

  ‘Yes, yes. She should be punished. Let’s hang the bitch.’

  In vain Elly shouted that no-one could have helped the two men named, that she was not responsible for Maureen’s death. Her words were buried beneath the united voices hurling abuse. She braced herself against the palpable wall of hostility about to fall on her. This wasn’t happening. It was a nightmare, like the fever “ward” in the hotel that night, like the worst of dreams that had turned to harsh reality when she gazed down at her father’s corpse. Life did hold living nightmares. She was experiencing one now.

  The mob began to move in on her. She backed away, coming up against Harwood, who grasped her arm once more.