Despite living with the nuns, and their faith playing such a large role in Patsy's day-to-day existence, Patsy has a bit of a complicated relationship with God.
Her belief that there is a benevolent power greater than herself is more or less crushed out of her the day her sister died. Her mother kept her faith till the end, and Patsy tried desperately to cling to it, to help keep some small part of her alive, but the anger and sorrow were all-consuming.
Years later, at her Catholic boarding school, Patsy came to realisations about herself that complicated things further. She remembers thinking – am I being tested? Mocked? She said the Nicene Creed along with everyone else – I believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth – but the words sounded hollow. She said prayers for her dearly departed family, but as for herself, decided firmly that she had other things to worry about.
"Do you suppose we'll go to Hell?"
As she hungrily tucks in to her fish and chips, Patsy isn't expecting a theological question. She and Delia have never really discussed what might happen when they pass on, and Patsy isn't prepared for it. She fumbles.
"Eating our supper in the House of God?"
As they laugh about the sin of eating in uniform, relief washes over her. She can laugh about the little sins, as long as neither of them mention the elephant in the small, holy room. Politics, money, religion. Patsy's far too British for that.
Sometimes, when she is interacting with people – usually the nuns, but it could be anyone – Patsy idly wonders how they might respond if they knew. It's an exercise in self-flagellation, she knows, but morbid curiosity is one of the things that made her become a nurse in the first place.
Would Sister Julienne, with her serene grace, be ruffled? Patsy recalls a case where Sister Julienne had suggested leaving a cuckolded father in ignorance of his wife's infidelity for the greater good. Would she advocate a similar course of action for Patsy? Would the good she provides as a nurse outweigh her sinful nature?
Would Sister Monica Joan even mind? Patsy entertains the idea that she may be like Queen Elizabeth and believe it not possible. Probably not – 'there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'
And what of Sister Evangelina? After all, with her adamance than men should have no part of childbirth, would she see Patsy's affliction as a perversion of the female bonds she holds so dearly?
During the court case and pregnancy of Mr and Mrs Amos respectively, Patsy notices a change in Sister Winifred.
Perhaps she's projecting – she herself feels like she's wearing a mask every waking hour – but Sister Winifred carries herself with more purpose, can be found in the chapel every hour God sends, and, sometimes, doth protest a little too much.
"Love?" Sister Winifred says, aghast. The smallest nun normally brightens up whichever room she is in with her cheeriness, taking care to make sure she doesn't upset anyone or rock the boat.
But today she is adamant. Standing her ground against everyone at the table, until Sister Julienne diplomatically puts an end to the debate. Trixie smiles, secure in the knowledge of her own moral high ground, but despite the strength of her belief, Patsy can see no self-assurances in Sister Winifred's eyes.
Patsy wonders.
She understands that people who are like her can either play their parts in public, as Mr Amos and Trixie's beau in training have done, or simply shut themselves off, as Patsy had been doing before meeting Delia.
What better way to shut yourself off than to enter a life where constant solitude is expected? Which calling puts you utterly above reproach? What can you do to save your soul, but to resist temptation, as Jesus did in the desert, and devote yourself fully to The Father?
The nuns talk very little about their lives before joining the Order, but Patsy has caught snippets from Sister Winifred; how Gloucestershire is lovely in the summer, how she used to enjoy walks in the country. Patsy has spent most of her life in cities, but she knows about small-town mentalities. Communities that are close-knit, where everyone looks out for everyone, until the moment someone is different.
As soon as dessert is finished, Sister Winifred excuses herself and heads back to the chapel – Patsy imagines the indents in the kneeler are still there from before dinner. As Sister Winifred no doubt prays and prays for Mr Amos' tortured soul, Patsy spares a thought for Sister Winifred's.
"Did you really mean it?" Patsy asks much later, in the privacy of Delia's room at the Nurse's Home.
"Mean what?" Patsy suspects Delia knows what she's talking about, but wants Patsy to say it.
"About wanting to be married. To me."
"Of course I did. You know I love you, Patience Mount." it is not the first time Delia has said the words, nor even the hundredth, but Patsy cannot take it for granted, and her heart skips a beat. "I would love, more than anything, to be able to show everyone. Friends, family, God."
Britishness be damned. "God?"
"Why not? Why shouldn't we? He made us."
"But Delia, it's- We-"
"I know what I feel," Delia says gently. "I know what's right. How I feel when I'm with you, or even apart."
Years of school; living with the nuns, and Patsy doesn't have a response to that. She feels she should have stopped being surprised at the way Delia sees the world by now. But she hasn't.
"I feel the same." she says after a few moments, and the brightness of Delia's smile is divine.
