A knock sounded on the parlor door.
“Enter,” Mark said, shifting away from his wife so it wasn’t intimate.
Gaye came in, the letter tray in his hands. “Just arrived, sir.”
“Excellent.” Mark pointed to the tea table at his knees. “Set it there, won’t you?”
Silently, Gaye did as requested. As he left, Ellen sniffed and set her empty cup down. She rubbed her nose.
Sensing her desire to move on from the difficult conversation, Mark nudged forward to peer at the return directions on the envelopes.Anything from Oxford?
“Any word from your friends at Oxford?”
Mark looked at her.Is my face that obvious?But no, she wasn’t even looking at him. She was peering in the paper bag of loose herbs, already anticipating her next dose. He leaned forward and scooped up the letters, thumbing through them. He ignored a letter from his family’s solicitor. Although the man wouldn’t be so gauche as to ask how Mark was getting on with producing the next generation of Glenfalls, just the reminder of his existence was a thorn in Mark’s side at the moment. The next letter was from Oxford. He pulled his spectacles from his pocket, then opened it eagerly and scanned the contents.
“Yes, actually. An old friend is a don there. Working on translating some poetry by Sappho, I think. He’s putting in a good word for me with the professor there.” He reread a fewlines of the short letter. “The professor is interested in myArgonautica. It may be enough to allow me to be elected to a Fellowship.”
Ellen looked at him then. “You’re searching for a don position? What will your family think? Gentlemen aren’t supposed to work.”
“Nothing may come of it. My translation might be rubbish.” A smile crept across his face. “Wouldn’t it be glorious, though? I could teach at Oxford. You could go to medical school. We’d be scandalous.”
Ellen frowned. “My work is here.”
The dream itched inside his skin again, the yearning to be a real scholar. He’d set it aside while in the Navy, and he didn’t want to lose this second chance.
“There’s the London School of Medicine for Women. It would be marvelous to study under Dr. Blackwell and Dr. Garrett-Anderson. If I ever decide to try.”
Mark rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t handle another disagreement in one day. “Why haven’t you gone?” He changed the subject.
She looked unsure. “I wasn’t sure I could do it. Not for four years. All of my options had drawbacks: If premature babies get any care, it’s usually from midwives. But I don’t want to become a midwife because although I’d love to get official training from the Nightingale school, I don’t want to deliver babies regularly or focus on pregnancy. If I took the nursing track of the Nightingale school, it’s only a year, but then I’d have to work in a hospital under male doctors and I wouldn’t receive any specialized education about babies here in Great Britain. If I attended medical school, that’s four years of education I’m not sure I could manage intellectually. And my parents would’ve found a way to forbid it. Currently I’m just an over-zealous gentlewoman engaged in charity. If I enrolled in medical school, they couldn’t explain that away to their friends.”
Mark hummed thoughtfully. “You can certainly become adoctor if you wish, you’re probably the smartest person I know. I’ll help you with the Latin.”
She gave him a brief, tired smile. “I’ll consider it.”
Mark hoped she’d say something about supporting him in going to Oxford, but she didn’t. So he didn’t say anything, either.
That evening,before sitting down to dinner, someone pounded on the front door. Mark paused in the hall, curious who it could be.
“Get back, you urchin!” Gaye exclaimed after opening the door. “We’re not a charity house. Get back to where you belong.”
“Mark?” Ellen stepped down the stairs, still holding the railing. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure.” Mark stepped past her to reach the door.
“Let go of me, you old man!” a young voice screeched. “I got a message for Mrs. Glenfall and I promised I’d deliver it.”
Mark glanced back at Ellen, but she looked as confused as he. So Mark put a hand on Gaye’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this.”
The butler harrumphed, but obediently stepped back to allow Mark to fill the threshold instead.
A young boy, perhaps nine or ten, with smudged features and a dirty cap in his hands, stood on the step. His coat had holes in the elbows, and his shoes looked three sizes too large. Newspaper peeked out of the ankle of the shoes.
“What message?”
He scrunched up his face to help recall. “The lady doctor said she needs help with a delivery.”
Mark felt Ellen come up behind him. He edged to the side to better share the doorway with her.