The following morning, having survived with only the faintest of hangovers, Sister Frances decided to put the rest of her Derby winnings towards something to share at that afternoon's recreation. On returning from the bakery, laden with cream buns, brandy snaps, and butterfly cakes, she took them and a pot of tea up to the parlour, spread them neatly onto doily-covered plates, before settling herself into her favourite armchair with her new magazine, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the house.
"Ooooh treats!" squeaked Sister Hilda as she caught sight of the table as she walked into the room.
Sister Frances flashed her a smile over the top of her magazine.
"What's all this in aid of lass?" Phyllis asked, registering both the spread and Sister Frances' expression.
"I'm glad to see you looking a little brighter this afternoon," Sister Julienne remarked, "you looked ever so peaky at breakfast, I trust all is well?"
Sister Frances felt her stomach drop several storeys. She had hoped the effects of her trip to the Black Sail had gone unnoticed. "I was just a bit tired," she replied truthfully, "and, no reason, well, I thought I'd do something nice for everyone," she added in response to Phyllis' question.
"Well that's very thoughtful of you," Sister Julienne replied, helping herself to the nearest cream bun.
The nuns and the nurses settled themselves down to their chosen recreation activity. Sister Hilda was focused on her embroidery, Phyllis was pouring over a book of Spanish vocabulary, and Sister Julienne was mending the hem on one of her habits and had a paperback novel balanced on the arm of her chair. Sister Frances sat munching brandy snaps and began to flick through her magazine. This was a new read for her, hastily chosen when her mind was more focused on racehorses. And it soon became apparent that its content had stepped up a notch from the publications that she normally indulged in during recreation. She found her eyes widening at the mention of topics that would have been highly unsuitable for discussion in present company. She rapidly turned the pages over so as to not dwell upon what she had just seen.
At that moment, Trixie strolled into the parlour, helped herself to a cream bun, and upon noticing the title of Sister Frances' magazine, winked mischievously at the young nun and said, "Illuminating read Sister?" before disappearing out of the parlour again.
Sister Frances flushed a violent shade of scarlet and immediately hid the magazine away from sight. An awkward silence hung in the air, none of the assembled party knowing what to say to the other. Eventually, Phyllis said, "Sister, would you test me?" and handed the still-mortified nun her phrase book.
Later that evening, Sister Julienne pulled Sister Frances into her office, sat her down in front of her and said, "I will trust your judgement as to your decision about what to do with your latest magazine."
Sister Frances slumped in her chair awkwardly, not wanting to meet her Superior's uncharacteristically piercing gaze. Eventually she murmured, "I didn't know what was going to be inside."
"Well, in the same way that one must never judge a book by its cover, one must not judge a magazine," Sister Julienne remarked. "Now," she continued more gently, "make a good judgement, in good conscience. You may go."
"Yes Sister, thank you Sister."
Sister Frances slid out of Sister Julienne's office, her face crestfallen and her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She crept back upstairs to the now-empty parlour and skulked across the room to where her hastily discarded magazine lay crumpled down the side of her favourite armchair. She picked it up and smoothed out the pages. She seriously considered tucking it beneath her scapular and taking it to her cell, but remembered her promise to Sister Julienne to not take them there. Her conscience was troubling her. There was a line between what she should and should not know about and engage with as a Sister in Holy Orders, whilst still becoming worldly enough to understand her patients. She was far too curious to go back now. A glimpse at the forbidden fruit was not enough. She wanted to devour everything on offer.
At that moment, Sister Frances heard footsteps approaching along the corridor. She dived behind the armchair, hoping and praying that the cause of the footsteps would remain in the corridor. She breathed an audible sigh of relief as the footsteps and their accompanying swish of habit passed the door. Crouching behind the chair, Sister Frances noticed a gap between the frame and the springs which held the cushion in place. She slid her hand into the gap to check it for size, rolled up the magazine and then pushed it into the gap in the chair's framework. Pleased with her handiwork, she slipped out of the parlour and up to her cell.
"Now all I need," she thought, "is some peace and quiet."
Unfortunately for Sister Frances, peace, quiet, or privacy are hard to come by at Nonnatus House. Over the next few weeks she rarely found herself alone, and the idea of the parlour being empty for long enough for surreptitious reading was beyond her wildest dreams. Once the World Cup had begun, the parlour became the centre of the action, whether as the venue for tuning into the matches or making decorations for the celebration of the final and England's victory, no privacy was to be found there.
Several nights after the World Cup final, Sister Frances had calculated that this may be the evening in which she'd at last be able to enjoy the privacy of the parlour to read her still-hidden magazine. She was second on call and Sister Julienne, having settled Sister Monica Joan into bed beforehand, was out attending a delivery, Lucille and Nancy were on night duty at the Maternity Home, Trixie had excused herself, suffering with a heavy summer cold, and Phyllis, having been out the night before, had been asleep since just after supper. All she needed was for Sister Hilda to return from volunteering with the Samaritans. Even if she was not out late into the evening, Sister Frances had noticed that her consoeur preferred to withdraw upon her return from volunteering. It was already nine o'clock. Sister Hilda would be home soon and head straight to bed. She listened intently for her footsteps.
Nine-thirty passed. Nine-forty-five. Sister Frances thought her ears must have deceived her. Sister Hilda must be back by now. She waited five more minutes and, having not heard any semblance of a stirring in the house, slipped out of her cell, down the stairs, and into the parlour. She flicked on a lamp, pulled out the magazine from inside the chair and began to read. She knew she shouldn't. She knew it was wrong. But she couldn't put it down. The twists and turns of love and lust were suddenly laid bare, quite literally, in front of her eyes.
Sister Frances had become so engrossed in what she was reading that she did not notice Sister Hilda slide into the room. Sister Hilda looked tired, her blue eyes had lost some of their usual lustre and dark patches were spreading out beneath them in the direction of her cheekbones. She stood in the semi-darkness, just watching for a moment. Eventually she could not hold her tongue any longer and, not unkindly, said, "I didn't think you'd manage to resist."
Sister Frances jumped a foot in the air in surprise, once again, attempting to hide the magazine from view. Sister Hilda came and sat on the sofa and beckoned Sister Frances to join her. Nervously, Sister Frances sat beside her, magazine still in hand.
"Well, let me see," Sister Hilda requested.
Sister Frances froze to the spot for a moment, staring at Sister Hilda. Sister Hilda shot her a pointed glance but did not say anything. Reluctantly, Sister Frances opened the magazine, a page resting on each nun's knee, and began to flick through. The two nuns sat in silence, Sister Hilda occasionally stopped the page-turning in order to peruse. Eventually, they reached a feature which Sister Frances had dreaded anyone else knowing of its existence. Sister Hilda, predictably, asked her to stop at this particular point. Sister Frances could barely look at Sister Hilda for shame and embarrassment, but when she did allow herself a glimpse at her reactions to the diagrams of contorted human figures in the throws of passion, they were not what she expected. Where she expected shock, or embarrassment, or disapproval, or even prudishness, there was a sense of longing, nostalgia, even sadness. Sister Frances could not fathom it.
"Oooh not sure about any of those, they don't look at all comfortable!" Sister Hilda winced, recoiling slightly, her thighs tensing together under her habit, and her wrists instinctively crossing in her lap, protectively.
Sister Frances' eyes widened in astonishment. Sister Hilda, realising that Sister Frances had put two-and-two together, coloured slightly and looked suitably abashed.
"Do you?" Sister Frances began, "I mean, have you? Did you? Really?"
Sister Hilda allowed herself a small smile and said, "Since you asked..." she allowed her voice to trail off, and flashed Sister Frances a wink, "I will tell you, another evening," she added, tempering the rising excitement on Sister Frances' face, "we've both had very long days. Now," she continued, getting to her feet, "bed time, and I'll take that," gesticulating at the magazine, "Sister Julienne will not be pleased if it's found in your possession."
Sister Frances reluctantly handed the magazine over, and followed Sister Hilda out of the parlour and upstairs, bidding her goodnight on the landing. Sister Hilda secreted the magazine in a basket amongst her embroidery; her past and present lives suddenly becoming entwined.