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1858, Dublin
Liam Rafferty’s time at Trinity College was nearly over. He’d arrived at Ireland’s most prestigious university four years earlier, thanks to an unforeseen windfall from a distant relative, followed by a hard-won scholarship. Liam hadn’t wasted a single moment or a single guinea. With a mind for numbers and problem-solving, and a logical view of life, he’d found himself well-suited to the study of engineering. He’d worked hard and applied himself and harbored great hopes for his life after university.
He was not, however, one of the more noteworthy students who easily caught the attention of the dons and fellows. Unfortunately for him, he needed one of them to take note. Membership in the Institution of Civil Engineers of Ireland would help him obtain an apprenticeship after he completed his studies, which would significantly improve his chances of securing a prestigious job. A recommendation from one of the professors would increase his chances of being accepted. Therefore, when he received a summons to call at Provost House, he did not hesitate. To be known personally to the provost of Trinity College would be quite a boon.
Liam donned his best suit, took great care with his razor, and invested extra effort in combing his hair. He arrived precisely at noon, as instructed, clanked the knocker, and held his breath.
Rev. MacDonnell’s housekeeper showed him inside and announced him in the library, where the provost and one other man were seated. Likely in the neighborhood of fifty years old, with a head of gray hair and eyes that seemed to always be searching, the second man was, more likely than not, a Trinity don, but in a school other than engineering.
“You must be Mr. Rafferty,” Rev. MacDonnell said.
Liam dipped his head. “I am.”
“Please, be seated.”
He was directed to a nearby chair, in which he sat without hesitation.
“It has come to my attention, Mr. Rafferty,” the provost said, “that you have something of a reputation amongst your fellow students, as well as the professors and dons.”
“Do I?” He looked to the as-yet-unnamed man for some explanation, but none was forthcoming.
“You, it seems,” Rev. MacDonnell continued, “have quite a mind for mysteries.”
“I do enjoy solving what seems unsolvable.” He had, in fact, founded a student society at Trinity—the Conundrums Club—dedicated to riddles and the discussion of detective literature. They had even, on occasion, worked to sort out mysteries off the page.
“We have just such an ‘unsolvable’ enigma we wish to put to you.” Rev. MacDonnell motioned to the other man present. “This is Dr. Poole from the school of medicine. He has recently joined the faculty at Trinity.”
Quick pleasantries were exchanged before Rev. MacDonnell retook the conversation.
“Whispers have begun circulating that medical schools across the kingdom will soon be coming under increased scrutiny from the government,” he said. “Understandably, the board wishes our medical program to be viewed quite favorably by those who might wish to make the running of it more difficult.”
Liam wasn’t certain what any of this had to do with his ability to solve a mystery.
Rev. MacDonnell motioned for Dr. Poole to continue the explanation.
“To make certain all is as it should be,” the gray-haired doctor said, “I have reviewed our medical school curriculum, as well as those students who will soon be completing their course of study. While nearly all is at it should be, there is one student about whom I find myself uneasy.”
“In what way?” Liam asked.
“That is what makes this mystery so perplexing. I cannot put into words quite why this particular student raises my suspicions. Or even what those suspicions are. But there is something about him which strikes a person as not quite as it should be.”
“And what is it you wish for me to do?” he asked them both.
“It is imperative that we be found to be above criticism,” Rev. MacDonnell said, “not because we wish to deceive, of course, but because we have worked so tirelessly to create a remarkable school of medicine. We want its noteworthiness to be recognized, even in the coming months of heightened scrutiny. To graduate a student who later proves to not have warranted graduation would be a mark on our record.”
“And this student is my only point of concern,” Dr. Poole said. “Something about him strikes me as . . . odd. Inconsistent. It may prove to be nothing at all, but I need to be certain.”
“And you wish me to investigate this medical student?” Liam asked.
“We wish you to meet him,” Rev. MacDonnell said. “Chat with him a spell. See if you find yourself with the same impression as Dr. Poole. If not, then we can breathe more easily, knowing it is likely nothing more than a bit of awkwardness on Mr. Fitzsimmons’s part. If, however, you are also struck with a sense of something being not what it seems, we would appreciate your keen eye on the matter.”
Liam was still a little uncertain what he was meant to be looking for. “Can you give me any idea what, precisely, I am meant to be evaluating in him?”
Dr. Poole shook his head. “He is an odd duck.”
“Being odd is no reason for a person to be prevented from graduating from a course that person completed.” Liam didn’t mean to hound some poor man simply because he was awkward in company.
“There is something more to it than mere oddity.” Dr. Poole seemed legitimately flummoxed. “If you spend some time with him and feel he really is nothing more than strange, so much the better. But if you, too, find that there is something a little suspicious about him, I am hopeful you can sort out the mystery of what that unusualness is.”
Liam did enjoy a perplexing riddle, but he had never before been asked to spy on a person. “I may not be the right man for this assignment.”
Both men looked surprised.
Rev. MacDonnell spoke on their behalf. “It was our understanding that you are the founding member of the Conundrums Club on campus. Were we misinformed?”
“No, sir. You were not.”
“You seem very intelligent and thorough,” the provost added. “And, as one pursuing engineering, you are, I would hope, quite logical and observant.”
“I would like to think I will be a fine engineer,” Liam said. Indeed, he would benefit greatly if Rev. MacDonnell thought so as well. A prestigious internship seemed within his grasp, if only he could make a good impression here.
“Would you help us with this?” Dr. Poole asked. “The future of our medical school may depend upon it.”
The oddity of this Mr. Fitzsimmons must have been enormous if it threatened to destroy a school. Either that, or the changes Rev. MacDonnell and Dr. Poole anticipated being made in the governance of medical educations were significant.
“I suppose I can at least meet the man,” Liam said.
“Excellent.” Rev. MacDonnell rose and extended his hand.
Liam did the same. He received a firm handshake from both men, along with what sounded like sincere words of gratitude. It was an unexpected way to obtain a recommendation into a professional society, but solving mysteries was a talent of his. He only hoped it served him well this time around.
* * *
The village of Kinnelow in County Wicklow was not what it had once been. The Hunger had claimed members of every family. Short years later, the young men of the village, desperate to alleviate their want and poverty, left en masse to join the cause of the Crimean War.
The remaining population was quite old and quite young, with few in between. It was also mostly female. Over the last fifteen years, Kinnelow had lost its vicar, blacksmith, and physician. They had managed to fill two of the three vacancies.
Kinnelow needed a man of medicine, but the village had very few men.
A village meeting had been called early in the year of 1854, at which a desperate plan was devised. One of the orphans in the village—a young woman of nineteen with a sharp intellect, a sense of daring, and a somewhat flat build—would be sent to Dublin to study medicine. But as Trinity College, like most institutions of higher learning—certainly any that taught medicine with any degree of reliability—did not accept female students, she would attend in disguise.
For four years, Winnifred Fitzsimmons had, whilst on the campus of Trinity College Dublin, pretended to be her own brother. She wore a flattening corset, one which had little to accomplish, and men’s clothing just loose enough to hide any curves not pressed into submission. She had chosen to live in a flat just distant enough from campus to give her some degree of anonymity, and she had kept a significant distance from all of her fellow students. Her disguise was a well-devised one, but she dared not test it too severely.
She had managed the ruse for nearly the entirety of her studies. She was within mere weeks of finishing her education and returning to Kinnelow with the knowledge to serve and save her village.
Winnifred sat beneath a tree in Library Square, bent over a book, studying in preparation for the last examinations she would endure before completing her degree. Her loose-fitting jacket bunched up around her, hunched over as she was. She knew she always looked a sight, her clothes wrinkled and ill-fitting. But they hid her figure perfectly. And the oddity of her clothing made the oddity of her smooth jaw and soft features less obvious. She was labeled a misfit, which served her purposes quite well.
The other students whispered about her; she’d overheard them often enough to know that for a fact. She was disliked and ridiculed and left out of every social gathering and event. ’Twas necessary. But she was desperately lonely.
She was also almost finished.
“Do you mind sharing the shade?”
She looked up at the unfamiliar voice and directly into a pair of beautiful mahogany eyes and a pleasant face framed by night-black hair. The past four years had taught her to expertly hide her reaction to crossing paths with men she found handsome, but it did not stop the butterflies that always took wing in her stomach when such a man talked to her.
“I don’t mind,” she mumbled, using the lowered and raspy voice she’d chosen four years ago for “Fred.” That her natural voice was a bit lower than most women’s had proven an advantage.
The man sat on the ground, near enough to still see her but far enough apart that she didn’t feel endangered at all.
“You don’t happen to be studying engineering, do you?” the man asked.
She shook her head. “Medicine.”
“Shame. There’re a few bits of my studies I’m struggling to sort out.”
“Don’t know a thing,” Winnifred muttered, keeping her head down, her voice quiet, and her posture slumped. He would label her an “odd duck” like everyone else had and move along.
“You must be a first-year student.” The dark-haired stranger didn’t, it seemed, mean to leave her be.
“Final year.” Short answers offered fewer opportunities for giving herself away.
“You seem too young.”
How much prying did the man mean to do? “I’m older than I look.”
“Apparently.”
She flipped a page, keeping her eyes firmly on the book, hoping he would get the message she was attempting to send.
“You sound a bit country.”
Good heavens. “I am.”
“Whereabouts?”
“In the corner of Ireland where we keep to ourselves,” she mumbled.
“Has my friendliness offended you?” he asked.
“I’ve exams soon. I’m needin’ to study.”
Someone else spoke next. “Fred wouldn’t talk to you even if exams were months off.”
She didn’t have to look up to identify that speaker. Gerard Hopkins was another student in the medical school. He would be completing his studies this term as well. He, like all the others who knew “Fred,” treated her like a calf with two faces. He, however, didn’t bother whispering as most others did.
“Don’t waste your breath,” Gerard said to the talkative stranger. “He thinks the lot of us are beneath him. Best leave him on his pedestal.”
A chorus of laughter followed. She was seldom mocked without an audience.
“I don’t know why they have to be so cruel,” she muttered to herself.
“Perhaps,” the stranger said, his tone a touch dry, “they’re not from the corner of Ireland where they keep to themselves.”
Winnifred supposed she deserved that, but it hurt just the same. How seldom she allowed herself to speak out loud the fact that the cruelty of her fellow students injured her. That she had done so now and had been repaid with her own words tossed coldly back at her proved painful. It hurt enough that she couldn’t keep her eyes on her book any longer. She looked up and over at him. He was laughing at her; there was no mistaking that.
Only a few more weeks, and she could leave behind the ridicule. She could go back home and stop being Fred, the target of every joke. She would be permitted to live as herself. At last.
She stood, making certain she kept her movements the awkward bumbling sort she always used when in this persona.
“Have a nice day,” she said quietly, and left with all possible haste.