Hi all! This is my first multi-part fic for CTM, posted in honour of its return this weekend (only two more days to go!). Like the show itself, the focus is on the relationships between the women, but I'm sure there'll be Shelagh/Patrick, Chummy/Peter and perhaps even a hint of Jenny/Alec as time goes on. If people enjoy this and want to see more, that is!
Oh, and the premise is partly based on the books, but developed within the frame of the series.
ETA: Correct formatting
Nonnatus House, June 1958
Cynthia teetered at the very edge of her seat like a nervous schoolgirl, her hands clenched tightly over its sharp sides. Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears, so loudly that she could scarcely hear Sister Julienne speak. Her voice cracked when she asked the nun to repeat herself.
Sister Julienne, on the other hand, was her usual composed self. She nodded understandingly and asked, for the second time, 'Are you sure?'
Cynthia's hands clenched tighter on her chair. 'Is anyone ever sure?' she countered.
The nun nodded, a small smile hovering at the corners of her mouth. 'That's true.' Her quiet eyes rested on Cynthia, boring into her, assessing her. 'It will mean huge changes,' she warned. 'You will need to move into a cell. Your relationship with the other girls will change, and as we are shorthanded we cannot even release you from your nursing duties during your postulancy.'
'I understand,' Cynthia said, surprised when her voice was steady instead of the quivering wreck she had expected it to be.
Sister Julienne leaned towards her, for once devoid of her usual twinkle. 'It will be harder than you can imagine. You will be stretched—pulled apart—transformed. Even if you do not proceed into the noviciate, you will be forever changed.'
'I know,' Cynthia said. 'I've spent many hours talking to Mrs Turner.' Her tone turned wistful. 'I wouldn't be here now if I wasn't sure. I'm not the kind to do things on a whim.' Like Trixie, hovered unspoken, and Sister Julienne's mouth quirked again as their eyes met.
'No. No, I know you aren't.' The nun sighed. 'I'll get in touch with the Mother House and let them know of your application. They will want a reference.'
Cynthia nodded. 'Mrs Turner said she would do it. She said that it would not be ... appropriate ... to ask you.'
'Not when I'm likely to be your Novice Mistress,' Sister Julienne agreed with the first real smile she'd given Cynthia since the start of their interview. 'Some orders would not accept Mrs Turner's either, but there's no doubt she's the best supporter you could have.' She rose, gesturing for Cynthia to remain in her seat, and turned to the oak cabinet behind her. A moment later and she was back with a sheaf of papers in one hand. 'Take these. Look through them and ensure you're happy with all the provisions.'
Cynthia nodded and accepted them, her eye scanning the typed lines rapidly. They were not as extensive as she'd expected; there was no mention of the dowry the former Sister Bernadette had mentioned, or pages and pages of rules. All she had was a brief summary of the Order's mission and its expectations of new entrants during the probationary period. Even those were few enough: a postulant must wear an abbreviated version of the habit, participate fully in the devotional life of the community, and complete several required courses of study, including the musical training she needed to sing the Office.
Her surprise must have shown, for Sister Julienne said, 'Remember the postulancy is a trial period, for you and for us. At any time during those six months you can tell me you've changed your mind and no harm will be done. After the postulancy, you'll be Clothed as a novice, but you don't take any vows until First Profession at the end of the noviciate. There's a further five years as a junior nun before Final Profession, when you receive the long black prayer veil of a fully professed sister.'
Cynthia realised her hands were trembling. It was becoming real. 'If—if the Mother House agrees, when do I Enter?'
The older woman smiled. 'That is entirely up to you.'
'Can my friends be there? The other nurses? And family?'
'Again, that's up to you. We do advise that Entrance be done quietly. Your access to friends and family will be only lightly restricted during your postulancy, but your Clothing can be as social as you wish; the noviciate is a lonely time.' Sister Julienne peered at her. 'Have you told them?'
Hot colour burnt its way up Cynthia's cheeks. 'Not yet. I've talked about it casually with Jen. And I've told my parents over and over how happy I am here—'
'You need to tell them,' Sister Julienne broke in firmly. 'Hints are not enough.' She gave a reminiscent smile. 'Even when you've been talking of it for years it still comes as a shock. My mother was horrified, and you know the story about Sister Monica Joan.'
'They cut her off,' Cynthia supplied. 'But Sister, that was years ago—'
Sister Julienne laughed. 'Believe me, no mother wants to hear her daughter wishes to be a nun. No, no, Nurse Miller. The time for hints is over. You're off this weekend, aren't you?'
'I was supposed to be, but Trixie—'
'Trixie can wait,' the nun interrupted with gentle inflexibility. 'Go home. Tell your parents what you're thinking of. Let them express their outrage and shock, if they want. Don't argue with about it, don't assume they're wrong. Think about what they say, pray about it, consider carefully. This is not a decision to be made lightly.'
Sister Julienne rose as she ended, coming around her large desk to stand before Cynthia. The younger woman rose, her eyes going to meet the nun's.
'You're sure?' Sister Julienne asked a third time, a fine line deepening between her brows.
Cynthia lifted her chin, for once having the confidence to meet her superior's gaze squarely. Only now did she realise how frequently she avoided such a direct look. 'I want to try,' she insisted. 'I want to try more than I've wanted anything in my life.'
The older woman's expression softened. 'Then may God bless and keep you, my daughter, as you prepare to travel this difficult path.'
That benediction buoyed Cynthia through the weekend and the task of telling her parents. It supported her through the long nights of reading and praying as she tested her sense of vocation in her own mind—but it could do nothing when the moment came to break the news to the girls.
A week later
'You want to do what?!' Trixie could not have sounded more aghast if Cynthia had announced her intention of parading naked down Oxford Street, garbed in nothing but her cherry-red nurse's hat. 'For heaven's sake, why?'
'Because it's what I need to do,' Cynthia responded quietly. 'I don't have a choice in the matter, Trixie. It's as if I woke up one morning and felt this–this compulsion.'
Shelagh Turner, sitting opposite Cynthia and nursing a giant cup of Nescafé, nodded knowingly. 'That's exactly what it feels like.'
Trixie darted her a look that verged on unfriendly. 'Well, clearly it stopped being a compulsion for you,' she snapped, flourishing her cigarette and blowing out an indignant cloud of smoke. 'How did that happen, pray tell?'
Shelagh went bright red but she managed to speak with dignity. 'It didn't stop.' Her even tone reminded the girls of the days when she, as Sister Bernadette, had taught them. 'Compulsion, call, it's the same thing. My call to serve God simply changed, that's all.'
'H'mmm. I'm absolutely certain that's not what you tell Dr Turner in bed at night.'
'Trixie!' Jenny protested as Shelagh's colour deepened and Cynthia's eyes grew very bright. 'If you can't be nice, shut up. You're being a beast, it's Cynthia's life and it's nothing to do with you how she chooses to live it.'
Trixie's gaze swivelled to Jenny. 'You seem remarkably unshocked by this, Jenny Lee, considering all the things you used to say about the nuns—'
Now it was Jenny's turn to flush. 'That was before I knew them. I was ignorant, you can't cast that up to me now.'
The other girl's eyes narrowed. 'You knew, didn't you?' It was an accusation.
Unintimidated, Jenny returned glare for glare. 'I didn't know for sure. I suspected Cynthia was considering it—'
'As did I,' Shelagh interjected, while Chummy's awkward shuffling spoke for itself.
Trixie's delicate features hardened. 'So all of you knew, except me.'
'Don't be like that, Trixie,' Cynthia pleaded, leaning forward. 'I wasn't trying to shut you out, honestly, I—I just didn't know how you'd react.'
'Because I'm so temperamental, I suppose,' Trixie huffed, blowing a smoke ring. 'I'm sorry to see you had so little faith in me. What about the nuns, do they know? And I'm positive Chummy and Shelagh have been dutiful little wives and told their respective husbands—'
Chummy tried and failed to look invisible, but Shelagh did not flinch.
'I haven't said a word to Patrick,' she said in a voice as smooth and sweet as ice-cream, and even Trixie had the grace to look abashed.
'Sister Julienne knows,' Cynthia put in, looking wretchedly guilty. 'I had to tell her what I was thinking.'
'Huh.' Trixie shifted. 'I've half a mind to tell her what I think of her for encouraging you in this—this idiocy!'
There was a general outcry. Shelagh and Cynthia defended Sister Julienne, Chummy kept saying, 'Oh I say, girls, don't let's argue' in stentorian tones, while Jenny's voice rose above the rest.
'That's enough, Beatrix Franklin! You've gone way beyond beastliness now. If you don't apologise this very minute, I swear we'll have nothing more to do with you until you do!'
To her surprise, Trixie's only response was a cat-like smile.
'Have it your own way, darling. I'll make sure I'm there while you're explaining to Sister Evangelina why you've been struck dumb the next time we're attending a delivery together. I'm certain you'll be able to hear her all the way to Charing Cross!' With that, she rose with sinuous grace and left, having—as usual—had the last word.
The others stared at each other in blank silence.
'That went well,' Chummy said at last, sounding as glum as she looked.
Jenny gave a spluttered laugh. 'Trust you to state the obvious, Chum.' She groaned and planted her elbows on the table, running her fingers through her curls. 'Now what do we do? I hate to admit it, but she's right, we can't refuse to talk to her during work hours or the nuns will say things. Sister Evangelina's lectures are bad enough but Sister Julienne's disappointment is ten times worse.' She dropped her head on her arms and continued with a muffled, 'Why didn't someone choke me off?'
'Buck up, old bean,' Chummy said, rallying in the face of Jenny's dismay. 'Worse troubles at sea and all that. It'll all come out in the wash.' She paused as Jenny lifted her head with a sceptical glance. 'Just give Trixie a chance to get used to it. It must've been an awful shock, especially when she and Cynthia have been such chums for so long—'
'Chummy, that really doesn't make me feel any better,' Cynthia put in dolefully, and Chummy looked mortified.
'Lawks, I've put my size tens in it again, haven't I? I, I think I'd better go, Peter and the young sir'll be wanting their tea, and it's a rum business trying to get that stove to go at the best of times, let alone when one's all of a fluster. Dommy sci at Roedean was no preparation for life in the East End.' She was gabbling as she finished, standing behind her chair like a schoolgirl waiting to be dismissed.
Shelagh rose in her turn, her demeanour apologetic. 'I'm afraid I must leave also. I don't like to leave Timothy alone if it can be avoided. The poor boy's had enough of fending for himself since his mother died.'
Cynthia gave a strained smile. 'Of course, Shelagh. We'll see you both tomorrow.'
The former nun looked straight at her, her eyes huge and unblinking behind their upswept rims. 'Hold fast, Cynthia. If the religious life is truly for you, you'll never regret it. There is… much joy in it, although it is not the world's joy.' She made a little movement with her head that reminded the watching Jenny of the days when she'd been Sister Bernadette, and followed Chummy from the kitchen with something of her old glide.
Once they'd gone, Jenny eyed her friend sheepishly across the worn table and the wreckage of their afternoon tea.
'I rather think I should be the one to apologise. I've a horrid feeling I've just made things much worse.'
Cynthia's mouth twitched at the corners as she reached across to tentatively place her hand over Jenny's.
'You were trying to be a friend. I—I never had proper friends before I came to Nonnatus House, just… acquaintances. You know, the people you're polite to and whose cheeks you kiss in greeting…but you know nothing of them and they know nothing of you—and what's more, they don't want to know.' She paused, biting deeply into her lower lip. 'Trixie was the first friend who could honestly be called a chum.' Her voice broke.
Jenny moved her hand so that she could grasp Cynthia's fingers in her own. 'What happens now?'
The other girl expelled a slow breath. 'Sister Julienne told me to get back to her once I'd told my parents and—and you. I think she was setting a test, to see if I could go through with it.'
'Without putting any pressure on you,' Jenny supplemented with a nod, having become wise to the ways of Nonnatus's unassuming Sister-in-Charge. 'That sounds like her.'
Cynthia made an assenting noise. 'Next, she's going to call Mother Jesu Emmanuel and arrange for me to go to Chichester for an interview. If that goes well, Sister Julienne will set a date for me to formally enter Nonnatus as a postulant. She said usually I would be expected to go to the Mother House, but she couldn't spare me—and also that there was a precedent.'
'Will there be a ceremony?' Jenny asked curiously. Much as she enjoyed listening to the devotional life of the community, until Sister Bernadette had renounced her vows she'd barely given the process of becoming a nun a second thought. 'Will you have to change your name?'
'Sister Julienne says it's up to me. I'm, I'm still thinking. I don't want to change just for the sake of it.'
'Either way, we'll have to call you "Sister",' Jenny teased.
Cynthia's sallow skin turned pink. 'Not in private, you won't. As for the ceremony, there isn't one. The big ceremony is the Clothing at the end of the postulancy, Entrance is very quiet.' She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with uncharacteristic mischief. 'But you live here… perhaps you could find a way to watch!'
Jenny grinned. 'I'll ask Fred, or Sister Monica Joan. She loves a secret.' She leaned closer and dropped her voice. 'I'll be there, never you fear.'
'Haven't you girls got anything better to do than to faff around plotting and drinking tea?' Sister Evangelina scolded as she bustled into the kitchen and headed for the cake tin. 'Go on, chop chop! Patients won't nurse themselves!' Taking the hint, the girls exchanged rueful glances and obeyed.
August 1958
'Cynthia Miller, what is it you ask of this house?' Sister Julienne's voice rang with uncharacteristic authority through the tiled and panelled front hall of Nonnatus House.
The other nuns clustered behind her, attempting to model monastic behaviour for the benefit of their new postulant, their hands clasped behind scapulas and eyes carefully lowered. They seemed mysterious and shrouded, the deep black of their prayer veils causing them to sink into the shadows.
Shelagh shivered as Cynthia's brown head dipped, and she said the words Shelagh herself had blurted out ten years before: 'To try my vocation as a sister within this house of St Raymond Nonnatus.'
'Are you all right?' Jenny whispered. They were standing just inside the big front door; for today, the inner doors would represent the cloister, and until Cynthia's Entrance was complete none of the nurses could go through. 'It must be awfully strange, watching this.'
'Just a bit,' Shelagh murmured back, feeling deliciously wicked as she did so. As a nun, she'd been the youngest, the most recently professed, and at an event such as this she would have been expected to stand in perfectly composed silence. 'It's the first one here since mine,' she admitted with a sigh, as a wave of renewed guilt rose within her. She was content—more than content—in her new vocation, but she still struggled with the feeling that she'd deserted her sisters, most particularly Sister Julienne.
'If it be God's Will, then let it done,' the Sister-in-Charge said, and the nuns' faces were illuminated as each lit a candle, standing with such stillness that the flames burned white and straight.
With Sister Julienne on one side and Sister Evangelina on the other, Cynthia was ushered down the long passage towards the chapel, the other sisters falling in behind. Within moments the corridor was empty once more, and there was a pause before the words of Psalm 121 drifted towards them. I will lift mine eyes up unto the hills…
'They must be missing your voice,' Jenny said softly.
Roused from her memories, Shelagh shook her head. 'They don't need it. It's about the words, the prayer, not the music or the beauty of the song.'
The younger woman went quiet and Shelagh took advantage of the moment to close her eyes and follow the psalm her former sisters were singing inside her head; she might no longer wear the veil, but a decade's worth of exposure had burnt the cadences of the Divine Office into her very soul.
The door opened with a shaft of light that penetrated the thin film of Shelagh's eyelids, and she felt Jenny stiffen beside her.
'Is it all done then?' Trixie asked, not bothering to lower her voice. 'Are we still persona non gratis? I've been out since late yesterday afternoon, it was Elsie's first baby and I though the little rotter would never come. I'm famished; did Mrs B leave any cake?'
'For the reception,' Jenny told her coolly. 'You know that, you were there when Sister Evangelina warned us we weren't to touch it—or let Sister Monica Joan at it either.'
'So what's happening now?'
Shelagh could hear the attempt at breeziness in Trixie's tone, but it was too forced to be natural and pity surged through her for the girl.
'Sister Julienne and Sister Evangelina will ritually undress Cynthia,' she said, opening her eyes and looking straight into Trixie's. 'A lock of Cynthia's hair will be symbolically cut, and they'll help her into a postulant's short dress. It's blue, just a bit darker than our nurses' uniforms, and she'll need to wear a short veil without the cap at all times.'
Trixie dropped her bag and ran her hands along her arms, her features turning pinched. 'Well, if you ask me it all sounds positively medieval.'
'It is,' Shelagh informed her, not without a touch of dryness. 'It's the first step towards transforming a woman into a nun. It won't be easy,' she continued, anxious that Trixie really understood what their friend was undertaking, 'it will be the most difficult thing Cynthia's ever done.' A pause. 'Even if you don't agree with it, please support her, Trixie. She'll need it.'
Trixie's jaw hardened, but Shelagh did not miss the hint of dampness in her eyes.
'With all due respect, that's codswallop. She's renouncing the world, isn't she? She's turning her back on us, she doesn't need us! She's the one who's walking away, so I wish you'd all stop trying to make me the evil old witch. I'm absolutely fed up of it!' She stooped to lift her bag once more and shot a dark look towards both Shelagh and Jenny. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I've been up entirely too long and I need to get my beauty sleep. If anyone asks, pass on my apologies.'
She brushed past without another word, her heels loud on the polished parquet floor as she made her way done the corridor. Light streamed through the long windows, adding richness to the red of her hat and turning her curls into a halo of gold.
Shelagh heard Jenny blew out a breath that was part sigh and part exasperation.
'Sometimes I'd love to give her a good shaking. Why can't she accept Cynthia's choice?'
Shelagh stared into the depths of the familiar sun-striped corridor. 'She's afraid.'
'Of what?'
The former nun turned to face her younger friend. 'Things are changing, Jenny. Trixie doesn't like change; for all her talk she relishes the security of familiar things. Now I'm a nurse instead of a nun, Chummy's married and a mother, you're walking out with Alec'—whereat Jenny blushed—'and Cynthia, who has been her bulwark since they first arrived here three years ago, is contemplating becoming a nun.'
Jenny chewed lightly on her lip. 'You think I should be kind, instead of annoyed.'
'I think you should always choose kindness,' Shelagh corrected. 'It's our duty to love everyone, even when we think they're acting wrongly. Perhaps even especially when we think they're acting wrongly.'
The phone rang and Shelagh—as the nurse on call—began to move towards it; with Cynthia's Entrance over and done Nonnatus House was once again open. As she listened to the details of the latest mother in labour, her eyes sought out Jenny, still standing in the corridor, and she sighed. Jenny was as disturbed as Trixie about Cynthia's decision to pursue her vocation; unlike Trixie, she just hadn't realised it yet. There would be ructions in the days and weeks to come; Shelagh was sure of it.
If you're interested in seeing more, please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.
