"Doctor, I'm so sorry to ring at this hour. It's Nurse Miller calling. I believe I've a patient with TB, at the maternity home. Will you come, please?"

"That's all right, Nurse. I'm on my way. Try to isolate the patient if you can."

"We have done, doctor, and called her husband to meet you here."

A callout at five o'clock in the morning wasn't so unusual, but another TB case - and in the maternity home - could be a critical event. It could take two or three days to confirm the diagnosis, and the disease could spread meanwhile.

"Dad?" Timothy called, as he hurried back past his son's room to dress. He popped his head in the door.

"Sorry, Timothy. I've been called out. Can you get yourself up later? There's things for toast and jam. And cereal. You've got another three hours or so."

Timothy groaned and went back under his covers.

Patrick hated leaving him. He knew Timothy had become quite capable of taking care of himself in the mornings. At most times, in fact. While he applauded his son's maturity, he wished it did not come at such a price.

It was a stroke of luck - or not, as it indicated a particularly strong reaction - that Mrs. Tate responded extremely quickly to the epidermal TB test. She had her diagnosis within a half hour, and was sent to the Cuthbert. Her husband had time to send for his sister to see to their little ones at home, before he went to be isolated there, too, so that the eldest children, thirteen and eleven, didn't have to take on the whole morning care of their siblings. The hospital would wait to see how Mr. Tate responded to the test before letting him go, and the children would have to be tested. And every woman on the ward at the Maternity Home, including the nurses.

After ordering the tests, he sent off a telegram to the County Medical Board. The County Council office would not yet be open, but the runner would be there on the doorstep as soon as they were. He had been petitioning to step up the Council's promise of a mobile TB screening unit to come to Poplar for months, but he now had a documented breakout on his hands. It was imperative that he speak with them.

He asked to be added to the petitioner's list for the meeting that very afternoon.

His next stop of the morning had to be Nonnatus House. He drove the short distance very carefully, taking his time. He was more rattled than he expected. He hadn't had cause to call at the convent or the Parish Hall in a few days. He'd also been avoiding his inevitable next meeting with Sister Bernadette.

Might she be the one to open the door? How would he greet her? What could they say to each other?

"I wouldn't trouble you for the world, Sister. I won't deny what I've admitted already, but that's…"

That's what, you lovesick chump? What do you think you can say to make this right?

"I don't want to ever be a concern to you. Sister. If you want to go back to our old way of working together, we'll do that, and I'll say no more about it."

Liar.

He hadn't stopped replaying that electric little kiss. He hadn't missed her silent gasp as he took her hand in his, and happened upon a sensitive spot. Hadn't stopped replaying that, either.

He started as the door opened.

"Oh! Good morning, Doctor. Have you come for breakfast?"

"No, thank you, Nurse Franklin. I'm afraid I've an urgent call on Sister Julienne."

"Oh. Well, she's in Chapel just now, you know," Nurse Franklin reminded him, concern passing over her picture-perfect features. "But I could just tiptoe in, if it's terribly important."

He heard her, then, as they drew near the open Chapel door. Sister Bernadette. Singing with her sisters, right where she should be. Her voice rose like a lark with the plainsong.

He shook his head and made a motion to Nurse Franklin that he would wait. She nodded, smiled, and left him there to return to the telephone desk.

He stayed rooted to the floor to listen. He told himself he was respectfully waiting until Lauds was over and the nuns filed out, instead of interrupting them. And he closed his eyes and let Sister Bernadette's clear voice wash over him.

At length, the singing stopped, and the silence of prayer filled the space. It wouldn't be long now.

He wondered, as he often did, what it was like, to pray so often - to have prayer as the central organizing theme of each day. He wondered if his work was in some way similar - the rituals of each patient interaction, the seeking for answers, the counselling. The praying that went on within the patients, and sometimes within him, too, even if he wasn't nearly as certain as the Sisters that it would go to any effect.

"Doctor! Oh, dear, this must be important."

He opened his eyes.

"Good morning, Sister. Yes, I'm afraid it is. May we speak in your office?"

"Of course. We take twenty minutes for personal use at this time, before Prime. Please, follow me."

He nodded to the others, including Sister Bernadette, who all looked deeply curious, but would ask no questions.

His heart leapt as it always did when he saw her face, and they both clearly registered that it was the first time seeing one another since that moment in the Parish Hall. But for the moment, they were spared from speaking to one another.

He had the uncanny sense that Sister Julienne had pretended not to notice the fleeting glance that passed between them.

Sister Julienne was grieved but not surprised, as he knew she would be. She did not take much convincing to back his appeal to the County Medical Board. He didn't mention he had not yet had confirmation that they would hear him today. He rather hoped they wouldn't refuse a highly-placed nun who had made the long journey through London.

It wasn't until ten o'clock that his office telephone rang with the news that he was invited to address the council, that afternoon at two o'clock, precisely.

Between his morning calls, up until he arrived back at Nonnatus to pick up Sister Julienne, his mind worked on how to frame his appeal, and the other problem.

While he had her company today, should he ask her to allow him a private meeting with Sister Bernadette? As her physician? Explain that he was a little worried she'd seemed tired and not shaking it off. They could speak undisturbed then. If she would speak to him. But how would he begin?

Are you unhappy in your life, Sister? I'm concerned that I've…

Done what? Allowed himself to become too familiar with her, as a nun? Offered her something he had no blistering right to offer, that she could not accept? Awakened her as a woman?

Fuck's sake. Focus, man. Task at hand.

He needn't speak with her today. He needn't even ring the bell. Someone would have spotted his car within seconds, watching for him, and Sister Julienne would be out at any moment.

Sure enough, the great heavy door swung open, and a figure swathed in the familiar habit appeared. He looked up and a cold startle passed over him.

It's you.

"Sister Bernadette," he managed. Despite everything, he couldn't help but be delighted to see her. But her lovely face was drawn tight, her mouth folded prim, and she looked as though she'd rather be anywhere else.

She paused in her step. "Dr. Turner," she greeted him politely. She walked hastily toward the passenger side, and he lunged to get there first.

"I…I was expecting Sister Julienne."

"Sister Julienne has been called out. I am covering for her."

"I see." He found himself babbling, grinning like a schoolboy. "I'm sorry I'm a little late. I couldn't find a decent tie."

She didn't venture to smile, but she softened somewhat. This couldn't be easy for her, either. And there was something in the momentary flicker of her eyes over his tie, over his face, that made him feel a little better. "That tie seems perfectly…appropriate."

"Thank you." He opened the door for her. "I do appreciate your support today."

"I am here as a favour to Sister Julienne. That is all."

Damn. She'd caught herself and pulled back. He hadn't been mistaken, though. And now she was freezing him out.

"Of course." He saw her settled and closed the door for her. She sat perfectly still and faced ahead as he got in at his side and started the motor.

Something about the familiarity of it all gave him a small measure of comfort. How many times over the years had they sat in the car like this, going out to a case, or arguing excitedly over the details of one they'd been to, read about? The car had always been a private world for them to speak freely.

He waited out the silence for half a mile, and did not smoke.

"I've made two written requests to the Board so far," he began then, in as ordinary a tone as he could, "To expedite the TB van program here. But this is the first time I asked to speak at a meeting - and they accepted the request. Which indicates to me that there's some interest, if not support. It shouldn't have come down to numbers alone, but if numbers are what it takes to get a foot in the door, I say it's a chance we can't miss."

She did not reply at first, and his heart sank with misgiving. Then, as clearly and precisely as ever, she said, "Numbers are the only language they know. What have we got that we can use? I know of three local cases of TB in the past week. And those are only the confirmed ones, but they won't listen to maybes. What else?"

"Contact points," he suggested. "What's the average number of people in a Poplar flat?"

"Ten or more in a flat, and I've read about as many as three hundred in the largest tenement buildings. The three-floor ones."

"Good, and with an eighty percent employment rate among the working men - "

"Mostly dock workers, merchants, millwrights and factory workers - " she nodded along.

"That's at least eight thousand men in Poplar who are likely to work close enough to spread the bacterium in a normal day."

"Yes, and more who travel beyond for work." She turned to him, eyes alight. "And the facilities at those places are not at all hygienic. We've seen the results. TB is just one of the communicable diseases they keep passing between them. Why, they might shake hands or share equipment with twenty men a day."

"And go home to their families or boarding houses. And a single case of TB in one family could be spread to those twenty men in a single days' work. If even one of those men actually contracts the disease every few weeks, that's a devastating impact. And right now, we can't know that until it's too late."

"And a father out of work, or deceased, means more mothers and children starved into awful conditions, even if they avoid the illness. And whole families being shunned. I watched it happen at home, too," she told him. "Families would hush up a TB diagnosis, make up any other reason for someone to have been sent away. Parents used it to frighten children into obedience. And nobody wanted to report a real case, because it meant having the hospitals or even the police come knocking round all your friends and work mates."

"And we haven't even touched on the increased rates among the severely impoverished and the - I mean, those with livelihoods that…" he stopped, realizing he'd gone rather too far.

"The women who work the street and the children who live in squalor and neglect because their parents have no one to mind them," she said quietly. "I agree, but we can't mention them." She pondered a moment. "Mrs. Tate's husband's in work, is he not?"

"Yes, he's a clerk at a shipping firm, I believe. Worked his way up. Still taking night classes."

"Talk about him, then. Naming no names. That's the sort of person that the Council might see as worth saving."

"I hate that part of it," he muttered.

"I do, too."

They didn't share a look, but he felt it, as surely as if they'd clasped hands for a moment in solidarity. Though they drove on in silence, the feeling continued, even as they pulled up at the County Council office block. Despite their nearly comical difference in height, they marched in lockstep together through the building lobby and toward the lift.

If their hands were close enough to feel the warmth of each other's skin, they pretended not to notice.

As they made their presentation, he quickly came to despise the esteemed hospital surgeon who chaired the Medical Board, and his fellows who sat like nodding pigeons on either side of him.

"Sir, with respect, we need an X-ray van in Poplar now. While the disease remains undetected, patients will die."

"Patients do die sometimes, Dr. Turner. I would say that was an occupational hazard."

Though Doctor was given in quite an ordinary tone, the gulf between GP and surgeon was made very clear.

"Sir, I have just diagnosed a heavily pregnant patient with advanced TB. She has five children. She might well die, because I didn't know she was ill. You know that TB need no longer be a death sentence. We can treat it. But we have to get in early so people have the chance to recover."

"We don't seem to be making much ground here, do we?" the Chair remarked to his colleague. "We are stating, plainly, that this is a highly complex logistical programme. The vans are coming to London."

"Where to? Mayfair? Chelsea?"

He felt rather than saw Sister Bernadette's spine pull up a little. Not to caution him, but with her own ire rising.

"What, pray, are you suggesting?"

"Have you ever been to Poplar?"

The Chair had the grace to answer honestly, though he did not look at all abashed. And indeed, what was there in Poplar that would have drawn him? "No."

"In Poplar, we might have up to a dozen people living in one small house or tenement flat. When conditions are overcrowded and unventilated, infection spreads with ease."

Sister Bernadette all but leapt to her feet, but restrained herself sufficiently to lay down their summary of numbers at the feet of the Board as though she'd slammed it on the table in front of them.

"Meanwhile, someone who is infected unwittingly takes the disease to an over-crowded production line and transmits it to his colleagues. And even if they re-infected just twenty fellow workers a year, which would be a very conservative estimate, that means twenty whole families exposed to the disease. Including children!" she finished, slipping in a rebuke that must appeal to some level of humanity in them.

He picked up the thread while she paused for a breath. "So, while you plan your highly complex programme, the disease is travelling. We can fight it, but we do need that van. Now."

"Right. Dr. Turner and Sister Bernadette have made their point." This time, Doctor did not carry quite such a connotation, and the Chair acknowledged Sister Bernadette, too. "We shall have to give this some consideration."

They flew out of the meeting practically airborne. He didn't realize he'd gotten so far ahead until he missed her footsteps beside him, and turned. She was trying to walk sedately, as befit a nun in public, and not run. Or rather, not skip , from the look on her face.

She pulled up in front of him, breathless and excited in a way that made him want to dance her around. "Congratulations, Dr. Turner. You were…really quite tremendous."

She looked at him as if she thought he was really quite tremendous, and he felt about nine feet tall.

"As were you, Sister."

For a moment, they were there together in triumph, in perfect understanding. This is how it could be every day, he swallowed down. And then she remembered herself, and dropped her eyes, and quickly stepped past him and through the lobby.

The excitement dropped like a stone. He knew he hadn't said or done anything remotely untoward, or even overly friendly. She was grappling hard with things within herself, that he could not intrude upon.

He stood looking after her for a moment, and followed her.

They were mostly silent, for the drive, but it did not feel fraught this time. They coasted along in their personal thoughts, until she ventured to ask, "How would you rate our chances, Doctor?"

He tapped the steering wheel in thought. "I think any kind of acknowledgement from the Chair in such a meeting is a very hopeful sign. He's on record as having said the Board will have to take it under consideration. They don't take that lightly. Yes, I think they'll have to take it as the matter of urgency we described."

She was smiling as she watched his hands. "I thought so as well. And I think you might have that smoke now. You've done your bit."

He laughed. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Would you like one too?" he went on. Recklessly. Foolishly.

She went quiet again, and he cursed himself roundly, but then: "No, I don't think I ought. Thank you, though."

"All right."

She hadn't been freezing him out, earlier, he realized. She'd been using Sister Julienne's request as her reason for joining him, only so that he wouldn't think she'd asked to join him, and get the idea she was looking to spend the time alone with him. Though clearly, part of her still wanted that very much.

And from the little glances he saw out of the corner of his eye, she really, desperately wanted a puff.

He let his cigarette dangle between them, in the middle of a conversation about the unseasonably cool weather not helping with the outbreak. He felt her pluck it softly from his fingers and replace it a moment later, and they did not mention it.

He did not hear from the Medical Board until it was nearly time to close his office and get back to the house in time for Timothy's return from his piano lesson. He'd nearly given up on getting a response that day when the telephone rang.

They'd won. He and Sister Bernadette, and all of Poplar. Not just the Chair but the whole Board had been convinced, even moved, by their presentation and heartfelt support of their community. A mobile TB X-ray van would be in Poplar by Tuesday next, and would circulate in the district for a six month trial, into the winter.

He sped home just in time to drop a packet of pie and chips and an iced bun onto a plate in front of Timothy, explain the situation, hug the boy hard, and dash out again with a promise to be home very soon.

"When you speak of the sun, so it shines," Sister Monica Joan greeted him, in far nicer terms than most would have put it. At that moment he could have slung an arm around the old girl. Around all of them. Including Sister Bernadette, seated just to his left.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I felt I must come at once." He paused with a grin. "They're sending a van to Poplar next Tuesday."

The women cheered. "That is truly marvellous news!" Sister Julienne exclaimed.

"Wonderful!" Sister Bernadette breathed, and she looked up at him in a way he was going to have to put off thinking about for a while.