Shelagh had hardly slept that night. She'd looked at the water stain on the ceiling, and fretted, and cried.
If she was pregnant – and she was almost fully convinced that she was – she'd be almost four months along now. No matter how fast she and Patrick married, it was not possible to pretend that this pregnancy had occurred after matrimony. Hurried marriages and babies born not quite nine months later were not rare in Poplar. In fact, blushing brides with swollen bellies were nothing out of the ordinary. People might tut at it, but as long as marriage occurred somewhere along the line, the mother-to-be had saved her reputation and secured a decent future for her unborn child.
A finger on her ring would not wash away this taint on Shelagh's reputation, though. Fooling around as an unwedded woman could be forgiven; sexual relations as a nun were quite a different matter.
Shelagh had palpated her abdomen, feeling the gentle curve of an expanding belly. How could she not have felt it before? Had she been so dreadfully out of tune with her body that she, a trained and accomplished midwife, had not recognised the symptoms?
"You're not entirely sure. It could be something else…" she'd whispered, then cried some more.
In the morning, she'd pressed a cold cloth against her swollen eyes, made herself a cup of tea, and told herself to stop being so melodramatic. If she wanted to know whether she was pregnant, she should make use of a pregnancy test.
Shelagh had prepared a urine sample, and placed it in her bag so she could smuggle it into the surgery. She'd needed Patrick's signature, but that had been easy enough to forge. At Nonnatus, Shelagh had drawn pictures of babies in the womb on a blackboard countless of times; Patrick's signature was not half as hard as the subtle curve of a baby's spine. She'd practiced it a few times with her heart pounding in her throat till she could do it almost perfectly.
You should trust him, a small voice had told her. If you cannot ask Patrick to help you with this…
She had wiped her hands on her skirt as if they were stained with chalk, and had shaken her head. Patrick has so much on his mind already; I'd hate to add more to that, especially if it turns out that I'm not pregnant at all.
After slipping in her sample with the others, there was nothing left but to wait till the results were in.
That had been a week ago. Now, Shelagh was at the surgery, intent on taking a peek at the results, should they be in.
"You've forgotten your lunch," she told Patrick, placing a paper bag with sandwiches on his desk.
He looked up at her, and smiled. "Sometimes I wonder what I've done to deserve you," he said, and took her hand in his. She gave it a soft squeeze. He pressed it over his heart. There was a twinge in her abdomen. Almost four months ago, on this desk…
"Shall I fetch the post for you? I think it must have come in just now." She adjusted his tie, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll make us some tea. Unless you don't have time for lunch with me?"
Patrick cupped her chin. "I always have time for you, Shelagh." He pressed his mouth against hers.
She smiled against his lips, then broke their kiss. "Tea it is, then."
She put the kettle on and took the bundle of envelopes from the table of the secretary. She flicked through them, heart beating fitfully again. The results usually came within a week. It had been eight days. Surely it should be here by now, surely she would know today… There it was, in a large, manila envelope, like always.
She glanced up. It was Patrick's lunch break, so there were no patients. His secretary had gone out, too, leaving the surgery perfectly empty.
Shelagh took the envelope with her back to the kitchen. She poured tea into two cups with matching saucers, and spooned some sugar into them. She added a bit of cold water to her own cup and took a large gulp, allowing the sweet brew to fortify her.
"Hurry, you daft girl, or you'll miss your chance," she whispered. She picked the envelope up with trembling hands, took a knife from the drawer, and opened it. The sheet with the results was thin, and not entirely white.
She scanned the line of names quickly, brushing past them with her fingertip. What if her name wasn't on here yet? Could she bear going in here tomorrow with another excuse, trying to secure another beige envelope?
At last, she found it.
Miss Mannion, Shelagh.
She daren't look on, yet she must. She put the sheet down and grasped the counter with both hands, inhaling deeply. Oh, God, please give me strength, she prayed.
Miss Mannion, Shelagh. Positive.
Her fingertips tingled. Shivers ran up her spine.
Well, there you go, she thought. It's hardly a surprise. But that was not true. The difference between almost knowing and knowing for sure was so big she could hardly grasp it with her mind.
How would she tell Patrick? She could hardly go into his office with two cups of tea and pretend all was fine. She picked up her cup to take another sip, but her hands shook so badly that she dropped it. The cup spilled its contents, then dropped to the floor before she could catch it. It shattered into curled shards. A brown flower bloomed on the paper, swallowing the names and the little words that would change the lives belonging to those names, or not change them at all.
She touched her belly. A different kind of flower bloomed there. She started to laugh, then dissolved into sobs.
How could she stay here in Poplar? How could she marry Patrick? She'd just tarnish his reputation as if it was a copper coin. Worst of all, though, was that she'd ruin Timothy's life. The poor boy was hardly to blame for what his father and his colleague got up to…
But where would she go? Everyone she knew was here. Maybe Nonnatus? She shook her head.
How the nuns would hate you, if they knew, she thought. Sister Monica Joan had pressed a Bible in her hands the last time she'd seen her, and advised her to think hard on whether the slaking of the flesh or the succour of the soul was the most important. Sister Evangelina had huffed when she'd seen the engagement ring, and shaken her head. Sister Julienne…
"Shelagh?"
Patrick was beside her then, his hands on her shoulder, touching her, trying to find the cause of her distress.
"Shelagh, darling, what's wrong?"
She turned to him and buried her face in his jumper. "Oh, Patrick," she sobbed, inhaling his aftershave, his Henleys, his scent. How could she ever leave him?
"What is it? Have you hurt yourself?" He stroked her hair, her neck.
She stepped away from him and shook her head. "Here," she said, and tapped the sodden paper. It had become almost translucent, but the words were still black and strong and visible.
He scanned the paper, eyes darting. "But… these are the results of the pregnancy tests." He looked up at her, grabbed her hand. "But you couldn't have… you'd need my signature…"
He was such a darling man. She had to laugh through her tears, and cupped his face. "I forged it," she whispered.
"Why wouldn't you tell me?"
She shook her head, unable to speak.
"This is no place for this conversation. Come," Patrick said, and pulled her along to his office. She went willingly, like a child, like a sleepwalker. He locked the door behind them, then guided her to his chair. He knelt in front of her, her hands between his. There was bewilderment in his eyes, and worry, and love. "Shelagh, please explain this to me," he whispered.
She pulled one hand free and placed her glasses on his desk. The glass had misted over from the heat of her tears.
"I never meant to hide it from you. I didn't know it till last week. It was a comment Sister Evangelina made. Then, when I started to suspect, I didn't want to bother you till I was absolutely certain…"
"Were there no symptoms?"
He'd asked her that question before. She smiled.
Only a little breathlessness.
"I thought it was due to the triple treatment, or the TB." She shook her head. "I was so naïve…"
Patrick bit his lip and set his jaw. "You weren't, Shelagh. This doesn't change anything between us."
"How can you say that? Everything will be changed. Would you have asked me to marry you, had you known…"
He shook his head vehemently and pressed a finger against her mouth. "Don't say such things, Shelagh! And certainly don't think them. I didn't ask you to marry me because I felt it was an obligation; I asked you because I love you."
She pressed her forehead against his. Their breaths mingled. "There'll be gossip, so much gossip… What are we going to do?" she whispered.
"We'll get through, Shelagh. We've done so before, and we'll do so again." He pressed his mouth against hers and kissed her. It was a hard kiss, long and wild and passionate, like before, like four months ago. She curled her hand in his hair and knotted his tie around the other to steady herself. He pulled back, but she captured his mouth again, loving the taste of him on her tongue. He left her breathless.
"We'll get through," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her face, sending tremors through her body. Want coiled in her belly.
"I love you so much, Patrick. I was afraid before I told you, but now, I can hardly imagine why," she whispered.
He smiled. "You'll always have my love. Now dry your tears, darling. Take the results home with you and copy them, but leave out your name. That way, no one will find out for a little while yet."
He handed her his handkerchief. It smelled like him. She dried her eyes, put her glasses on, and blew her nose. "We need to think of something. I can't stay here, not now. I'll start showing soon."
"You don't have to do this on your own, Shelagh. Leave me to worry about it, too."
She gave him a weak smile. "I'll copy the results and bring them back to you before the day is out."
"Have you eaten something?"
She shook her head. Her stomach had refused almost any type of food this week. She'd breakfasted on tea and half a slice of bread, but that had been hours ago.
"Promise me you'll eat something when you get home, all right?" Patrick asked.
"I've almost grown used to feeling faint. It all started with my budding feelings for you," she quipped. When she saw the concern on his face, she tried to smooth some of his wrinkles away with her thumb. "I promise I'll eat something."
Patrick brought her to the door of his office, his hand on the small of her back.
How I want him, she thought. She glanced over her shoulder, at the desk. Look where that wanting brought us.
"Don't worry about that teacup," Patrick said. "I'll ask one of the nurses to clean it up. Just take the paper and…"
They'd reached the kitchen, but it was not empty.
Sister Julienne stood with the paper in her hand, her face as pale as the sheet had been before Shelagh had dropped her tea on it. Her eyes flicked up when she saw them.
"Sister Julienne. I didn't know…" Patrick started.
"I came to see if the results of Mrs. Mann's pregnancy test were in. I couldn't find them, so I went to the kitchen to make myself some tea whilst I waited for you, Doctor." She raised the sodden paper with a trembling hand.
I'm going to faint, Shelagh thought as her eyes met that of her former sister. She couldn't feel her legs.
"Imagine my surprise when I found the list here. Why, pray tell me Shelagh, is your name on this list? And why does it say that you are pregnant?" Sister Julienne asked. Her voice shook even more than her hands did.
"I…" Shelagh's vision became spotty. "I think I'm going to faint," she murmured, and collapsed against Patrick.