"Miss Fortescue-Cholmondley-Browne.…Miss Browne…..Chummy….Camilla…..Nurse Browne….."
The owner of all these permeations of her name let out a sharp breath and shot her eyes to the crucifix that sat shining in the mid-afternoon sun, squinting as the bright rays hit her gritty and dry eyes from all that crying.
"Tell me" she whispered, pleading not for the first time in her life for a response. "Nurse Browne…..Sister…." The last two words fell from her lips in a quiet tone. It was as though they were only words that should be exchanged between her and Him and certainly not for public consumption.
"Sister" Chummy uttered again, tumbling the words and their connotations over, over and over in her head as they tortured her. Sister; but not in the medical sense, no, not this time.
One day she might liked to have run a ward or perhaps take control of that terrible Mother and Baby home that they had all heard word of but never seen; but this was a different meaning of 'Sister' if ever there was one and for some reason it almost seemed as though it was her only solution.
Sister – the nurse Sister Browne if she became that one day – would make changes, but here, sitting in the Chapel at Nonnatus, Chummy did so desperately wonder if she was about the make the greatest change at all.
Sister – Sister of Nonnatus House – closeted by vows to only love one other; closed away to where perhaps she belonged. Shrouded in a habit and scapula; shut away from where her heart could not be found by man nor beast alike. She would take a new name and Miss Browne would be forgotten. Funny it was when she was a child she always preferred her middle names – Elizabeth or even Frances – especially when 'Camilla' dripped from her mother's lips, but in a wild moment she wondered for a second what it might be like to hear her name said with reverence or love. No! It has already been said with love and it had led her to this door.
She sighed again. It had come to her in quiet contemplation last night; wide awake at just past three in the morning and seeking something she knew nothing about. Her eyes had followed the clock as the concept embedded itself in her mind. She knew full well it was almost the easy way out. She would hide; to make sure that wherever He was she was there and untouchable by the one person who had seen her for who she was even if she couldn't quite yet herself. No-one could have her that way if she took that step and she couldn't be tempted to fall ever again for anybody, because, well frankly, no-one else would stand up to the Constable if ever there was one. Certainly, it seemed a solution.
If she decided, chewed over this great step, she could run just like she had been doing all her life.
But what was she running from? Him?
It was him in a way, but underneath it all Chummy knew full well the only person she was trying to escape was herself. It was an exodus of all proportions, pushing away what he represented because she simply didn't know how. How to love; how to be perfect ; how to realise that every hair didn't have to be place for him or that he really didn't mind when she knocked that cold cup of tea all over his uniform trousers. In fact, he had laughed and joked about having to make an emergency visit this week to the dry cleaners before the Inspector caught up with him.
People had minded before in the most vociferous way and that was what had caused her hesitation. She was the person that needed to change - that reluctance to jump because she had no idea where she would land - and taking the veil seemed to be the way. Shut up, locked away, kept away from all so no-one could. So he couldn't. She never wanted anyone else like this before and if she were to remove temptation altogether? If I can't have him, I don't want anybody...
She didn't want to see herself as anyone but Chu…..no, Camilla, like he says and it's the backflips in her chest when she hears his tones that scare her the most. 'Mrs….'
Chummy hesitated forcing herself not to whisper what was to follow. No, not that. It was too frightening. He'd said he loved her and it was almost to the point of revelation. 'You've never said that before' she had said back to him, too caught up in the tranquil - yes it was tranquil - sensation that ran from head to foot to follow it up with the other dreadful words.
'You're the only person that's ever said that to me in my whole life..….'
Whilst she might not have said it at the time now she had the moment to reflect, the enormity brought her to tears. If she were to become a woman of the cloth then she need not have to contemplate those words any longer and that iron cage would close around her again.
Chummy frowned deeply as she continued to wonder if there was going to be an answer this day or any other. So used to being unwanted by those who were meant to love her when suddenly this person lands in her life and says those words she has been desperate to hear. From anyone and it still confused her.
Yet, here she is, wondering about running so far from those words it was almost incomprehensible. She had already betrayed her own feelings on the subject, seeing his crestfallen face as they stood on the steps and her fear of Mater's opposition and her weakness the only driving force. She needed to feel strong, to grab life by the throat and be true to herself but...
He'd said he didn't understand. Well, quite frankly, Constable…Mr Noakes….Peter….neither do I. She shifted uncomfortably in the hard chapel seats, hearing footsteps behind her that went away just as speedily as they arrived. She had cried enough tears behind closed doors these past two weeks that the really couldn't deal with sympathy or empathy or whatever you wanted to call it right now.
Sister Frances. Yes that would be what she would call herself…so easy, so simple, so…so...inexcusable to hurt him like this. She had not missed the confusion in his eyes and if she could have seen his heart shatter into a million pieces it would have been there on that step. Hers did too, but perhaps she had disguised it so well that he never saw, just like she had been doing for most of her existence. Disguising herself, her feelings, her thoughts, her wants…her needs and she was almost a mistress at it.
'That's what it would be though' a voice said in the depths of her mind. 'A shroud….a scapula to hide behind….because that's all you are doing….hiding again….just like you do all the time….He's there. Standing in front of you. All you wanted, wasn't it? A chap? Well, there you go. There's one here who seems very happy to be in your company'.
Chummy closed her eyes quickly, shutting out the voice, hoping that if anyone came in they would think she was in prayer and leave her be.
She could disguise herself, shrink away and be non-existent. She could stand up and go and see him and risk him rejecting her and really could she excuse it? Even she was not so sufficiently unaware that he had every right to show her the door and she would have no recourse.
Poplar had been a risk, but she had taken it. Accepting his offer to take her to the cinema had been that too, yet she had not hesitated. Then what about Sierra Leone? She had almost forgotten about that!
So focussed on herself and the turmoil that it had become almost a distant prospect. It had been her dream since she was barely fourteen to go yet here she was faced with this distinct, stark, choice it seemed. Stay, but in what guise, or to perhaps leave entirely? That was another option that she had almost forgotten. Go to Sierra Leone at the first opportunity, be Camilla Browne, forget Nonnatus, be free from Mater and...She could hear those words again fall from his mouth. She could be 'Mrs…..Mrs….Noakes', perhaps, if he still so wanted.
'Mrs Noakes'
The last word fell as a choke from her throat as tears slithered from her eyes again. No man in his right mind had shown the kind of interest in her that Constable Noakes had. He'd wanted to hear her opinions, her plans, actually listened to her as she rattled on and on. She'd heard every word of his too – of all his stories and plans and it seemed she was now part of them in the most frightening, yet wonderful, way possible.
It was only her that could make this decision and she so desperately knew it.
He had already made his feelings clear on the subject so Chummy knew it was time. One way or the other. The easy way or the road that may have a few bumps? Take a coward's way out and be in pain for however long your memory holds or tell the world precisely what was in her heart by standing at an altar and risk the wrath of Mater?
She sat up straight, feeling a very real pain shoot across her shoulder blades from sitting slumped. Chummy knew full well what she wanted; really, truthfully, when it came to the crunch, what she wanted and he was sitting miserable in attic lodgings a mile away but how many times had she ignored her own wants for the sake of pleasing Mater? For the sake of avoiding confrontation? At least she knew that enough.
Her Grandmother had once told her she must be brave when faced with conundrums. She hadn't understood what one of those was until now. Every turn your life takes, every road has a fork. What if you take one and not the other? No-one might ever know what that would mean and was there really any point in churning over each outcome in your mind? It would only make things worse and the only person, ultimately, who you might hurt was yourself. For once, ought she think of herself? Run or be pulled into what could be something so wonderful; a truly safe place or a place that kept her safe by its walls?
'Mrs Camilla Noakes….'
Those three words went so well together.
'Sister Frances of Nonnatus…or somewhere...anywhere..."
A person hanging on to the past; no backbone, no strength.
Chummy sighed sharply again. It was time. Time to be that person that Grandmamma had suggested she be and confront her conundrum.
If he would have her….