The docks were peculiarly quiet as Cynthia cycled away from Mellish Street, the late evening slowly closing around her as day began to wend its journey into night. As she cycled, she breathed in that eclectic mix of the salt and mud of the grim looking water as it gently swished against the dock walls. That lingering smell of the freshly caught fish seemed to hover at every turn even though the stalls were long gone. It seemed to track every yard of her journey, but it was the unmistakable depth of character that had kept her in Poplar for all of these almost five years.
From the contemplative quietude, as she turned the corner, all of a sudden, she heard voices and someone shouting, the hum of a swarm as chatter passed from man to boy, from boy to his mother and an uneasy clamour of a large crowd as it assaulted her ears. That must have been the reason why her journey had been so silent; that something that had attracted the gathering to the warehouse.
Cynthia slowed the revolutions of the wheels of her bicycle, having just a few moments before thought of the prospect of supper that she knew was waiting for her back at Nonnatus and wondering when she might just feel the first taste of hot tea touch her lips. She dismounted and decided to walk as two iridescent black Police cars, parked nose to nose, obstructed her path. As she examined the scene before her the chatter from the crowd was one of horror, looking over shoulders, hearing transient whispers of a body, of wounds, of murder.
"Nurse! Nurse!" she heard from amongst the crowd seeing a Police Constable push aside two teenage boys gawking at the spectacle that was developing before them. The crowd parted temporarily to let the officer through; Cynthia seeing the door to a warehouse wide open and the flashes of torches from inside as the burr of rumour resumed.
Cynthia stopped quickly seeing the furrowed brow of the concerned young officer as he stopped before her.
"Nurse? Do you mind coming with me?" he asked, almost pleading with her; that difficult concoction of professionalism and shock at what he must have seen written all over his face. Cynthia had no hesitation.
"Yes Officer" she replied. "Of course. How can I help?"
As Cynthia was taken into the warehouse she saw torches flashing from room to room, just as she had seen outside. Three more police officers passed them with a respectful nod to the young nurse, still unsure herself as to where and what she was being guided to.
"You might not be able to help us, Nurse" the officer said. "She might be too far gone. We've called an ambulance, but it's taking an age" he said to her as then stepped over rotting planks and the flotsam and jetsam of the long abandoned warehouse. There was a thick layer of dirt at every turn and she continued carefully, losing the rumble of the crowd from outside as she was taken deeper and deeper into the series of rooms within the vast expanse.
"One of the warehousemen from next door found 'er when he saw the door had been forced" he continued. "She's in a bad way".
"Do you know what injuries she has?" Cynthia asked, her mind racing as to what she could feasibly do if the whispers outside were accurate.
"Not really Nurse" he replied. "She's jus' bleedin' everywhere".
They turned a corner to find two Police Officers – from the back she saw Peter; the other officer opposite him she recognised too - leaning over a woman on the floor. The area was dark, only lit by gas lamps and their hand held torches were of little use, abandoned in their desperate attempts to stem the tide of red that was scarring this woman's pale dress.
Cynthia saw Peter turn around and look up, seeing a wave of relief cross his face at assistance arriving and a familiar face to boot.
"Cynthia", he said, pausing deliberately realising he needed to refer to her properly. "Nurse Miller…it looks like she's had had belly sliced open and her arms are covered in knife wounds. We didn't really know what to do".
She knelt down beside him seeing that seemingly inadvertently the two officers were stemming the bleeding quite efficiently.
"You're doing exactly what you need to Constable. Both of you" she reassured seeing Peter nod quickly. She opened her bag and pulled out handfuls of swabs.
"Here, pack her abdomen with these". Cynthia had caught him one night reading a medical dictionary as he had waited for his wife, Freddie out cold on his knee and knew she did not perhaps have to explain what the word 'pack' meant.
"Has she said anything?" Cynthia asked, eyes flickering over the woman, searching for a pulse point on her neck.
He shook his head. "We've tried to keep her talking and that, but she only said her name".
"Which was?" she asked.
"Maggie", he replied, swopping hands, his shirt sleeves already soaked.
Cynthia leant down to the woman, close to her ear. She could see her chest rise and fall, counting the shallow respirations as she assessed her patient.
"Maggie? Can you hear me? I'm a nurse". The woman's leg moved, slumped to the floor from its half bent state. "Maggie?"
"She isn't responding" Cynthia said, almost to herself, as she leant back up one hand engaged taking the pulse as she surveyed the area around them. To her side she noticed a small but bloody lump of flesh.
"Is that important?" Peter asked seeing her study it quite intensely.
"I'm not sure" she said, unable to really see as it was so dark. "It looks like…..no…silly idea" Cynthia replied, although quite deliberately folding a swab around it so she could examine the piece properly in the light.
If it was what she thought it was, she would have to keep it; it could be evidence.