Page 21 of Grace in Glasgow (Seduced in Scotland #3)

T he operating theater of Andersen University was on the top floor of the building, in a room known as the sun garret.

Several large windows had been installed in the ceiling to allow the natural light of the day to shine down on the surgical table that was surrounded by ten circular rows of terraced bench seating and wooden railing.

The room was surprisingly cool, considering how warm the rest of the school was, having climbed the six stories to reach the surgical theater, and while the entire autopsy had been going on for nearly an hour, Grace felt as though she were the cadaver.

As the only woman in an audience of about twenty other young men, she had been sat on the far side of the room, on the top of the tenth row, where the curtain that had been drawn to highlight the operation for the other students partially blocked her view.

It was disadvantageous to say the least, but it was the only place the lead physician, a Dr. Cameron, allowed Grace to sit, as he was outraged that she was in attendance.

James had argued on her behalf, but only just as she had instantly climbed the stairs to take the seat Dr. Cameron had offered.

She wasn’t interested in arguing, particularly when she could be removed from the theater completely and so took what was offered without hesitating, ignoring the discontentment displayed on James’s face as he gazed up at her from the side of the operating table.

He and Dr. Cameron were dressed in white robes by an assistant.

And his wasn’t the only displeased glare she had to suffer.

When the other medical students arrived, they had all glared at her.

They pointed in her direction and whispered to one another, appearing agitated, if not downright hostile at her presence, but then the autopsy had begun and their ire turned to curiosity.

Still, every minute or so, one would sneer at her, as if it was unbelievable that she was there and in truth, it was.

But she couldn’t keep allowing her focus to be drawn away from the task at hand, so she straightened her shoulders and leaned to her left, hoping to get a better view.

“And here we finally have the heart,” Dr. Cameron said.

His aged, narrow face appeared almost bored.

“As you can see, there is a slight discoloration, indicating that it was damaged in its final moments. The organ itself is enlarged, which according to our medical records of Mr. Ferguson, indicates what, Mr. Jones?”

A short, round man with long sideburns stood up.

“Heart disease, doctor.”

“Correct, and what other evidence might we discover that would lead to a diagnosis of heart disease? Mr. Collins?”

“A build-up of plaques in the arteries.”

“Correct,” Dr. Cameron said, pleasing the red-headed Mr. Collins. “However, if we examine the lungs, there is some fluid in the air sacs. What is this an indication of, Mr. Roberts?”

A dark-haired man sitting next to Mr. Collins frowned.

“Pulmonary embolism?”

“Incorrect, Mr. Roberts. Anyone have an idea?”

Grace went to raise her hand, but remembering that she wasn’t readily in view of the attending doctors, as well as the glares she received from across the room, she lowered her hand.

“Miss Sharpe?” James’s voice spoke, loud and clear.

Grace’s cheeks warmed as she stared down at the center of the theater. James was watching her, the smallest of nods sent in her direction as if to buoy her confidence, while twenty young men above him stared daggers at her.

“Dr. Hall, there is no need to involve the lady,” Dr. Cameron said.

“It’s evidence of pneumonia,” she answered loudly. “If Mr. Ferguson was ill with pneumonia at the time of his death, which is indicated by the state of his lungs, then it is likely what brought on the heart attack.”

“How so?” James asked.

“The body’s inflammatory response to pneumonia likely caused the plaque to break away from the artery, causing clots to form.”

“But he died of a heart attack,” Mr. Collins. “Not pneumonia.”

“If the embolus is overlapping the bifurcation of the pulmonary trunk, then that’s indicative of a blood clot,” Grace said. “The cause of death may be a heart attack, but it was due to the complications suffered from pneumonia.”

“Are you saying that if Mr. Ferguson didn’t have pneumonia, he’d still be alive?” One of the other men scoffed. “He had a history of heart issues. Long documented.”

“I’m not contesting that,” Grace said calmly. “All I’m saying is that there isn’t a single answer to Mr. Ferguson’s demise, or at least, there is a secondary cause.”

Several students glanced at one another and then down at Dr. Cameron, who, for all intents and purposes, appeared equal parts annoyed and satisfied.

James was standing at the head of the table, his face covered with a cloth, so it wasn’t possible to see his face, but Grace noted the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He was pleased.

Dr. Cameron rolled his eyes and sighed out loud, making sure his frustration was noted by the entire class. Including Grace.

“Which is precisely what we set out to learn at the beginning of this lesson,” Dr. Cameron said, as he turned to the assistant, who began removing his leather gloves and robe. “Do not let the most obvious answer be the only answer, gentlemen, or you will find yourself outsmarted by a woman.”

Though the class seemed irritated at this, the distinct sound of a single laugh came from James’s direction, causing Grace’s cheeks to burn.

Thankfully, it seemed that the class was over as the students began to stand up and shuffle out of the room.

Grace stood and with a jerk of his head, James directed her to follow the others, which she did, only to be met by Mr. Collins and Mr. Roberts.

She gave them a small smile, hoping to go around them, but Mr. Roberts was quick to put himself in front of her, causing her to stop abruptly.

“Miss Sharpe, was it?” he asked, extending a hand. “I’m Mr. John Roberts. This is Mr. William Collins.”

Unable to avoid it, Grace took his hand, surprised by the rough shake that he gave her.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Roberts. Mr. Collins. I’m Miss Grace Sharpe,” she said, pulling her hand back with a good amount of force before being released. “Are you students of Dr. Cameron?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Two years now,” Mr. Collins said. “We’re just about to start our apprenticeships, but er, you’ve already begun yours, it would seem?”

“Yes,” she said. “I wasn’t permitted to any universities unfortunately and have been apprenticing for the past year and a half.”

“Not with Dr. Hall. I’ve not seen you here before and he’s a bit of a reputation for keeping his apprentices close.”

“No, I’ve only just started with Dr. Hall. My mentor, Dr. Barkley, has been overseeing my studies.”

“Dr. Barkley?” Mr. Collins said, his brow pinched. “The country doctor from Glencoe?”

“Yes, the very same.”

“Er, not to discount what I’m sure are shining credentials, but Andersen University is on the cutting edge of modern medicine. This isn’t a school for common country folk.”

Grace tilted her head.

“Are country folk not susceptible to all the maladies of people who live in the city?”

“What Mr. Collins means is, we’re not herbalists here. This is a school for surgery, for the progress of medical sciences. There’s no bloodletting or potions done in this facility and I’m not sure a lady, particularly one who’s studied beneath someone like Dr. Barkley, quite fits in here.”

“Yes, it would probably be best for you to try nursing or something less complicated,” Mr. Collins said, a smug appearance in his eyes.

To diminish the profession of nursing was inexcusable to Grace, particularly when it was nurses who did the majority of patient care.

But Grace was used to being underestimated and rarely cared about the opinions of others when it came to herself.

Still, to her surprise, her heart began to beat irregularly and the back of her neck prickled with hostility.

“Say what you will about me, sirs, but Dr. Barkley is a brilliant man, one of whom either one of you would be lucky to study under, although I can say with certainty that he would have neither of you.”

Mr. Roberts glowered.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because medicine, according to Dr. Barkley, requires patience, perseverance, and possibility. It is why they call what we do a practice and not a perfect.”

“What we do?” Mr. Roberts scoffed. “Be aware, my lady, that we do not do the same things. Mr. Collins and I are to be surgeons and you will likely be some sort of children’s nurse. As you should, considering the delicate nature of the fairer sex.”

Her pride somewhat hurt, she should have allowed them to turn away with the last word, but Grace was behaving quite out of character in that moment.

“Dr. Hall is no country physician and rather respected, is he not?” she called out, causing the two to pause at the top of the stairs. “I wonder what your thoughts are about him, having taken me on as an apprentice.”

Mr. Collins and Mr. Roberts stared at one another for a moment before a satisfying smirk spread across Mr. Roberts’s face. He glanced back at Grace.

“I’m sure whatever reasons Dr. Hall has for taking you on as an apprentice have everything to do with your family’s position.”

She laughed.

“Really? You think I’ve somehow bought my way into an apprenticeship?”

“Yes. Your aunt is Lady Belle Smyth, is she not?”

Grace frowned.

“Yes, she is.”

Mr. Roberts pointed up at the doorway behind Grace, causing her to turn around. There, above the doorway was a brass plaque that read:

In honor of her esteemed donation to the betterment and progress of medical studies, Lady Belle Smyth,1850.