All Saints, you mean.

I could hear the pleasure Sister Luke took in correcting me.

On the first of November, she reminded the whole room, we celebrate the church triumphant in heaven, watching over us poor sinners on earth. Whereas tomorrow, the Feast of All Souls, we honour the church penitent—the holy souls in purgatory.

Could she really imagine I wanted a lecture on the finer points of the liturgical calendar? Bridie was cleaning the floor already. I got on with putting my coat and bag away and scrubbing my hands.

Honor White let out a wet cough.

Sister Luke said, You could try a poultice on Mrs. White.

I reminded myself that the night nurse wasn’t in authority over me. Actually, Sister, in my experience poulticing isn’t much help in these chest cases.

Her visible eyebrow—the one not covered by the patch—disappeared into her coif. In my much longer experience, it will help if you do it correctly.

I could tell by Bridie’s shoulder blades that she was attentive to every word of this.

So tempting to point out that much of Sister Luke’s experience and all of her training was from the last century. Instead I said mildly, Well, as we’re so short-staffed, I believe I’ll use my good judgement.

A faint sniff.

I told her, Sleep well.

The nun buttoned up her cloak as if she had no intention of doing anything so feeble.

Sweeney, she said, don’t get under anyone’s feet today.

The minute Sister Luke had swept out, Bridie leaned on her mop and let out a snort. You told the old crow, all right. You told her something fierce.

But it would do this young woman no good if I stirred up trouble between her and the nun, given that they lived under the same roof. And besides, patients shouldn’t be made uneasy by dissent in the ranks. So I shook my head at Bridie. But I added, I’m glad you came back today.

A grin. Sure why wouldn’t I?

I said, poker-faced, Oh, I don’t know. Hard work, nasty pongs, and horrors?

The work’s even harder for us at the motherhouse, and there’s all the praying on top.

Us meaning you and the nuns?

Bridie corrected me. Us boarders, about twenty girls. Anyway, of course I came back. A change is as good as a rest. And it’s all go here—something new every minute!

Her cheer was infectious. I remembered the cut she’d got from the broken thermometer yesterday. How’s your finger?

She held it up and said, Not a mark. That pencil of yours is magic.

Actually, it’s science.

Delia Garrett was half awake, struggling to sit up in her cot. I checked that her stitches were healing nicely.

She was limp, monosyllabic.

Tell me, is your chest tender today?

Tears spilled.

A chest binder should help, Mrs. Garrett.

Somehow, flattening the breasts told them to give up making unwanted milk. I fetched a roll of clean bandage. Working blind under her nightdress, I wound the stuff four times around her. Tell me if that’s too tight or if it constricts your breathing at all.

Delia Garrett nodded as if she barely cared. A hot whiskey?

All right.

She probably didn’t need it for her flu, but if I were her, I’d want to sleep these days away.

Honor White was propped up in the right position for a pneumoniac, but her breathing was loud and her pallor was greenish. I checked her chart to make sure Sister Luke had remembered her strengthening pill. She had, and she’d written Sore stomach beside it; iron often had that effect. Pulse, respirations, temperature—no worse, but no better.

When I asked, Honor White was still obdurate on the subject of strong drink, so I gave her a low dose of aspirin to bring down her fever and a spoonful of ipecac for her cough. I undid the neck of her nightdress and applied a camphorated rub to her chest.

Incorrigible; the word stung me on her behalf. All Honor White had endured, and now she was facing a further two-year incarceration. Could the law really allow the nuns to hold her against her will?

I rebuked myself—for all I knew, Honor White might be choosing to stay at the mother-and-baby home, might have no other shelter. What could I say for sure about this silent woman, about what she’d been through, what she wanted?

Mary O’Rahilly was shifting around in the middle cot, so I turned to her and checked my notes. Seven minutes between contractions now.

I waited till I could tell by her face that it was over, then asked, How are you doing, Mrs. O’Rahilly? Did you catch a few winks last night?

I suppose so.

Do you need the lavatory?

Sister Luke’s only after taking me. Will it be much longer, do you think?

Her voice was so softly desperate, I could barely catch the words.

All I could say was Hopefully not.

(Trying to remember how long after the waters broke before the risk of infection skyrocketed; was it twenty-four hours? If a doctor didn’t come by soon, I’d send for one.)

Let’s get you a hot whiskey. And one for Mrs. Garrett. And a hot lemonade for Mrs. White.

Bridie started mixing up the drinks at the spirit lamp before I could get there. She brought the cups over and set them into each patient’s grasp.

Those graceful, swollen knuckles of hers; I wondered how much her chilblains were bothering her. Don’t forget to put more of that lotion on, Bridie, every time you wash your hands.

May I really?

Help yourself.

Bridie took down the jar now and rubbed a dab of balm into her reddened fingers. She put them to her face. I adore this stuff.

That amused me. Eucalyptus? My tram reeks of it every morning. You know it’s a vapour given off by trees?

Bridie scoffed: No trees I’ve ever smelled.

Tall ones, with their bark peeling off, in the Blue Mountains of Australia. On warm days, I’ve heard, they give off a perfumed haze of the stuff, a blue sort of fog—that’s where the mountains get their name.

She murmured: Imagine!

Honor White had her head back and her eyes closed. Praying again? I wondered. Or just worn out by her clogged lungs?

Mary O’Rahilly let out a whimper.

I asked, Where do you feel the pang most?

Her small hands clawed her back, her hips, her belly—everywhere.

Is it getting stronger?

She nodded, pressing her lips between her teeth.

I wondered if she had that craving to push yet, but I didn’t ask in case I put the idea in her head; she was the meek kind who’d tell one whatever she thought one wanted to hear.

Up, dear. Let’s see if we can ease that a bit.

I got Mary O’Rahilly into a chair against the wall and pushed just under her knees, shoving her legs back in their sockets.

Ah!

Does that help?

I…I think so.

I told Bridie to crouch down and fit her hands on the same spot at the top of Mary O’Rahilly’s knees. Keep that pressure up. If you get tired, sit down on the floor and lean back on her.

I won’t get tired, Bridie assured me.

Honor White was whispering the Rosary, gripping each bead the way a drowning woman might a life preserver.

I found myself saying, It just so happens it’s my birthday, ladies.

Bridie said, Many happy returns!

Well, now.

That was a man’s voice. I turned around to see Groyne’s head in the door.

He added, I suppose it’d be a shocking breach to ask which birthday?

I didn’t smile. Can I help you, Groyne?