The Lorimer Line (28 page)

‘Is it right that the creditors should get so little for an asset which I suppose belongs to them?'

William shrugged his shoulders.

‘There was no one willing to pay more. This is not a time when many people can take on new commitments. I was fortunate that Lloyds paid the insurance claim on the
Georgiana
so promptly, so that I had a little money in my pocket, so to speak. The value of the house to myself is a sentimental one. And I was glad to relieve Father's anxieties. The thought of leaving his home caused him great distress. At least his last days were free from that fear.'

Margaret was forced to agree that this had been a great boon, although she still felt disturbed by the transaction. However, it was important that she should not antagonize her brother.

‘William, I would like to discuss my future with you,' she said.

‘Naturally, when we move to Brinsley House, your old room will still be at your disposal. Or if there is any other you would prefer - ‘

‘You are kind, but I am not thinking of rooms,' said Margaret. ‘I need an occupation. To spend the rest of my
life doing needlework in your drawing room is not a prospect I can tolerate.'

‘It had already occurred to me that you might feel like that,' said William. ‘And I have noticed the affection which my children have for you. You might care to act as their governess. It would seem a most suitable solution to the problem.'

Margaret flushed slightly, but tried not to show that she was offended. The offer at least suggested that Sophie had spoken without consulting her husband for once, when she tried to persuade Margaret to leave.

‘Have you asked Sophie for her opinion?' she said. ‘I think you may find that she would prefer me not to be a member of her household. She has already suggested to me that I should look for a place as governess elsewhere.'

It was some comfort to Margaret to notice that her brother looked surprised; even annoyed.

‘If she expressed such a thought, it was without my authority,' he said. ‘Of course, if you prefer to live in another household, I cannot stop you. But you must not feel that there is any pressure on you to go. I can hardly hope to shoulder all Father's financial liabilities, but I regard myself as bound to take on his family responsibilities.'

‘Neither of these courses commends itself to me,' said Margaret, taking care to keep her voice steady. ‘I wish to become independent. Since I lack a fortune, I must acquire a qualification, and for that I must undergo a training.'

‘Training? What training?' It was William's turn to be startled.

‘I propose to become a doctor,' she said.

The first time she had spoken those words had been to a stranger, as though even at their first meeting she had guessed how important David Gregson's good opinion would become to her. The second time was to Lydia, only a few days earlier. On each occasion she had been listened
to with respect, and this made it easier for her now to face the criticism which she knew would come.

William's first reaction was what she had expected.

‘But it is not possible for a woman to become a doctor! Unless you propose to qualify in America. Or do you think yourself capable of going to Paris to take scientific examinations in French? I should think they would be too much for you even in English.'

Margaret ignored the sarcasm in his voice, for this at least she could answer.

‘The position has changed since Mrs Garrett Anderson was forced to go to France in order to qualify,' she said. ‘The University of London has agreed to examine women for degrees and this, in medicine, will allow them to be registered as doctors. The London School of Medicine for Women is already preparing students for this examination. I would like to enrol there, if they will have me.'

‘To train as a doctor takes six or seven years,' protested William. ‘I know you have always felt a desire to care for the sick. But you could become a nurse in a far shorter time. Since Miss Nightingale's reforms were introduced there can be no objection to a woman of good family adopting this profession. Indeed, I believe there is a demand for educated matrons.'

‘When Ralph told you that he wished to be ordained, you did not suggest to him that he should instead become a verger.'

‘The case is entirely different.'

‘No,' said Margaret. ‘It is not different at all. I have an ambition which is as precise and as clear as yours or Ralph's. Why should I be forced to accept a second best?'

‘Because you are a woman. The work of a doctor is unsuitable and most unseemly for a lady. And the responsibilities would be too much for you.'

‘That would be for my examiners and supervisors to decide,' said Margaret. ‘My training would be the same as that of a man, and I would be expected to reach the same
standard. I would prefer to accept responsibility myself than to take instructions from someone I may not respect. As for its being unseemly, a great many women think it unseemly that they should be examined by a man. Children, too, are more at ease with a woman.' She paused, to remind herself that she had intended to avoid this aspect of the argument. ‘I am not asking you, William, whether I
may
train as a doctor. I am telling you that I intend to try.'

‘And how do you propose to pay the fees? Do you realize how expensive it will be to live in London?'

‘Yes, I do,' said Margaret. ‘If you should offer to be as generous to me as to Ralph, I would not be too proud to accept. But if you are determined not to approve, I shall manage somehow. My friend Lydia is resolved on the same course and she has a cousin in London who could spare us rooms. Mr Morton has most generously promised her an allowance during her training. It will keep me warm as well as her, and might stretch to feed me if it became necessary. As for the fees, I still own Lower Croft. A tenant might be found who would rent it. And one day the situation in Bristol must improve, so that it could be sold. It is possible, I believe, to borrow money on the security of a house. Now that I have determined what I will do, I am not prepared to admit of any obstacle.'

‘Then why do you trouble to tell me of your plans? Why do you not simply pack your bags and leave?'

‘Because I do not wish us to quarrel, William. I would like your approval. I should be sorry if you were reproached with abandoning your sister. And my situation in London will be easier if it is known that I have the support of my family. What is more, I have a favour to ask you.'

There was a long silence. William did not happily lose an argument. When at last he said ‘Yes?' it was a recognition of the fact that his sister could not be stopped.

‘We spoke earlier of Mrs Garrett Anderson,' said Margaret. ‘I believe you are acquainted with her husband.'

‘Skelton Anderson? Yes. His shipping company has just
become part of the new Orient Line. They are likely to become our greatest rivals.'

‘Before the rivalry becomes too fierce, will you use your acquaintance to write me a letter of introduction so that I may meet his wife? My education has not qualified me very well to undertake a course of scientific study. If I am to be admitted to the School of Medicine I may need to have a sponsor.'

There was a second silence, which Margaret broke with her own laughter.

‘William! Why not admit that you long to be quit of me? Sophie dislikes me. If I can say that, you need not deny it. Your offer to give me a home is a generous one, but we shall all be happiest if I come to it only for holidays, when we can enjoy each other's company without friction. If you help me to go, you will win praise for your liberality and sympathy for my headstrong behaviour. And you will not have to watch me growing older and older, more and more useless, more and more bad-tempered. Instead, when my training is finished I shall buy my own house and manage my own life, and instead of being ashamed of me you may pretend to be proud.'

She held out her hand to him impulsively to show that there was no need to quarrel. William, who never did anything on impulse, did not move to take it. But it seemed that she had appealed successfully to his head if not to his heart, for he gave the quick nod which increasingly he was copying from his father.

‘I will write the letter to Anderson,' he said. ‘And I will enquire about a tenant for Lower Croft. In the meantime, you had better estimate your annual costs. If they exceed the rent, I will lend you money as I am lending it to Ralph, and you may repay it when …' he paused, as though hardly even to conceive the thought, still less to say the words - ‘when you begin to practise.'

‘Thank you, William.' Margaret tried not to feel hurt by the ungracious manner in which her brother had agreed to
her request. Their relationship had never been a warm one, and she had known even before she asked that William would disapprove of such an unusual suggestion. It was enough that he had agreed, however grudgingly. She stood up, breathing deeply with relief and happiness.

‘I need to have a life of my own,' she said. ‘Until now I have never been anything except my father's daughter. Rich and comfortable, but somehow not myself. I had hoped that with David …' She stopped, wishing she had not mentioned the name which abruptly checked her happiness. ‘I had looked forward to making a life in my own home, with my own household. Now I must find another way.'

She took the first step towards it a few days later, travelling to London on the railway with the letter of introduction safe in her handbag. Dr Garrett Anderson proved helpful with advice, and arranged an appointment for her at the London School of Medicine for Women, but this was far from guaranteeing her admission. Even Lydia, who had attended a similar interview two days earlier, armed with recommendations from her schoolteachers, had obtained only provisional acceptance, and Margaret was conscious that the haphazard nature of her own studies was unlikely to impress the Dean.

After she had asked a series of searching questions, the Dean picked up a small notebook from her desk, and asked Margaret to look at it.

‘We give each of our students one of these,' she said. ‘It lists every disease she must study, every examination she must pass, every course of lectures she must attend, every period of practical hospital training. Not until each item in it has been dated and signed can she even submit herself for the final examination. Look inside, and tell me what you think.'

Margaret's heart sank as she turned the pages. Within the first year alone she would be expected to tackle chemistry, anatomy, physiology, botany, therapeutics, dissections,
and something called materia medica. She had not the least idea what materia medica might be. Her chin jutted out in determination as she looked up again.

‘I can hardly deny that I am ill-qualified to begin the course,' she said. ‘But I have studied a little anatomy. If you would like to judge my understanding, I would be happy to answer questions on this subject.'

To her relief the Dean laughed.

‘Your lecturers and examiners will find out soon enough whether you have the intelligence to be a doctor,' she said. ‘And your supervisors in the hospitals will tell us whether you have the temperament. What I must assess is whether you have the determination to pursue a course of studies which lasts for many years and is certain at times to seem arduous. We invite any prospective student to undertake a short preliminary course, and nothing is lost if she then abandons it. But if a student leaves the school after two years or three, she has wasted our time as well as her own and she has nothing to show for it. We shall show ourselves unsympathetic towards young ladies, who decide, for example, to marry rather than to qualify.'

‘I have no intention of marrying,' said Margaret firmly. ‘I wish to have my own profession. And although I cannot praise my grasp of chemistry or dissections, I am prepared to give myself a reference in determination. It has not been easy even to get as far as this.'

The Dean nodded her understanding.

‘You will find most of your fellow-students in the same situation,' she said. ‘Their families have not succeeded in stopping them, but for the most part are far from approving. This is one reason why we shall expect your behaviour to be in all respects above reproach while you are a student. You will meet medical students of the other sex of whom the same cannot be said, but you will not follow their example.'

Margaret smiled with excitement as she noticed the Dean's change of emphasis.

‘Then you are willing to enrol me?' she gasped.

Tor the preliminary course only. You must pass its examination in September. If you are successful in that, you may apply for a place on the full course, which starts in October.'

Margaret emerged into Brunswick Square after her interview in a haze of happiness. For a little while she walked about without noticing where she was going. There were so many excitements to be considered at once. She was going to be a doctor. And she was going to live in London. This noisy, crowded, dirty city would be her home. As her head came out of the clouds and she looked around her, she noticed how many women there were of her own sort about on foot. In Bristol they would have sent a servant on their errands, or travelled in a carriage of some kind. But here they walked briskly about their own business, not always even waiting for the crossing sweeper to clear a way through the filth of the roads. But then, Margaret reminded herself, she must no longer think of anyone as being her own sort of woman any longer, whatever that had once been. She was going to be one of the new sort; one of the women who were jeered at in newspapers and mocked in cartoons. It was difficult to envisage the kind of life which lay ahead; but any touch of apprehension she felt was swiftly overwhelmed by excitement.

There was only one part of the interview which had caused her distress. She had promised that she would not marry. In her mind at that moment had been a silent reservation: ‘unless David Gregson should return'. Now, with all the determination which she had more truthfully claimed to possess, she put the situation squarely to herself. David Gregson would not return. Or, even if he did, he would have no reason to seek out a woman who had sent him away in anger. Equally, he might not want to see her if she should ever manage to track him down to that part of the wide world in which he had taken refuge. The course to which she was committing herself would demand her
whole concentration. She must not allow herself to be distracted by a possibility which did not really exist. She had told the Dean that she did not intend to marry, and the statement must be turned into truth.