Chapter Text
Phyllis is quietly thrilled with Millicent arrives at Nonnatus in the midst of evening recreation. Rosalind enlisted her to teach her how to knit, which she was happy to do at first. However, somehow all of her instruction seems to go in one ear and out of the other, and her patience is running out just as Millicent enters the parlor.
“Good evening, Miss Higgins,” Sister Julienne says from her perch by the fire, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I don’t mean to disturb you all, Sister. I just wanted to let you know that arrangements have been made for Mrs. Carmichael and her children. She’ll be discharged from the maternity home tomorrow,” Millicent informs them all solemnly.
“That poor woman,” Rosalind grimaces from her place on the settee, attempting to untangle the yarn in her lap.
“At least she has the opportunity to find some peace now,” Sister Julienne muses.
In her decades as a nurse, Phyllis has seen countless family secrets come out. The trouble facing the Carmichael family, however, was one unlike Poplar had ever seen. James Carmichael seemed the perfect family man, local councilman, all around pillar of the community. Until a young woman, very obviously pregnant and very much not his wife, had turned up at the latest council meeting demanding he take responsibility for his child. Add in the fact that his wife was days away from giving birth to their third child, and wagging tongues of Poplar are in full force.
“When I was at the primary school today, I noticed their little girl wasn’t in class,” Sister Catherine says, tucking a bookmark into her midwifery textbook, “And the teacher said their boy has pulled out of the grammar school as well.”
“Mrs. Carmichael’s sister has been looking after them while their mother recovers,” Millicent tells them, “Rumors were flying at the school already.”
“They always seemed to be such a happy family when you saw them out and about,” Joyce sighs absently, running her fingers over the edge of her teacup.
“You can never truly know what’s happening in a marriage unless you’re in it, lass,” Phyllis says, removing her glasses and tucking them in the collar of her shirt, “Things are not always as they appear. You know that.”
Joyce nods and looks back down at the magazine in her lap, though Phyllis doubts she’s actually reading it. Rosalind squeezes her forearm briefly, and they share a small smile.
“He’s resigned from the council,” Rosalind notes, “Fred said Violet’s scrambling to get another election scheduled on such short notice.”
“He’s left the older Scouts are without a leader for the moment as well,” Phyllis adds.
Such is a man, she thinks, he has his fun, and the rest of us are left to pick up the pieces.
“It’s times like these that vows of chastity don’t sound so bad,” Joyce remarks.
“We’ll hold off having you measured for a habit just yet, Nurse Highland,” Sister Veronica says with mirth in her eyes, “Though I will agree, it’s in moments like these I find myself extra grateful for the path we’ve chosen.”
“It certainly makes you wonder what other secrets people are hiding,” Millicent says, shaking her head.
Weak winter light streams through the windows the following morning as Patrick finishes up his patient’s examination.
“Well, Mr. Noland, everything appears to be working order. Let’s keep an eye on that diet, though,” he says, making a few notations down in his file.
“If everything’s in working order, what’s the point of watching me diet then?” the older man grumbles as he pulls his shirt back on.
Patrick chuckles. “The point is we want to keep it that way. I’m not afraid to tell Mrs. Noland you’re not behaving.”
“Well, now you’re not playing fair, doc,” he complains.
“Any other questions for me today?”
“No, no, but I do want to thank you for moving this appointment up for me. I’ve got to meet my boy down at Carmichael’s place, you know, help him look over everything before the sale,” he says, sliding off the exam table.
“Mr. Carmichael’s selling the ironworks?” Patrick asks. He, and everyone else in Poplar it seems, is well aware of Mr. Carmichael’s offenses. His selling off his business was a new tidbit, though.
“He has to now, doesn’t he? Nobody’ll buy from him after all that he’s done, putting his wife and that girl in that position,” he says gruffly as they leave his office.
Thank God we put Mrs. Carmichael in a private room, Patrick thinks with a wince, She doesn’t need to hear the gossip here too. He can see Miss Higgins determinedly staring down at the files on her desk.
“It’s a damn shame what he’s done,” Mr. Noland continues, “I couldn’t imagine it, hurting my Esther like that. These women put up with us, day in and day out, and they haven’t smothered us yet. You’ve got to treat ‘em right. Court ‘em like you just met.”
“On that we do agree, Mr. Noland,” Patrick says, anxious to end the man’s tirade, “We’re all set for today.”
Much to Patrick’s relief, Shelagh steps out of the maternity ward behind him.
“Good morning, Mr. Noland. How are you today?” Shelagh greets him cheerfully.
“Doing well, or so that doctor of yours says.”
Shelagh holds back a smile as Patrick rolls his eyes over the man’s shoulder.
“That’s good to hear,” she says warmly. Her eyes flick to Patrick’s, and he hopes she can see the Save me in his expression. God bless her, she does.
“If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Noland, I need to speak to the doctor,” she says primly, heading towards his office.
“Of course.” Mr. Noland doffs his cap in goodbye as Patrick follows her into his office. He closes the door behind him and leans against it, his eyes closed.
“Thank you,” he sighs, “He was starting to go on about the Carmichaels.”
She hums in acknowledgement. “Seems everyone got their opinions on it. I caught Mrs. Jenson trying to look in on Mrs. Carmichael on her trips to the loo.”
His eyes fly open at that, and she raises a hand to stop him. “I’ve already spoken to her,” she explains, “And she’s being discharged this morning anyway. Sister Catherine is performing her final checks for discharge now.”
“Good. The last thing she needs is to be treated like a circus animal.”
“Correct. Now that you’ve been saved, I need to head back. I’ve got to go over the incoming patients for next week with Miss Higgins.”
“Just let me know if you’re in need of a rescue,” he grins wryly. She rolls her eyes and steps out of his office.
Settling at this desk, Patrick turns Mr. Noland’s words over in his head. Court ‘em like you just met. He does agree with it, but agreeing with it and being able to act on it were two different things, unfortunately. He can’t remember the last time they were able to go out without the children or share a meal alone that was more than a hurried snack when they crossed paths during their rounds.
He thinks back to his courtship with Shelagh. They’d gone to dinner a few times, but there was always the underlying feeling that they were being watched, judged by those around them. Then Timothy had gotten sick, and their focus turned to him, and any spare time together was spent in the flat (not that they hadn’t had their fun there too). If only we could do it all again, he thinks, I’d do it properly this time, give her the courtship she deserves.
He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to shake off his melancholy. He grabs his date book, flipping through idly before stopping in March. The page for March 14th has an additional note already in his usual scrawl: 12th anniversary. Usually, they’d arrange for a quiet dinner together, nothing too spectacular. But maybe they could have a bit more fun this year.
With the conversation with Mr. Noland still spinning in his mind, Patrick begins to plan.
“Here are Mrs. Carmichael’s discharge notes,” Shelagh says that afternoon, handing the files to Miss Higgins, “And I’ve just seen her off with her sister. They’ve asked that hers and the children’s medical records be sent to their new GP in Yorkshire.”
“I shall gather the files and send them off on my way out,” Miss Higgins says briskly before bustling off to the records room.
As much as she feels for the woman, Shelagh is quite glad to see Mrs. Carmichael off. It was the kind of situation that sets everyone’s nerves on edge, made you question everyone you thought you knew. She’d taken to adding extra thanks in her prayers the past few days for her husband, who was so good and kind and loving, even if he does drive her mad sometimes. She’s very much looking forward to shedding Nurse Turner for the night when she gets home. After a quick check of the sluice room and confirming no incoming patients for the next few days, Shelagh gathers her purse and her cape and heads off the check on Patrick.
“Almost ready, dearest?” she asks, peeking into his office. She scans his desk to see his papers are tidied, but he makes no move to leave with her.
“I’ve actually got some more paperwork to finish. I’ll be home late tonight,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a mischievous grin.
She furrows her brows at him inquisitively. She knew his schedule was light today, had commented on it when they went over it this morning. Usually, on these rare days, he left his door open, the sound of his record player floating through the empty ward to drown out the quiet, much to Miss Higgins’ chagrin, but today he’d stayed resolutely shut in his office.
It’s his smile that gives him away. She knows this grin well. It’s a grin he usually saves for home or, more specifically, their bedroom. What are you up to? is on the tip of her tongue when he smiles even wider and shakes his head, nodding towards the records room where she could hear Miss Higgins still moving around and within earshot.
So, whatever it is, Miss Higgins won’t approve, she thinks with a smirk, That doesn’t really narrow it down.
“Alright, I’ll see you at home then,” she says, trying to keep a note of suspicion out of her voice.
She walks around his desk and leans down to kiss his cheek.
“What are you up to?” she whispers in his ear.
He pulls back to look at her, his eyes glittering. “You’ll see,” he murmurs with a wink.
Giving him another look, she kisses him once more and calls out her goodbyes to Miss Higgins. She rides home through the bracing February cold, wondering all the while what her husband could be up to.
Patrick’s schedule at the surgery had been unusually sparse, much to his delight. Days like this usually set his nerves on edge, too little to do, too much time to think about how much their world is changing. On this day, however, he decides to see this quiet day as a good omen for his plan. Finally taking one of their neighbors up on their offer to keep the children, he sets up several sleepovers over the next few weeks, one of which, unbeknownst to Shelagh, is due to start very soon.
He’s quite proud of all he’s managed to accomplish today. He knows he’s gone a bit overboard; knows she’ll tease him for concocting another “grand scheme” as she puts it, while giving him that smile that says she’s terribly pleased with it all.
Sitting at his desk, Patrick watches the clock anxiously. Miss Higgins said her goodbyes not long after he sent Shelagh home, leaving the surgery empty. The maternity home is empty for the moment, leaving him to carry out the first part of his plan in peace.
I need to time it right, so I catch her after she gets home but before she starts dinner, he thinks, calculating her commute time in his head.
Picking up the phone, he dials their home, hoping his estimate is correct. After a few rings, Shelagh picks up with a slightly breathless, “Turner residence.”
Perfect, he thinks, she must have just gotten home.
“Good evening,” he begins, his voice deep with mischief, “Could I speak with Miss Mannion, please?”
“Patrick?” she questions, and he can see her confused expression in his mind.
“Yes, this is Dr. Patrick Turner. Is Miss Mannion there?” he asks again. There’s a pause on her end of the line, and he imagines her pursing her lips, wrapping her finger around the cord in thought.
“This is Miss Mannion,” she says finally, and he can hear the smile in her voice.
“Wonderful. I’ve seen you around town, and I wondered if I might be permitted to take you to dinner this evening.”
“Tonight? It’s rather short notice.”
“The sight of you is so breathtaking, I couldn’t wait another moment,” he can hear her huff a laugh under her breath, “Will you allow me to treat a beautiful woman to dinner?”
“Perhaps. I do have other dinner guests for this evening, however.”
“I think you’ll find they’ll be taken care of soon enough. I promise my company will be much more enjoyable.”
“Making plans with a single woman, doctor? Whatever is Mrs. Turner supposed to think?”
“Don’t worry about Mrs. Turner, darling. It’s Miss Mannion I’m interested in tonight.”
“Is that so?” she giggles, “Some would say this is all rather improper.”
“Oh, I’ll be ever the gentleman for dinner, darling,” he promises.
“Really? What a shame,” she replies huskily. There’s my bold girl, he thinks, grinning in triumph.
“I make no promises about dessert, however,” he teases.
“I should hope not. Do I get any hints on where we’ll be going this evening?”
“Not a one, but I do promise I’ll give you more notice next time,” he assures her.
“Next time?”
“Oh yes, next time. This will be a proper courtship. I’ve got plans for us, Miss Mannion.”
“A grand scheme, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” he agrees with a laugh, “What do you say? I’ll pick you up in an hour?”
“I would say I’ll see you then, Dr. Turner,”
“I’m looking forward to it, Miss Mannion.”
Hanging up the phone, he gathers up his coat and briefcase, whistling as he goes, heading to the back door. A quick trip to the flower shop and then home to pick up his date for the evening. Basking in his joy that everything is going according to plan, Patrick misses that the light in the records room is on again.