concern about not being able to understand what the patient was saying. She wanted to pick flowers. Daisies.
‘I want daisies.’
‘But there are no daisies at sea. It’s not possible, Bridget. But you’ll get daisies when we get there. Honestly you will,’ Honora consoled.
‘Are there daisies in Australia?’ she whispered to Charles. She did not want to lie to Bridget.
They cooled her forehead with damp cloths, and gradually a semblance of normality returned to her body. It was the wailing noise, he knew, that had brought it on, but decided not to labour the point, best leave it be. When Bridget finally drifted into a mumbling sleep, Charles picked his way quietly to check as many girls as he could, without waking those who were already asleep, having tired themselves in a terrible emotion.
Christmas Day was needed after that. Although Charles felt a little shaky, the girls appeared to have put the experience behind them. In fact, they acted as if nothing untoward had happened and gradually the almost total cheerfulness of the group lent its support to him. He too got on with making the best possible day out of this. The captain made a ceremony out of giving him a present and the matrons were then given their gifts by both the captain and Charles: a leg of mutton from the captain, a bottle of wine from Charles. He made five bucketfuls of punch to help the spirits of everyone over yesterday and into the present, today, and the future, tomorrow. No more mention was made of wailing.
The food was even better than expected, with unparalleled variety. As well as the originally planned menu, the cook had harvested anything that might make this a special meal. One of the crew had again hooked a shark and it had been cooked—it was a strong, rich, white fish, well cooked in butter. There were also some small birds that had been caught in the rigging. The girls both helped and served to a very high standard, he thought, and he allowed them to stay up until after ten o’clock, making moderate noise. Their conversation rose and fell in pleasant time with the noise of their travels. Then, without fuss, they went to bed with no further incident.
‘That’s the first one,’ Anne Sherry whispered.
‘Shh. Let’s not think about that,’ Honora whispered back.
CHAPTER 14
The ship headed for its last stretch, Charles more aware of this than his charges. In many ways they had become used to the boat, and although at moments they longed to be off it, collectively they now lived as if this journey had no end. Charles knew this state of affairs would change. But not just yet. There was still time to be done and the calmer they remained the better. Meanwhile, the girls got on with making the quilt. That too had developed at a good pace. Girls who had wanted to be dogmatic about the way their mothers had done it had given up. Either they had realised that everyone was entitled to do their square—even if some of them were uneven and perhaps marred the overall look—or else they had decided that their desire for the greatest colours and matches would have to wait until they were doing their own in their new home. Some girls knew that the quilt didn’t look perfect, but they couldn’t point out where it had gone wrong, which patch sat up too high or had ungainly stitches.
‘But if you hold it far enough away you can’t see the mistakes,’ Anne Sherry said. She still stayed close to Honora Raftery, but not so close it was noticeable and she ventured opinions more often now.
‘And it’s not supposed to be as even as embroidery.’
Julia Cuffe had become more sullen.
‘Why won’t you dance anymore, Julia?’
‘I’m saving myself, amn’t I, for when there’s men.’
Charles wrote in his diary that again nothing untoward had happened for the last few days and they were making fair speed. He looked at the pages and noticed how sparse and perfunctory his entries had become. He was wondering why that was when Matron
‘I want daisies.’
‘But there are no daisies at sea. It’s not possible, Bridget. But you’ll get daisies when we get there. Honestly you will,’ Honora consoled.
‘Are there daisies in Australia?’ she whispered to Charles. She did not want to lie to Bridget.
They cooled her forehead with damp cloths, and gradually a semblance of normality returned to her body. It was the wailing noise, he knew, that had brought it on, but decided not to labour the point, best leave it be. When Bridget finally drifted into a mumbling sleep, Charles picked his way quietly to check as many girls as he could, without waking those who were already asleep, having tired themselves in a terrible emotion.
Christmas Day was needed after that. Although Charles felt a little shaky, the girls appeared to have put the experience behind them. In fact, they acted as if nothing untoward had happened and gradually the almost total cheerfulness of the group lent its support to him. He too got on with making the best possible day out of this. The captain made a ceremony out of giving him a present and the matrons were then given their gifts by both the captain and Charles: a leg of mutton from the captain, a bottle of wine from Charles. He made five bucketfuls of punch to help the spirits of everyone over yesterday and into the present, today, and the future, tomorrow. No more mention was made of wailing.
The food was even better than expected, with unparalleled variety. As well as the originally planned menu, the cook had harvested anything that might make this a special meal. One of the crew had again hooked a shark and it had been cooked—it was a strong, rich, white fish, well cooked in butter. There were also some small birds that had been caught in the rigging. The girls both helped and served to a very high standard, he thought, and he allowed them to stay up until after ten o’clock, making moderate noise. Their conversation rose and fell in pleasant time with the noise of their travels. Then, without fuss, they went to bed with no further incident.
‘That’s the first one,’ Anne Sherry whispered.
‘Shh. Let’s not think about that,’ Honora whispered back.
CHAPTER 14
The ship headed for its last stretch, Charles more aware of this than his charges. In many ways they had become used to the boat, and although at moments they longed to be off it, collectively they now lived as if this journey had no end. Charles knew this state of affairs would change. But not just yet. There was still time to be done and the calmer they remained the better. Meanwhile, the girls got on with making the quilt. That too had developed at a good pace. Girls who had wanted to be dogmatic about the way their mothers had done it had given up. Either they had realised that everyone was entitled to do their square—even if some of them were uneven and perhaps marred the overall look—or else they had decided that their desire for the greatest colours and matches would have to wait until they were doing their own in their new home. Some girls knew that the quilt didn’t look perfect, but they couldn’t point out where it had gone wrong, which patch sat up too high or had ungainly stitches.
‘But if you hold it far enough away you can’t see the mistakes,’ Anne Sherry said. She still stayed close to Honora Raftery, but not so close it was noticeable and she ventured opinions more often now.
‘And it’s not supposed to be as even as embroidery.’
Julia Cuffe had become more sullen.
‘Why won’t you dance anymore, Julia?’
‘I’m saving myself, amn’t I, for when there’s men.’
Charles wrote in his diary that again nothing untoward had happened for the last few days and they were making fair speed. He looked at the pages and noticed how sparse and perfunctory his entries had become. He was wondering why that was when Matron
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