It was during the long, breathlessly hot summer evenings that Patsy first noticed Delia's short absences.
They'd be sweltering in front of the television, windows open to admit the barest hint of breeze. Sister Monica Joan glued to whatever program she'd deemed appropriate to watch, oblivious to the heat. Trixie and Barbara lolling uncomfortably on the armchairs. Patsy and Delia sliding surreptitiously closer to each other on the settee.
Delia would excuse herself, wander off in what Patsy presumed was the direction of the lavatory.
It took quite some time before Patsy cottoned on to any pattern. It was so blastedly hot that it quite curdled one's brains, made it difficult to wade through the molasses of one's thoughts to discern much of anything.
Eventually, however, Patsy became cognisant of Delia's unusual attention to the clock. How, just prior to compline, she would sit up straighter. Seemed to listen out for some unknown cue before disappearing. Would amble back into the sitting room after about twenty minutes, a secretive smile on her face, bearing a glass of cool water that Patsy would gulp eagerly.
One of these days she was going to find out what Delia was up to. Play at espionage and surprise the Welsh woman, uncover her subterfuge.
When the weather was cooler, and she could plan such a thing.
One night London was hit by severe summer thunderstorms. The weather was putrid, the storms doing nothing to alleviate the heat, only to charge the air with ominous and overbearing tension. The humidity inside was insufferable - the torrential rain and frequent lightning strikes making it impossible to open the windows - and everyone was on edge. Even Sister Julienne had snapped in irritation at a particularly inane comment Sister Winifred had made at supper. The residents of Nonnatus House had scattered soon afterwards to their own pursuits, unable to bear each other's company.
Delia had retired to the kitchen with a book. It was the only room in the building that had overhanging eaves, and the door was propped open. It was no cooler, but the openness gave the illusion of milder temperatures. Patsy was loathe to disturb her, but she was desperate for a cool drink. She stole quietly into the kitchen, expecting to see Delia flaked out at the table.
Instead, the Welsh woman was leaning against the back door, staring pensively out into the downpour. Book abandoned at the table. Oblivious to the splashing drops dampening her lower legs.
"Are you alright Deels?"
Startled, the small woman turned. Hand rising to her chest to steady her racing heart.
"You gave me a fright Pats."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." Patsy paused, observing the slightly lost look in bright blue eyes. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes of course." Delia pushed away from the door frame, picked up her book as she moved towards Patsy. Reached out and grasped her wrist, just a heartbeat, before releasing her and stepping back. "I'm just a little out of sorts in this weather."
"Mmmmm. I think we all are. Is there anything I can do?"
"No. Thank you Pats." Delia's eyes warmed, sparkled gently. Her lips curved into the smile reserved only for Patsy.
Patsy's heart responded in kind, her face unconsciously echoing the look. They really were a pair of lovesick fools sometimes. She was almost about to do something rash when Delia sighed. Glanced out at the rain.
"I think I might go to bed early."
"Oh."
"I'm not fit company tonight."
"Alright then. Goodnight Delia."
"Night Pats." Another brief touch on her wrist, then the small woman was gone. Leaving behind only a lingering hint of her perfume, and a mild sense of bewilderment.
She really needed to get to the bottom of this.
The next night was clear, if horridly humid. Delia, unsettled as a cat on a hot roof, roamed aimlessly about the house, refusing to sit and watch television for more than a few minutes at a time. Right before the sisters retired for compline she bounced up. Scurried out of the sitting room with barely a muttered excuse.
Patsy gave her a couple of minutes. Excused herself and took off in search of the Welsh woman. She trekked from top to bottom but Delia was nowhere to be found in Nonnatus House. Gasping for a drink after her fruitless expedition, Patsy stopped in the kitchen. Noticed that the back door was ajar.
Patsy tiptoed quietly to the door. Peeked through the gap to see a shadowed figure hunched on the kitchen stoop. Murmuring gently to a shape that detached itself, wound around a pair of delicate ankles, and then crouched to lap happily at a saucer.
Well then.
That explained why Sister Monica Joan had been complaining at the lack of milk recently.
Patsy agonised over whether to disturb the happy pair. Delia seemed perfectly content, bending low to pet the small furry bundle. It was purring loud enough for Patsy to hear from the confines of the kitchen, every now and again letting out a high pitched mew. She listened for a moment longer, smiling as she listened to Delia's lilting chatter. It appeared the woman was speaking her native language to the cat, and it was a rare enough occurrence that Patsy was intrigued.
Eventually Delia straightened. Collected the empty saucer and bid goodnight to her furry friend. Who skulked into the garden, lost immediately in the dusky foliage of the vegetable patch. The small woman stretched, and then reached out a hand to pull open the kitchen door, barely suppressing a scream when she saw Patsy's grinning face through the gap.
"Dear god above. Are you trying to scare me to death Patsy?"
"Far from it. I'm just trying to find out what you're up to." She smiled conspiratorially, grasped Delia's hand to pull her inside before quietly closing the door. "I must admit, I'm slightly disappointed that you didn't introduce me to your feline accomplice."
Delia gaped at her for a long moment. Their hands still loosely linked. Finally shook her head, went to the sink and carefully washed and dried the saucer.
"Deels?"
"Yes?"
"Why are you hiding it? Do you really think the sisters will object to having a cat around the house?"
"Maybe. After Sister Monica Joan rebelled against the rat poison I've wondered whether she'll tolerate a cat about the place."
"After the rats got into the cake tin, I think she let go of that somewhat."
They chuckled in shared remembrance, Sister Monica Jones's utter betrayal at finding a thoroughly stuffed rat in the tin rather than the Victoria sponge she'd been coveting had been a thing of legend.
Leaning back against the sink, Delia paused. Thoughtful. "I've liked keeping him to myself. He reminds me of my Robin, when I was a little girl. A naughtier cat you never met, but he was mine and I loved him." Blue eyes dimmed, and cooled. "The neighbours poisoned him after he got into their pigeons one too many times."
"Oh Deels." Patsy tugged the smaller woman to her, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. It was fleeting, but when she pulled away Delia looked a little less lost.
"You'll need to let me meet him tomorrow."
Delia had named him Felix, and he was a tiny mottled grey tabby, full of personality and unhappy at sharing Delia with Patsy. He gave a miniature hiss the first time she appeared with Delia, and refused to come up onto the stoop at all. Delia had to coax him with the saucer onto the bottom step, but no further.
After several days he'd warmed up enough to drink his milk beside them, but his ears remained laid back and he would cut suspicious glances in Patsy's direction if she so much as breathed heavily.
Determined that Felix would like her, Patsy stopped by the local market on the way home from house calls one afternoon and returned with a carefully wrapped parcel of sardines. That night, in the mellow dark of the evening, with the sisters muted singing in the background, Patsy feed Felix the sardines one by one. When he was done, he climbed onto her lap. Delicately sniffed her nose with his fishy breath, and then snuggled into a purring ball.
She had a devil of a time getting his fur out of her uniform, but it had been worth it to see the delighted look on Delia's face.
They started spending more and more time each night outside with Felix and eventually, inevitably, the other residents of the house took notice. It was Trixie who finally discovered them, sitting pressed together on the stoop with Felix draped over both their laps.
"Oh what a darling thing!"
They sprang apart hastily, but Trixie only had eyes for Felix.
"You sly things. Keeping this gorgeous creature all to yourselves."
Felix, the traitor, clearly took an instant liking to Trixie. Wound himself around her nylon clad ankles with abandon.
"Barbara, you must come and see this."
At breakfast it was all Trixie and Barbara could talk about. Sister Julienne smiled knowingly but remained out of the discussion. As she rose to start her day, she merely patted Delia's shoulder. "Perhaps we should increase the milk order."
Nurse Crane rolled her eyes, and demanded that he be kept out of the preparation room. "I'll not have the sterile equipment contaminated by fur and nonsense." But that evening she made sure to come and meet Felix on the kitchen stoop. "He is a dear little thing." She scratched under his chin and smiled indulgently as he purred loudly.
Felix graduated from being fed outside the kitchen in the evenings, to a saucer of milk by the stove twice a day, to a bowl of food with supper, to a comfy bed by the fire in the sitting room. It was gradual, but inexorable, and after a few months none of the residents of Nonnatus House could remember a time before Felix.
He was a non-discriminatory cuddler, snuggling happily with whomever was occupying the sitting room and willing to provide a warm lap and a scratch behind the ears.
At bedtime though, there was only one person in the world. He watched Delia's every move, catalogued her yawns and stretches, and would streak up the stairs as soon as she bade her good nights. She would push open her bedroom door to find him already on the bed, kneading at her pillow with a sleepily contended expression that pushed his whiskers forward and made him look a little bit dopey. Her heart melted every single time.
He grumbled discontentedly on the occasional nights when Patsy would sneak into Delia's bed. There just wasn't room enough for all three of them, and he would storm in a huff onto the armchair that they'd acquired for the Welsh woman. She'd found a crocheted blanket at a market stall one day, brought it back to Nonnatus house. Felix would circle around and around on the blanket. Finally settle with a baleful glare in Patsy's direction.
Patsy and Felix had a tumultuous relationship. They settled into a truce. Both understanding that they loved Delia and would have to share her affection. Patsy liked to think that she understood that fact a little better than the cat. Delia liked to indulge her.