Symphony of Lilacs

11. The Pen and the Rose

I sigh after a few patients exit my room, the door clicking behind them.

The wall clock says that it is only thirty minutes past eleven in the morning.

I've done my daily rounds and the next set of patients will most probably come after lunch break.

My legs give up as they press themselves to the seat, palms clasped on my cheek.

I probably should finish those calculations if I have the time...

Henry said that he will be taking the day off today, as Mother has been most vexed by his long hours in the study.

Naturally, I slinked into his study and brought in his papers for the day.
And naturally, Isabelle found me going into the study of our brother.

May the Lord bless him for always categorising them well enough.

Though, sometimes it unnerves me with how much everything related to him is asymmetrical...

But then again, I find the serene and pristine white atmosphere of the hospital unnerving too, sometimes.

Even though, the hospital is my place where my ambition and loyalty lies.

Shaking my head, I slide open the drawer in which I put the papers after coming to the hospital.

Taking the pen at my side, I begin blotting fresh papers in Henry's handwriting, while using the original as reference.

With one hand in my hair, the other quickly starts scribbling down the revenue, taxes, profits and minor losses.

Mostly, the calculations are for the estate and lands.

Mother and Father always did them themselves and now it's only been a year since Henry's addition. The former 'accountants' have now become the newer one's advisors.

One day, he will notice all that only the work he leaves is always completed... but that is not today...

A knock resounds, without making me look up.

"Enter," I say without much thought.

After putting the final full stop, I pay attention to the visitor and find my lips parting.
"Miss Penrose? Please do be seated."
I wade a hand at the vacant chair in front of me, the papers in front of me.

I ought to remove them...

Mathilda Penrose nods, but not before running her hands through the opening of her cloak.
She sits down, hands brushing against it again.
"I only wanted to ask you something, something about my mother."
A slight redness comes onto her cheeks, as if beaten by the cold wind.

"Yes?" I close my pen, almost moving to gather all the papers back into the drawer.
An idea glides by, one that makes me stop but only momentarily.

Mathilda Penrose opens her mouth, before another knock on the door resounds.

I groan inwardly and say to her,
"Please, excuse me for a moment." Sliding away the table, I walk right past her, hers and my person a mere inches apart before I move to the door.

A cool breeze blows from the open window, as I open the door.

Sister Greta stands with her hands crossed in front of her.
"What is the matter, Sister?"

"Doctor Jennings is calling for you in his office. I was near and he asked me to send the message for him," the Sister says, pulling a strand back into her grey coloured bun.