"Yes." I spoke with more conviction than I felt. Hearing myself say it, it sounded absurd.
My aunt sighed and patted the sofa. "Come here, my dear."
I went and sat beside her. She regarded me seriously. "I know that some women are taking up nursing as a profession—"
I interrupted. "Yes! Papa has told me all about Florence Nightingale and her work in the Crimea. And I've read about her school for nurses at Saint Thomas's hospital. But—"
My aunt held up her hand. "It's admirable, of course. But those women have few other options, poor things. Whereas you—"
"That's it, exactly. I can choose. And this is what I want."
The more I'd read Papa's books and talked to him about medical matters, the more convinced I was that I wanted to follow in his footsteps. Since I'd found out there was a medical school for women in London, I'd been very excited, but so far I'd kept it to myself. I was sure Papa would like the idea, but I was equally sure Mamma wouldn't, and I didn't know if Papa would let me do something that would upset her.
My aunt was shaking her head. "I'm sure you could do anything you put your mind to. You're such a clever girl ... It's just—you don't need to work at all. It doesn't seem right that you should be thinking of it. You will gain such satisfaction from using your gifts to educate your children and support your husband in his career."
I was shocked. I'd always thought Aunt Phyllis was, like Papa, very open-minded, not stuffy at all. And here she was sounding just like Mamma!
In an effort to convince her, I said, "I've been out with Papa on his rounds and watched him. I've helped him sometimes."
"You haven't!" My aunt's eyebrows shot up.
"Yes. So, you see, I do know—it's what I want to do more than anything else."
Aunt Phyllis rose and went over to the window. She stared out into the garden. "Oh, Edward," she said, half to herself, shaking her head regretfully. Turning back to me she said, "You've discussed this with your parents, of course?"
"Um—no," I admitted.
My aunt looked at me gravely. "But you will?"
I sighed. "Yes, I'll talk to them about it when I go home."
***
The candles in their silver holders threw a flickering pattern of light and shadow over us. In a dreamy rhythm, I moved the ivory-backed brush up and down the bright fall of red-gold hair spread over Grace's shoulders.
It seemed just like the old days when we were children, but it wasn't.
For one thing, the nursery was now a young lady's bedroom. Bead-encrusted boxes full of silver necklaces and bracelets lay on the dressing table before us. Crystal bottles and jars glittered in the candlelight. Before we could climb into bed, Grace had to remove quantities of cushions from the lace counterpane.
But the most important thing that had changed, in a way I didn't understand, was me.
I had always been happy, if a little shy, to share Grace's bed, but tonight, sinking into the feather mattress and breathing in the smell of lavender from the linen sheets, I was painfully aware of her body lying next to mine. If I moved a fraction of an inch, we would be touching. Touching.
I couldn't relax. There was a tension in the pit of my stomach, my skin prickled as if an electric current were running through it, and my heart was beating fast.
To distract myself, I said, "What are you thinking?"
She turned her head towards me. "Mmm?"
I repeated my question.
Grace looked embarrassed. "You'll think I'm silly, but I was just telling myself, Soon I'll be Mrs. Charles Sedgewick."
"Oh." It was all I could manage.
She smiled. "I'm so glad Charles has met you. I want you two to become friends."
I thought this unlikely.
Charles had stayed for tea and I was shocked when I went into the drawing room and saw him: he seemed so old, a middle-aged man, not at all the gallant admirer I had imagined from Grace's description. When we were introduced, he nodded at me rather stiffly across the teacups. Afterwards he came across and said, "Grace tells me you're quite a reader."
There was something in his tone I didn't care for. Wanting to make sure he realised I didn't just read novels, I told him what I'd been studying lately. Rather than looking impressed, he frowned and said, "Hmm." Then he took his leave of me and went to sit beside Grace, leaving me struggling with painful feelings I couldn't untangle, except for the knowledge that I felt alarmed. Could my cousin really love him?
Impulsively I asked, "Do you think you'll be happy?"
Grace smiled. "Yes, I think I shall." A faint pink flush appeared on her cheek.
Unbidden, the diagrams in a section of one of Papa's medical textbooks referring to "the act of sexual congress" appeared in my mind.
The first time I'd come across them, I'd stared at them, fascinated and yet with a creeping feeling of unease. I couldn't imagine the reality represented by the diagrams. And soon Charles would be occupying my place in bed beside Grace ... my stomach lurched again and I felt slightly sick.