I sat at the long wooden table in the dim candlelight, the only sound the occasional crackle of the hearth and the quiet ctter from the kitchen where Mrs. Davenport was working. My breakfast—pin porridge and a thick slice of bread—was simple but welcome. I took measured bites, eager to finish and be on my way. The hospital awaited, and even after two weeks, the thought of returning filled me with anticipation. The floor creaked, and I gnced up as Eliza entered, her dressing robe drawn tightly around her. Her nightcap was slightly askew as if she had only just risen, but she carried herself with the same composed grace she always did.

  “Good morning, Sister Geldart,” she greeted, her voice still soft with sleep. I straightened at the name, a rush of warmth spreading through me. Sister Geldart. It still felt new, still filled me with pride. I had earned my pce and I belonged.

  "Good morning, Aunt Eliza,” I replied, unable to keep the excitement from my tone.

  She sat across from me and poured herself a cup of weak tea. Her sharp eyes flicked to my bowl, watching as I took another hurried spoonful. “You’d best not eat so quickly,” she chided gently.

  I swallowed hastily. “I just can’t wait to get to the hospital.”

  She exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “That much is obvious. You have more energy at this hour than most do by midday.”

  “I don’t see how anyone could linger over breakfast when there’s work to be done,” I said, setting down my spoon. “The patients—”

  “The patients will still be there when you arrive, dear.” She took a slow sip of tea. “And they will need you strong, not faint from rushing through your meal.”

  I sighed but picked up my bread, taking a more careful bite. “I just feel as though I’m wasting time sitting here when I could be useful.”

  “You are useful,” she said, leveling me with a look. “But you must learn patience. You cannot work yourself to exhaustion.”

  I hesitated before asking, “Did you feel this way when you started tutoring?”

  Eliza smiled slightly, a faraway look passing over her face. “Oh yes. I was just as eager as you are now. More, perhaps. But I learned soon enough—work is not a sprint, Lilibet. It is endurance.” I nodded slowly, considering her words.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Now, can you endure finishing your breakfast at a reasonable pace?”

  I ughed, but I took another slow bite. “I suppose I can try.”

  I forced myself to slow my eating, though every second felt like a small battle against my own impatience. Across from me, Eliza began her breakfast, taking small, measured bites of bread and sipping her tea as if time were of no concern. The candle between us flickered as footsteps echoed towards us. Mr. Lockhart stood by the entrance to the dining room, he gave a polite nod in our direction before addressing me. “The carriage is ready for you, Miss Elizabeth.”

  I nearly leaped from my chair, snatching up the st piece of bread and swallowing the rest of my tea in one hasty gulp.

  Eliza let out an exasperated sigh. “I just told you not to rush.”

  “I know,” I said, already pushing back my chair. “But the carriage is here.”

  “That does not mean you must bolt from the table like a startled hare,” she scolded.

  I grinned, ignoring her disapproval as I gathered my cloak. “Goodbye, Aunt Eliza!” I called over my shoulder as I hurried out of the house.

  The morning air was crisp, the sky still inky blue with only the faintest hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. The carriage stood waiting, its nterns glowing dimly in the early light. I climbed inside, barely settling onto the seat before we lurched forward.

  The ride into London felt unbearably slow. Every stop, every turn of the wheel, every ctter of the horse’s hooves against the cobblestones made me restless. And yet, despite my impatience, the sights beyond the window were as spectacur as they had been the first time I saw them two weeks ago. I longed to be at the hospital already, to step inside and take my pce next to Phillipa. But for now, I could only sit, watch, and wait.

  As the carriage rolled through the heart of London, I twisted the fabric of my skirt between my fingers, trying to contain my impatience. Outside, the city was already stirring—street vendors setting up their carts, gentlemen in top hats deep in conversation, women in crisp dresses stepping carefully over the uneven cobblestones. Normally, I might have admired it all, but today, it only reminded me of how excruciatingly slow this ride felt. Crossing the river Thames, my restraint nearly snapped. The water glistened under the morning light, boats gliding zily beneath the bridges. A beautiful sight, surely, but I hardly noticed. It took everything in me not to fling open the carriage door and run the rest of the way. It would be faster, I was certain of it.

  At st, we arrived at King’s College Hospital. My hand was already on the carriage door handle, but I took a deep breath, forcing myself to move with the composure expected of a nurse. I stepped down carefully, smoothing my apron, determined not to make a spectacle of myself in front of the other staff.

  Inside, the halls buzzed with morning activity. Footsteps echoed against the tiled floors, the sharp scent of carbolic soap filled the air, and the low murmur of voices carried through the corridors. I wanted to hurry—needed to hurry—but I kept my pace steady, walking with purpose but not haste. When I finally pushed open the doors to my ward, a familiar energy settled over me. The neat rows of beds, the hushed voices of nurses tending to early morning rounds, the faint rustling of patients stirring awake—it felt like coming home.

  At the far end of the ward, by the nurse’s desk, Phillipa stood waiting. The moment she spotted me, her face broke into a wide grin, and she practically bounced on her heels. “There you are!” she excimed, cpping her hands together. “Sister Geldart, two weeks in, and you’re still standing!”

  I ughed as I hung my cloak in the cupboard. “Barely.”

  “Nonsense,” Phillipa said, shaking her head. “You’re thriving. And I knew you would.” She grabbed my hands briefly, squeezing them with excitement. “Oh, I have so much to tell you—wait until you hear about st night’s ward disaster. We’ll be lucky if Matron isn’t breathing down our necks all morning.”

  I grinned, her enthusiasm matching my own. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Constance arrived just in time, breathless and red-cheeked, as Phillipa and I gathered linens to begin changing the bedding. She hesitated for half a second at the threshold, smoothing her apron as if that might erase the fact that she was barely on time. Then, she hurried forward, her words tumbling out in a rush.

  "I'm so sorry, Sister Sedgewick," she said before turning to me with a hopeful smile. "Miss Geldart—"

  "That's Sister Geldart," Phillipa corrected before I could respond, her tone teasing but firm.

  Constance’s face turned a deeper shade of pink, her mouth opening and closing like a fish caught out of water. "Oh! Of course! Sister Geldart!" she repeated, this time with almost too much enthusiasm as if by sheer force of excitement, she could undo her mistake.

  I sighed and handed her a stack of linens. "Less talking, more working," I said, smiling.

  She took the sheets with both hands and got to work, her movements quick and eager. I let her be and focused on my own task, tucking in the crisp fabric with practiced ease. Constance was new enough that she still fumbled a bit with hospital corners, but she was trying, and I had little patience for nitpicking when there was more important work to be done.

  Once the beds were fresh and orderly, I left Constance and Phillipa to finish tidying up while I moved on to my daily duties. There was always something to do. As I swept through the ward, I greeted patients with polite nods, pausing here and there to adjust a bnket or offer a murmured word of reassurance. Some of the patients were still groggy from sleep, while others sat propped up on their pillows, watching the morning unfold around them. I stopped by Mrs. Burke’s bed to take her pulse, pressing my fingers lightly against her wrist. She peered up at me with tired but kind eyes.

  "How are you feeling this morning?" I asked.

  "Better than yesterday," she answered, her voice hoarse but steady. "Still weak, though."

  I nodded, noting her response. "That’s to be expected." I pressed the back of my hand gently to her forehead, my fingers brushing over her temple. Warm—too warm. "Still feverish," I murmured, more to myself than to her. Mrs. Burke let out a tired sigh.

  "Your fever has gone down slightly, but we need to keep an eye on it." I reached for her bnket, adjusting it over her shoulders. "I’ll have someone bring you more water. Keep drinking, even if you don’t feel like it."

  She gave me a weak smile. "You take such good care of us, Sister Geldart."

  I returned a small smile, care was all we could offer, but it often felt like too little. By the time I finished my rounds, the ward was fully awake. Phillipa passed by me at one point, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Miss Levingston hasn't stopped talking since you put her to work," she whispered. "I think she’s trying to make up for this morning."

  I gnced toward Constance, who was carefully smoothing out a pillow while chatting animatedly with the patient beside her. Despite my earlier irritation, I had to admit—she was learning. I exhaled, shaking my head with the ghost of a smile. "As long as the work gets done." And with that, I turned back to my duties, slipping easily into the rhythm of the day.

  I returned from one of the many undry runs, my arms aching from carrying heavy bundles of clean sheets, the ward was buzzing with the quiet hum of the afternoon’s work. I made my way toward the supply area, but before I could deposit the linens, something caught my eye. Emily Pasley, one of the patients admitted in the early hours, sat curled up in her bed, her frail shoulders trembling beneath the thin bnket. Even from a distance, I could see the way her fingers twisted into the fabric, clinging to it as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. Her breathing was uneven, her pale face drawn with fear.

  I quickly scanned the room for Constance. Spotting her near the far end of the ward, I called out, “Miss Levingston, could you take these? I need to tend to Miss Pasley.”

  She gnced up, nodded, and hurried over to collect the linens from my arms. I wasted no time making my way to Emily’s bedside. She was younger than I had expected—no older than myself, perhaps even a year or two younger. Short and petite, with pale skin and friendly, light blue eyes that now brimmed with unshed tears. Her angur face was sharp against the soft, puffy curve of her lips, which trembled as she tried—and failed—to steady herself.

  I sat down on the edge of her bed and spoke gently. “Emily?” She startled slightly at the sound of her name, her wide eyes darting up to meet mine. For a moment, she simply stared, as if trying to gauge whether I was real or just another ghost in the fog of her distress.

  “I won’t make it,” she whispered at st, her voice hoarse with fear. “I won’t—” Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. “I can feel it. I know I won’t leave this pce alive.”

  I reached for her hand, covering it with my own. Her skin was cold and cmmy. “You are not going to die, Emily,” I said firmly, squeezing her fingers just enough to ground her.

  She let out a short, breathless ugh, but it was bitter. “You don’t know that.”

  “No,” I admitted, “but neither do you.”

  Her lips parted as though she wanted to argue, but a violent cough wracked her small frame before she could. She turned her face into the pillow, her whole body shaking with the force of it. I waited, rubbing slow circles on the small of her back, giving her time to recover.

  When she finally lifted her head again, her breaths were ragged. “It’s getting worse,” she rasped. “I can feel it. My lungs—” Another cough interrupted her, and tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. “I—I don’t want to die here.”

  “You won’t,” I reassured her, though the words felt too small to carry the weight of her fear. “You’re young. You’re strong." She gave me a weary look as if to say that isn’t enough.

  I exhaled, adjusting my posture so that I was facing her directly. “Emily, listen to me. I have seen patients come through this ward in far worse states than you. Some were too ill to lift their heads when they arrived. Some could hardly speak. And yet, they pulled through.”

  “But some don’t,” she countered softly.

  I hesitated. Lying would do neither of us any good. “No,” I admitted. “Some don’t. But you are not them.”

  She swallowed hard, her fingers curling weakly around mine. “You really think I can get better?”

  “I know you can,” I said, my voice steady. “And so do the doctors. We wouldn’t be fighting for you if we thought you had no chance.”

  She searched my face, looking for cracks in my confidence. I let her, holding her gaze with quiet resolve. Eventually, she let out a shaky breath. “I—I want to believe you.”

  “Then do,” I urged gently. “Believe in me, if nothing else. Believe that I will sit by your bed and make sure you get through this, one day at a time. Believe that I will come to you when you need me. Believe that I will feed and water you when needed. Believe that I will see you walk out of this ward with renewed health. Because I will.”

  Her lower lip trembled, and for the first time since I’d sat down, her grip on my hand tightened instead of loosening. A fresh tear slipped down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I reached for a handkerchief from my apron pocket and dabbed at her tears, offering a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t need to thank me,” I murmured. “You just need to keep resting. We'll do everything else.”

  She nodded, a fragile but genuine flicker of hope passing through her tired blue eyes.

  I stayed with her a while longer, speaking in soft tones, and offering gentle reassurances whenever the weight of her fear returned. When she eventually drifted into a fitful sleep, I gave her hand one st squeeze before standing and smoothing the bnket over her. She wasn’t out of the woods yet—but she wasn’t alone, either.

  It was the end of my shift. Once again, I had taken it upon myself to close down the ward, using the excuse that it was for Miss Pasley’s benefit. It was easier that way—no one questioned my decision.

  Before Phillipa and Constance left for the evening, I caught them by the door. “Would you both like to come over for tea on Sunday? I’d love to celebrate properly now that I’ve earned the role of Sister.” Their faces lit up, and they agreed at once. I smiled, warmed by their excitement.

  After making sure every bedside had fresh candlesticks for the night, I took a moment to check in on Emily. She was still anxious, but her breathing was steadier, her hands no longer trembling quite so much. “I feel more settled now,” she admitted, though her voice was soft, uncertain.

  I reached out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “That’s good. Try to get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded, and with that, I gathered my cloak and stepped out into the night.

  I made my way to my usual meeting spot with Benedict. As always, he was waiting, leaning against the stone pony wall with an easy grin. “Sister Geldart,” he greeted teasingly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Quite the title. Congratutions.”

  I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Benedict.”

  We spoke about our day, exchanging stories about the patients, the ward, and his work. He told me about an older man he had assisted earlier, who had kept insisting that Benedict reminded him of his grandson. “He wouldn’t stop patting my arm, calling me ‘James’ as though I were his kin,” Benedict said with a shake of his head, though I could see the fondness in his eyes.

  I ughed. “You do have that kind of face. Familiar, trustworthy.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, raising a brow. “And here I thought it was my undeniable charm.”

  I scoffed, nudging him pyfully. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

  The conversation lulled, and we stood side by side, gazing out at the river, comfortable in the silence. The night air was crisp, the water reflecting the soft glow of the moon. After a moment, I turned to him. “Tell me something about your family.”

  Benedict hesitated. “Miss Geldart—”

  “Please,” I pressed. “Just something small.”

  He refused at first, shaking his head, but after my persistent prodding, he sighed, giving in. “Fine,” he muttered. “I have an older brother, Andrew. We're not on the greatest terms. And younger siblings—Gabriel and William, who are like any other younger siblings.”

  I beamed, satisfied. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

  He merely shook his head, but I caught the small smile tugging at his lips. “They’d like you, I think.”

  “Would they?”

  He nodded. “Gabriel would probably interrogate you first, though. She doesn’t trust easily.”

  I smirked. “I like her already.”

  We spoke for a little longer, lingering in the night, neither of us quite ready to part ways just yet. Each moment seemed to stretch as if the universe conspired to keep us together just a little longer. Time slipped by unnoticed, our ughter mingling with the sounds of the night—distant crickets chirping and a gentle breeze rustling the leaves. I felt a wave of reality wash over me and sighed a mixture of reluctance and understanding, “I should go. My aunt has noticed my te returns.”

  Benedict walked me to my carriage, ever the gentleman. As he helped me inside, he took my hand and, to my surprise, pced a small kiss on it. My breath hitched, and I felt warmth rush to my cheeks, my thoughts momentarily scattering. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came—only a quiet, undignified sound of surprise.

  Benedict’s grin widened, clearly amused as he shut the carriage door. “Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

  I quickly turned away, my heart pounded as I settled into my seat, my hand still tingling where his lips had brushed against it. I pressed my fingers to my cheeks, trying to will away the heat rising there as the carriage pulled away. I turned back to look at him and he was still standing there, the moon illuminating his endearing smile.