by Emma Fraser
Isabel glanced at the baron. So far he’d said little. If there was to be a war, and Andrew wasn’t alone in thinking there would be, their German friend would be on the other side. She wondered what that would mean for the men’s friendship. Had her brother even considered this?
‘Have you spoken to George about your plans, Andrew?’ her mother asked, with a frown.
Andrew’s normally easy-going expression darkened. ‘George may be head of the family, Mama, but I am my own man. I don’t need him to tell me what I can and cannot do.’
‘And what about you, Mr Maxwell? What does the earl say?’
‘He thinks it will be good for me,’ Simon answered. ‘“It’ll make a man of you” were the words he used.’
‘I wish I could see the world,’ Isabel interjected. ‘Men are so lucky.’
The baron turned his startling blue eyes on her. ‘I would have thought you had an exciting enough life, breaking new ground. There are not many women doctors even in London, and none at all at Cambridge. I am impressed.’
The colour rose to her cheeks under his frank admiration. ‘But you wouldn’t necessarily approve if I were your sister, would you? Or you, Simon?’
Simon shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine my twin wanting to do anything except attend balls and luncheons. Dorothea will be content once she’s married and her place in society confirmed. I see no similarity between you and her. I suspect a husband and children are not your priority.’
‘And I suspect that many other women are more suited to being a wife and mother than I,’ Isabel replied.
‘But perhaps not as many suited to being a doctor,’ the baron said, with a smile. ‘All women can be wives and mothers but not all women can be doctors. If Dr MacKenzie has the gift for healing, as well as the intellect demanded by the rigours of the training, then she is following the correct path.’
‘Every woman wants to be a wife and mother eventually,’ Simon protested. ‘Surely.’
Isabel took a sip of her wine. ‘I don’t intend ever to marry. My work is my life now. However, I can’t see why a woman shouldn’t work as a doctor, be married and have a family, if she wishes. Dr Elizabeth Garrett Anderson had a husband and three children while practising medicine perfectly well. We are living in modern times, after all.’
‘Believe me, no criticism was intended,’ Simon replied. ‘I admire your ambition. I’m also envious that you can lead your life as you see fit. Not many can say that. When I’m finished with the army, there will be little for me to do. The truth is Richard doesn’t need my help to run my father’s estates. He’s perfectly capable of doing that on his own.’
His words made Isabel pause. Simon, for all his wealth and position, was in some ways more tied to a life he hadn’t chosen for himself than many women were.
‘What are your plans, Baron Hoffman?’ Isabel asked. ‘Will you be in Edinburgh for a while?’
‘My position is to last for twelve months at least.’ He paused. ‘Unless war is declared before then, in which case it’s likely that I will be recalled to my hospital in Halle.’
‘And if there is a war, will you join the fight?’ Isabel asked.
There was an uneasy silence and the baron’s eyes lost some of their sparkle. ‘I sincerely hope there isn’t one, Dr MacKenzie. Although I am proud to be German, I am a doctor first and foremost and our job is to treat the sick and injured, regardless of birth, nationality or wealth, as I’m sure you’d agree.’
‘I intend one day to be a surgeon,’ Isabel said, ignoring her mother’s pursed lips and quick shake of the head, ‘although at the moment that’s almost impossible for a woman, unless she’s fortunate enough to secure a position at the London School of Medicine. Perhaps, when we get the vote, we’ll be able to make changes to the way women study medicine.’
‘I see from the paper that the suffragettes are causing quite a stir again,’ Andrew interjected. ‘At least Isabel doesn’t feel the need to join in their campaign.’
‘Oh, I would, my dearest brother, if I thought it wouldn’t affect my chances of getting on in medicine.’ She evaded her mother’s eyes. ‘The suffragettes are fighting for the rights of all women. Do you know how difficult it is for us to be part of a man’s world? Even if a man has half the brains of a woman, he finds it easier to do almost anything. As the baron pointed out, neither Cambridge nor Oxford will let women graduate. They can take classes and sit examinations but they are not granted degrees, even if their results are much better than those of the men they study alongside. How can that be right? At least now, thanks to my female predecessors, I can graduate with a degree and practise medicine – even if I cannot be a surgeon. We women have a long way to go before we have control over our lives and we can’t have a say as long as only men make the laws of the land. We need the vote and we will get it one day.’
Her cheeks flamed as she realised she’d been on her soapbox for a good while and everybody was staring at her, her mother with disapproval and dismay, Andrew and Simon with amusement and the baron with frank admiration.
‘Forgive me,’ she apologised. ‘I do tend to go on a bit when I feel strongly about something.’
The baron laughed and raised his glass to her. ‘Well said, Dr MacKenzie. I sympathise entirely. Why doesn’t Edinburgh let women train as surgeons? We have women surgeons in Germany and they are, in most cases, as competent as their male colleagues.’
‘They won’t even let women enter the theatres at the Royal Infirmary,’ Isabel replied.
‘In the meantime,’ Andrew’s grin was wide, ‘they fight with one another for surgical experience at Bruntsfield Hospital. I understand, from what Isabel has told me, that the jostling to assist in theatre can become quite undignified at times.’
‘If you wish to learn surgical techniques,’ the baron smiled, ‘I should be happy to teach you. I am to operate at Craigleith poorhouse tomorrow and I should be honoured to have you assist me.’
The chance to assist a surgeon of Dr Hoffman’s standing didn’t come along very often. Isabel would happily have given every piece of jewellery she possessed for the opportunity. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ she replied, hiding her excitement. ‘I understand that the resident there, one of my female colleagues, is often left to operate on her own. And, like me, she has little training in surgical technique. You may find, however, that the medical superintendent is opposed to having a woman assist with a major surgical procedure.’
‘I will have whomever I wish to assist me,’ the baron said, raising his eyebrows. Behind his easy charm, Isabel could detect steely resolve. This was a man who wasn’t used to being told what he could and could not do. ‘However, I leave the decision to you. I shall be there at eight, if you wish to join me.’
The servants cleared away Isabel’s almost untouched plate and placed a bowl of blancmange and strawberry compote in front of her. She swirled her spoon in the blancmange until it was stained with red sauce, wondering how soon she could escape to her room without appearing rude.
‘When were you last in Skye, Mrs MacKenzie?’ Simon asked Isabel’s mother politely.
‘We haven’t been back since my husband died. Too many sad memories, I’m afraid. Apparently the earl and countess no longer visit the island either,’ she said to Isabel, then turned back to Simon. ‘We were so sorry to hear about your brother.’
Simon dabbed his mouth with a napkin before placing it back on his plate. ‘Like you, Mrs MacKenzie, Mama can’t bear to return. Richard is the only member of the family to go to Skye now, although the renovations to our house in Glendale are complete and it’s much more comfortable there than at the castle. With Charles still missing, the responsibility of the estate falls to Richard, and Father is glad to leave those matters in his hands.’
Startled, Isabel dropped her spoon in her bowl and a splash of strawberry compote landed on the tablecloth. Like blood, she thought distractedly, wishing she could get up and leave the room.
‘Charles i
s missing?’ she said, conscious her voice sounded strained.
‘Yes. Had you not heard?’
‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ her mother put in. ‘I’d quite forgotten you knew nothing of this. It happened around the time Papa died and you were confined to bed.’ She turned to Simon. ‘I would have called on Lady Glendale, but…’ she bit her lip, ‘…with my dear William gone and Isabel so unwell…’
‘Please, Mrs MacKenzie, think nothing of it. You had your own troubles to deal with. I know Dr MacKenzie was greatly mourned by the islanders.’
‘Thank you. We miss him dreadfully.’ She touched the corner of her eye with her handkerchief.
‘I believe you met my brother, Miss MacKenzie,’ Simon continued.
It was as if someone had tipped cold water down the back of Isabel’s neck. Was it possible Simon knew what had happened? Was he trying to tell her he knew more than he was saying?
‘Yes. Your sister, too, at the coming-out ball your mother held for me. I didn’t know him well.’ Isabel was amazed that her voice sounded normal. She wished they would change the subject and talk about something else. Anything would do.
‘Charles went riding one day and only his horse returned. We searched everywhere but never found him. It was thought at first that his mount might have unseated him,’ Simon said, holding out his wineglass to be refilled, ‘although I never saw a stream or a fence he couldn’t take, even when he was in his cups … and then there was the business of the crofter’s son – MacCorquodale.’
For a moment Isabel thought she would stop breathing. ‘What business?’
‘The day Charles went missing MacCorquodale was seen fighting with him. When the police went to question him, he’d disappeared. Gone to Glasgow, according to his mother, though the police found no trace of him there.’
‘Damned suspicious, if you ask me,’ Andrew said.
‘Archie MacCorquodale?’ Isabel could barely force the words past her lips.
‘Yes. That was his name.’
‘No!’
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
‘Archie MacCorquodale would never hurt anyone.’ But she was remembering Charles’s face. He had had a bruise under his eye and he’d said something about seeing Archie and her kiss. Could they have fought? If so, it must have been before Charles attacked her, and he had been very much alive then. Should she say something? But then she’d have to admit she had seen Charles that day.
‘Isabel!’ Mama’s voice held a warning.
‘Did you know this MacCorquodale fellow?’ Andrew asked.
‘We were friends – when we were children.’
Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribs that she could hear its dib-dab sound in her ears. Her temples ached and she raised a hand to her head. She glanced at the baron. When she caught his frown of concern, she dropped both hands to her lap and twisted them tightly together.
‘If he had nothing to fear from the police, why did he run?’ Simon said.
‘He always talked of leaving Skye.’ With an immense effort Isabel forced her expression into one of indifference. ‘Perhaps Charles will yet turn up safe and well.’
Simon shook his head. ‘I don’t believe so. It has been almost five years.’
‘Perhaps we should speak of other matters,’ Mama said quickly. ‘This is too distressing for us all.’
Simon picked up his glass. ‘Of course. Forgive me. I have been thoughtless. Happily I can see that you made a full recovery from your illness, Dr MacKenzie. I’m glad. I know your brother is very fond of you.’
‘Isabel’s as strong as a horse,’ Andrew interjected. ‘It would take more than a nasty case of scarlet fever to see her off. Our Papa might have survived, had he not been injured in the chest during the second Boer War.’
‘Andrew! We agreed to speak of less painful subjects!’ their mother reproved him.
‘Sorry, Mama.’ Andrew rose from his chair and went to kiss her cheek. ‘I promise I won’t say any more about it.’
Always ready to forgive her favourite son, Mama patted his hand and smiled.
Isabel’s heart rate was slowly returning to normal. If Simon or his family had had the faintest inkling of Charles’s attack on her, somebody would have said something long before now. And if Archie had left the island, it must have been because he’d always intended to.
Isabel’s mother rose from the table. ‘We should leave them to their port, Isabel. Gentlemen, perhaps you will join us in the drawing room when you are ready.’
‘My parents are holding a small gathering tomorrow evening at their house in Charlotte Square and request the pleasure of your company,’ Simon said, as the men got to their feet. ‘Dorothea will be there, too, and I’m certain she would wish to renew your acquaintance, Miss MacKenzie. May I let them know that you will attend?’
‘Please thank your parents, Simon, but I’m afraid I don’t go out in the evenings,’ Mama replied, ‘but Andrew and Isabel will be delighted to accept. Isabel can put aside her tedious medical books for one evening.’
Isabel’s pulse was racing again. It was bad enough meeting Simon but she simply couldn’t come face to face with any more of Charles’s family. She rose to her feet, clutching the back of the chair for support. ‘I’m afraid I’m unable to be there. I have—’ She raised her fingertips to her temple. She could barely think, her head was throbbling so painfully.
‘Are you feeling quite well, Dr MacKenzie?’ the baron asked quietly.
‘A headache, that is all. Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I shall go to my room.’
Isabel stumbled upstairs and dismissed Ellie as soon as she’d helped her undress. She sat down at her dressing-table and brushed her hair with short, vicious strokes.
She shouldn’t be glad that Charles might be dead but she was. That way he’d never be able to hurt another woman. It was the one thing she’d worried about whenever the memory of Charles’s attack had pushed its way into her head.
And Archie was suspected to have played a part in Charles’s disappearance. It was horrible.
The scene with Charles replayed in her mind. They’d been on the ground. She’d hit him with the rock and when he’d clutched his head, she’d scrambled from underneath him and ran. Unless she’d hit him harder than she thought … No! He was most definitely alive when she’d left him. If something had happened to him it had to have been after he’d attacked her. He’d been drinking and in no state to be riding. His horse had likely thrown him into a bog or over the cliff.
Should she tell someone what had happened that day?
It would be different if they’d arrested Archie. Then she would have had to go to the police, although the thought of repeating what had happened nauseated her. If reporting Charles’s attack would have brought shame on her and her family five years ago, to do so now, with Archie missing and foul play suspected, would destroy her, her family and her career. And for what?
There was a tap on the door and her mother came in. ‘I came to see if you are all right,’ she said.
‘Just a headache, Mama. It will be gone by morning.’
Her mother came to stand behind her. ‘Darling, you should not talk politics at the table. Men see you as a little … odd as it is. One day you might wish to get married, and…’ she lowered her voice, ‘…I’m afraid you will put off suitable young men.’
If only Mama knew that the very idea of a man holding her made her feel ill. With Papa gone, she should have been able to tell Mama what had happened to her. She was the woman who had given birth to her and who had been there all her life – or most of it. She longed to tell her, to put down her burden and say, ‘Do you know what Charles did to me? Do you know that I feel spoiled inside?’ Then perhaps her mother would put her arms around her – no, not that, perhaps touch her cheek and say, ‘It wasn’t your fault. You’re still the girl you always were.’
But she couldn’t, of course not. Mama wouldn’t know what to do, without Papa to tell her. Sh
e might even blame Isabel, say that she shouldn’t have been walking on her own, that it was her fault for thinking she was different and that the rules of society, which existed to keep her safe, didn’t apply to her.
No, the burden was hers and hers alone.
‘I’ll do my best, Mama,’ she said.
Chapter 20
The next morning, Isabel ran into the hall at Craigleith Hospital and shook the rain from her umbrella. Several people were sitting on benches, some holding packages in their laps, others staring ahead as if they no longer had the energy to take in their surroundings.
A porter, with a long white beard that covered most of his face, slowly rose to his feet. ‘What can I do for you, Miss?’
‘I’m here to meet Dr Hoffman,’ Isabel said. ‘I’m Dr MacKenzie.’ She loved saying that. Dr MacKenzie. She doubted she’d ever get tired of it.
The porter didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. Here, of all places, he had to be used to female doctors. The resident was always female. The poorhouse was one of the few places a woman doctor could be certain to find a position.
‘He’s in the doctors’ room, Doctor. First door on the right.’
She knocked, and a female voice bade her enter. Inside the room was a woman of around thirty or so in a suit, Dr Hoffman and a nursing sister.
‘Dr MacKenzie,’ Dr Hoffman said, with a little bow. ‘I’m so glad you decided to join us.’ He turned to the other two women. ‘Miss MacKenzie is to assist me in theatre today.’
The woman in the suit, which was similar to Isabel’s, held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Dr Howse and this is Sister Goody.’
‘I hope I’m not putting you out,’ Isabel said. She hadn’t met Dr Howse before but could imagine her chagrin at finding that Isabel was to assist Dr Hoffman.
‘Of course not,’ Dr Howse replied. ‘Although I did hope to assist myself. Perhaps you could act as anaesthetist while I help Dr Hoffman.’