"Hmmmmm."
For the fourth time during Mrs Aston's delivery, and the umpteenth time during the ten days that they had been working together, Ada's thoughts upon her work had been interrupted by a smugly disapproving purr coming from the observing Sister Monica Joan. There had been occasions, Ada admitted, that the purring had prompted her into realising that she had not packed every piece of equipment required into her delivery bag or that she had indeed not noticed that a minute fragment of a placenta was missing. But on other occasions, try as she might, she could find no rhyme nor reason to her observer's reactions. Ada suspected that Sister Monica Joan was gladly using her position of superiority to tease, gloat, and control. And revelling in the whole experience.
Having successfully delivered Mrs Aston's baby girl, tidied the room and left the new mother cooing over her newborn in the flickering light of the candles upon the mantel, Ada and Sister Monica Joan stepped out into the night air. Despite only being September, there was a chill in the air. Simultaneously, the pair pulled their capes tighter around their shoulders before mounting their bicycles and peddling home along the Dock Road in silence.
Ada often appreciated the silence after a long day at work, a chance to gather her thoughts and allow the concerns of the day to flow from her like an ebbing tide. But this was not a pleasurable silence. A frustration was mounting in Ada, boiling and bubbling, as cloying as overdone porridge. It consumed her. Every so often she flashed a scowl in the direction of Sister Monica Joan, who, as though she knew of Ada's torment, was grinning inanely, her nobly-carved silhouette occasionally illuminated by passing gaslights. Her companion's glee continued to irritate her all the way home.
Returning to the bicycle shed, an exhausted Ada began to lean hers against the nearest rack when Sister Monica Joan announced, "I'd like to leave my bicycle there, please remove yours."
The contents, and the smugness in the tone, of this announcement were the last straw for Ada. Dropping her bicycle with an almighty clatter against the metal racks, she folded her arms across her chest and spat, "am I going to ever do anything right in your eyes?" at Sister Monica Joan with a level of venom which surprised even her.
"My dear," Sister Monica Joan cooed, "until you have been the one who has done everything wrong, you cannot possibly know what is right or wrong, or how your actions are seen by those who matter most."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ada snapped back, impatiently.
"I once did everything wrong," Sister Monica Joan sighed, "or at least, they thought it wrong. I however…". She allowed her voice to trial off a little. After a moment of silence, and upon noticing both that Ada was watching and her whole demeanour was softening, Sister Monica Joan flashed her a saucy wink. "Come along," she added, waving a long-fingered hand at Ada, "the night is young, there was an unopened bottle of milk when we left, I would like the cream, and Battenberg, I think we should indulge!"
With that, Sister Monica Joan disappeared out of the bicycle shed. Setting off at a trot behind her, and now thoroughly confused, Ada called, "but what about the Great Silence?"
"Oh to hell with that!" Sister Monica Joan replied, gleefully, "there is important work to be done."
Half an hour later, cradling a mug of Horlicks and munching what was the noticeably smaller of the two slices of Battenberg which had been cut, Ada sat expectantly in a large armchair in front of the parlour fire as Sister Monica Joan fussed and fumbled with cushions, poked the fire, and made as much of a kerfuffle as she thought it possible to make. The rest of the Sisters were in their cells, it was long after Compline, neither of them should be up and about, never mind partaking in social occasions. Eventually, Sister Monica Joan sat opposite Ada, staring expectantly at her.
After a moment of awkward silence, Ada asked, "what's happening Sister Monica Joan?"
"The question is not what is happening, but what has happened," Sister Monica Joan replied, knowingly.
"Then what happened?" Ada asked, "and what has this got to do with the appalling way that you have been treating me over the last few days?"
"One question at a time, dear child," Sister Monica Joan replied, mockingly. Ada scowled in response to being belittled by a woman who was probably no older than her. "I will answer both in due time," Sister Monica Joan continued, "I wonder," she added, her sparkling eyes locking with Ada's for the first time, "are your mother and father proud of you?"
Slightly taken aback by the sudden change in the conversation's direction, Ada stuttered for a moment, trying to swallow, rather than inhale, the mouthful of Horlicks that she had just taken. Recomposing herself she said, "I believe so. I wonder sometimes if they would have preferred me to have married and had a family, rather than worked for a living, but they've always supported my vocation."
"Well are you not the lucky one!" Sister Monica Joan snapped viciously. Ada was so taken aback that she almost deposited her mug into her lap. "My parents have disapproved of me from the moment I entered the world. Oh you think I over-exaggerate," Sister Monica Joan remarked in response to the faintest twitch of Ada's right eyebrow, "you see, I was the first born, and female, not the son my father had hoped for. He was the first born, of a first born son, of first born son, traced all the way back through to the reign of Elizabeth you see. I broke the mould. I was wrong. And then, when my brothers did come along, I was still not right as I wasn't a proper girl. I wanted to read poetry, learn Greek, and join in with the Gymkhana. I wanted to camp in the hay meadow and sneak onto Squire Gordon's land to swim in his trout lake. Do all the things my brothers did, not endure a life of dainty pleasantries, embroidery, and polite conversations about nothing at all. I feared not just a cage, holding me in, but a snare, a poacher's trap that would maime me as it held me. I had to get out."
"What did you do?" Ada enquired, her curiosity peaking and her temper mellowing.
"Well, first of all, I absconded from the family estate to take part in a Society for Women's Suffrage meeting," Sister Monica Joan announced, proudly. "The movement was only in its infancy then," she elaborated in response to the widening of Ada's sparkling eyes, "and I was only seventeen, but I felt called there, as though I might meet women like me there. I was right of course. Such passion, such flare, such wisdom, such courage. I might have got away with it if we had not been disturbed. The local constabulary, of course, irritating troublemakers, had been tipped off. Being the daughter of a local bigwig, I of course was recognised, and marched home in disgrace. Or so they thought. I may have been seen as being a disgrace to my family, but I was not ashamed about what I had done. I had never felt so alive. I realised then that the only way that women's place in society could be improved, was by women helping women, by working towards a common good, a better lot for all concerned."
"Did you continue in the Suffrage Movement?" Ada asked.
"Alas no, though I remain an avid supporter," Sister Monica Joan admitted. "It will come soon, I am sure of it," she added, "but I decided that I needed to work, I needed my own income, rather than be supported by Father's estate. So, like you, I decided that I would become a nurse. I began my training at St Thomas'. The habit," she elaborated, "came a little later. The Sisters of Raymond Nonnatus had only recently moved to Poplar when I was a probationer at St Thomas'. Our paths crossed from time to time, at chapel, and when going about our business. I quickly discovered that ward work and I were not compatible."
"No! Really!" Ada interrupted with a snort.
Sister Monica Joan gave a wry smile, before continuing, "the freedom of District Practice I found far more liberating, and much more appealing. I passed my probation with distinction, before promptly announcing that I was taking the veil. I was professed a few weeks later, and took my final vows in 1904. I had qualified as a midwife the previous year, one of the very first to do so in this country," she added, haughtily.
"What did your family think to that?" Ada asked.
"I have seen neither hide nor hair of any members of my family since the day that I walked out of my parents front door, case in hand, having announced my intention to train as a nurse," Sister Monica Joan proclaimed, "this move was the very last straw. I had almost been forgiven for wanting to attend a Suffrage Movement meeting, our family physician had diagnosed me with hysteria of course, but turning my back on the wealth, success and prosperity that my father prided and my mother coveted to be, of all things, a nurse, well, the lack of contact for some dozen years now now is testament to their sentiments. Heaven alone knows what they would think of this," she finished, tugging at the side hem of her scapula.
"I am not sure I know what to say," Ada remarked, remembering what Sister Ermengarde had said to her about Sister Monica Joan on the day that she arrived, "she fought one oppression to get here, she certainly won't allow herself to be forced into another." Suddenly, things made sense to her. She wasn't quite ready to excuse Sister Monica Joan's behaviour towards her, but she now understood it. Her very life was her own crusade against oppression. She was a woman, helping women. She did whatever she had to do to succeed in it, and those around her supported her with good grace.
Having observed Ada turning these thoughts over in her mind, Sister Monica Joan enquired, "you are aware, are you not, that midwife means, with woman."
"Yes," Ada replied.
"I am a woman, who is with women, and for women," Sister Monica Joan boasted triumphantly, "join in my crusade!" she added getting to her feet and punching the air with her right fist.
Ada was stunned into silence. Her whole perception of Sister Monica Joan had been transformed in the course of the previous hour. Irritation had morphed into inspiration before her very eyes.
Having registered all of this, and needing one last excuse to tease Ada, Sister Monica Joan spun on her heel to face her and said "hmmmmm, what are you doing out of bed at this time of night?"
"And what are you doing, talking during the Great Silence?" Ada immediately retorted, finally realising she needed to be able to give as good as she got.
"Touché, Sister Russell," replied an appreciative Sister Monica Joan.