By the time the Sisters returned home from their rounds the bell was chiming for Vespers. On another evening, Ada may have still half-considered sneaking out to catch a late showing at the theatre. If Ethel had been with her, she would probably have allowed her to talk her into it. But the whirring troubles in her mind, often present but usually hidden, had been brought to the surface by Sister Hildegarde. She could not shake them off. She would not have been able to enjoy anything until they were once again suppressed. That, and an untimely reminder of her undesired state had manifested itself in the form of her monthly bleed.
She excused herself after supper and returned to her room, bolting the door firmly behind her. She lay on her bed, loosening the tight corset that had been constricting her throbbing lower abdomen. Curling into a ball and gritting her teeth against the pain, Ada could not prevent tears from welling up in the corners of her eyes. Ethel was right. Sister Hildegarde was right. If Miss Luckes had not suspected something too she would have been mightily surprised. She wanted to be a mother.
"There," she whispered to the bare wall beside her, "I've admitted it. I want a baby of my own. I want a loving husband to carry me to bed, make passionate love to me, to see the delight on his face as I tell him I am carrying his child, and then to hand our son or daughter to him. And I could have had it all…"
Her voice trailed off into nothingness as she began to sob. Once again, the consequences of her decision to reject James' proposal reared its ugly head. She could have had, almost, everything she desired.
A loud knocking at the door interrupted her train of thoughts. Ada panicked, rapidly drying her eyes whilst attempting to re-lace her corset. When the knocking went unanswered, its instigator called, "I know you are in there Ada."
The use of her first name took Ada slightly aback. She was always Nursing Sister Russell. Nervously, she crept to the door and opened it a fraction of an inch. There, illuminated by the lamp behind her, was Sister Monica Joan.
"I had never considered you to be the sort of girl to hide away and cry about trivialities," Sister Monica Joan remarked, bluntly but not cruelly, "so something truly dreadful must have happened in order to have caused the sight I see before me."
Ada pulled Sister Monica Joan into the room by the sleeve of her habit, re-bolted the door, and sat her on the edge of the bed and announced, unashamedly, "I want to have a baby."
"I'm afraid you're rather in the wrong profession for that sort of thing," Sister Monica Joan replied with a twinkle in her eye, "nor are you in the right place, a convent is hardly going to provide you with the necessary equipment."
Sister Monica Joan was the first one to crack into a smile, and beforelong a giggle. Her laughter was infectious, and Ada felt her spirits lighten ever so slightly.
"Does midwifery ever make you, want one?" Ada asked after a moment.
"No," scoffed Sister Monica Joan, "not in the least! All that pain and mess and worry, and that's before the mite has arrived! And there would never be just one would there? Baby, after baby, after baby. Exhausted women, churning one out a year, ever mind whether they can afford to feed them or not, not a French Letter in sight! Husbands can stop these things happening! But they don't, why, I ask myself? When will women be able to take control of their own anatomy?"
"I was engaged once," Ada murmured, taken aback by Sister Monica Joan's passionate monologue, "to a man I loved, who loved me. But I loved nursing more than I loved him, so when I was offered a promotion I took it and broke off our engagement. As the years have passed, I've rather regretted it."
"So, you've come here to satisfy your broodiness!" Sister Monica Joan accused, menacingly.
"No, I want to be able to help women throughout their pregnancies, I want to care for them. I'm just rather fond of the results of our work," Ada admitted.
"Do you know the difference between love and care?" Sister Monica Joan asked after a moment.
"Yes," Ada confirmed for the second time that day.
"Being able to care, without sentimentality, is a hallmark of a good nurse and a good midwife, you are the former and have the potential to be the latter," Sister Monica Joan assured, her voice noticeably softening.
"I'm not cut out to be a midwife," Ada admitted, snivelling as she did so, "I need to leave Nonnatus House and return to The London as soon as possible."
"You will do no such thing, tonight," Sister Monica Joan insisted, handing her her handkerchief, "this is not the time to be making rash decisions. You are tired, you are emotional, and if I have read your posture and the flickering discomfort on your face correctly, you are feeling a little delicate. I will return shortly with a remedy."
Before Ada could answer, Sister Monica Joan had swept out of the room, her habit flapping behind her like the wings of a bat. Ada slumped back onto her bed, wiping her face with the handkerchief in one hand and massaging her abdomen with the palm of the other.
"Aspirin and cocoa," Sister Monica Joan announced as she waltzed back into the room ten minutes later.
"Thank you Sister," Ada replied, appreciatively, washing down the aspirin with the dregs of the water beside her bed before taking a large swig of hot chocolate, "oooh, you've put something in that!" she added as a gentle warmth danced across her tongue.
"A measure of brandy was always considered a good healer on the wards at St Thomas' in my day," Sister Monica Joan remarked knowingly.
"It still is at The London," Ada giggled.
"Goodnight Ada, rest well. I will pray for you at Compline." And with that, Sister Monica Joan slid out of the room.
The following morning, greatly refreshed and feeling far more comfortable, Ada skipped down the stairs, fueled herself up with double helpings of everything at breakfast, and practically bounced into the clinical room in order to receive her morning duties.
"The good news," Sister Ermengarde began, "is that Sister Benedicta is arriving from the Mother House on the midday train, so we will have some reinforcements for the evening rounds. Are you able to nurse Sister Hildegarde until this afternoon?" she asked, turning to Ada, "you'll then be able to accompany Sister Benedicta."
"Of course," Ada replied, slightly more sullenly than she had intended.
"You'll be back to midwifery before you know it," Sister Ermengarde replied, "I know how much you love it!"
Sister Monica Joan's piercing, haughty stare met Ada's across the room. Ada shot daggers back at her. Sister Monica Joan raised her head in triumph.
"I do hope so," Ada chirped, "I still have much I want to learn."
The clinical room emptied and Ada trudged up the stairs to attend to Sister Hildegarde. The elderly nun soon fell fast asleep, and Ada took the opportunity to slip out of the room, creep down the stairs and rummage through the pantry for something sugary. Having prised a tin of toffee out of the depths of a corner, she slumped onto the floor and let the sugary delight melt across her tongue. As she licked the last remnants off her fingers, a loud banging interrupted her moment of ecstasy. Clambering to her feet and scrambling out of the pantry, Ada ran towards the source of the noise. As she got nearer the front door, the banging became louder and more ferocious. As Ada reached for the latch, an unmistakable sound reached her ears, a scream, piercing to the core, followed by a desperate cry.
"Somebody help me!"