This was inspired by buildarocketboys on Tumblr and her lovely icon.
I hope you all enjoy it :)
Disclaimer: I do not own the Crimson Field, nor any of the characters and ideas you might recognise from it. Nor do I own the books mentioned (though I do have a copy of Treasure Island somewhere, I'm sure of it).
Not for the first time, Grace Carter wondered if she had made the right decision.
Luckily, this time no lives were on the line; the wrong decision should not mean too much damage. However, that being said, one could never be entirely sure with these things.
The war was over. However, since there were still many men in no fit state to travel, the staff would remain at the hospital for the next few weeks, by which point even the most injured of soldiers should have healed enough to be carried on a stretcher to a motorcar and be transported back home to England.
Of course, this wasn't what had Grace worried. On the contrary, she was actually very happy that the war was over.
No, the problem, like so many before it, came in the form of Flora Marshall.
After hearing that they were all to head back home to England and potentially never see each-other again, Flora had asked if she might be granted permission to create a scrapbook to take home with her.
Grace had politely refused her at first, telling her that cameras were expensive and that they'd never be able to find one in the short few weeks they had left in France.
How word of their conversation had reached Miles Hesketh-Thorne was a mystery to her, but somehow it must've, for less than twenty-four hours after she'd politely but firmly told Flora how impossible it would be for them to find a camera in time and at a reasonable price, he had returned from 'visiting a friend' in Paris who had apparently been kind enough to let them borrow his.
Grace had been with Flora, tending to the patients in the same tent, when Miles gave the camera to her.
She'd thanked him before promptly taking a rather blurry picture of his knees, by accident of course.
"Matron, look what Captain Hesketh-Thorne found for me." She said, holding it up above her head proudly.
"Be careful with it!" Miles cut in, reaching up and steadying her hands before she dropped the delicate piece of equipment on the floor. "If I can't give it back in one piece, I'm a dead man!"
Technically, Grace should have stopped her as she left the tent, Miles by her side and camera in her hand. She still had thirty minutes left until the end of her shift. And besides, the flash might be enough to trigger some of the more sensitive of soldiers. This hospital was supposed to be somewhere safe for them to stay after their trip to Hell. She did not really think it fair to make them feel uncomfortable or even terrified purely for the sake of a few photos.
Yet Miss Marshall looked so happy, and the majority of the men did seem to adore her. She brought a certain joy into a room with her, as though she had a little beam of sunlight trapped in her smile.
She could always confiscate the camera later if things got out of hand, she reasoned with herself.
Still, by nature she was the guilty sort; she would feel bad for her decision until some good became of it. And if something went wrong, she would surely blame herself.
"Foley!"
He was by the incinerator, using it to dispose of... Flora didn't particularly want to know what, exactly.
He turned to face her as she ran towards him, raising the camera and taking a shaky picture of his face.
"What's that?" Foley took the camera off of her, turning it over in his hands with interest.
"It's a camera." Flora explained. "Captain Hesketh-Thorne brought it for me from his friend in Paris."
"Have you taken any pictures with it yet?" He asked.
She nodded, saying sheepishly, "I took one of the floor by accident."
He laughed, waiting her for her to join him before lifting the camera and snapping a picture of her face.
"That's how it's done." He said proudly, handing the camera back to her with a smug smile.
She made sure to step on his toes before she turned and walked away.
The flowers Rosalie had planted were coming along quite nicely, and Flora thought that she might take a picture of them. They wouldn't move like people did, so in theory they would be the perfect subject for her to practice with.
Though she wouldn't be able to see the pictures until the film had been developed, she had an inkling that the first few were going to turn out blurry. The third, however, she managed to still her hands long enough that she hoped the image produced might be somewhat decent.
She took several more, confident that she was growing better at this taking pictures lark with each click of the button, each open-and-close of the shutter.
"Flora,"
She whirled around at the mention of her name, smiling when she saw it was only Rosalie.
"I hadn't thought to see you here." The redhead said, walking past her and kneeling down on the ground beside her flowerbed. She began to fuss with the ground using the trowel in her hand.
Flora explained her intentions to make a scrapbook so as to remember everybody once she was back home. Rosalie listened intently, nodding and humming in all the right places.
"May I take a picture of you?" Flora asked, once she'd reached the end of her explanation.
Rosalie ceased her gardening so as to swivel around and face the younger nurse. "I'm not really sure about that, Flora."
"Oh, come on!" Flora prompted. "You look really pretty, and the flowers would make a really nice background. And besides, even if I'll never forget you, I need something to show my future children when I tell them all about the lovely Miss Berwick who I met during the Great War."
Rosalie smiled in that polite, tight-lipped manner of hers and returned to her gardening.
"Oh, please, Rosalie." Flora all but begged. "Just one picture and then I'll go away."
Rosalie's shoulder lifted as she sighed heavily before looking over at Flora once again.
"Only one." She said, waving the trowel at her menacingly. "Promise me, Flora."
"Only one." Flora echoed obediently.
She pointed the lens of the camera at the redhead, who remained kneeling on the ground beside her beloved flowers, dusting at her skirt so as to remove flecks of dirt and dust that only she could see.
"Smile!" Flora encouraged enthusiastically.
Rosalie's well-mannered smile graced her features and Flora pressed the button. She waited for the click of the lens shutter before lowering it back down to her side.
"There," She said proudly. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
"I'll see you at dinner, Flora." Rosalie said flatly, returning once more to her gardening. It was clear that she meant to end the conversation there, and so Flora left in search of her next victim.
With Thomas absent, Miles had decided to steal his chair. Using his friend's desk as a convenient foot rest, he read a book recommended to him by Roland. Thus far, Treasure Island was no Tarzan of the Apes, but it was alright. Reading it wasn't complete torture.
"Um, Captain,"
He looked up to find that Flora had poked her head through the flap of the tent. Folding the corner of his current page over so as to mark his place, he tossed Treasure Island onto his bed and swung his feet off of Thomas' desk.
"Miss Marshall," He said. "What can I do for you?"
"I was just wondering if Kitty was here." She explained. "Clearly she's not, though."
"I'm afraid she isn't." Miles confirmed solemnly. "I'm sorry. Anything I can help with?"
"I just wanted to take her picture, that's all." Flora explained a little sadly. "I'm sure I'll have chance later. Thank you anyway though, Captain."
She left.
After a mental argument with himself that lasted all of ten seconds, Miles found himself hurrying after her.
"Wait!" He called out. "Miss Marshall, hold on!"
She stopped and turned to face him, evidently confused if the expression on her face was anything to go by.
"I know where Kitty is." He explained, a little out of breath after all that running. "And Thomas, too, if that's any use."
Intrigued, Flora nodded. "Go on."
"They're in the woods." Miles continued. "There's this place they go when they both have a free moment. I can take you, if you like."
"Would you?" Flora beamed. "Thank you, Captain."
"Always happy to help," He replied, adding in a mock salute for good measure.
She laughed and he couldn't help but grin in response to it as he led her to Kitty and Thomas' usual meeting place.
He only hoped they weren't about to walk in on anything too awkward.
They almost walked into Kitty and Thomas, who were now on their way back from their walk.
Thomas did not say anything, just looked from Miles to Flora and back again before raising an eyebrow pointedly.
Miles rolled his eyes. He knew exactly how it must look, heading to the place where Thomas and Kitty exchanged their not-so-secret kisses with a young woman himself. "We're not like that, Thomas. I was just helping her look for Kitty."
"Oh?" Kitty addressed Flora with a vaguely amused smirk. "And why might that be?"
"I just wanted to take your picture." Flora explained sheepishly. "And yours too, Captain Gillan."
"Ah," Thomas cut in. "This must be the camera I've been hearing so much about. May I?" He held out his hands.
After the encounter with Foley, Flora was reluctant to hand the piece of equipment over. However, with Miles and Kitty standing by with their reassuring smiles, she didn't see how it could go too wrong.
"It's quite heavy, isn't it?" Thomas commented, weighing it in his hands experimentally.
To Flora's immense relief, he handed it back without taking an unexpected photograph of her.
"Flora," Kitty said, almost uncharacteristically nervous. "I'd really rather you didn't take my picture."
"Why not?" Flora asked. "I'd only take one. I just want something to show my future children, when they ask me for my war stories."
"I don't like having my picture taken." Kitty insisted.
"I could take a picture of both you and Captain Gillan together, if you want." Flora continued on, oblivious. "It's just I'd really like something to remember you both by."
"Come on, Kitty!" Miles coaxed. "Just one picture. I'll even hold your hand if you want me to." She glared at him, at which he grinned sheepishly. "On second thoughts, perhaps I'll leave the hand holding to Thomas from now on."
"Good idea." Thomas agreed, almost darkly.
Flora began to bounce on the balls of her feet excitedly.
"Captain Hesketh-Thorne," She addressed Miles. "I've just realised that the only photograph I've taken of you so far is of your shoes... Do you think-"
"I'm way ahead of you, Miss Marshall." He cut in, moving to stand between Kitty and Thomas. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around each of their shoulders, grinning brightly at Flora. "Ready when you are."
Flora smiled back, lifting her camera. She took a step backward, so as to be sure that she'd fit all three of them into the photo, before pressing the button.
Kitty didn't smile, and the way Thomas' lips only slightly turned up at the edges couldn't really be counted as one, either. But Miles' enormous grin more than made up for the both of them.
She raised her hand to knock, hesitated momentarily, before lowering it again.
"Peter, I can't." Flora insisted. "The only time anyone ever goes into Colonel Brett's office is because they've done something naughty."
Peter Foley rolled his eyes and knocked on the door for her.
"Come in," came a distinctly feminine voice that was certainly not Colonel Brett's.
Peter Foley mouthed something to her which looked like 'Quayle', though Flora couldn't be sure. She wrinkled her nose to show her confusion, at which he reached over and opened the door.
He must've indeed mouthed 'Quayle', for there she was. Matron was also there; judging by the flush to her cheeks, there had been some shouting before their arrival.
Colonel Brett sat at his desk. He seemed quite relieved to see them, at last receiving a brief break from whatever heated discussion had been taking place prior to their coming here.
"Corporal Foley, Miss Marshall," He acknowledged them. "What brings you here?"
Taking a deep breath, Flora explained about the scrapbook and the camera. Grace, who of course already knew all of this, seemed to be biting back a smile. It took Flora a while to realise that this was likely because her story seemed to make Sister Quayle quite angry.
Colonel Brett listened intently, nodding in all the right places. If he noticed the animosity between Carter and Quayle, he did not show it. Flora supposed that by now he must be used to it.
"So I was wondering if I might take your picture, Colonel Brett." She finished. "Actually, while I'm here, I could also take yours, Matron, and yours, Sister Quayle, couldn't I?"
"Absolutely not." Sister Quayle shook her head disapprovingly. "There are some gravely ill soldiers here, Miss Marshall. The flash of that camera could easily trigger seizures or anxiety attacks in some of the more unstable patients. Grace, I'm shocked you would allow such a practice."
The Matron smiled in a manner that suggested that she dealt with outbursts such as this fairly often.
"The men adore Miss Marshall, Sister Quayle." She explained calmly. "You would have to be a fool not to see it. And I trust her to be sensible. She has come a long way from that little thing who showed up here four years ago with rosewater on her cheeks and a fruitcake in her arms."
Peter snorted beside her, and Flora felt herself blush at the memory. How childish she had been!
"I shall have no part in this." Sister Quayle insisted, leaving the room with her head held high.
Matron waited for her to be safely out of the way before allowing Flora to take her picture.
Another photo of both Grace and Peter was taken, both of them laughing at a comment he'd just made.
She took a photo of Colonel Brett, smiling somewhat distantly at her as he sat at his large wooden desk.
"I do want one of Sister Quayle, though." Flora said, once she had thanked both Matron and Colonel Brett for being so accepting of her scrapbook. "As mean as she might be, I will miss her. I'm going to miss everybody."
Colonel Brett patted his desk.
"Leave it here." He said, referring of course to the camera. "I'll see what I can do."
Flora left the camera in the place indicated, thanking him once again before allowing Peter to lead her from the room.
A few days later, the three nurses were called to Colonel Brett's office.
Flora racked her brain, trying to remember if she'd done anything worthy of chastisement recently. It did not help that throughout the entire duration of the walk from their tent to Colonel Brett's office, Rosalie did not stop talking about how she really did not want to be yelled at, and which one of them had messed up now, and 'Flora if you keep on angering Matron like this, we are going to go home on sour terms with her, and nobody wants that'.
As it turned out, none of them were in trouble at all. In fact, Colonel Brett had a visitor for them.
She was sitting with her back to the door, but she stood and turned to face them when Colonel Brett greeted the three nurses.
Rosalie gasped, hands flying over her mouth. Kitty had to shake her head to compose herself, caught so off guard. And Flora... Well, it took all of Flora's self-control not to run across the short expanse of the Colonel's office and give their unexpected visitor a hug.
"Look at you," Joan Livesey (or was it Ehrlich now?) said. Flora thought there might be tears in her dark eyes, though if so they were hastily blinked away. "I barely recognise you all. You've all grown up so much since I last saw you."
When her grandparents made a similar speech every Christmas, Flora had always found it incredibly annoying. For some reason though, when Joan made it, it wasn't irritating at all.
"How is Anton?" Kitty asked.
"He's fine, thank goodness." Joan assured them. "After being released, we headed straight back to England, bought another restaurant. We're married now." She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, showing the plain silver band that now had pride of place upon her ring finger.
Flora and Rosalie rushed forward almost immediately in order to get a closer look. Kitty hesitated momentarily before following suit.
"It's lovely." Flora told Joan, who beamed proudly.
"How much did it cost?" Rosalie asked, holding her hand and twisting it so as to examine the ring from all angles.
"It didn't cost us a penny." She said. Upon seeing their horrified expressions, she hastily added, "It was my mother's. She said we'd make much better use of it; she kept it locked up in a drawer, never wore it."
Realising that Colonel Brett was still there (it was his office, after all) and that this really was the most opportune moment to take Joan's picture, Flora removed herself from admiring their visitor's new wedding ring and made her way over to his desk.
Colonel Brett seemed to read her mind before she'd even had chance to say so much as a single syllable.
"I managed to get a picture of Sister Quayle for you." He informed her. "She doesn't know though, and I think it's perhaps best that we keep it that way."
Flora nodded and mimed attaching a padlock to her lips, twisting a key to secure it, and then tossing said key over her shoulder.
"Sis- Mrs Ehrlich," He hastily corrected himself, "Will be leaving shortly. I'd suggest snapping a photograph sooner rather than later."
He nudged the camera across the desk towards her.
Flora thanked him for his help before taking the camera across the room to the other women.
Rosalie and Kitty immediately dashed out of the way, none too keen on having their photographs taken a second time.
Flora explained to Joan about her scrapbook idea, and was happy to find it met with enthusiasm.
She took several pictures of Joan, who made a lovely and willing model and was more than happy to help Flora with her project.
On his next trip into Paris, Miles took Flora with him. She sat beside him in the car, camera nestled snugly on her lap. They joked and laughed the whole way there, though Flora had to keep reminding him to focus on the road, and several times he almost swerved off course.
The man he took her to see informed her that all of her photos should be ready for picking up in three days time.
Although usually Miles only made his trips weekly, after much begging and pleading and sulking, Flora was finally able to convince him to take her back to collect the photos.
"But only if you let me look at them." He said. "All of them."
Flora agreed with those terms. She had nothing to hide, after all.
She was handed the photographs in a thin paper bag. Luckily, Flora had enough money to pay the photograph developer for his services (she had spent the duration of the journey there wondering if it would be too dreadfully expensive after all). She thanked him before leaving, meeting Miles outside his usual hotel at two o'clock, as decided earlier.
He took the paper bag from her, and they perused its contents together. Some photographs, such as the blurry one of his shoes, made them laugh. Others led to comments from Miles such as,
"Does my nose really look like that?"
Or from Flora, which tended to be more along the lines of, "Well, she looks unhappy, doesn't she?"
As promised, Colonel Brett had indeed taken a photograph of Sister Quayle for her. She was reading a book, although Flora couldn't quite make out the title on its cover. She looked slightly odd, though Flora was not quite sure why exactly.
"I think it's the first time I've ever seen her with a genuine smile on her face." Miles commented thoughtfully.
That was it, Flora realised; she was smiling!
It really did suit her. She ought to do it more often.
Flora Marshall ended up with thirty two children in total.
They did not all live with her, of course. Technically, on paper, none of them actually belonged to her.
But she knew each of them by name, saw them all every day (bar holidays and weekends). They waved to her in the street and ran to her with tears streaming down their faces when they fell over on the playground.
She was their teacher- their favourite teacher- and she loved each and every one of them as though they were her own.
For the last few weeks, the children had been taking it in turns to do a short presentation to the rest of the class about their lives- be it their families, their hobbies, or whatever else struck their fancy. Joseph had talked about his passion for football and his dream of becoming a professional player. Claire had done hers on star-gazing, drawing a few constellations upon the chalkboard and telling the stories behind them. Albert told the entire class about his beloved tabby cat, Mittens.
Flora saved her own presentation for last.
On that Friday afternoon, she gathered her children to sit on the floor by her feet. Her hands lay protectively, fondly, over the leather-bound book resting on her lap.
"I'm going to do a presentation for all of you now." She explained to them. "Many years ago, when you were all very little- some of you weren't even born yet, I imagine- I went to France. You might have heard your mummies and daddies talking about a the Great War. Well, I went to help make the hurt soldiers better."
"Like a doctor?" Someone called out. She suspected it was George, who spoke without raising his hand fairly often.
Just this once, Flora did not chastise him for interrupting.
"A bit like a doctor." She agreed. "While I was there, I made some of the best friends I've ever had. I have some photographs here that I thought I might share with you."
She explained the stories behind each person- Kitty with her daughter back home, Thomas who had fancied her like mad before she finally accepted his advances, Joan who had a German fiancé and who they'd all assumed was killed before the morning the photo was taken. On and on she went, smiling at some of the memories, wincing slightly at others.
"This is me." She said, pointing to a picture of herself laughing that she'd always thought dreadfully unflattering. "My friend Peter took that one when I wasn't expecting it."
A hand shot up.
"Yes, Fred?" Flora asked.
Fred looked at the floor, clearly embarrassed. "You were really pretty, Miss Marshall."
She beamed. "Thank you, Fred. That's very sweet of you."
The little boy smiled shyly back at her before returning his gaze down to the carpet. His friend Louis, who was sat beside him, nudged him and then smiled reassuringly when he met his gaze.
Flora watched the exchange with mild amusement before returning to her presentation.
After her class had been dismissed, Flora shut her precious scrapbook and slipped it into her bag. She slung the worn old thing over her shoulder and turned to leave the classroom, key in hand; she was required to lock up when she left at the end of each day.
She froze when she realised that she was not alone. Lily Morgan was standing by the door, biting her lip nervously.
"Lily, dear," Flora said, dropping her bag on one of the now vacant desks and heading over to the young girl. "Did you want to see me?"
Lily nodded.
"What is it?" Flora prompted. Lily was a girl who rarely spoke, and when she did her voice was mousy and quiet. Flora found that often she had to coax her into saying anything at all.
"When you did your presentation," The little girl said, twirling a lock of auburn hair around her finger. "Why did you have a picture of my mummy?"
Taken aback, Flora hastily composed herself (an art one learnt when working with small children on a daily basis) and studied the little girl's physical features far more carefully than she ever had before.
Of course! The grey-green eyes, the red hair... How had she not seen it sooner?
"Lily," Flora said. "Is your mummy likely to be in?"
The small girl nodded.
"In that case, might I walk you home?" She continued. "I'd like to have a word with her."
Lily nodded once again, waiting for Flora to grab her bag before leading the way to her home.
She'd never seen her mother cry before, or fling her arms around anybody other than her father.
"When she told me her teacher was a Miss Marshall, I scarcely dared to hope." Rosalie explained.
Flora laughed and ruffled Lily's hair affectionately.
"Can I offer you a cup of tea?" Rosalie asked, ushering her daughter into the house.
"Tea would be delightful." Flora said with a smile.