His eyebrows knit together. “A woman surgeon? Really? Isn’t that odd? I’ve never heard of a woman surgeon.”
Oh, that was the wrong thing to say, to the wrong girl, at the wrong time. She studied too hard to hear that being a woman was some sort of defect.
“What do you mean by that? Women are perfectly capable of understanding anatomy and medical procedures, and if you are one of those people who believe that women shouldn’t be admitted to a medical school, well, I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to say to you. Good day, sir. Or on second thought, I don’t care if your day is good or not.”
“There’s no need to get angry.” He held up a hand. “I’m not one of those people. I was merely surprised, and I don’t make the rules. Society doesn’t approve of women who take up a traditionally male career. I really don’t care about what career a woman chooses, and I agree with everything you said. Is that better?”
Softened by his reply, she reminded herself she would face many conversations like this one when she became a surgeon. “It’s 1878. Society has changed.”
“I’m not sure about that.” He showed a lopsided smile that, she had to admit, had a certain charm. “Name one woman who’s making a career as a surgeon.”
Ha!“Sophia Jex-Black, Elizabeth Blackwell, Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, Rebecca Lee Crumpler?—”
“All right. You win.” He bowed. “I had no idea so many ladies were doctors. Shall we start over?”
She hesitated before answering. “Let’s start over.”
“Good. Would you mind?” He stretched out his arm towards her. “My wrist hurts.”
She paused again, not sure if touching this stranger was appropriate or not. Perhaps she should find Mother first and examine him later.
He inched his hand closer. “What is it? Do you already think it’s something terrible?”
She chewed a corner of her mouth. “I need to touch your arm.”
“I gathered that much.”
“I’m not sure it’s appropriate.”
“It’s 1878. Society has changed,” he said.
The cheek of him.
“Fine. Hold this and please don’t drop it.” She handed him the precious book and tugged his sleeve up. Nothing was red or swollen. She touched his wrist. “Does it hurt here?”
He gritted his teeth. “Bloody hell.”
“Would you stop swearing, please?”
“It hurts,” he said, barely moving his lips.
She touched the sore area. “Tell me if you feel intense pain or numbness.”
“No numbness, and the pain is bearable as long as you don’t press too much.”
“I don’t think it’s broken, just sprained, perhaps.” She took her book back.
“Thank you for your help, miss.”
“Excellent. You’re welcome. I wish you a good day, sir, and this time, I mean it.” She resumed walking, but he followed her.
“Wait. I was thinking—oh no.” He stopped.
“What is it?”
“That’s Mr. Montague, my tutor.” He pointed to a short man with round glasses, stopping and questioning everyone on the path. The young man put a finger on his lips before hiding behind a bush.
“What—”
