Chapter 2. The Tale of Delia Busby and the Little Lamb

There's a boy at the door with a box. He asks for the "old one". Delia debates, internally, whether it is worth the trouble of explaining to him that this is not really an appropriate form of address. She decides – experience with the Scouts informing her – that it won't make much difference. She recalls the same truism applied to her own childhood – if mam told her not to do something, it would only make her want to do it more. That still holds true, in fact. Although now being contrary is only the beginning of it.

Delia calls for Sister Monica Joan, who comes to the door, and takes the boy down the steps into the garden outside Nonnatus House. She thinks she sees the flash of a coin being pressed into his hand.

Delia doesn't think of the boy at the door again, until she is lying on her bed, reading her book (well, reading in fits and starts, but mainly waiting for Patsy to be finished in the bathroom, so they can go out for lunch) when the doorbell rings for the fourth or fifth time that morning. That's not necessarily surprising, in a house full of midwives and nuns. People seek medical attention – and spiritual attention, come to that – at all times of the day. Perhaps there's just been a rush on today. On the previous few occasions, someone else, downstairs, has answered the door. Someone else does so again.

At lunch, Delia tries to worm out of Patsy what she'd like for her birthday. Delia is, actually, very good at buying presents - for most people. The problem with Patsy is that she doesn't want anything. "Just you", she says softly, and squeezes Delia's hand. Which is very romantic, of course, but utterly unhelpful. The problem is that Patsy is one of those people who absolutely means it when she says she doesn't want anything, and that she has everything she wants. And Delia knows that, whatever she gets for her, Patsy will be grateful – but, after this past year, that's not really enough. She wants to do something more impressive, something meaningful. But there are limits on how creative one can be when living in a house full of nuns.

Coming home, they're just about to walk up the steps to Nonnatus House when Patsy is accosted by a patient (she's not dressed in uniform, so perhaps Delia, possessive for a moment, does resent the interruption slightly). And Delia notices that the door to Fred's shed has been left ajar. She leaves Patsy to deal with whatever crisis this is. As far as she can make out, it's a complaint about the way in which the one of the "other nurses" at the Maternity Clinic mocked the efficacy of her homeopathic remedies. Delia would put money on this being Nurse Crane – that is, if Delia didn't come from a family of Non-Conformists who'd made her sign a pledge against the evils of gambling at the age of twelve.

Delia goes to shut the door. Fred's not working at Nonnatus House today and – risk of theft aside – some of the things he keeps in that shed are probably a bit too poisonous to be so easily accessible when children are around.

Inside, she finds Sister Monica Joan sitting in Fred's chair, looking into a shoebox. Sister Monica Joan looks up to acknowledge Delia's presence, but does so only with a nod. She turns back to the shoebox. "Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?" She picks the item out of the box and places it on her lap.

Delia decides not to mention that the Little Lamb is in fact a large London brown rat. Sister Monica Joan is probably quite aware of this fact, given that she's stroking Little Lamb. She does, however, ask Sister Monica Joan – in the kindest, most even tone she can manage – what she's doing.

"We are the Rats Protection League." Sister Monica Joan states this as if it is staggeringly obvious. Delia doesn't address the royal 'we' in that sentence. Not the time.

What she does address – and what she does get to the bottom of – is that Sister Monica Joan has let it be known that she will exchange rats for cash. Live rats only. The children of Poplar have been invited to deliver them to Nonnatus House – in boxes, for the rat's wellbeing is paramount, of course – and to ask for her. This cannot possibly end well.

Obviously, she fetches Patsy. Not because Delia is squeamish about rats – far from it – but because she thinks she will need moral support. And Patsy has the advantage of height, which gives her a more commanding air. Especially useful when trying to separate Sister Monica Joan from her rats.

There is a point at which, rather than being horrified (as Delia had expected), Patsy does that thing where her mouth makes a sort of lopsided smile, contorts with support and understanding, and looks rather...well, sympathetic. Sympathetic towards the rats, not Delia.

Of the many scenarios which she's envisioned for her future with Patsy (and, really, she'd be happy to take any one of them), none of them included the two of them running a Rat Shop together. It is probably best to make this absolutely clear now. Delia has, admittedly, long been aware that her inclinations leaned towards what her mother would call "unnatural" or "unconventional". But she did not envisage this specific kind of unrespectability marking her life – the kind stemming from rats. Possibly, though, the hygiene implications of the scene she now looks upon, would scandalise her mother a great deal more than her relationship with Patsy.

This isn't like Patsy though. Patsy is hygiene. Patsy understands that rats carry disease. This is Patsy, who, throughout their time together on the ward, would refuse to sneak off early to Delia's room (despite the many irresistible inducements Delia had offered) until she was completely satisfied with the cleanliness of her hospital station. This is Nurse Mount, the only person whom Delia ever – ever – heard Matron Williams commend for her attention to detail in matters of public health.

(Briefly, Delia entertains the thought that matters of scrubbing and cleaning would actually be a topic on which Patsy and her mother would be much in agreement. But it is much too late to reattempt that introduction.)

She drags Patsy out of the shed.

"You did see the rats? The kind of big brown plague rats which I don't think the English habitually keep as pets? Rats which we should probably remove from Sister Monica Joan?"

"Yes. It's… not ideal."

"Pats, she's establishing a rat colony. I'm not quite sure why you seem so calm. We obviously need to remove them from her."

"Yes. We do." That last is a very measured observation.

"I can't believe I have to ask this –". Delia takes a deep breath. "Do you have some sort of particular fondness for rats, which you should probably tell me about right this minute?"

"No" (quite emphatic). "No" (more convincing). "Just - only, last year, we had quite a plague of them in Poplar, and Fred was putting down poison. And no-one wanted them anywhere, and it was decided that they should be scourged from the neighbourhood, or driven into the sea, or something similar. And Sister Monica Joan was talking about protecting them from culls, and protecting and loving all god's creatures. It seemed a sort of metaphor for us. For queers, I mean. It was quite touching, actually. Sister Monica Joan contra mundum."

First, Delia notes, she's a bit proud that Patsy managed to say all that out loud, and so stridently. Normally – or, at least, a while ago – Patsy would only have said "people like us", or "women like us", and left it as ambiguous as that. It's not a nice word, but Delia decided, a long time ago, not to be afraid of words. (Besides, English words are fey and half-hearted things, much less frightening than big tough Welsh ones.) But this is new in Patsy. Delia won't, however, allow herself a smile, because –

Second: really? Patsy is talking about allowing a colony of rats to be established in the garden of a convent, but Delia is apparently the one recovering from the very serious head injury?

"Pats. Pats – no. I absolutely refuse to be a rat. Why is a rat a metaphor for me? What do I have in common with a rat? – And if you dare say my beady eyes, know that I won't talk to you for at least a month."

Patsy sighs. "I suppose I just thought – all creatures great and small, the Lord God made them all."

"Yes, All Things Bright and Beautiful and so on. There's something to that, but it is not the appropriate hymn for today, Pats! Just because I don't want to see them wiped off the face of the Earth does not mean we can allow Sister Monica Joan to open up some kind of rat sanctuary here in Poplar."

"You're right, of course."

"Not to think who'd be responsible if one took a nip out of a newborn."

This – more or less – seems to convince Patsy.

Once persuaded that the rats can no longer live in the shed (and that is not easy), Sister Monica Joan's plan is to take the rats on the bus (boxed, Delia presumes), to a greener part of the world and release them there. Delia doesn't do that, of course. She does think about making Fred promise to dispose of them humanely. Poison, in her view, is not humane. But there are only two, including "Little Lamb". The other two boxes they find in the shed contain only dead rats – she has Fred burn those. And, after handing the dead ones over, she has no appetite for much else, so they surreptitiously release them. Two more rats running round Poplar – in the grand scheme of things, she thinks, that is probably excusable. Matron Williams would surely have disagreed with that sentiment. Matron Williams, though, was content to live out her life on Male Surgical, so Delia will not look to her for any sort of advice on how she should act or how she should be.

If questioned, Delia will resolutely deny that she was in any way moved by what Patsy said about rats and culls and queers.

Delia also makes sure, for the rest of the afternoon – until the message has spread around Sister Monica Joan's nascent "rat network" – that she is the one to answer the door, and to turn away any suspicious-looking parcels.

And now it is evening, and the sounds of Compline are drifting upstairs. Delia is lying with her head on Patsy's chest. Patsy is dressed for midwifery, and will probably have to leave soon. Delia doesn't move about too much, out of consideration for creasing Patsy's uniform.

"You are strange sometimes, Pats. Taking pity on rats."

"Well, so did you, in the end."

"That is because I'm very easily led, and just as easily persuaded."

"You shouldn't tell me that, you know. It gives me entirely too much power over you." Patsy's eyes flash as she yawns and stretches.

"Mmm." Delia entwines their hands together. "But now I know that the way to your heart is through a rat. And it is your birthday very soon."

A/N: "Little Lamb, who made thee?" is, of course, the first line of the William Blake poem The Lamb. I wish I could say that this was written entirely out of love for William Blake, rather than as a pathetic play on the Delia Busby-Kate Lamb connection. But I can't.