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On the Saturday evening of the soirée, Doctor Beechworth threaded his arm through Grace’s, with his wife on his other side. “Come, ladies, let us face the enemy with all the bravery of the Light Brigade at Balaclava.”
“Hardly an apt metaphor, my dear,” his wife grumbled, “given the disastrous results of that battle.” Ivy Beechworth stiffened her spine, rendering her imposing presence even more formidable.
The Ormsby residence was more of a mansion than a house, spread across a double-width section of Royal Terrace, looking down upon the lesser folk of Dunedin. The city lay within a natural amphitheatre of hills around a harbour. A town belt of trees ran around the upper slopes, forming a cloak of greenery above the most prestigious houses. Washed clean of persistent coal-smoke by recent rain, the glorious view was rendered dramatic by the light of a full moon.
Grace would have happily stayed outside all evening, but Doctor Beechworth tugged her through the gate. They walked up a path lit by lanterns, through a manicured garden, to the wide two-storey villa beyond. Light from the upper storey poured through stained glass, throwing a colourful pattern between the spaces in the fretted timber balustrading of the balcony.
A black-suited butler with snow-white gloves removed the fine woollen cloak Grace had borrowed from Anne for the soirée. Her chaperones led her down the entrance gallery, flanked by portraits of stout men, whose narrow eyes gazing down upon them over snub noses and receding chins. A reception line greeted them, guarding the entrance to a large salon. Beyond, the crystal-cut light from chandeliers sparkled over the impeccable evening attire of the gathered crowd.
Edgar Ormsby was effusive in his welcome to Doctor Beechworth, but sparing in his acknowledgement of Grace. Their host’s gaze moved on to the next arrival of significance. Grace caught a momentary flaring of Ormsby’s nostrils, followed swiftly by a pursing of lips. Mr Horncastle pushed past, not doing Ormsby the courtesy of even the merest nod of greeting.
The woman beside Ormsby, presumably his wife, recovered her composure quickly. She offered their group a sweet smile. “Mrs Beechworth, how delightful to see you again.” Mrs Ormsby leaned forward, as if to kiss her guest’s cheek, but instead she whispered, “Good luck, Ivy. I have had a word with my husband to smooth your way. I believe Edgar might yet be swayed.”
Interesting. So Ormsby’s wife was on their side. Mrs Ormsby was as graceful and delicate as a sprite in a beautiful gown and jewels, but her sun-touched face and the way she tugged at her lace sleeves left Grace with the feeling that she would have been happier in a garden than at a formal soirée. Perhaps the evening would not be too awful after all.
Mrs Ormsby’s eyes lit up with a genuine smile. “And this, I presume, is the famous Miss Grace Penrose, of whom we have heard a great deal. You are most welcome. I very much look forward to claiming you later for an intimate chat.”
Famous? More like infamous, in this house. “I would be honoured, Mrs Ormsby.”
The line was building behind them, so they moved along to a man in his mid-twenties, who was a less rotund version of his father and the men in the portraits. The man bent over her hand with such formality that Grace found herself bobbing in response.
“Mr Richard Ormsby, at your service, Miss Penrose. I too wish to make your acquaintance. Any young lady who can put my younger brother in his place is a woman I am eager to get to know better. And Mrs Beechworth, delightful to see you again.”
The younger brother in question, Henry, stood in stoney silence beside Richard. He too favoured his father’s unfortunate physique over his mother’s delicate good looks. When Grace moved along the line to greet him, Henry stretched his lips in a half-hearted attempt at a smile, succeeding only in appearing surly. “Miss Penrose. Welcome.”
Grace smiled angelically. “Mr Ormsby. What a splendid evening.”
She was not about to give him the satisfaction of intimidating her. Henry Ormsby was one of Grace’s fiercest adversaries, outdoing even his father in opposing a woman’s right to study at the Otago Medical School. Unlike most of the other students, he had not come to accept her over time, after she had shrugged off their insults and proved herself up to the intellectual challenge. If Grace had to play the part of a refined lady for the evening to prove she was worthy, so be it.
The final Ormsby in the receiving line was a pale woman, who was glaring at her father with narrowed eyes and a belligerent pout. Older than her brothers, but cast from the same mould, with a round face and receding chin. Richard reached around his brother to nudge her shoulder. Her gaze shifted back to Grace.
“Miss Cecilia Ormsby,” she murmured. Her lips stretched into a forced smile reminiscent of Henry’s.
“Miss Grace Penrose,” Grace responded. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Ormsby.”
The Ormsby sister fiddled nervously with the small, plain brooch pinned to her gown. “I must say, Miss Penrose, you do not look at all terrifying.” Cecilia clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my goodness, that didn’t come out as I had intended. I hope I haven’t offended you?”
“Not at all, Miss Ormsby.” Grace presumed Cecilia’s nervousness was due to Henry’s tall tales about his unwanted classmate. She struggled to think of a reply that wouldn’t add to her low reputation in this household, settling on the age-old ploy of flattery. “What a lovely brooch.”
Cecilia Ormsby’s pale cheeks flamed. Her attention darted to a handsome young man standing nearby, conversing with Mr Horncastle. “Doctor Alexander gave it to me. He has recently arrived from London and has taken up a position on the hospital staff.”
The young man had agile fingers, which moved expressively as he talked. Grace concluded Doctor Alexander must be the new surgeon in town, fresh from training under the best in the world. She glanced back at Cecilia, who was twisting a blonde curl around a finger and frowning at the attention Grace was paying to her man.
Grace had no desire to spark jealousy. “How charming of Doctor Alexander. He must think exceedingly well of you, Miss Ormsby, to give you such a treasure.” She bobbed her head and passed into the grand salon, carefully circling in a wide arc around the dashing young surgeon.
The reassuring chaperonage of Doctor Beechworth lasted only seconds. He melted into a homogeneous group of fellow doctors, who appeared to be discussing the weighty matter of whether Carbine was the greatest racehorse of all time.
Although the men were all known to Grace, as her lecturers or hospital staff, this was not a circle she cared to force herself into without an explicit invitation. Especially on this occasion, as she had nothing to contribute on the subject of horse racing, beyond the general knowledge – forced unwillingly upon her by the newspapers at the time – that the horse being discussed had won the most prestigious race in the Southern Hemisphere two years ago.
Yet she was loathe to join Mrs Beechworth amongst the cluster of wives sipping sherry by the long stretch of windows looking out onto a wide terrace. This was why Grace disliked social occasions outside her own circle of unconventional friends. She was a dodecahedron-shaped peg in a world of round and square holes.
She glanced around to see if either Mr Edgar Ormsby or Mr Horncastle was free, so that she might press the case for the women’s ward before they imbibed too much. Horncastle was nowhere to be seen. Ormsby was still standing at the door, although it appeared all his guests had arrived. As Grace drifted his way, she noted a scowl on Ormsby’s face and a hunch to his shoulders that was far from welcoming. Still, no battle was won without engaging the enemy. Had David not beaten Goliath against all odds?
Suddenly, Ormsby bent almost double and dashed down the hallway. As Grace was sure he hadn’t noticed her approach, she concluded he was feeling unwell. Unfortunate for him, after going to so much trouble to put on a lavish party. She contemplated going after him, to see if she might assist in any way, but dismissed the thought. He would not welcome her interference, especially when he had access to a roomful of male doctors.
Now what? Grace was left stranded, alone in the middle of a crowded room, looking and feeling like an outcast. She caught herself wishing that Charlie Pyke was by her side. What would he make of this glittering gathering? She stomped on the thought as soon as it crossed her mind. Much as she could have used Charlie’s uncanny ability to fit into any social setting with ease, he was not here. He had left Dunedin, by his own choice. She would not think about him. End of story.
She wondered what Charlie was doing right now, picturing him in front of a roaring fire, sharing amusing stories with his parents. So far away.
Mrs Beechworth appeared at her side. “Grace, dear, you look so beautiful in that divine gown. People will think you are a life-like statue if you stand so still and solitary in the middle of the room. Come and meet the council of war, better known as the fundraising committee for the women’s ward at the hospital.”
Richard Ormsby appeared at her other elbow. “Not so fast, Mrs Beechworth. I claim host’s privilege to steal Miss Penrose away from you. If you consent to my request, I promise to have a word in Father’s ear about the hospital plan.”
“If Grace agrees, I am willing to try any stratagem that delivers us a dedicated ward for women’s diseases.” As Richard took Grace’s arm, Mrs Beechworth added, “A decent children’s ward would be a godsend too. The current one would do a Dickensian workhouse proud.”
Richard bowed. “I shall do my best, Mrs Beechworth, but I doubt my influence would extend so far. Indeed, my father and I are so at odds at present, I suspect I might have a better chance of achieving the desired outcome if I declared myself in favour of his proposed operating theatre.”
Richard steered Grace towards a waiter, who was balancing a tray of champagne. He liberated two glasses from the tray with a flourish. “Sherry is so overrated, don’t you agree Miss Penrose?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, Mr Ormsby, when the alternative is champagne.” Grace accepted the long-stemmed coupe, taking care to hold it firmly in her slippery evening gloves.
“I knew it. A spirited young woman in a shimmering midnight-blue gown ought not to be sipping on anything without bubbles.” Richard raised his glass. “To spirited young women who take on the establishment.”
“And the courageous men who support them.” Grace touched her glass to his with an exuberance she never expected to feel tonight.
Doctor Ormsby had returned. He rested a moment against the doorframe, wiping his flushed face with a handkerchief. Grace almost felt sorry for the man, so unwell did he look. But then he looked their way, not disguising his surprise at seeing her with Richard. Grace turned away, determined to enjoy his son’s more pleasant company while she could. Too late, she recalled that Ormsby was in search of a wife for Richard. At least she might rest easy on that score, for female medical students would surely be low on Ormsby’s list of desirable matches, right below factory girls and mudlarks.
Richard Ormsby tucked Grace’s arm through his and guided her into an unpopulated corner, near enough to the black-jacketed musician playing the piano to cloak their conversation. With a twinge of disquiet, she wondered if Henry had shared his low opinion of her character with his brother. Henry might consider himself a gentleman, but he had no qualms about calling her virtue into question. If Richard had been misinformed, she must nip it in the bud.
“You are most unlike your younger brother, if I may say so,” Grace said, keeping her tone light, as if in jest. “He believes my desire to be a doctor is a sign of unnatural tendencies. I hope he has not left you under the impression that my liberal views on women’s rights mean that I am without morals.”
Richard looked shocked for an instant, before laughing. “And I hope that you will not take me for a man of such arrogant opinions. I am trying to be charming to make up for the appalling behaviour of the other male members of my family. You have every right to despise us, Miss Penrose.”
“By no means,” Grace replied, although she was uncomfortably aware of his father’s eyes on them from across the room. “Your father and brother have been honest and forthright in making their feelings about my place at medical school clear. And yet, I have prevailed. I hold no resentment, no matter their opinion of me.”
“You might be surprised, Miss Penrose. Far from despising you, Henry admires your resolve. However, he also fears your success. Our father sets high standards, which my brother interprets as a need to eclipse all other students at medical school. Even Father, I believe, has come to have a grudging respect for you. His initial argument was based on the ‘fact’ that no women would have the intellectual or emotional competence to handle the rigours of medicine. Father concedes that notion has long since been dispelled, as you carve a path to glory.”
Grace acknowledged the exaggerated compliment with a smile, as it was kindly meant. “I confess, I have never understood the argument. Since the dawn of time, women have tended to the injuries of their children, the ailments of their husbands, and the agonies of childbirth. How could anyone believe that we would have a fit of the vapours at the sight of blood?”
Richard chuckled. “I doubt the average male has considered the matter with that level of rationality, Miss Penrose. We men have so long presumed ourselves to be intellectually superior, we have come to believe it.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “You have a refreshing honesty, Mr Ormsby. Are you a doctor too?”
A mask dropped over Richard’s face. “I am not. My stepmother is a herbalist, as well as a nurse. I became fascinated with her natural remedies and knowledge of medicines. To the horror of my father, I was inspired to pursue a career as a pharmacist.”
“Ah, that’s it. I knew I had seen you before, but I couldn’t think where. You are the dispenser at the hospital, are you not?” Grace noted his use of “stepmother”, which explained the oddity of the Ormsby children’s lack of similarity to Mrs Ormsby.
“I’m amazed you noticed me, Miss Penrose. Most doctors believe us an inferior species, although they are happy to take credit for the miraculous outcomes of our medicines. Father practically disowned me when I informed him of my choice of profession. He dismisses my stepmother’s work as ‘mother’s little hobby’. Rather ironic, I feel, as she is responsible for his success. Not that he would ever admit it.”
Grace found her admiration for Richard Ormsby increasing by the minute. A man who made his own choices and championed his stepmother was a man worth knowing. “You intrigue me. How is Mrs Ormsby responsible for her husband’s success?”
“My stepmother acts as his surgical assistant. It is thanks to her meticulous attention to hygiene that Father claims so high a success rate. His own practices tend to the lax, but she insists he washes his hands with carbolic soap and ensures every instrument and surface is spotless. Mother is a devotee of Florence Nightingale and germ theory.”
No wonder Mrs Ormsby was on their side over the new women’s ward, if she had such high standards. Grace was very much looking forward to making her acquaintance. But first she took the opportunity to enjoy the champagne, which was perfectly chilled and decidedly delicious.
“I must say, this soirée is not at all what I expected, Mr Ormsby. It just goes to show that one ought not to prejudge based on incomplete information. I know my own invitation was a mistake, but I am surprised to see so many of the ladies who fundraised for the women’s ward.”
“The majority of Hospital Trustees want to move ahead with the new hospital building without a fight, so Father agreed to extend an olive branch to the women’s lobby.” Richard Ormsby smiled at her over his glass. “My stepmother has been applying gentle persuasion too. I believe my father might agree to a slightly smaller women’s ward, as long as he gets an extra consulting room for surgeons, along with a promise of an additional operating theatre after the new building is completed.”
Grace raised her glass to his. “My Ormsby, I do declare that is the most sensible suggestion I have heard on the matter. I take it you wish this compromise to be put to the women’s lobby discreetly, without your own name being mentioned? Or that of Mrs Ormsby, I expect.”
“Your reputation for quick wits has not been exaggerated, Miss Penrose. I do hope this will not be the last time we have the pleasure of your company.”
Cecilia Ormsby approached from behind her brother, clinging to the arm of the new surgeon. “Richard, you cannot keep Miss Penrose to yourself all evening. People will start to gossip.”
Red spots flared on Richard’s pudgy cheeks. “I’ll leave the gossip to you, sister dear.”
His sister ignored him. “Miss Penrose, Doctor Alexander insists on making your acquaintance. He has never met an aspiring lady doctor before.”
The man at her side bowed. “Please excuse my intrusion into your conversation, Miss Penrose. I am Gideon Alexander, recently arrived to take up a surgical position in Dunedin.”
Grace allowed him to take the tips of her fingers. “Doctor Alexander, a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to seeing you at work in the operating theatre.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Penrose. I understand you take a particular interest in medical jurisprudence. Your lecturer in that subject, Doctor Ogston, tells me you are his star pupil.”
Two compliments on Grace’s medical prowess in the space of minutes – a record. And not a single mention of her lovely gown. Grace tried not to let it go to her head. “I have been privileged to work for the police surgeon during term breaks, which has given me an advantage in medical jurisprudence. Do you have a specialty, Doctor Alexander?”
Alexander waved his expressive hands dismissively, which made a pleasant change from the smug arrogance Grace had observed in many of his ilk. “As a recently qualified surgeon, I do what is needed. However, I do have a special interest in orthopaedics and bone-setting. There have been some marvellous advances in the use of splints to reduce the need for amputation.”
“You’ll find plenty of patients in New Zealand,” Grace said. “The colonies, I fear, are a dangerous place, abounding with broken limbs.”
“So I’ve observed,” Alexander replied. “I was fortunate to study in London alongside a man with contacts in this country. He kindly recommended me for a probationary position at Dunedin Hospital, subject to their approval naturally.”
Grace didn’t have Charlie’s ear for accents, but Alexander’s rounded vowels suggested a London not too far from the illustrious environs of Buckingham Palace. “I hope Dunedin is to your taste, after travelling half way around the world to a foreign land. I fear we are rather lacking in splendid palaces and cultural attractions.”
“I like it very much so far, Miss Penrose.” Alexander’s smile had that disarming quality of making the receiver feel special. “What Dunedin lacks in ancient buildings and equally ancient traditions, it makes up for in delightful people with a fresh outlook upon the future. I take it as a sign of advancement that a woman was allowed into the Otago Medical School. That must have caused a few of the old traditionalists to choke on their port.”
“I’m delighted to report that none of the old codgers has died of asphyxiation yet. Nor have the hallowed halls collapsed with the shame of it.”
Cecilia was watching the exchange with a blossoming pout. Grace redirected her attention to Cecilia, not wanting her to be left out of the conversation with all this talk of medicine. “May I ask what pursuits you enjoy, Miss Ormsby?”
“I like music.” Cecilia glanced up at Gideon Alexander, fluttering her eyelashes prettily. “We both do.”
“You play the piano beautifully, Cecilia,” Richard said. “I’m sure we would all like to hear you play a piece or two later. We may not have the great opera houses of London, Doctor Alexander, but there are a number of musical societies in Dunedin if you are interested. My sister can tell you all about them.”
“I should like to hear of them, Miss Ormsby. Shall we refresh our glasses?”
When Cecilia Ormsby and Gideon Alexander had drifted away, arm-in-arm, Grace turned back to Richard Ormsby. “That was kind of you to praise your sister.”
“My sister is twenty-seven years old and lacks your accomplishments, Miss Penrose,” Richard replied. “Father has already turned down two suitors for their lack of wealth and position, fearing they are only after Cecilia’s substantial dowry. She would never forgive him if he refuses Alexander as well. They appear to have fallen in love and he has good prospects. What more could Father want? I hope I have not upset you by turning Doctor Alexander away from the more intriguing prospect you might present.”
“Not in the least,” Grace assured him. “I’d sooner dip my toes in prussic acid than the marriage market at present. I am determined not to marry until I have qualified as a doctor. I do wish people didn’t feel the need to meddle in the love life of every unattached young woman, as if she is desperate for rescue from her shameful plight.”
“Hear, hear, Miss Penrose. I applaud you on behalf of all unattached men who find themselves shoved at the nearest lace-fluttering, mindless debutante.” Richard Ormsby took her empty glass and placed it on the lid of the piano, to the horror of the pianist. “Come. Mother has been waving at me these last five minutes. I expect she wishes to be rescued from the tedious company she has been landed with.”
As they crossed the room, Grace could hear Mrs Beechworth attempting to put the women’s case to a group of hospital trustees. Indeed, it would have been hard not to hear, as her voice had risen beyond the polite level of the conversation around the rest of the room. Horncastle, the chairman of the trustees, said not a word, but looked ready to explode.
Edgar Ormsby shushed Mrs Beechworth with his hands. “I must insist you leave these gentlemen in peace, Mrs Beechworth. Such matters should be addressed at a meeting, not at a social event.” He moved closer, a polite smile fixed on his face. “Do come and speak to my wife and her ladies. I’m sure you would have a great deal in common.”
Richard Ormsby leaned over to whisper in Grace’s ear. “My father hates to be harangued. He’s a man better lured with honey than vinegar. Let me distract him, so you can woo the trustees with your charms.”
He stepped to his father’s side. “Apologies for interrupting, Father, but there is an issue regarding the wine.” Richard cut his father out of the herd with the skill of a sheep dog, prattling away about the best choice of claret, while winking at Grace over his shoulder.
Grace moved into the newly-created space in the group of trustees. By great good fortune, she recognised the man beside her as an attorney friend of her Great-aunt Anne’s beau, Mr Drummond. The man had attended a dinner at Anne’s house recently. Grace favoured him with her sweetest smile, which she had practiced in the mirror before attending tonight’s soirée. “Mr McKinley, isn’t it?”
He pushed his eyeglasses up his nose and squinted down at her between rampant sideburns. “Er, Miss Macmillan?”
“Miss Penrose, Mrs Anne Macmillan’s great-niece. As I recall, you were about to become a great-grandfather, sir.”
“Your memory does you proud, Miss Penrose. My great-grandson was born two weeks ago. An enormous relief, after a rather traumatic few weeks for my granddaughter. For a while we thought ... well, no matter now, she survived and the babe is a bonny wee lad.”
Grace felt a surge of inappropriate glee. “You can be rightly proud of your own role in her survival, Mr McKinley. I applaud the decision of the Hospital Trustees to improve sanitation at the hospital and employ trained nursing staff. Even with their dedication, I expect you were shocked by the conditions in the current women’s ward.”
Mr McKinley had the grace to blush. “Oh, well, er, actually we had my granddaughter admitted to a private clinic, on Doctor Beechworth’s recommendation.”
Of course you did, Grace thought. “A wise decision, Mr McKinley, giving the appalling state of the public facilities. It must give you great pleasure to know that the prospects of women like your granddaughter will be far better served with the new building, complete with a specialist ward for women’s issues. We ought to toast the forward thinking of the Hospital Trustees, who are making women’s lives safer, and by extension, securing the best prospects for the next generation of strapping young baby boys. For what man amongst you would wish to be without a bevy of healthy heirs?”
It was a grandiose speech, which wouldn’t have fooled a medical person for an instant, but the trustees lapped it up.
McKinley gaped at her for a moment, before a wave of delight spread across his craggy features. “How very true, Miss Penrose. When you put it like that, I do feel proud to serve as a Hospital Trustee. One really oughtn’t think of a hospital as merely bricks and mortar and endless expenses, after all. Yes, yes, saving people’s lives, that’s what it’s about.”
“Indeed, Mr McKinley.” Grace raised her glass.
Mrs Beechworth, who was standing on her other side, put her hand over Grace’s to halt the toast, giving it the tiniest of squeezes. “Miss Penrose, I am sorry to say that the proposed women’s ward is no longer the preferred option for the hospital extension.”
Grace raised a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh? Is it not? Goodness, you shock me. But surely the women’s fundraising committee have already raised the funds for the new building? What crisis has arisen to forestall this essential work?”
Several of the trustees shuffled their feet. Horncastle was brave enough to fill the silence. “An alternative suggestion has been put forward. A new operating theatre, which will enhance the status of the hospital and provide much-needed income.” Horncastle gave Grace a hard look, no doubt recalling her from somewhere he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Grace returned his gaze with puzzled incomprehension. “Was there not a new operating theatre opened relatively recently, Mr Horncastle? It is not for me to say, of course, but I cannot imagine anything that would enhance the status of our fine hospital more than a ward cherishing the weaker sex. Women do, after all, make up half of the population and the entirety of the population capable to giving birth to the next generation of male leaders.”
Gideon Alexander appeared at her shoulder. “Quite so, Miss Penrose. I have little knowledge of the local situation, but I can tell you that in England there are entire hospitals devoted to women and children, under the patronage of the royal family and other illustrious members of society.”
“Is that so?” McKinley said. “Well, our decision has not yet been made, has it gentlemen? I shouldn’t care to deprive the good women of Dunedin of the best facilities, especially after the ladies have raised so much money for the building. It’ll still have to be discussed at the next meeting, of course.”
“I wish you well, Mr McKinley,” Grace said. “The women of this fair city look forward to hearing your final decision.”
With perfect timing, the butler rang a bell and announced that supper was served. Grace favoured the trustees with a demure smile and slipped away from their group, gliding elegantly, without a hint of the smug grin bubbling inside. By a stroke of luck, Richard Ormsby’s suggested compromise might not be needed after all.