"We cover a wide swathe of East London," Sister Catherine informed Ada as they reached a large wooden shed to the side of Nonnatus House, "you can ride a bicycle, can't you?" she added firmly.
"I'll never win a Tour de France, but yes I can," Ada replied.
"What's a Tour de France?" Sister Catherine inquired, "it sounds rather exotic," she added.
"It's a bicycle race to Paris," Ada replied, "one of our doctors, Dr Culpin, is rather well informed about, unusual, sporting endeavours."
"Do you regularly partake in conversations with gentlemen?" Sister Catherine scolded her new young ward.
Ada's mind immediately flashed back to James, their months of fleeting exchanges in corridors, the hours they secretly spent in each other's company, their planning for their future together, their sharing of hopes and dreams now long since expired.
"One overhears things from time to time," Ada replied, transporting herself back to the present.
Sister Catherine eyed Ada suspiciously before wheeling out a large heavy-framed bicycle and handing it to her. Sister Catherine then mounted her own bicycle and headed swiftly off in the direction of The Commercial Road. Ada followed suit, nervous, excited, and apprehensive in equal measures.
Eight hours later, Ada slumped onto her sagging, creaking bed. Every part of her body hurt, her feet and legs from pedaling across miles of East End cobbles and climbing endless tenement staircases, her hands from gripping the handlebars and scrubbing them clean over and over again with rough cloths and caustic soap, and her brain from trying to absorb, process, and remember everything she had witnessed on the rounds with Sister Catherine. She had thought that more than a decade on the wards of The London under Miss Luckes' beady eye would have prepared her for anything the medical world could throw at her, but how wrong she had been. Everything seemed so strange and unfamiliar, as though she was a probationer again, unsure what to do or what was expected of her. Poplar even smelled different, or at least it did not smell of the usual fug of carbolic, tobacco, and gin that wafted through The London. For someone so confident of her place in the world, Ada's first day on the rosta at Nonnatus House had deeply unsettled her. Even the sleep that she eventually slipped into was uneasy and unsettled.
Dawn was beginning to raise her bright, colourful head when Ada was awoken by a sharp rapping upon her door and a call of "awake, awake, fling off the night! For God has sent his glorious light!"
Bleary-eyed, Ada clambered out of bed and fumbled her way in the dark towards the source of the disturbance to her slumber. Pulling the door open, she found herself staring at Sister Monica Joan, fully dressed, carrying a large bowl of water and sporting a mischievous grin.
"Thank you Sister," Ada began sluggishly, holding out her hands to take the bowl, but before she could gain purchase, Sister Monica Joan had dipped her own long fingers into the water, giggled "John the Baptist" and flicked water across Ada's face. Hardly able to process what had just occurred, Ada's stunned silence was the cue needed by Sister Monica Joan to hand the bowl over, bow low in mock graciousness, and then drift elegantly down the corridor.
"Does she treat everyone like that, or is it just me?" Ada asked Sister Catherine as they cycled along the East India Dock Road later that morning, having related the story of Sister Monica Joan and the washing ball.
"Yes, and no," Sister Catherine replied, diplomatically.
"What does that mean?" Ada asked.
"Sister Monica Joan never discriminates," Sister Catherine acknowledged, truthfully, "but you are a new target. The novelty will wear off after a while and you will be subjected to no more abuse than the rest of us get."
"But how is it that her behaviour is tolerated?" Ada persisted, "If she was a probationer on my ward I would have marched her out the door in an instant."
"Sister Monica Joan isn't merely a hospital probationer," Sister Catherine continued, "she was one of the first nurses to qualify as a midwife in this country and despite everything else, her skills are invaluable and second to none. We need her," she finished.
"I just," Ada began to snap frustratedly.
"This is the real world, Nursing Sister Russell," Sister Catherine soothed gently, pulling her bicycle to a halt as she did so. "Look around you," she continued, waving a hand from the tenement houses, to the street hawkers, to the tallest funnels of the ships on the dockside, "this is a tough world. Whilst in hospital, discipline may be the most prized value in a nurse, out here it's skill, resilience, and how you deal with the horrors that are thrown at you. Sister Monica Joan has the first two in abundance. Enough to forgive her for her way of manifesting the third. I'll make sure you are rosta-ed to work with her in the next few days, I am sure you will find it to be of great benefit."
"What!" Ada gasped in protest.
"Um," Sister Catherine hummed, "now whose behaviour is becoming intolerable."
"Sorry, Sister," Ada replied.
"You are forgiven, Nursing Sister Russell," Sister Catherine replied, beginning to pedal her bicycle along the street again, "now, Mrs Richards is three days post-partum, what do we need to be checking with regards to the health of her and her baby?"
"That the mother's milk supply has come in and that the baby is able to suckle, the health of the cord stub, no signs of infection for mother or baby, mother's blood pressure and heart rate are within normal range, to ensure that the mother has not haemorrhaged excessively since the birth," Ada rattled off, "the baby will also need to be weighed to ensure that they have not lost more than 10 percent of their birth weight."
"We might make a midwife of you yet," Sister Catherine grinned slyly over her shoulder.
"Thank you Sister," Ada replied as she pulled to a halt outside Mrs Richards' home.