"Shelter," Sister Frances mused over the word quizzically, not entirely sure of its connotations in this context.
"My latest adventure, Sister," Reverend Kenrick replied in a manner which somehow radiated pride without a trace of hubris or smugness. "As you yourself said Sister, appalling standards of housing, homelessness, and uninterested, belligerent landlords are not just features of life here in Notting Hill. Or even in London. This is a nationwide problem. My hometown of Liverpool is home to some of the country's most destitute. It pains me to say it, but living conditions in parts of this country are no better than those I encountered as a Missionary in Bengal or when serving in the Medical Corps in The Gold Coast. Shelter will take the work of the Notting Hill Housing Trust to the next stage, a national charity to help those most in need of, well, shelter."
"That sounds like a hugely ambitious project," Sister Frances remarked.
"It has been. Even getting to the point we are at at the moment has been fraught with problems," Reverend Kenrick replied, "my own committee didn't want the charity to go national, so I've had to find new supporters, new benefactors. Raising sufficient funds to buy and renovate properties in London is no mean feat. But we need all the help we can get." Reverend Kenrick finished his speech and, taking a large swig of coffee, stared pointedly at Sister Frances over the rim of his cup.
"What can I do to help?" Sister Frances asked.
"You, and your Order's, local knowledge will be invaluable," Reverend Kenrick replied, "not only to identify those most in need, but to push the case that poor housing has a detrimental effect on people's health. Our National Health Service is a thing to cherish and behold, but why create more work for it when the issues can be prevented?"
"We can certainly help you identify where issues lie," Sister Frances replied, "and as a Community we've always been very adept at organising things, charity events, that sort of thing."
"All of those things will be wonderful, once the charity has been launched," Reverend Kenrick remarked, his voice becoming smoother with every word, "I wondered, if you would like to play a part in getting us off the ground?"
Sister Frances sat in silence for a moment, for Sister Julienne's warning about the persuasive charms of clergymen had suddenly clanged in her ears. However, a smaller voice in her head asserted, she was a woman, aware of her own abilities, confident of her own views and convictions. She would hear Reverend Kenrick out.
Inevitably, the topic of conversation over supper later that evening soon came around to Sister Frances' trip to Notting Hill and her meeting with Reverend Kenrick. Everyone around the table listened in intense silence, right until she reached the climax of that morning's adventure.
"You've agreed to do what?" Sister Julienne snapped, sending her cutlery crashing onto her plate as she did so.
"I've agreed to address the Greater London Council in order to gain further support prior to the launch of Reverend Kenrick's new charity," Sister Frances asserted.
"Did I not warn you about taking on excessive commitments," Sister Julienne scolded, "and of men's persuasive powers?"
"I hardly feel that an afternoon constitutes a major commitment," Sister Frances replied, "and I needed little persuasion, male or otherwise," she finished, taken aback and rather offended by her Superior's suggestion of naivety on her part.
"But you are not simply committing an afternoon to this cause," Sister Julienne retorted, trying to keep her temper from rising, "you are putting your name, and that of your Order, in association with this organisation."
"It's hardly an unworthy cause," Trixie interrupted, coming to Sister Frances' aid, "we all know the state of the housing crisis here in London, goodness me, we see it every day. Surely the Order should be seen as advocating such work? Especially as the charity's founder is a Church minister himself."
"I'm just not sure that Sister Frances is the person who should be doing such things," Sister Julienne replied.
"She is still in the room," Sister Hilda reminded, shooting a frosty, if fleeting, glance in Sister Julienne's direction.
"Begging your pardon Sister Julienne," Phyllis began, "but are you saying that Trixie, as a lay woman, has more of a right to express her opinions on matters that concern her and that she feels passionate about, than Sister Frances, as a woman who has taken Holy Orders, does? You gave Trixie your blessing to speak about a topic far more controversial than safe housing."
"That is not what I'm saying," Sister Julienne began, only to be interrupted by disgruntled snorts from both Trixie and, to her alarm, Sister Frances, "what I am saying is that any opinions expressed by Sister Frances in the public domain, will not only be associated with her herself but also with our Order. When we take the veil, we become part of a Community, we are no longer individuals, with the luxury of, independance."
"But Sister Julienne," Sister Hilda pleaded, "Sisters have always been allowed to pursue their own interests, where reasonable, and compatible with the mission of the Order."
"Improved housing would certainly improve the health of our patients," Lucille piped up.
"That's what I said to Reverend Kenrick," Sister Frances asserted.
"It would hardly harm the Church of England to be seen to be doing some good in the world," Nancy motioned.
Sister Julienne stared into her plate of pork pie and piccalilli, becoming increasingly aware that she was fighting a losing battle. Turning to the one member of the household who had remained silent thus far on the issue, she said, "Sister Monica Joan, what do you think?"
Sister Monica Joan, who until this point had sat feigning disinterest in the entire scenario, replied, "I would take Mr Longfellow's advice, laid out for us in The Psalm of Life" and began to recite, "In the world's broad field of battle, in the bivouac of Life, be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!"
A silence so thick it could be cut with a knife descended around the table. After several moments, unable to hold her tongue any longer, Trixie announced, "well, that's settled then."
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed Sister Hilda.
"If you want any help with your speech, or any advice at all, you must come to me, I'll be more than happy to help," Trixie said kindly to Sister Frances, ignoring the steely gaze which Sister Julienne was giving all three of her consoeurs.
"That's very kind, of course, Trixie, but." Sister Frances paused, looking to Sister Julienne for reassurance.
"I argued that this was a matter which affected not just you, Sister Frances, but the whole Community. You seem to have the Community's support," Sister Julienne resigned.
Sister Frances got up from her own chair and knelt beside Sister Julienne's in an act of devolted supplication, and asked, "But do I have your support, Sister Julienne?"
The simple gesture had a varied effect on the assembled women's thoughts, from Lucille's "such profound respect", to Nancy's "what the...?", via Sister Hilda's "oh, you clever girl." For Sister Frances knew not only exactly what she was doing, but also that if Sister Julienne refused now the resentment in the house would be highly unpalatable.
"You'd better begin writing your speech," Sister Julienne replied. She had barely finished speaking when Sister Frances had sprung up off the floor and wrapped her in her arms, whispering "Thank you Sister," into her Superior's ear as she did so.
The meeting of the Greater London Council, at which Sister Frances had agreed to speak, was scheduled for the final week of October. From the moment she had received Sister Julienne's blessing, almost all her free time between her various commitments and keeping in touch by telephone with Reverend Kenrick was spent writing, rewriting, and practicing her speech. Always a little apprehensive about public speaking, she had spent the evening prior to the meeting rehearsing with Trixie.
"The speech is perfect now, but we need to work on you, stand tall and proud," Trixie advised, motioning to Sister Frances to get up off what had been Valerie's bed, "keep your head up and look confident!" In response to the look of dubiousness on Sister Frances' face, Trixie climbed off her own bed, slipped on the first pair of heels she could find, strutted confidently around her room, flashed a look that could kill in the direction of her full length mirror, and then dissolved into giggles when she saw Sister Frances' now-horrified expression.
"You want me to do that?" Sister Frances asked.
"Well not exactly," Trixie replied, "but go on, pretend you're walking into the Council chamber."
Sister Frances paced up to the door of Trixie's room and tried to stride purposefully across the room. She tried to replicate the shapely wiggle that she had seen Trixie manage to do, but her own shoes and enveloping habit did not enable the desired effect. In fact, she just felt a bit silly. She caught sight of the look on Trixie's face and knew she was thinking the exact same thoughts.
"I think I can talk the talk," Sister Frances acknowledged, "but it's the walking the walk I'm not sure about. Nuns aren't supposed to be the centre of attention. It's not what we do."
"You're not ashamed of who you are, are you?" Trixie asked kindly.
"No, no, of course not," Sister Frances replied, "just sometimes, I wish, I could be more like you."
"Like me?" Trixie questioned.
"You have the freedom to express yourself in so many ways, different ways," Sister Frances replied. "In your uniform you are Nurse Franklin, my experienced, admirable, colleague. In your, is that cashmere, sweater and slacks, you are Trixie, my bubbly, funny, immensely kind, friend who will always help when needed. And in your navy two piece and court shoes you are Beatrix, the woman who can write to The Times and express her views on National radio. I will always be Sister Frances. Always the same. Never changing. I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be in your shoes."
Trixie did not answer, but instead kicked off the heels, replaced them with her ostrich-feather-trimmed mules and padded over to her wardrobe. Sister Frances watched her rummage through the swathes of colour until eventually she pulled out a pair of black leather bar shoes with shiny silver buckles. She held them out to Sister Frances, and when she did not immediately take them said, "go on, try them."
"I can't wear those Trixie," Sister Frances replied, "they've got heels."
"All shoes have heels Sister Frances," Trixie teased, "and anyway, they're only little heels. Go on," she encouraged.
Reluctantly, Sister Frances slipped her scuffed brogues off and took Trixie's shoes from her. She slipped them onto her feet and, having fumbled with the unfamiliarly fiddly buckles, stood up and admired herself in Trixie's long mirror. "They fit," she murmured after a moment.
"There, you already look several inches taller," Trixie noted.
"Well, I am several inches taller," Sister Frances replied.
"You know what I mean," Trixie teased, "now go on, make sure you can walk in them."
Sister Frances did a few laps of Trixie's room. The shoes, though so unfamiliar, were not uncomfortable, and for reasons unknown to her, made her feel different, more confident, as though she could take anything in her stride.
"Now, try that speech again," Trixie advised.
The following afternoon Sister Frances, wearing her own shoes but carrying Trixie's in an equally-borrowed handbag, entered the offices of the Greater London Council. Just before entering the debating chamber, she switched her shoes, and unfurled her handwritten speech. She waited at the door for her turn to be called to the stage, her heart racing, with nerves or excitement she wasn't sure. Soon she heard her name called and she walked proudly onto the stage in front of the entire council, and began to speak.