A/N: Thanks for all your lovely praise! It's so nice to hear.
Summary: Marian Tallis arrives. Cecilia's nursing skills help in two difficult situations but evades dealing with two others. Briony rationalizes bad decisions. Robbie is on an emotional roller coaster.
Sunday, June 9th, 1940
There was a deep satisfaction in receiving new life.
The doctor, a general practitioner of the old sort, a very skilled man, had arrived an hour after they had called for him. Cecilia liked him immensely, and with her assistance, a little girl was born to Leon and Mary shortly after midnight. She realized immediately after cleaning up from the birth why Mary chose to give birth at home when London was full of skilled hospitals and physicians – Leon hadn't left his wife's side once allowed in after the birth, and had tended to his little daughter with a passion and dedication that surprised and impressed her sister. In the hospital Leon would have been sent home long before the baby arrived, and baby and mother would have been separated as well. Here the little family bonded together on the same bed where it had all began nine months prior.
"We ought to name her for you," Mary murmured as Cecilia deftly tidied up around the resting mother.
"I don't think so," Cecilia replied, arranging the bassinette with the soft and sweet-smelling sheets. "You did all the hard work. Doctor and I merely assisted."
"Yes, but it was so easy this time," Mary countered, stroking her daughter's petal-soft cheek. "I didn't bleed the way I did when Evie was born, or tear."
"The first baby is always the hardest. And this little one was so small – likely that all made a difference."
"You think she'll be all right, having come so early?" Leon asked in a worried voice.
"At thirty-eight weeks gestation, the baby may be on the small side, but she's perfectly made and seems to be breathing very well on her own. There's no reason to suspect she won't be hearty and learning to walk alongside her sister in a year's time." Cecilia had seen hundreds of children born by this point in her career – she attended at least three births a day at the Weir Road Maternity Home – but there was something fundamentally different about the one she attended that night. She had missed her first niece's birth, but her second niece would not know a life without her Aunt Cecilia, and the satisfaction of a successful birth paired well with the healing balm that was being able once again to love her brother.
"Darling, I insist on naming her for you," Leon said, placing a kiss into his wife's tousled hair.
"Mary's such a dull name," she protested.
"What's your middle name?" Cecilia prompted. "Perhaps we can do something with that."
"Anne," replied Mary. "Mary Anne Tallis. It's so very dull, and not lively at all. Oh please Leon, let's not. I don't like it."
It took Cecilia a minute, but something came to her. "What about Marian? That's so pretty and feminine."
"Marian Tallis. Oh, how perfect! That's much better. Leon kept insisting we call her Eugenie."
"Only out of jest," Leon smiled. "Then it's settled. Marian! You'll consent to being her godmother, won't you Cecilia? Because I can't think about Maid Marian without thinking of you."
"Oh?" his sister asked incredulously, sinking down at the foot of bed. It was the first time in hours that she had sat down. "What do you mean?"
"Of noble birth, estranged from her family due to her love an outlawed man, who's persecuted without just cause?" The two siblings looked at each other for a moment, and Cecilia's eyes brimmed with tears for a minute, her heart inflamed with love and tenderness in this most perfect moment. She had, without a doubt, forgiven Leon for his part in abandoning Robbie. Leon knew exactly how he had failed them, and had done his utmost to make it right.
She tried not to let her voice shake as she spoke. "You're such a dreamer, Leon. But yes, I'll be her godmother."
Her brother's eyes shone, too. "I'm glad."
She cleared her throat and stood up. She maneuvered the bassinette to Mary's side. "When you're ready to sleep – and I suggest you try, while baby's napping so peacefully – set her down here and try to rest. And Leon, don't be afraid to tend to either of them, though you won't be of much use when little Marian gets hungry."
"I hope it doesn't surprise you that I'm excellent at changing a nappy," Leon defended.
Cecilia yawned through her grin. "I'm going to set myself up downstairs and sleep, but I'll pop back in to check on you both before I leave in the morning."
"Must you go?" Mary asked, shifting the little baby to her other arm.
"You're not the only one who needs me to be there when their time comes, I'm afraid. My work doesn't wait."
"But could you come over the weekend?" Mary begged. "I know the nurse from the antenatal clinic will come to check on the baby, but it's so nice to have someone I know and trust look the baby over. Please, Cecilia?"
Trust had been lost for a long time between Cecilia and her family. It was good to be found worthy of it again, strange a thought as that was.
"I couldn't say no to my god-daughter. I'll be by tomorrow evening."
"Free of fever for two whole days! You'll be well enough for the convalescent floor by Monday," Nurse Carey said cheerfully to Robbie Turner that Sunday morning as she helped him sit up. "A week or two there and your strength will return to you in no time, mark my words!"
Having energy was an exciting prospect, for the most taxing part of his recovery was the constant feeling of exhaustion that seemed to cloud his mind. "I hope the food's as good there as it is here," he joked.
The young nurse chuckled appreciatively. "Spoken like a true soldier. Speaking of which, you'll have a full beard by Midsummer if we don't do something soon. How about it - a bath and a shave? The barber'll be around later next week, but in the meantime we can get you looking a bit less like a convict."
Robbie winced at her choice of words and knew from her warm expression she had meant it entirely in jest. He would control that feeling of pain and anger that stemmed from those years at Wandsworth Prison. He would not lash out at this nurse. He managed a grimace that could be mistaken for a smile. "Yes, a bath. That sounds like just the thing."
It took Cecilia a full hour after her shift ended that day to get from her hospital in Balham to Leon's house near the Regent's Park. She was tired and momentarily cranky for agreeing to return and check on her niece, despite the fact that a qualified midwife would check in on mother and daughter twice daily until Mary's month of sitting in was finished. But the feeling of exhaustion quickly evaporated once she had the little girl in her arms. The weight of a newborn was enough to soothe even the most trouble of minds, and Cecilia felt herself cooing with her sister-in-law over the baby's perfect and delicate features.
"I think we'll have the baptism in two weeks' time. The midwife thinks there's no reason I can't travel after that, and Leon's getting nervous by the hour having the two of us in London."
"They are getting rather serious about those bombing warnings," Cecilia agreed. "Has your warden issued the baby's gas mask yet?"
"I hadn't thought about that," Mary said worriedly. "Do they make those?"
"Of course," Cecilia replied. "They're a tad cumbersome, but easy enough to use once you get the hang of it. I'll show you once you get yours – you'll feel better knowing it's there in case of an attack."
The two women chatted for several minutes before there was a knock at the door. Leon's head peaked in and he looked towards Cecilia. "Sis, I hate to rush you, but I think it's time to go."
Cecilia and Mary exchanged confused looks, which made Leon sigh and press on. "We've got visitors and I don't think you're ready to greet either of them."
Cecilia's stomach lurched when she understood his meaning. "The parents?"
"The parents," Leon affirmed. "They're down in the drawing room. Emily has a tendency to wear Mary out, so I was going to take the baby down there and present her. I hate to be sneaky about it, but you could duck out the side entrance and not cause too much fuss."
Cecilia nodded, and tried not to show her shock. She turned to her sister-in-law and wrapped in her a quick hug. "I'll be by midweek to check-in again, but everything's looking so well. Don't be afraid to ask the midwife anything when she stops by. I assure you she's seen it before."
Leon and Cecilia were silent as they made their way downstairs, the quiet fussing of the baby echoing off the tastefully decorated halls of Leon's house. "Did they give no warning? I imagined Jack would have phoned. It's not like him to make a visit unannounced," Cecilia asked, sotto voce.
"It appears Emily came in to Town this afternoon and surprised Jack at Whitehall. She's trying to talk me into sending Mary and the baby down to Surrey for the rest of her confinement."
"Mary's fine here. A journey so soon would wear her out," Cecilia argued. "They keep talking about air raids, but I don't think it's a true threat yet."
"I agree. Don't worry – I can stand my ground to the parents. I suspect Emily's on guard. She knows Briony's recanted her evidence and Jack's in on it as well. She called last night on the war path. I think she's feeling wounded."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Cecilia exclaimed, looking alarmed towards her brother as they descended a staircase.
Leon adjusted the murmuring newborn in his arms, delicately arranging the soft blanket that swaddled his daughter. "I couldn't upset Mary, and I figured you had enough to worry about without dealing with our mother. Let me handle the parents, Cee. You go home and rest." He opened a door that led to a backyard garden. "There's a path that leads round to the front. Wait a few minutes so you can be sure they're both inside with me."
The leaned in for a quick hug, gently avoiding the small bundle of a girl in the crook of Leon's arm. "I'll be in touch about the trial. May I use your address to contact Robbie?"
"You may," she replied. "Good luck, Leon."
Back at St. Thomas's, it was already lights out and most of the girls on the probationer block were sound asleep, nearly senseless after a full week of direct trauma care. Briony was weary in body but far too excited by her accidental good fortune to sleep. In an overlooked garret not far from the sleeping quarters, she sat and poured over the letters the soldier with the Cockney accent had shoved into her hands.
She couldn't be blamed completely for the misunderstanding. When the soldier had asked if she was Miss Tallis, of course she was going to reply in the affirmative. Briony had merely forgotten that she was at her sister's flat and there would be no reason for anyone to recognize her in that place. Evading Leon's inquiry about the nature of the soldier's visit had just been a reflex. Yes, when you slowed down to think about it, it really made sense for Briony to take Cecilia's letters to Robbie from the soldier who made sure they were brought back from France.
After all, if she hadn't been there, who was to say where the letters might have ended up? With Cecilia's sniveling landlady? Lost in the post? No, for the moment, they were far safer with her.
She traced her sister's writing on the envelope, fingers looping over the amalgamation of letters and numbers that identified Robbie and his regiment. Briony began methodically, ordering the letters from oldest to most recent. The first ones began just after Robbie's release from prison, and from the first few letters Briony surmised there had been a brief reunion between the two that had found them timid at first, but quickly resolved their love for one another and solidified their plans of a future together.
It panged her heart to read about her sister processing through her feelings and expectations about life now that there was hope of eventual reunification. Cecilia wrote frankly about her work and social life, filled in Robbie about his mother the things Grace herself held back – namely that she had found solace in the Church – and finally, Cecilia wrote to Robbie about her own dreams and his feelings and emotions about his newfound freedom. The letters began plain and tentative in their affection, but quickly Briony realized the pair had been prevented from showing stronger emotions due to an overzealous psychiatrist. Slowly the letter worked to banter and connection that made Briony desperately wish she had Robbie's replies as well. Surely somewhere in that small flat in Balham there was another stack of letters.
Exhausted for the night, she folded up her stack and tied them together. She held them to her nose and breathed in. There was the faint odor of gunpowder or something sulphuric, but mostly the paper smelled plain and ordinary. Robbie must have carried these for months, carried them to the lines of war when all he could take with him were the very things necessary for life. These letters – above any other item – had made the cut.
Briony felt her way down the ladder leading to the garret, knowing she had done the right thing that weekend by finally telling the truth. She had finally written it out in January in the form of "Two Figure by a Fountain," her seemingly doomed novella written from her vantage point she had that hot June day in 1935. The letters made her thing that it wouldn't do to just show one view of Robbie and Cecilia if she was to bring their story to justice. She was going to have to present the situation from all sides.
She would get the letters back to Cecilia one day. They had made it this far – from Cecilia's flat, across the Channel, right to Robbie's regiment, and across the Channel once again, defying terrible odds.
But for now, Briony had a few ideas of her own.
Thursday, June 13th, 1940
The week fell into a steady beat of work and sleep, with a small respite in between where she pelted Grace with questions about Robbie's recovery. He had been moved from the critical ward on Monday and slowly was regaining the feeling of autonomy. The visiting hours, now that family members would be reassured that their loved ones were well and on their way to recovery, had been reduced as the Army made plans to reorganize their remaining regiments and made plans to fight again. An hour in the afternoon was all that was permitted. Grace came faithfully, armed with an arsenal of food that Robbie didn't quite have the stomach for, but the other convalescents happily pounced upon. She brought the newspaper and filled him in on the goings on outside the Morden EMS walls. Finally it was Thursday, and Cecilia's long week of working night shifts at the maternity home gave way to one blessed day off.
It was hard not to run as she made her way to the Tube station. The sun was so bright and the day so warm that she had contemplated walking the way to the EMS. That would have taken her the better part of two hours, and Cecilia had resolved not to miss a minute of her one hour with Robbie.
The nurses on duty greeted her cheerfully and she made her way to the unfamiliar recovery ward, where soldiers spent the day in alternating rounds of rehabilitation and rest.
Her heels clicked loudly on the scrubbed tile floor and echoed off the walls of the ward, conspicuously sharp against the muffled sounds of men snoring lightly. She rounded the corner to where Grace said he would be, and almost kept walking. She stifled a laugh when she realized she'd overlooked Robbie in his clean-shaven state. He dozed in the bed, the newspaper folded over his chest as if he'd fallen asleep reading it. She crouched next to him and stared for a moment. He still looked positively beat, but his color was certainly better than the pallid state he arrived in. And best, his septicemia was under control. There were still traces of infection in his blood, the doctors explained, but his body seemed to be better at fighting the infection within. Gingerly she took the paper from his hands and tried to fold it as quietly as she could.
He stirred and yawned, smiling as he stretched out. She returned the smile and leaned in to kiss his cheek.
"Is that they teach you to greet all soldiers?" he teased, his voice scratchy with sleep. She laughed and brushed her lips against his while finding a free hand of his, squeezing it tightly as she sat on the bed.
"I didn't wake you, did I?"
"I hoped you planned to. You didn't come all this way just to stare at me sleep, did you?"
"Your mother said they wear you out on this floor. It's important that you rest."
"I'll rest when I'm dead," he replied, slowly sitting himself up to visit with her.
"You'll rest when I say," she said sternly. "I'm serious – you can't push yourself so hard, not with a recovering septic wound. You were nearly dead last week."
"I'm not right now," he protested.
"No, but heaven help you if you put me through that hell again."
They looked at each other for a long moment, her eyes pleading and his defiant. Suddenly his body relaxed and his eyes lost the tension they once held. "I promise to sleep like a baby once you leave today. For now, I request your lovely company. How long have we left?"
"Forty-five minutes."
"Measly."
"Stingy," she agreed. "I suppose I should fill you in on the news?"
"What else could possibly happen this week? Between Leon's baby and half the Army being incapacitated I figured we all had our schedules full."
"The baby's doing well. I stopped by and saw her and Mary last night. She swallowed hard before going on. "Leon spoke to me. They scheduled your retrial."
His face paled and he swallowed a few times in quick succession. "Soon?"
"End of the month. Leon assures me that they won't have any reason to re-incarcerate you. You've served the terms of your sentence. This is just to re-evaluate the sentence in light of Briony's new testimony and decide if it was just. If they find a new verdict, your record will be cleared. No matter what, the law is clear. You won't be going back to prison."
Robbie ran a hand through his recently cut hair and breathed heavily. He opened his mouth but no words came out.
"Robbie?"
"I don't want to go," he gasped, his pupils dilating and his breath quickly becoming a pant.
If she wasn't a nurse, the switch in his personality might have frightened her. Instinctively, Cecilia stood up and pulled the curtain near his cot closed, shielding him from view from the other patients. She returned to his side and took him by his forearm, her fingers prying open his clenched fist. Quickly she removed the pillow from behind his head and gently laid his head down, then propped the pillow under his legs, elevating them. "Darling, you need to breathe nice big breaths. Just like this." She inhaled audibly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, blowing as if she was extinguishing a candle.
His eyes were closed tight and his hand grasped tightly around hers. He tried to inhale but his breath hitched and he exhaled in jagged puffs, almost coughing.
"That's it," she said encouragingly. "Now do that again and try to relax."
Slowly she worked him down to a less agitated state. His forehead was dotted with perspiration and his eyes were still closed.
"Robbie, darling?"
The sound of her saying his name brought him back to the room. She studied him for a moment, looking him up and down worriedly. "How often does that happen? When your fears get the better of you?"
Shakily, he sat up. She pulled him up and rearranged the pillows back to their proper state. He reached for the glass of water next to his bed, but his hands shook so violently she had to help him steady them as he took large, greedy gulps.
"I shouldn't have told you," she said remorsefully.
"I'll have to go," he said dully. "I was going to be told one way or another. I suppose I'm glad I lost my nerve in front of you and not some card from the courts."
"Robbie…" she tried again.
"I can usually fight it," he explained. "In France it was always there, lurking in the background. I thought about being imprisoned by the Germans and I couldn't…just couldn't…" He swallowed hard and breathed as she taught him. "In training it was easier to have a bit of release from it. I don't know how many times I imagined seeing the lot of them and tearing them all to pieces with my bayonet."
"Who, Robbie? The lot of who?"
The smile on his face was wolfish and wild. "Your family. Jack, Briony, your terrible mother. The whole lot of them," he repeated as he stared down at his hands, letting his words sink in. "And now you've gone and done exactly what I asked you to do in my last letter. Making amends while I still think of ripping them from limb to limb."
Her mind was reeling as she thought of an appropriate thing to say in response to his outburst. "No one could blame you for thinking that."
"Would you?" he countered. "I've led you on, Cecilia. I am no generous spirit, though it's charming that you should think so."
She didn't like the self-loathing and acid that had dripped into his voice. She shifted from her chair to next to him on the thin hospital cot. She reached for both his hands with hers and stroked them tenderly. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "And I trust you, completely. I always have and I always will."
"You're a fool, Cecilia Tallis."
"I don't deny that," she countered, not stopping her massage of his hands. "Though I hear that Cecilia Turner doesn't suffer fools so easily."
He laughed and caught her gaze. She squeezed his hands and brought them to her lips, kissing his knuckles and closing her eyes tightly. "I'd like to hear more about this Cecilia Turner," he teased.
"Me too," she agreed. "When do you suppose she'll have the time to make an appearance?"
"I have to return to Aldershot and report for duty once I'm fit for duty. I don't know how long that will take."
"Eventually they'll move you to a convalescent home until your strength returns. That may take a bit. Months, even. That's not the only thing in our way, though. There's talk of relocating the maternity home, too."
He looked up at her, quizzically. "Out of London?"
She nodded. "All expectant mothers and small children under our care are being relocated to Lancashire. I'm expected to come along and ease the transition. They tell us it will be in September."
He sighed, easing back into his bed. "It seems the Army and the hospital don't approve of our being together."
"It would seem," she agreed. "But we're ahead of ourselves, I'm afraid. First you have to be released to the convalescent home. Then maybe these plans of ours can find their end."
"First we'll have to get through the trial," he corrected, his voice once again bitter.
"You're not the only one who's nervous, you know. Leon's told me Emily insists on being there…"
"Christ."
"And there's always the possibility they'll ask Lola to testify again. Lord knows how that might go this time around."
Robbie shook his head. "Why would they? Unless she also recants her testimony, I can't see why that would make a difference. All Lola's ever said on record is that she couldn't positively say who it was who violated her. A man of my height. That's all she ever said."
Cecilia tried her hardest to wear a neutral expression. He doesn't know about Marshall, she reminded herself and quickly tried to avert the topic. She didn't feel she had the strength to talk him down after another outburst. But something in what he said gave her an idea. It might even be worth making a visit to her father. "You're right. I don't know why I worried about Lola changing her mind."
Just then a head popped in from around the closed curtains. "Time to say your good-byes! Visiting time ends in five minutes," a junior nurse chirped.
"When's your next day off?" he asked, reaching for her hand and lightly squeezing it.
"Thursday next," she replied. "It's a strict schedule for the next few weeks and I already had to switch with one of the girls for the little Marian's baptism . Don't worry, though. I'll send lots of news through Grace."
"She won't be returning home?"
"Not anytime soon," Cecilia replied. "Though it's hardly surprising that securing your well-being prevails over her love of her chatting with the vicar after noonday Mass."
"The vicar?" Robbie inquired.
"Oh dear, has she really said nothing? Pester her about it tomorrow. I've got to run." She leaned in for a kiss, this time relaxing into his lips and synchronizing her breath with his for a few moments.
"Thank you for helping me," he whispered as they broke apart, their faces still close and intimate. She stroked his cheek as they gazed at one another. "When I wasn't acting myself."
"Anytime," she said lightly, though she knew he was serious and that it was likely far from the last time she would have to help him deal with his demons. One thing at a time, she told herself, and swooped in to kiss him once again. "Don't push yourself too hard, Private Turner."
"And suffer your wrath? Nurse Tallis, I would not dream of it."
