“Dr. Hall, I appreciate that you do not think I know my own mind, but I assure you, I know what I want, and no amount of trying to convince me otherwise will be fruitful.”
“I do not mean to talk you out of it. I simply wish to know your reasoning behind such a decision.” She gave him a disbelieving expression. “You could be a nurse. There are some brilliant nurses who do your gender a justice.”
That was perhaps the wrong thing to say, as Grace’s mouth pressed into a flat line and she glanced back out the window before answering.
“Every and any argument you have about this is not new to me. There is nothing you could say that would make me miraculously change my mind. I have heard them all, dozens of times.”
“But I asked you a question.”
“Which you followed up with a suggestion, one you undoubtedly believe to be helpful. It just tells me that you’re more interested in your own opinion than finding out anything about me.” She shook her head. “If you don’t want to know why I want to be a doctor, then I will not tell you. I’ve no desire defending myself for the next six months against yourhelpfulsuggestions.”
James did not move, but instead stared at her. This was insubordinate behavior, to say the least, and if she were a man, he’d remove her from studying beneath him, yet it bothered himthat she thought he didn’t want to know her reason for becoming a professional woman.
She had to know it was abnormal. How many working women did she know? How many didheknow? Very few and even then, it was always a topic of discussion.
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and the movement caught her attention. How curious her eye color was, he mused for a moment. Were they amber? Hazel? He didn’t know, but he cleared his throat before he spoke.
“Tell me. Why do you want to be a doctor?”
She stared at him for a moment and he was surprised that he was waiting to exhale before she sighed heavily.
“I want… No, Icanhelp people,” she said slowly, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “I have a mind for it. And what’s more, it interests me. How some bodies react to illnesses, how others don’t.” Her brows cinched together as her eyes unfocused. “I’ve been very interested in the spread of fevers for as long as I can remember and I’ve been so sure that, if I could follow a sickness, somehow I could map it out and learn what is needed to prevent it or cure it.” She shook her head. “I understand anatomy. Bones, muscles, skin. It’s as plain to me as the English language and… I don’t know… I feel it is a calling to help people. I can help people,” she said again, her eyes meeting his once more. “I want to help my fellow man and I think I should be allowed to do so, particularly if I’m skilled enough.”
Well, at the very least that was the answer he had hoped to hear, but as he watched her, he was momentarily lost. Her eyes were amber, he decided. Pulling out a small glass vial from his breast pocket, he opened it and placed his forefinger over the opening. Tipping it over, he made sure the pad of his finger was saturated before he dabbed the citrusy oil beneath his nose.
Grace stared at him curiously, but before she could ask what he was doing, he tipped the glass again, rubbed the oil betweenhis forefinger and thumb and leaned forward. Without asking, he gently pinched Grace’s top lip. She inhaled sharply, but she did not move. Instead, she remained perfectly still, her eyes completely focused on him. He swallowed hard.
“W-what is it?”
“It’s to dampen the stench,” he said as the hackney came to a stop. “I use it when I visit patients who aren’t in the best of sorts. Decay can be a foul smell. Shall we?” he asked gruffly as he opened the door and climbed out, grabbing his large leather bag as he did so.
The pungent scent of rotting vegetables, mixed with other foul wastes, was magnified under the morning sun, but diluted somewhat by the lime oil he had rubbed beneath his nostrils. Their first stop was the tenant housing for the factory workers’ family. What had initially been a clever idea for cheap housing had exploded into quarters too tight to house whole families. It was a breeding ground for illnesses.
Grace’s hand touched James’s forearm as she exited the hackney. It was inconsequential, really. He hadn’t even realized that he had held his arm up for her, but then she removed her hand and he felt suddenly untethered, as if he was just about to have a cup of perfectly made tea and then dropped it on the floor without sampling a drop.
It was most puzzling, but then he didn’t have time to wonder about it. Reactions were human, after all, and she was about to have a number of them once they entered into the building.
Even though it was early, nearly all the men had already left for their factory jobs, save a few who were ill or injured. Grace was silent as she followed James into the building and directly to the first door. He knocked.
A woman, not much older than Grace, who was holding two screaming babies that appeared to be twins, opened the door. Another child, a boy, hugged the woman’s legs.
“Good morning, Mrs. Monty,” James said. “How are you?”
“It’s the bairns. They’ve both got fevers and were up all night. Poor Mr. Monty barely got a wink of sleep.”
“Let me see one,” James said. “Miss Sharpe, take the other.”
But the woman, who readily handed off one red-headed child to James, twisted away from Grace as her small son scurried across the room, dropping to his knees beneath the window where a number of small pieces of rubbish were lined neatly against the wall.
“Who’s she?” Mrs. Monty asked.
“She’s my assistant for the day.”
“Assistant? A woman? Like Mrs. Muller?”
“Who is Mrs. Muller?” Grace asked.
“She’s an elderly woman, one of the workers’ mothers. She acts as a sort of nurse in our absence.”
