There was never meant to be a second question.
Sister Julienne had questioned her staff before. It had always been routine questioning with routine answers. She wasn't always sure of the truth, but it wasn't her role to determine sincerity. But this, she conceded, was an extraordinary matter. A matter made public by a nurse's very public indiscretion, of which the reputation of Nonnatus House was at stake. This was not a mere case of a Nonnatus nurse splashed across newspapers in nothing but Lycra. This was a matter to be dealt with promptly and seriously; just as her duty of obedience dictated.
Sister Julienne was fully aware of the potential gravity of the situation. She knew that technically the law was reserved for men of such persuasion. But the reputation of Nonnatus House and conditions of employment were quite another matter. "No dark secrets, girls," she had once overheard Nurse Franklin say. Just as Dorothy Whitmore had been dismissed for her pregnancy out of wedlock, Nurse Mount too, could be dismissed in kind.
But Sister Julienne knew Patsy to be fiercely intelligent. The nurse would know that allegations could only be acted upon, and punishment received, if they were admitted. She had also known Patsy to be stubborn in her privacy; closed from the enquiring minds of others. She had thought the no-nonsense midwife would refute the claims against her. Previous staff had denied indiscretions in the face of much more incriminating evidence after all. Patsy simply needed to state that she had never heard of such a club and had certainly never attended, the nun had thought. The I's dotted; the T's crossed. Her duty abided by. But Sister Julienne hadn't expected Patsy to be so unabashedly honest. It had been clear from the moment Patsy had barged into her office, that she would set her own agenda.
Sister Julienne had even tried to sway Patsy toward an alternate path. 'I'm sure this misunderstanding can be resolved quickly,' she had said, with as much direction as her voice could convey. And, 'a club for homosexual women, it's a fact is it not, Ms Mount?' she had had asked, in some vein hope that the nurse would be astounded at the revelation. But Patsy had either missed or completely ignored the cues; the covert plea for the midwife to agree, to be aghast. Yes, it is a misunderstanding. And would that be all, Sister? Patsy was meant to say. But of course, it had not gone as expected at all. Patsy had arrived well before their scheduled meeting. She had confirmed the first question, which of course, had led to a second. A question that was never meant to be asked; a duty of obedience that could not be so easily fulfilled.
"And you were seen attending this club. Is that true, Ms Mount?"
Sister Julienne had willed Patsy to say 'no' and for that to be the unequivocal truth. No more questions asked. But the head nun could see from the mixture of grief and defiance in the nurse's eyes that the matter could not be resolved that simply. Matters in which the head and the heart were so obviously vying for control were never that simple, she conceded.
"Yes," the defiant redhead had replied.
If she hadn't been interrupted by the sudden blast of wood against plaster; of the unforeseen appearance of Trixie Franklin in the doorway, the head nun's heart would have deflated. Instead it lifted in indignation.
Sister Julienne rose from her chair. "Nurse Franklin, I must ask you to control yourself." Patsy turned her head, following Sister Julienne's alarmed gaze.
"I'm sorry Sister but this really is most necessary," said Trixie. Sister Julienne shifted focus as Delia and a sheepish Barbara shuffled into view.
"I'm afraid it's necessary, Ms Franklin, to abide by common courtesy. You have interrupted a matter that is none of your concern."
"But it is my concern, Sister," said Trixie. "Our concern." she clarified. "Though I'm not quite sure concern is the most suitable term."
"I appreciate that you're here to support a friend, but this is a confidential matter and will be dealt with as such."
"We were all there!" Trixie shouted. She calmed herself. "At the club last night. Patsy, Barbara, Delia and myself. We were all there."
Sister Julienne was about to probe further; she opened her mouth, but hesitated. Her previous line of questioning had only uncovered further truths she didn't want known. She rested her elbows on the desk, then pointed her index fingers together. "I see," she said.
"There was a sudden change of plans and we decided to have a girl's night," explained Trixie.
Barbara looked to her in horror.
"Not in that way," Trixie clarified. "We went to a bar, but we didn't know it was that kind of bar."
"I'm not sure why Patsy was the only one who was recognised," explained Delia. "I guess it's hard to miss a striking," Delia paused, panicked at her slip of the tongue. "Strikingly tall redhead."
"So if you're here to interrogate Patsy, you should interrogate us as well," Trixie demanded.
"I hardly think interrogate is the most appropriate term, Nurse Franklin," Sister Julienne echoed.
"Isn't it?" asked Trixie.
"Is this true, Nurse Gilbert?" asked Sister Julienne, ignoring the increasing anger rising in the blonde. Ignoring too, that the blonde was perhaps correct in her assessment.
Barbara nodded. Her face reddened. "I met a lovely girl named Lara," she confessed. Trixie nudged her side. 'Don't', she mouthed.
"I saw her again today. She is sweet and funny and wise. And I'm really glad I met her," Barbara continued in defiance. She witnessed the look of puzzlement on the nun's face. "She and I are friends," she clarified. "Nothing more. But if we were then... then I don't see how there could be anything wrong with that," she spat.
A moment of silence filled the room; awkward and stifled. Barbara scanned the faces of the room's occupants; they seemed to look away in embarrassment. This is what is must feel like, she thought, to be ashamed for something so much as being in love.
The harsh call of the phone cut away at the stillness. Barbara had never been so thankful for its rude interruption. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must get that," she said.
Sister Julienne thought it best to ignore the outburst, lest she create further friction. She motioned for Trixie to close the door.
"Ms Mount, you can confirm this?" asked Sister Julienne. It was a delicate shift in tone, but the subliminal appeal to confirm was not missed by Patsy. Not this time.
"Yes, but..." Patsy hesitated. This had not gone according to plan. She was meant to speak her truth; to speak for others like her. She looked to Delia. She noted the dilation of the brunette's pupils enlarge by the second, then the furrow of her brow. 'Pats?' she mouthed. She's afraid, thought Patsy. Of the truth revealed. Of the consequences. Of me. "But..." stuttered Patsy; her words lost in Delia's stare.
"But Barbara's right," interrupted Trixie, panicked by Patsy's lack of cooperation. "Am I to assume from this... inquisition," she spat, "that you believe the nature of this establishment and the nature of the accusation to be incompatible? Surely there are elements that are mutually exclusive? Love, understanding and compassion?"
"Ms Franklin, it is not my role to judge. We do, however, have a reputation..."
Trixie scoffed. "What about their reputation? These men and women go to such clubs because they cannot be themselves anywhere else. Because of the law or the church, or for fear of losing their jobs. And though it pains me to say, because of people like me. We've abandoned them, for no reason other than who they love. And now we seem to find them, in hiding, and drag them into a court room, or," Trixie scanned the office, "interrogation room, to shame them publicly."
"Now Ms Franklin," interrupted the nun, her voice calm. "This is a private matter that I have no intention to make public. But you must understand that whenever you leave the grounds of Nonnatus House, you take publicly, its reputation with you. One that is, by its very nature, conservative and disciplined. If one cannot abide by conduct in keeping with the church, and one's profession, then perhaps it is incompatible."
"But it's wrong," said Delia, sadly. She looked to Patsy, her head hung in shame, for what she hadn't the courage to say. Trixie and Delia were speaking her truth. For others of her kind. For the men locked away. For the women suddenly unemployed. She was but a muted witness.
"We cherish all of our nurses, Ms Busby. Without you all, we would be at a loss to serve the community. But we serve in the Lord's name. We abide by His word, regardless of opinion." Sister Julienne smiled weakly. "Now, it seems as though this course of events has resulted from a misunderstanding. But I ask of all of you to keep in mind, at all times, the reputation of this establishment, and indeed your profession." She paused. "Your private lives are none of my concern, but you mustn't give me reason to make it so."
"Yes sister," the nurses said in unison.
"I'm sure that will be all Nurse Franklin and Nurse Busby," said the nun. The two women nodded. "Nurse Mount, if you could stay a moment?"
Trixie paced the room, her hands flailing as if silently rehearsing an impassioned speech. The door creaked open. A deflated Patsy came into view. Trixie's wide eyes narrowed. The words the blonde once knew by heart, escaped her. "Pats, I'm so terribly sorry," was all she could muster.
Patsy ignored Trixie's outstretched hand. She slumped on her bed, arched forward, her legs dangling over the frame. She stared at the empty bed adjacent. Trixie did not wait for an invitation to join her. Knowing it would never come, Trixie sat gingerly beside Patsy; her weight barely causing an indent in the mattress. She eyed the tall midwife in her peripheral. "Would it be further intrusive of me to enquire what it is that Sister Julienne said?"
Patsy sighed. "Yes."
Trixie refocused, choosing to concentrate on her hands as they twisted into each other with nervous discontent. "Of course."
"But I'm getting rather accustomed to intrusiveness," continued Patsy. "The constant need to question my private life."
"Pats, I..."
"If you think for one instant that I didn't want to tell you..." interrupted Patsy. "I would have adored to share stories of first dates; of the moment one knew one was falling. Everything. But I couldn't. I can't."
"But you can Pats," implored Trixie. She kneeled in front of Patsy. "With me at least. And Barbara."
"And risk another inquisition?" demanded Patsy. "I was so ready to confess," she said. She rubbed her palms against the coarseness of her stockings; back and forth, the friction rising. "That word," she said, harshly, shaking her head. "As though I have committed some heinous crime."
Trixie levelled herself to the floor. "I was heinous. What I said, about you being who you are and what you do for a living. It was ghastly, insensitive and completely unconscionable. I said it was my business because I so wanted it to be. I know I have no right, but I would so dearly love to know you, Pats." She searched Patsy's face for any sign of reconciliation, but the redhead simply stared ahead. "But that's no excuse, I realise that," said Trixie.
Patsy sighed. She was still angry at the blonde. But the anger rising in herself, for her failure to speak her truth, eclipsed it. "I suspect my own thoughts could rival yours. Of who I am."
"But I don't think that."
"I do. I did, " said Patsy. "Every hateful word they say about us. That there's something wrong, some chemical imbalance or disorder. That it's unnatural. I thought that too, about myself, and others like me. Until..." Patsy picked at the loose thread on her dress.
"Until Delia?" asked Trixie, softly.
"Yes," said Patsy, barely audibly. "I was going to atone. For all my hateful thoughts. For every time I told her to be careful, to not speak so loud."
Trixie placed a hand on Patsy's knee. "So speak out loud now," she said.
Patsy stared at the hand as it shifted slightly, back and forth.
"Tell me about it?" Trixie asked, her tone lifting at the edges. "The moment you knew you were falling." Patsy shook her head, her mouth curled in embarrassment.
"I know it's not something you talk about. Certainly not something you could discuss with colleagues, or Sister Julienne. But you can with me. This whole event has been ghastly and completely unfair, but at least now, in this room, we can talk. Out loud. I so want to talk, Pats," pleaded Trixie.
Patsy looked to the blonde, at last. She positioned her head to the side. "Why don't we start with the bottle?" she asked.
Trixie's breath caught, harsh and cold. "Alright," she said, unsteadily. "I admit that after our argument, I thought that perhaps the real me, the sober one, had been masked all this time. Turns out, without the aid of gin, I'm rather unpleasant. Cold, cruel and judgemental." Trixie looked to her friend. "Stop me any time, Pats," she joked.
Patsy failed to respond.
"I thought that perhaps it was spirits that accounted for my spirited personality. And I wanted it back." Trixie removed her hand from Patsy's knee and placed it atop the red-head's own. "I wanted my best friend back."
Patsy's eyes blurred with tears in their infancy. "You don't need the drink to have that, Trixie."
"I know," agreed the blonde, her voice breaking. "As soon as I realised that you had hidden the bottle, I knew, hoped I could have both. Sobriety and my most cherished friend." She looked into Patsy's eyes. "That is, if you'll still be my friend."
Patsy smiled and squeezed Trixie's hand.
"But on one condition," continued Trixie.
"I hardly think you're in a position to bargain," warned Patsy.
"I get to be friends with the real you. Not some striped pyjama clad imposter. But the friend who shares things; who laughs over disastrous dates and rejoices over delicious ones." Trixie crafted her hand into an imaginary megaphone. "Will the real Patience Mount please make her presence known?" she asked, in a feigned conductor's voice.
Patsy smiled and nodded. Trixie's head rested on the tall midwife's shoulder. The two women sat in comfortable silence.
"I heard her voice first," said Patsy, at last. "The unusual inflection of her accent; thick yet sweet. It seems almost unbelievable, but I think that's when I knew. That I was falling. And we hadn't even met..."
A/N: I hope Trixie has redeemed herself here, and that Sister Julienne is understandable in her actions (given her position and the era).