*Author's note: I have recently binge (re)watched Casualty 1900s (The London Hospital outside the UK) and became re-acquainted with the fictional character who I think I empathise with more than any other, Sister Ada Russell. This story has been in my head since the series ended, and now I have a chance to write it.*

"You cradle my baby like a pet cat"

Several nights after the Sweatshop fire and Anna Baker's words still rang in Ada Russell's ears as she left the receiving room and walked back to the nurse's home. Peggy's death had brought Anna and Ada back together in a way neither of them would have wished on the other, but Ada knew that Anna was right. "They were professional calls," Sister Russell's voice said. "Mostly," sighed Ada.

Crawling under her blanket, curled in a ball against the chill of the night, Ada wrapped both her arms around her feather pillow and allowed a tear or two to trickle down her nose. "What if I had married James?" she thought, unconsciously allowing one hand to float its way from the pillow, down her side, before coming to rest above her lower abdomen. Images of sunlight, and smiles, danced through Ada's mind. Spinning onto her back, her free hand found the narrow, cold, empty space between her body and the edge of the bed. She awoke, several hours later, the pillow still cradled against her body, her hand still outstretched, searching for the forbidden desires she so desperately longed for.

Ada waited several days before returning to Anna's home. She'd desperately wanted to go on several previous evenings but had talked herself out of it. Partly to avoid Matron's wrath, partly because she knew that every time she went, she put her profession position on the line. But, late one Saturday afternoon, her heart won over her head. After supper, she slipped out of the nurses home, slid into the hospital's pantry and filled the basket she had secreted under her cape with bread, some milk, a handful of apples and a wedge of cheese. She hurried between corners and intersections of corridors, ensuring her progress remained unobserved. She closed the main door behind her, tip-toed down the stairs and out into the night.

Ada was no longer afraid of the slums, or the dark, or poverty, but the atmosphere of the dark night left her feeling uneasy. Every ale house she walked past was accompanied by a scrum of drunkards, shouting, stumbling, vomiting, and pissing where they stood, rows were heard behind walls and through windows, children crying, the odd anguished scream. Ada picked up her pace as she turned into Wilkes Street, the heels of her shoes clattering on the cobbles as she broke into a trot, her breathing grew more rasping. At the threshold of Anna's door, she paused for a moment to catch her breath, her eyes darting from one end of the street to the next.

She rapped upon the door. Someone stirred within the house. Ada stepped backwards into the street. No answer. She knocked a second time. A crack of candlelight appeared in the edifice of the tenement.

"Anna" Ada gasped, skipping towards the door.

"What do you want" barked Anna in reply.

Ada stared at Anna for a moment. As her eyes adjusted to the light, Ada noticed a large bruise across Anna's face.

"Can I?" Ada began.

"No!" Anna shouted. "Please" came a slightly softer note, "just go."

"I've brought this," Ada said kindly, placing the basket on the doorstep.

"Please, go."

Before Ada could respond, the door was closed in her face. She began to withdraw when she heard commotion within the tenement.

"Anna, Anna" Ada called.

"There's been trouble, she's 'urt" came a shout from an upstairs window. "Get yur'selv outta 'ere"

"Let me help!" Ada pleaded.

"Go! And save yur'selv."

Ada hitched her skirts and ran. Her feet thundered down the road, splashing through puddles, weaving through piles of discarded refuse, carts, and the drunkards. Her eyes wide, her breath gasping, trying to draw as much air into her fiery lungs as she ran. She stopped at a corner, steadied herself against the wall, bent double, panting like a racehorse. Thoughts raced through Ada's head as fast as her heart was galloping. "What's happened?" she thought.

"Alright darling!" a rough, slurred voice cracked Ada's silent contemplation.

"Quite al.." Ada began, but her voice caught in her throat. The man began to approach her. He was tall, and thick set. His face was ruddy with drink, his cheeks dotted with rough stubble and jagged scars. His clothes were dishevelled. He staggered as he walked. Ada could smell the drink on him, she tried to back away but hit only the cold brick wall of the building behind her. Within a fraction of a second, he stood over her. Ada pulled herself up as tall as she could make herself, trying to appear far braver than she really felt.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"You, pretty girl" he responded, smirking menacingly, reaching out and grabbing her.

"Get off!" Ada screamed. "Help!"

Before she could stop him, the man had Ada pinned against the wall, one hand over her mouth, the other on her waist. Ada squirmed against him, trying to break free, but his grip on her was far too great. She tried to bite his hand, but he closed his grip on her ever tighter. Pressing his weight ever harder, he took his free hand and began to lift Ada's skirts. She squeaked and squealed, trying desperately to pull his arm away and preserve her dignity. But he was far too strong for her. She heard the seams of her drawers tear. His cold fingers touched where she was her most warm. She sobbed. Wailed. Willed for it to stop. For him to stop. She felt a sudden rush of pain, as though her insides were being split apart. And again. In. Out. In. Out. Over and over, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth. The noises he made were deafening, terrifying. She'd never heard anything like it. And never wanted to hear it again. She felt as though she was passing out, coming to only as she was unceremoniously dumped upon the damp floor. Her attacker, without a passing word or glance back, adjusted his trousers and disappeared into the night.

For a moment, all Ada could do was lie there. Her head span, tears of pain, horror, shame and anguish ran down her cheeks, her insides throbbed. She curled into a foetal position, teeth gritted against the pain. Realisation of what had just happened to her rolled over her in crushing, crashing waves. She knew she was unsafe, she needed to get home as fast as she could, but fear paralysed her to that dark, damp corner. How long she lay there, she did not know, but eventually she mustered the strength to pull herself up onto her hands and knees. She crawled. Sobbing, crawling, her hands blackened, her dress and petticoats torn. The sight of home brought a sense of relief she didn't think possible to feel.

In the safety of her room Ada threw off her dirty, ruined clothes. Bruises were already beginning to appear on her hips and shoulders, and her lower lip was swollen. What was left of the gusset of her drawers was spotted with scarlet. She felt dirty, defiled. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath but didn't dare wake the other girls by running the water. She scrubbed herself with carbolic soup as best she could, pulled on her sanitary belt and a fresh towel from out of her top drawer and put on her nightdress. She poured herself a brandy, and sat sipping it in bed, massaging her throbbing abdomen, no longer bothering to wipe the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.

A few hour's sleep had restored Ada somewhat, but she had awoken to the gravity of what had occurred the previous night. The bruises she could hide, her lip may need explaining. The table beside her bed would provide a sufficient alibi. "What on earth to do?" she wondered. "What on earth will happen."

"Ada, are you quite well?" Ethel asked her at breakfast, "you're looking a little peaky."

Ada suddenly came to and looked up from her bowl of porridge.

"Just a little under the weather" Ada lied, "didn't get much sleep," she added, truthfully. The brandy she'd drunk the night before had not had the desired effect.

"If you need anything, just ask" Ethel added.

"Yes, I will" Sister Russell replied with a curt nod.