With Trixie still away at the Lady Emily clinic and a replacement for Valerie still not found, the nuns and remaining midwives had found themselves over-stretched, passing like ships in the night, meeting only occasionally at meal times, or as they crossed the threshold of the door leaving to, or returning from, attending a patient. Sister Frances' desire to hear more of Sister Hilda's tale had been curtailed when scheduled evening meetings had been scuppered by the shrill ring of the telephone. She'd found herself imagining what the elusive Lt. Scott McBride was like. That, she considered, was fine. She wouldn't know him. He was but a character in a story. Sister Hilda's story. Not her own story.
"Oh no," she thought. She'd remembered him again.
Violet Buckle's words continued to ring in Sister Frances' ears several nights after she had plucked up the courage to buy the pair of magazines which were secreted into the pocket of her overcoat, "Oh in that one, there's a wonderful true life romance. A young woman opens her heart to a doctor and he helps piece her back together, physically, and emotionally." They had stirred feelings and emotions the young nun had thought she had suppressed. From the walk home that afternoon onwards, Dr Kevin McNulty's kind brown eyes, gentle sweep of dark hair, and boyish smile had begun to dance through her mind.
"Why now?" she thought.
Many months had passed since Dr McNulty had left Nonnatus House. Sister Frances could not bring herself to admit that she was glad that he had gone, it was not true to begin with. She liked him, she respected him, he was kind to her, he had cared for her. And she thought perhaps he liked and respected her too. But as a friend of course. Nothing else could possibly have been the case. Could it? He had sent the Sisters and Nurses a Christmas card and a note informing them how he was enjoying his new position, but no further correspondence had occurred between them. She rather hoped that would be the end. She rather hoped that she had buried that episode of her past. But here he was, flashing through her mind, fast-moving, slightly blurred, flickering like the brightly coloured images on the pages of a gently-thumbed magazine.
Earlier that day, as she had wearily pushed her bicycle home through the evening gloom, her encounter, and altercation, with another man, Mr O'Malley, played over and over in her mind. She had been scared of him. Scared of what he might do to his wife. Scared of what he might do to her. She'd surprised herself with the way she'd stood up to him. Did that make her brave? Or foolish? Did this mean she knew how to handle a man? She puffed out her chest and shoulders in a moment of pride. On second thoughts though, if Mr O'Malley had turned around and hit her she would not be feeling quite so chuffed with herself. She was still enveloped in her thoughts when Sister Julienne pulled up alongside her, slowed her pace to meet hers, and greeted her with her customary warm smile.
"Mrs Buckle mentioned that you were in her shop the other day, purchasing some magazines," Sister Julienne remarked.
A wave of panic coursed through Sister Frances. She tightened her grip on the handlebars of her bicycle and replied "I've broken a rule, haven't I?"
Sister Julienne did not answer immediately. Looking for reassurance, Sister Frances continued, "Have I?"
"I think" Sister Julienne continued, her voice as steady as the heavy-framed bicycle which she pushed alongside her, "it's tremendous that you're keen to understand young women like Mrs O'Malley, on many levels very different from yourself. If reading such publications facilitates that…". She allowed her voice to trail off, inviting a response from Sister Frances.
"I am learning a lot," she replied, animatedly.
"Then it can only be good." Sister Julienne came to a standstill, before continuing, "I hereby grant you permission to read one women's magazine a week, so long as you do so in the parlour, during recreation, and you don't take said publication up to your room."
"Thank you Sister Julienne," Sister Frances replied, with a smile, a wave of relief washing over her.
"Perhaps you should ask Nurse Franklin and Nurse Anderson for some recommendations of suitable publications. I understand that a range of, tastes, and interests are catered for."
Sister Julienne allowed herself to flash a knowing, slightly mischievous look in Sister Frances' direction. The young nun registered her Superior's expression, but did not fully understand its implications.
"I will Sister Julienne," Sister Frances replied, "I'm sure they'll know what would be best."
"Carry on, Sister Frances," Sister Julienne chirped with a smile.
The magazines were in her room. She'd already broken that rule. She'd had a flick through them too. Alone. Another broken rule. She'd flicked through the letters to the agony aunts. She'd read tales of girls, about her own age, experiencing feelings that she understood, she could relate to, but could not admit to. Nothing was right. She'd try to pray about it, but could not put her feelings into words, never mind into prayer. She hoped that God really could see to the inner depths of her heart, that he could comfort her and bring her peace. Things of this world could not bring her peace tonight. She lay in silence, willing sleep to come.
The clock on her bedside table struck ten. She knew it was late. Too late. Breaking the Great Silence was greatly frowned upon outside of emergencies. Eventually, she could not stop herself, she had to act, she had to act upon the feelings that she was experiencing. She slid her feet into her slippers, gently opened her cell door, and, closing it quietly behind her, crept down the corridor towards Sister Hilda's cell. She pressed her ear to the door, trying to hear if the cell's occupant remained awake, but in doing so, learned that it was slightly loose in its frame. Her weight was sufficient to open the door and she fell through the threshold into Sister Hilda's cell, landing with a thump on the floor.
"I got Fred to fix the door," a slightly blurry-eyed Sister Hilda called from her bed, fumbling for, and flicking on, her bedside lamp as she did so, "it's now, well, too loose, it seems."
"I'm so sorry!" Sister Frances panicked, scrambling to her feet, "I just, I wanted, I'll go."
Seeing the expression of the young nun's face in the lamplight, Sister Hilda beckoned her over to her. Sister Frances closed the door and climbed on Sister Hilda's bed with her.
"What's happened?" Sister Hilda asked, placing an arm gently around Sister Frances' shoulder, drawing her closer to her.
"I want to tell you something, I need to ask you something."
"I'm all ears," Sister Hilda replied, tightening her grip ever so slightly, "I'm here."