She straightened, almost losing her grip on a bottle, quickly wondering if she’d done something to anger him. “Father, what are you doing here?”
His eyebrows knit together as he eyed the bottles of morphia. “I came here for a consultation. How is your work for Lord Ravenscroft going?”
“Very well.”
His harsh expression hardened further. “The London School of Medicine for Women has closed for enrolment.”
To be honest, she wasn’t thinking about that.
A long exhale came out of him. “If you want to enrol, you still have a chance to do so. You’ll have to find a qualified teacher, approved by the college, to take the admission test with, in private. You’ll start your classes late, but you aren’t completely ignorant of medical science. A late start shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
She pressed her lips together. “We have had this conversation many times, Father.”
She expected the usual outburst.You can’t throw away your future like that. You disappoint me. You wasted years of studying… and so forth.
Instead, he released a breath and slouched as if caught by sudden fatigue. He seemed to have grown old in a moment. He didn’t say anything and left the room, nearly dragging his feet.
For some reason, his silence and quiet dejection hurt more than his outbursts. It was as if he’d given up on her.
She rubbed an aching spot in her chest. No, she couldn’t go to medical school only to make her father happy. If she had to start a medical career, or any other career, it would be becauseshe really wanted it. But there was something else she wanted to discuss with him.
She followed him. “Father.”
He stopped and turned around.
“I wanted to talk to you about a patient, Mrs. Richards. She was discharged a few days ago,” she said all in one breath. “She sustained severe head trauma, similar to what Perry endured. She needs help with her physical exercises and to buy drugs. I think she’s eligible for funded care. She needs it.”
“Did a doctor visit Mrs. Richards and give a diagnosis and a prognosis on her condition?”
“No. I spent some time with her and noticed the similarities between her case and Perry’s. She’s a seamstress, and her livelihood depends on her ability to move her hands.”
He looked like an executioner. “I understand, but since you aren’t qualified to provide a diagnosis, your words have little meaning. If the doctor who followed her care doesn’t believe the patient needs anything else, then there isn’t anything I can do.”
“Father, please. She needs help.” She kept her voice low as a group of nurses passed by.
“You’re a volunteer in a dispensary.”
“Don’t use Mrs. Richards’s condition to punish me.”
A muscle in his jaw contracted. “I’m a doctor, and I’m doing my job. You do yours.” He spun towards the exit and left her in the middle of the hallway.
“That’s unfair,” she said to his retreating back.
Frustration bothered her when she returned home. If Father didn’t want to help, she might ask Perry. He would help Mrs. Richards. Although Father had a point when he said Edith wasn’t qualified. Mrs. Richards’s condition could be less serious than Edith thought. She didn’t have any clinical results to support her claim aside from her instinct.
She had barely time to enter her house and hand her coat to the maid when a knock came from the door.
Daphne’s smiling face came into view when Edith opened the door.
“Edith.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m not sure I want to talk to you.”
Daphne brushed past her and entered. “You aren’t still angry with me for the story of the painting, are you?”
“No, I just need to change a few things in my life.”
“Since when are you so pesky?” She leant against the wall, disregarding her bustle. “Valentine and I are going to a dinner party tonight.”
