Summary: Nurses tiptoe around some red tape. Cecilia Tallis has a habit of things working out for her.


Friday, May 31st, 1940

The Emergency Medical Services hospital in Morden had been hastily constructed out of a former hotel, its walls and windows fortified in the event of a sudden attack.

The current battle, however, went on inside.

The nurses had worked their 12 hour shifts without reprieve and with very little break. There were no probationers at EMS as it was not a teaching hospital, and only the most skilled and intuitive nurses were offered senior staff positions there. Junior staff competed fiercely to get a spot at EMS, knowing the valuable information they would learn would put them leaps and bounds above the others taking qualifying exams.

Nurse MacAllister was nearing the end of her shift. She dreamed of a hot bath and stiff drink, but knew a quick sponge and a cup of cocoa would have to suffice. They were all temporarily living in probationer-style barracks upstairs, to maximize sleep and in case of further emergency.

She caught the eye of a friend of hers, Nurse Daniels, and they shared a knowing, grim smile. The day had not been easy; they had already lost many men. Others were likely to go in the night for lack of constant nursing hands. Even the higher-ups were feeling the strain. Their ward sister had nearly extended each shift three hours to make up for the lack of hands, but the hospital matron, Sister Worthington, had reprimanded Sister Carruthers publically, saying that faulty hands created more problems than fewer hands did. The twelve hour shift stayed, and although the high mortality rate lowered morale among the nursing staff, they couldn't help but feel grateful that the formidable matron had not increased their hours.

Nurse MacAllister had become senior staff three years ago and had worked at EMS since its creation a few months past. There was nothing she hadn't seen, though it bothered her that the military forces couldn't be bothered to ensure certain injuries were sent to hospitals prepared to deal with them. St Thomas's, for instance, specialized in direct patient care, considering their glut of probationers with few medical skills and eager hands.

Her rounds almost over, she stopped at the bed of a private whose color had left him. He had been hooked up to intravenous fluid, but no blood, and she paused to read his chart while taking his vitals. In the bed next to him, she noticed the glassy stare from the bed's occupant and returned her own sorrowful version of another loss. The men in this row had infected wounds – tetanus, septicemia, severe blood loss – and for most of them the fight was as arbitrary as the wound.

The private's blood pressure was not low enough to be considered shock, but low enough to account for his tepid temperature and clammy skin. Severe sepsis, she read on the diagnosis, noting that he had received treatment on the beach at Dunkirk, upon the ship, and at arrival in Dover. Lucky chap – it was likely the reason he lived still. He had been given sulfa, the only recourse they had against septic wounds, but this did not guarantee their prognosis would be reversed. If they had the hands to nurse him through the night for a few days, then maybe his and a few more lives might be spared, but Nurse MacAllister knew than to hold out such hope. She glanced at the name quickly before closing the chart to deal with the corpse next to him.

She pulled the sheet over the dead man and called a junior staff nurse to transfer the body to a gurney so they could take it to the morgue. But she mulled on the familiarity of the name. Turner. Where had she heard that?

She glanced at the clock and noted she had two hours till her shift ended. Robert Turner.

Nurse MacAllister had a long list of things to do next, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. She picked up the identity papers that had arrived just that morning and peaked through the man's history. Several words popped out at her as she read. The man was a felon released from Wandsworth into the Army. He had a mother who lived in Surrey. The gears in Nurse MacAllister's head began to turn swiftly and she marched over to where her friend was bandaging a wound with a junior nurse.

"A word with you when you have a minute, Nurse Daniels."

"Certainly." Nurse Daniels gave the junior nurse she was working with a warm smile that encouraged her to continue on her own and rose to follow Nurse MacAllister.

"In the hallway, just for a moment."

Once out of site of the rest of the staff, Nurse MacAllister did not waste a minute. "Who was that friend of yours you met at training in Liverpool, the one in love with the convicted man?"

"Cecilia Tallis. She works at the maternity home on Weir Road," Nurse Daniels replied brightly, though her brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"

"What was the man's name? Roger, wasn't it? Rodney?"

"No," she shook her head, the blond tendrils of her hair escaping their cape. "His name is Robbie. Robbie Turner. Really, Catherine, why do you…" Nurse Daniels caught Nurse MacAllister's intense gaze and immediately connected why such information might be pertinent. "You're joking."

"No, I think he's here. He's got a bad infection."

"Oh God. You're sure it's him?"

"Come and see." The two women briskly strode back into the room and stopped before the bed where Private Turner sweated and slept.

Nurse Daniels glanced through the papers and nodded. "It's him all right." She cocked an introspective eyebrow towards the bed. "He's not bad looking. I can see why she'd think him innocent." She looked to her friend. "What do we do?"

Nurse MacAllister sighed wearily and crossed her arms, lifting her hand to her mouth to nervously chew on her fingernails.

"Nurse MacAllister, I hardly need to remind you of hygiene," barked Sister Carruthers on her way past, her voice strained and peeved at having been reprimanded earlier in front of the staff.

The pair at Private Turner's bed caught a few more eyes of the senior staff. "What's this?" another asked, coming up behind them.

Nurse Daniels looked around her and quickly told the tale, her voice low. "This man – he's the lover of a friend of mine, another nurse. She works down at the maternity home over in Balham."

"Not the friend who left her family over him?"

"The same."

"Oh dear, that's horrible. But why are we standing here?"

"Because I can't figure out what to do," Nurse MacAllister said.

"If it were me, I'd want to know immediately."

"Me too, " chimed another voice who had overhead.

"Enough!" Nurse Daniels said, shushing them. "We'll get the battle axe's attention," she said, nodding to the sister.

"He's not going to make it out of here," Nurse MacAllister admitted. "What he needs is more blood – and there are others who need it more than him…"

"And constant hydration, if he's receiving sulfa."

"Wouldn't hurt to do leg exercises too, to prevent clots and sores."

A momentary pause, and then Nurse MacAllister spoke up. "Nurse Daniels, you should go get her."

"Cecilia?!"

"Yes, why not?"

"She doesn't work here."

"She won't be a nurse, silly. She's trained, so if his state changes, she'll know and she'll get one of us. We don't have enough hands to get him through the night otherwise."

They paused for a moment and thought it through. "They didn't say a thing about not having visiting hours."

"Exactly! So she'll be a visitor. It's getting late and Sister will be off to bed soon anyway. Cecilia can sit all night with him and no one will be the wiser."

"Oh, it's like a romance serial in the papers!" one junior nurse squealed.

"Shh! Listen," MacAllister continued, nodding to Nurse Daniels. "We'll have to act fast before the shift change. You're on with me until nine o'clock, right?"

"Yes."

"Go now and get her – Carruthers just went to check second floor, and that will take an hour. It's quiet around here now, and God-willing it will stay that way until you're back. I know Edith – I mean Nurse Adams – who's on next shift. I can fill her in on what we're scheming about."

"What if they find out?"

Nurse Mac Allister bit her lip and thought. "I think we'll deal with that when they figure it out."

"I'll cover your beds!" A junior nurse assured Nurse Daniels, who looked a little alarm to be breaking rank.

"Thank you! I'll be quick. It's only 15 minutes to Balham on the Tube. I'll be back within the hour."

"You think she'll come?"

"Who, Cecilia? I think it's quite certain."


If her life had been a fairy tale, it might go a little like this: in a squalid flat in Balham lived a twenty-eight year-old nurse. In a previous life, she'd been something of an heiress and lived in a large house with too many rooms. She fancied herself an intellectual and those around her saw her as proud, acerbic, and perhaps a little cold. If you looked closely, though, you could see chinks in her armor. Around her family, particularly her siblings, she was warm and maternal. She longed for a happy family life, but with an absent father and a distant mother, this was not possible. Luckily, she fell in love and understood what she was really meant to do. Her love was returned by a handsome friend she had known so long. But just as quickly as they had announced their fealty, they were betrayed by the jealous little sister she'd spent so many years nurturing. They took him away and she left the strange family she'd been born into and shed the well-off life she knew.

It was not quite a fairy tale, but at least it was true. And truth was important to our twenty-eight year-old nurse.

Her lodgings were presently modest, but that was because Cecilia Tallis had plans for the future, plans that were expensive, and she tucked away most of her paycheck when she could. Living in Balham was made bearable by friends who often invited her out and the letters that had came in so regularly from an overeducated private stuck in northern France. She kept the stack of them on a little shelf along with a few other mementos to remind her why she worked so hard.

There was the graduation photo of Robbie that had come just a few weeks after his arrest, and Grace had been too upset to display the photo of Robbie at his very best – the collegiate robes had been recently exchanged for prisoner's garb, and the juxtaposition had been too much for poor Grace. So Cecilia had taken the photo and displayed in next to her bed that whole long summer of 1935, when there was still hope of winning his case. Its presence vexed Emily, who once charged into Cecilia's room in an motherly attempt to lecture her about her life choices. Cecilia was prepared of a summer of this sort of thing, but when Emily started in how her support of Robbie was an embarrassment to her family, something inside her snapped.

The next day, the graduation photo was one of a few things that was packed when she left the house to move in with Grace at the bungalow. She had taken so few things that Briony had come down with a full suitcase. She had called for her sister at the gate, her young face worried that Cecilia had not thought of the necessities. Neither Cecilia or Grace could face the girl and Briony had left the suitcase there. Later Cecilia brought it inside and set it in the attic, never opening it. Grace sold the contents some years later, and they were able to send Robbie a heavily-sanctioned Christmas present the second year he was in prison.

That was the last time Cecilia saw her sister. Briony was shipped off to Roedean soon after, and her statements at Robbie's trial were read without her present. Things would be different, Cecilia thought, if the little liar had been made to witness at court. Briony surely would have cracked under the pressure.

It was the photo of the cast of Othello, with Robbie in front hamming it up, that truly haunted her. It panged her to think she hadn't seen even the play even though he'd invited her. That was back when she hadn't understood why he could infuriate her so easily. The fury was misdirected – it wasn't his place in life that prevented her from loving him, it had been her own. She had tried to explain to a friend why the cast photo was so motivating, but quickly realized it was an expression better left unsaid.

Then there were the books. Just three had came with her this time. The others were boxed up at Grace's. A Shropshire Lad, a book of poetry that was Robbie's favorite, sat as it always did. She had copied out the entirety to him in her letters while he was imprisoned. A book of Yeats poetry sat next to it, because the melancholy suited her these days. And then there was his early edition of Pride and Prejudice, which she had read countless times as a sort of balm. Grace had even teased her about it. "Suppose Darcy and Lizzy don't end up together this time you read it through?"

"That's the wonderful thing," Cecilia had retorted, tucking the book safely away. "They always do."

If only the same could be said of Robbie and Cee.

When Robbie was released from the Army, she was going to present her savings as a way to pay through medical school, or at least start. The thought of it normally gave her pleasure, but that overcast night on May 31st, she couldn't help but to worry about the man who held her heart.

She currently worked at a maternity ward right in Balham. Earlier that day, a fellow nurse had come in with the news from a friend who worked elsewhere. It seemed everyone knew someone at and EMS or at a triage unit. Evacuees from France had begun arriving from the war front. That nurse had worked fifteen hours straight, slept for four hours, and worked another twelve, with no end in sight. Maternity could be grueling and occasionally tragic, but mostly Cecilia and her fellow nurses dealt chiefly with new life. A hush fell over them as they worked.

"So the retreat's begun?" another nurse had asked as they folded sheets. Being a maternity ward, they would not receive any evacuees.

"Likely it's been done for some time," Cecilia replied tersely, snapping a pillowcase into folds. She sometimes regretted being separated from her family, especially her father, whose work it would have been useful to track Robbie during his time enlisted. She had not been fooled by the wireless reports that morale was high among the troops and that the "strategic withdrawal" was for, well, strategic reasons. Her heart quaked at the thought of his being dead and already gone from her. She didn't like to dwell there for too long, but the nature of her work forced her to acknowledge the possibility.

She had completed her shift that night and trudged home to a lonely flat and a simple meal of bits of corned beef in béchamel sauce on toast. Grace had taught her to cook more advanced dishes to the point that Cecilia was rather a good cook, but she had just the one gas burner for a stove, and starting the fireplace was more work and more heat than she could bear to deal with. A cup of a tea was her sole comfort as she fingered the spine of the book of Housman poems that Robbie had so loved. She traced the teacup stain on the cover, imagining the lips that eventually met that cup and ruing the fact that she could hardly remember the feel of his lips upon her neck.

She read to drown out the wireless of her landlady downstairs, to no avail. She was tempted to buy a phonograph for her records – if only she hadn't left hers at Surrey! – but knew that her money was better spent accruing interest for her future.

There it was again, the uncertainty of him. At least in prison the days were numbered. War dragged on and showed no sign of slowing. Cecilia thought about being nearly thirty and still unmarried, still unattached to the man she loved, and she hated it.

She tried to focus on the words and read again:

Their shoulders held the sky suspended;

They stood, and earth's foundations stay;

What God abandoned, these defended…

…but lost it there and couldn't. Suddenly, she heard the cracking voice of her landlady, and sighing, she knew it could mean one thing…

"Tallis! Door!"

Marching down the stairs, ready for a confrontation about how many visitors a woman her age should entertain, Cecilia descended the staircase and peered down to the landing.

"Susan! How good to see you!" she cried, crossing the threshold and embracing her friend. "I trust your parents are well?" Cecilia had spent Christmas with the Daniels family for the past two years, and liked them immensely.

"Quite well. They ask about you constantly." Susan's eyes shifted from the glaring landlady to her oblivious friend. "Cee, is there somewhere we can talk privately? It's a bit of an urgent matter."

"Yes, of course," she replied and they went up to Cecilia's flat. Cecilia shut the door, Susan didn't waste a moment.

"You need to come to my hospital. I was transferred to the EMS."

"Oh?" Cecilia's voice was not unsurprised as she walked into her small kitchen. "Are you short nurses? I thought you were contacted by the ward sister if they needed you. Would you like some tea, Susan? You look a little peaked."

"No, there's not time. We've got to get back before my shift ends." Susan wrung her hands trying to convey what was going on without unnecessarily upsetting her friend.

Cecilia poked her head from around the kitchen door, fixing the kettle on the burner as she spoke. "You left during your shift? Susan, whatever were you thinking?"

Susan Daniels made sure Cecilia held her gaze when she spoke next. "Cee, we've received soldiers from the retreat in France."

Cecilia's face became impassive, but she turned off the burner and came back into the room and clasped her hands together as if to pray and she held them up to her mouth. From behind them came a lone syllable: "Oh."

"Cee, he's there," she whispered.

Cecilia's eyes widened as her knees buckled, and Susan rushed over to lead her into a chair. Cecilia's hands shook and she didn't respond, but grasped the chair as if to anchor herself.

"He's not…" Susan stopped abruptly, thinking of the words she ought to use. "He's ill, of course, or else he wouldn't be there. And it's not that we're terribly short nurses, but…but he'd do loads better if someone could attend to him personally. The matron hasn't said a thing about not allowing visitors, so we figured you'd be our first."

Cecilia stared at some point on the wall, unblinking. She seemed to be regulating her breathing.

Susan gave a hoarse laugh. "I won't lie – I've told your story so many times it's like legend. People can't seem to believe that we've got this chance to reunite two lovers." She gently took Cecilia by the shoulders. "They're waiting for us to come back. We need to hurry. Shift changes in thirty minutes and my friend thinks she can talk the next crew into covering for us. We'll try to keep you there the night."

"Susan, I need you to tell me," Cecilia said evenly. "How bad of shape is he in?"

Susan paused and pursed her lips. "It's a severe case of septicemia, but he's not in shock."

Cecilia nodded and took this in, which was not quite the effect Susan was expecting. She decided to go on. "We were unsure if he'd make it through the night, you know, if we couldn't monitor his status and make sure everything was just so. So Catherine – I mean, my friend Nurse MaAllister – she thought that if we fetched you, you could keep an eye on him and get us if his state changes. Otherwise he might slip away."

Cecilia rose and strode towards her bedroom. She didn't close the door, but Susan could hear the sound of fabric being discarded and swapped. Cecilia came out wearing a serviceable dress – perhaps the only clean one she had? – and nodded again. "I'll come," she croaked.

Susan nodded, in hopes of maintaining the calm Cecilia had worked herself to. "Good. Let's be quick – we'll be cutting it close."

They made their way to the door and Cecilia paused at a mirror to check her hair, and to Susan's great surprise, apply a quick layer of lipstick.

"Cee, really? We've got to move!"

Cecilia returned the look of indignation and said in reply, "Oh, you'd do it too, Susan, if you hadn't seen him in almost two years."

They caught each other's glares and Cecilia's mouth twitched, then Susan burst out laughing and Cecilia joined her just for a moment, but turned her face away as it crumpled into tears.

"Come now, dear," Susan said softly, shaking her by the shoulders again. "Courage. You'll need your courage for the night. Tears won't heal him."

Cecilia wiped her nose on a handkerchief and composed herself. "I can't lose him, Susan. I can't lose him now that he's come back."


"Sue, is that you? Took you long enough! Hurry up, it's almost nine!"

"Sorry!" Nurse Daniels said, dressing back into uniform. "The Tube was delayed. We came as fast as we could. Nurse MacAllister, this is Cecilia Tallis."

They nodded at each other, while Nurse MacAllister brought them up to speed. " You're lucky you're a nurse – I don't know if I'd pull this off for anyone else. We won't have you get in uniform, of course. They'd have our heads. But we've pulled up a chair for you and you can keep him company. I've informed the next crew – matron's down for the night. Anyway, on to Private Turner! He's resting quite comfortably now. We've got him on a mild dose of morphine and the sulfa, of course." Nurse MacAllister said all of this as she swept Cecilia through the maze of beds and supplies. Cecilia hadn't been to an EMS yet, though she was trained to work at one if called. The smell of burnt flesh and oil were still strong in the air, along with the sharp smell of antiseptic. Suddenly they were at a row of beds and Cecilia knew they were close. Nurse MacAllister could feel her reluctance to take another step further and accept the new reality of her life, so introducing the most basic of instructions seemed the best way to start. "Using sulfa means we need to be dedicated to hydration – we don't want the…"

"Compound to crystallize in the kidney. Yes, I know," Cecilia offered. Her arms were crossed defensively and she looked at the floor, not daring to meet anyone's eyes.

"He's in the bed third from the end here, on the left," Nurse MacAllister said softly, as the floor was quiet but for a few low voices talking. She gently pushed Cecilia along towards the bed. "His pulse and blood pressure are so-so; not great, but not to the point where we ought to worry about that yet quite yet. No bowel movements, hasn't emptied his bladder yet. These would be good things to see, but we have a couple of hours before it becomes an issue. He's also running a fever – about 102 last we checked. Seems to shiver, though, poor dear. His respiratory rate is also low, but also expected at this point in recovery." Recovery seemed a rather optimistic word, but it did the trick: Cecilia looked up and nodded to show she was still listening.

"He's right here, love," Nurse MacAllister.

Cecilia turned toward him and gasped despite herself, her hand flying to her cheek in surprise. His skin was grey and clammy, and his hair was longer than she remembered and unkempt. A beard was forming on his face and made him look years older than he was. The bed covers were pulled up to his chin and someone had placed a washcloth across his forehead. His body, his wonderful body, remained hidden underneath the sheets.

Cecilia muffled a sob and sank to the chair next to him, placing a shaking hand on his chest.

"Here, let me check the wound," Nurse MacAllister said, gently moving to her side. Cecilia obediently sat up and observed. Being careful not to lose the heat below the blanket, the nurse expertly checked the wound. Cecilia brushed away her tears as she saw the imperfection in his torso. It still seemed rather fresh, though she figured whatever object had made the tear must have been removed a few days ago.

"Is there any information, any at all, about how long he's had this?" Cecilia asked.

"No, not really. He had some care when he got off the boat in Dover, who thought the shrapnel must have been removed at Dunkirk right on the beach. There was a fair amount of sand on him, they said. It was cleaned there but hasn't started to heal yet. His body has many things to do right now – it will come in time."

Cecilia nodded, sitting upright for a moment before leaning over on the bed, touching his face lightly and staring intently at the eyes that wouldn't open.

"My shift is over," Nurse MacAllister said quietly. "Nurse Adams –she's at the end of the row over there – can help you if anything changes. Just keep your head down and stay by him right here."

"Yes, of course," Cecilia replied, her voice thick. "I can't thank you enough."

Nurse MacAllister gave a tired smile. "It's easy to forget all these men are loved by someone. Things like this help me keep my focus." She squeezed Cecilia's arm good-naturedly. "He'll be better, you'll see. I'll see you later."

The hours drifted on into the night, but for the first few, Cecilia stayed awake and watched him. For years she had nothing but his letters, nothing but the memory of growing up with him in Surrey, nothing but the hour they had together that night in the library. And here he was, clinging to life but closer to her than ever. A pleasant junior nurse came around regularly to check his vitals and move his legs. "To prevent his blood from clotting," she explained to the weary woman observing.

"Oh, I know," Cecilia replied. "If his blood doesn't circulate it could allow the infection to grow more rapidly, as well. I'm glad you have time for this."

"Just doing my duty," came the cheerful reply. "I do think he's doing better. He's less grey than he was at the start of my shift. Must be you."

"I think it's the saline drip," Cecilia replied evenly, though her cheeks colored with pleasure. "I'm glad to see he's got one."

"Oh yes, they're a tremendous help if we fear dehydration." Checking his temperature, the young nurse brightened again. "More good news! He's down to 101. That fever might break tonight, if we're lucky."

"Thank heaven," Cecilia breathed. Feeling emboldened, she snuck her hand under the covers and found his hand without the IV, and clasped it lightly.

The nurse smiled softly, but said nothing to reprimand the rogue visitor. "I'll be two rows over if you need me. Otherwise I'll see you later on in my shift. You're staying the night?"

"I hadn't thought it through," Cecilia admitted. "But I might as well."

"You don't work tomorrow?"

"I do, but I doubt I'll be able to sleep if I go home."

"Doze if you can," she suggested. "You're no use to him if you're sick from lack of sleep."

"Keep up that attitude and you'll be Ward Matron in no time," Cecilia replied. The nurse went off with a laugh, leaving Cecilia alone with Robbie once again. His row was a quiet one, with fevered and comatose patients sleeping fitfully, their bodies perspiring as if to show the monumental fight that was going on within.

The night went on slowly. Cecilia dozed on and off, woken by the occasional visit from Nurse Carey, to whom Cecilia had taken a great liking. "Hmm," she said at one point.

"What's that?" Cecilia asked, rousing from the chair where she had curled up in a nap.

"He still hasn't moved his bowels or passed urine," Nurse Carey said quietly. "I would have liked to see that by now."

Cecilia knew what that meant. Movement in his intestines meant his body was working properly. Urine would show his kidneys were still capable of cleaning out any impurities or bacteria. A lack of movement could mean his organs were shutting down.

"There's still time yet," Nurse Carey added quickly. "But help me move his legs for a moment, and then we'll put him on his side so he doesn't get bedsores." They flexed his legs for a few minutes, then bolstered him on his right side, facing Cecilia. He grunted slightly as they settled him in, and coughed weakly. Cecilia froze in anticipation of hearing his voice, but this only excited the nurse. "A most excellent noise, Private Turner! At least his lungs are doing their work. There! Now he's comfy. We'll keep him there til morning then switch him back."

Her stomach churned into a pit after that, worry flooding her veins. She clasped his hands again. She hadn't prayed in years and hadn't believed in God for just as long, but tonight she felt the strong urging to appeal to a higher power for this man's life. To have it dashed away from her when all was so close to being well – it ate her up inside.

Her eyes became so heavy she drifted off into sleep. She dreamt of sitting in the Wiltshire cottage alone, the sound of the moor around her filling every empty space inside her and house. In her dream, she wandered to every room and looked in every closet. Looking, though she knew she couldn't find what she sought. Her dream bounced around and suddenly she was at the seashore at Roedean. Girls laughed in the background, but Cecilia walked closer towards the water til the waves lapped at her ankles, and then….

"Who in the world are you?"

Cecilia snapped her head up in surprise, and for a moment did not know where she was. Words formed in her mind but she could not speak. Suddenly the world focused in around her and she was aware of her surroundings: the barest beams of sunlight wafted through the windows and onto the beds of soldiers. Rows and rows of soldiers. The bed across the row from her was empty, and finally she remembered the previous night: Susan's surprise visit, their mad dash across southwest London, and the vigil at Robbie's bedside. Her hands were still wrapped around his free left hand, tucked warmly under the covers.

The matron was an older lady who had served throughout the Great War and into this one. Her wards were ran without fuss and with very little deviation from the norm. An unidentified woman in a triage hospital was very, very far from normal.

"Ma'am, I will ask you once more. Who are you?" Normally the tone and timbre of her voice was enough to diminish even the gruffest of men, but Cecilia's mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Alarmed that she might have an additional patient on her hands, the matron's voice changed and she tried again. "Ma'am, are you well?"

"Only tired," Cecilia finally breathed. "Did he pass urine?"

"Pardon me?" It was not the response Sister expected.

Cecilia gestured to Robbie. "Nurse was worried his infection was shutting down his kidneys. That was around midnight. What time is it now?"

"It's six o'clock. Ma'am…"

"Oh God. I have to be at Balham by eight."

The ward matron was nearly overcome with shock. "Ma'am?!"

"Two ounces around four in the morning, Cecilia!" rang out the tired but still-cheerful voice of Nurse Carey from behind the matron. A few heads stirred from her outburst. "Fever was steady at 101. He might be on the mend."

"Nurse Carey, what in the…"

"Good morning, Sister! I am to report that Nurse MacAllister can explain our visitor, and she will be in at six thirty."

"Nurse Carey. A question." The nurse stood in front of the matron, calm and collected. "When are visitors permited?"

"During visiting hours."

"And visiting hours are?"

"Neither posted anywhere within this EMS nor directly forbidden per the rulebook provided by your senior staff." Sister's mouth dropped in surprise and Nurse Carey continued. "This is Miss Tallis, a close friend of Private Turner. An off –duty nurse alerted her to his presence her and she came last night. Since Miss Tallis herself is a nurse and works today, we thought it best if she fit in her visit throughout the night."

"Nurse Carey…"

"Only following the orders given to me by my superiors, Sister. Nurse MacAllister will be in at six thirty. If you'll excuse me, I have bedpans to clean."

The sister stood for a minute, mouth agape, until she turned to the woman and the patient. Cecilia had gone back to stroking Robbie's hand and seemed unaware of the commotion about her.

The older woman shifted over to his bed. She suspected Cecilia was in shock and knew she had to deal with this situation in a delicate matter. "Miss Tallis, let's check his vitals before we go to my office for a cup of tea."

Cecilia nodded, her eyes heavy-lidded but unblinking.

The matron check his lungs and heart rate, then his blood pressure. "Low, but that's to be expected. Nurse Carey seems to be on top of his medicines and saline. He's comfortable for the moment. Here, my dear. Take my arm and let's go have a chat."


Cecilia slept on a small cot in Sister Carruthers' office until eleven that morning. Convinced of her innocence in a larger plot to upset the peace of the hospital, Sister had phoned Cecilia's own ward matron at the maternity ward to explain her impending absence. Of course Sister Thomas had understood the situation and of course Cecilia ought to take the day to recover from the shock, and did Nurse Tallis want Sister Thomas to phone Robbie's mother to let her know the news? Sister Carruthers got the impression that she was in the presence of a woman well-loved, and while not expected, events of this nature were not at all unheard of.

Nurse MacAllister took the blame. Since they were short hands, her punishment was bedpan duty for the day until Sister Carruthers grew impatient with the junior staff and was summoned back to her regular duties by noon. Nurse Daniels admitted her part as well, but since she was allegedly off duty at the time, there was really nothing to reprimand. The injured lists had been making their way throughout London and all morning, worried family members had been lining up outside the EMS's gates. By the time Cecilia got back to Robbie's bedside, a notice had been posted at the entrance of the hospital: Visitors permitted on an individual basis 10am to 4pm daily.

At 4pm, Cecilia took her leave, albeit reluctantly. Robbie's fever remained low and he still hadn't woken up, but she was encouraged by the nurses that his condition looked promising. Sister Carruthers had doubled down on protocol since the incident the night previous, so after triple checking that they weren't to be seen, Nurses MacAllister and Daniels gave Cecilia a quick hug in the foyer before she departed.

Other visitors milled about the front of the hospital, waving good-bye to loved ones who were well enough to wave back from a hospital window.

"Excuse me," she said, stepping around a man her age near the entrance gate. She was already outside when she heard her name.

"Cecilia? Cecilia Tallis?"

She whirled around to identify the voice, and recognized a friend of Robbie's from Cambridge, from the same group of fellows who had abandoned him the minute he stood accused. The man stepped forward to continue the conversation, but stopped when he was met with her furious stare. For a few seconds she held his gaze with a look of contempt, then turned and left without a word.

"What a sourpuss!" one of his companions exclaimed. "Who in the world was that?"

"It's a long story," the man replied. "But it starts with the fellow who was the top of my class at Cambridge…"