She doesn't look up as the steps echo through the hall. "Ah, Nurse Franklin, will you take the delivery pack over to Mrs Bancroft after you've finished your rounds?"
"I'd be happy to," says a voice that is so familiar she could recognise it in her sleep, "but I'm not Nurse Franklin, if that's all right."
"Shelagh." Quickly she crosses the room to take the other woman's hands in hers. "I thought you were off duty today?"
"I am." She smiles, and decades-old instincts start to nudge at the back of Julienne's mind. Shelagh is glowing, her smile even more radiant than it had been on her wedding day, if that was possible. "I had to come in and see Cynthia, though."
"Oh?" Her suspicions are growing, but Julienne cannot dare to hope. "May I ask why?"
Instead of answering, Shelagh smiles a knowing smile and gently guides Julienne's hand to rest on the flat of her belly, pressing it to the softness of her abdomen.
Oh, holy Mother. Julienne's heart leaps in her chest, and without thinking she presses more firmly against the cloth, feeling for something she knows will not be palpable for weeks to come. "Shelagh. You are sure?"
Even before she asks the question, Julienne knows the answer. Sister Bernadette had been second only to herself as a midwife in Poplar, and Nurse Turner has only become better in the months since she took that name. Of course Shelagh is sure. She wouldn't be here if she weren't.
"Yes." Now Julienne recognises her glow for what it is; the glow of a new mother. "I've asked Cynthia to be my midwife, if that's all right."
The words slash at Julienne's heart, though intellectually she knows that of all the other midwives at Nonnatus, Cynthia's gentle temperament and calming manner is perfect for Shelagh. It is not all right, it is very much not all right, but somehow Julienne manages to keep her voice rock steady. "Why Cynthia, may I ask?"
And then Shelagh looks up at her with dazzling eyes and all the hurt is wiped away in an instant. "Because," Shelagh murmurs, her eyes never leaving Julienne's face, "you can't be my midwife and hold my hand at the same time."
Julienne nods, unable to speak.
"I told Patrick – Doctor Turner – this morning," Shelagh continues, instinctively giving Julienne time to recover. "He was… well, you can imagine his reaction."
"Yes, I can," murmurs Julienne when she has recovered her voice. "I can just imagine. And of course Cynthia knows, and…"
"…you," finishes Shelagh. "I came straight here, as soon as she confirmed it."
It's only then that Julienne realises her hand is still covering Shelagh's abdomen, and she bows her head a moment as she pulls her hand away. In a few months, she knows, she'll be able to feel the flutter of new life through skin and cloth. She's felt it a thousand times before, but this time… this time, everything is new.
This time, she has everything to lose.
"I trust Cynthia," she gets out, her voice wavering. "But if it comes down to it…"
"If it comes down to it," echoes Shelagh, understanding her perfectly, "there is no one else I would want by my side than you, Sister Julienne."
Gently she takes the girl – for she is still a girl in Julienne's eyes – she takes the girl's face in her hands. "I won't let anything happen to you."
It's an empty promise, one she cannot guarantee, and Sister Julienne, a midwife with decades of experience, knows it. But Julienne, who has held this young woman while she cried, who has watched with aching heart as she fought to find the right path, who has stood by an altar and placed her hand in her husband's, has no such compunction about guarantees or false promises. May God help her, this is one patient she will not fail.
Shelagh hides her face against Julienne's shoulder, and Julienne draws her close. For a moment Shelagh is just a scared girl who wants her mother, and for that same moment Julienne is only a mother both thrilled and terrified for her daughter.
Then Shelagh turns wet blue eyes on her again. "You will be there, won't you?" She sounds uncertain and young – so terribly, terribly young. In truth she is nearly thirty but in this…
"My dear, good friend." Julienne brushes her cheek with a finger, just as she had done at Shelagh's wedding. "I could be nowhere else." Gently, she grasps trembling shoulders. "If you have need of me, you call. Any time, anywhere. Understand? No matter how late, no matter how far, you call and I will come."
Now it is Shelagh who is lost for words. This is too much to bear, love and pain in equal measure; they have both seen too much and lost too many to think it is always easy, and this is Shelagh's first. And yet…
"Sister…" Shelagh's voice breaks completely.
Julienne lifts her chin with one finger, tender and sweet. "Daughter," she murmurs, her eyes spilling over, and knows again that it is only the truth for both of them.
Overcome, Julienne clasps Shelagh's hands in hers, taken by training ingrained over decades. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"
Shelagh blinks for only an instant before her voice joins Julienne's. "Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…"
Over and over their voices chant the prayer, reciting in perfect unison. Unthinking, lost in devotion, they pray on and on, asking for strength they do not have alone.
Trixie pauses in the doorway, holding her words back at the last minute as she takes in the scene on the sofa. She closes the door and walks away, unnoticed.
Outside the sitting room walls, the world goes on around them.
But in the quiet of sanctuary, the Hail Mary spins a cocoon of privacy and hope and love.
