Author's note

Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/reviewed/favourited this collection so far! I always love to hear from you.

I wrote this ficlet based on a prompt from my friend, the lovely Yankee Countess - thank you!

The Lady with the lamp

"Here, Mrs Lynch – do let me help you with the baby. She's been crying for a while now, you must need a break."

"Get away from me, you English bitch – I don't want you touching her." The young woman looked at Sybil with suspicious eyes, cradling her baby close to her chest.

Sybil gasped – she had never encountered such open prejudice before, and she didn't really know how to respond. Instead, she dropped her eyes and walked away with a murmur about getting one of her colleagues.

She thought about it all day, and it lay heavy on her heart that evening as she climbed the stairs to their flat. She turned the key in the lock, and smiled as she saw Tom at the sink, whistling as he did the washing up after preparing their evening meal.

Thank God, I have Tom to come home to!

He turned towards her on hearing the door open, and immediately dropped the tea towel he was holding when he saw the look on her face.

"Love, what's wrong? What happened?"

He crossed the room quickly and pulled her into his arms. He twisted his body automatically to accommodate the curve of her belly, since she was now well into her second trimester and their baby was growing fast.

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder and letting the warmth of his love enfold her like a blanket. Then, she sighed and looked up at him –

"Something happened to me today that I haven't really encountered before. One of my patients didn't want me to touch her baby, just because I was English. She called me – well, I don't even want to say the word…"

"Sybil, I'm so sorry you had to deal with that... oh darling, don't cry."

At his comforting words, she let a tear slide down her face, and gave herself a few minutes to let the pain she was feeling come to the surface.

"I know I shouldn't take it to heart so much. She was scared, a new mother dealing with a crying baby, and she just lashed out at me. It wasn't personal, she doesn't even know me."

Tom used his thumb to wipe the tears from Sybil's cheeks, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead as he tightened his arm around her. He was only too familiar with the ugly side of prejudice, having been on the receiving end of many a taunt from English soldiers during his years growing up in Dublin.

"Sweetheart, I know it's hard. What can I do to make things better?"

A watery smile came over her face as she met his gaze –

"Thank you, my love – just being there for me is all I need. This is something I need to learn to deal with myself – this is my life now, here in Dublin with you, and it won't be the last time someone rushes to judgement just because of my accent. I can even understand her a little, knowing the way Irish people have been treated by us English in the past…"

He pulled her head under his chin and rocked her a little, comforting her and reassuring her with his love. He murmured into her hair –

"Sybil, I know you are strong, and you can fight your own battles – heaven knows, you never needed me for that! I'm always here, in your corner, whatever happens, whatever you need."

She turned her face up to him again, nodding –

"Tom, I do know that, and I'm in yours too, always. Knowing I have your love and support, I can face anything."

"Forever, darling..."

He kissed her and they clung to each other for a few moments more, drawing strength from each other's embrace. Then, Tom turned Sybil's face up to his with a finger under her chin –

"Come along, milady – dinner is served."

She grinned back at him, entering into the spirit of things –

"How delightful, Branson – you always know just what a lady needs, after a hard day. And do you know what I'd like for – dessert?"

Her wink let him know she was feeling happier, and he softly touched her cheek as a promise for later on that night as he led her to the table.

The next day, Sybil nervously approached Mrs Lynch again, who was feeding her baby. She had reasoned to herself that the best way for her to fight against prejudice was to win the young mother's trust with her own actions, and she was determined to try and do that.

"Good morning, Mrs Lynch. How are you today?"

Again, that suspicious look came into her patient's eyes, but she didn't repeat her words of yesterday.

"What can I bring you? Would you like a cup of tea for when you've finished nursing?"

Mrs Lynch hesitated, then gave a grudging nod. For now, Sybil was content with that – with time, she hoped to be able to show Mrs Lynch that not all English people merited her hatred and fear, and this little interaction felt like a first, small step in that direction.

Sybil walked away to make the tea, smiling to herself. She had known from the start that her life in Dublin would not always be easy, but this was the life she had chosen, had dreamed of, had grabbed with both hands, and she was ready and willing to deal with anything that this life threw her way. Not only for herself and Tom – for the child she was carrying, for the family they were building together, and for the world they dreamed of living in, the world that the Bransons were determined to leave a better place than they found it…