Chapter 31 #2
“That’s all well and good, Mrs. Gibson. But are trained physicians to share their knowledge and fees with meddling women simply because they want it?
” Dr. Adams stood near the back on her right side, blocking the light of a flaming gas lamp.
An expectant hush fell as his shadow loomed across the wall, towering all the way to the skylights.
“I’ve invested time, money, and years of my working life perfecting my use of short forceps.
It has come at great personal sacrifice. ”
The gentlemen beside him nodded, and someone shouted, “Hear, hear!”
“You would not expect a virtuoso musician or a celebrated portrait painter to simply teach his technique to all and sundry,” he finished.
Nora’s swallowed against the heat climbing her chest. “I would say we must share our knowledge, not because midwives want it for nothing—and I don’t advocate it should come free of charge—but because the mothers of England need it.”
Someone clapped, but the sound was too far off for Nora to see who.
Adams stroked his beard, pretending to be thoughtful. “I see. It is now my duty to find every woman in the boroughs and villages who helps fetch water for a birth and force them all to go to medical school.” He won several laughs.
Nora bit her teeth together, grinding through her dislike of this man.
“You bring up another compelling point,” she said, wishing he’d retake his seat.
This was not his lecture. “As you all know, cholera has appeared in several neighborhoods the last two months, with devastating results. We’ve suffered thousands of deaths.
The mortality rate is currently fifty percent.
We lose half of everyone who contracts the disease. ”
“I didn’t bring up that subject at all,” Adams argued.
The crowd shifted, disturbed by the sudden shift in topic.
“In an oblique way. You scoffed at the idea of women being trained in medicine. Which made me think—St. Bart’s recently lost two medical students to cholera.
District doctors are seeing far more patients than they can manage.
Death is only kept at bay by meticulous, continuous tending—something overworked physicians have no time to provide. ”
Adams squinted in suspicion, unsure where this new tack was steering them.
“At my hospital on Great Queen Street, I’ve trained midwives to help nurse cholera patients, to great effect.”
A murmur ran through the crowd. “If we had more charitable funds, I could train and employ more.” She smiled at Adams. “So could you.”
Adams squared his shoulders. “How would we license these women? How do we keep them from making the same disastrous mistakes as the Jepson woman?”
“Doctors also make mistakes.”
Her eyes latched on Daniel, rising to his feet. Even carrying over the crowd, his voice was so even Nora doubted anyone else caught the warning tenor. Beside him, Aunt Wilcox blanched. “Should we review those cases as well? Last week, for example?”
Nora’s eyes grew wide. It was the closest thing to a threat she’d ever heard pass Daniel’s lips.
Adams smoothed his waistcoat. “It is true that at Bart’s we had a woman nearly injured by a medical student. But it was quickly corrected by trained doctors. We are a teaching hospital. That type of correction would have been impossible in a private home.”
Horace stood, his gaze bouncing between him and the warring doctors. “Nearly injured? No midwife I’ve ever known would pull a woman’s womb from her body.” The audience gasped. “That’s what was done by your student doctor.”
“There were mitigating circumstances—” Adams started.
“There often are, for doctors. But you demand higher standards of accountability from these women,” Daniel interrupted, waving at the midwives. “I’ve worked beside Mrs. Franklin many times. By the time she’s done learning to use forceps, she’ll be as capable as we are.”
Adams’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say, Dr. Gibson?”
Daniel’s eyes darted to Nora, widening in mute apology. She’d not meant to disclose that—not yet.
Adams rounded on Daniel. “Forceps can be injurious—even deadly—if misused. And you’re teaching this woman—”
“Not him,” Ruth interrupted, nodding at Nora. “Her. Dr. Gibson.”
The electrified crowd hummed with murmurs.
Nora drew up her shoulders. She must regain order. “My training is slow and meticulous. I’ve done nothing to rush any midwife into a situation she cannot manage.”
“Forceps could be argued to be a surgical procedure,” Adams said, the disgust on his face vibrant and horrible. “You’re hardly licensed yourself, but you admit to teaching women off the street?”
“Off the street?” Mrs. Howell jumped to her feet.
“Stop,” Daniel put in. “We’re growing emotional. My wife only meant to say that more training is best for all of us. Can we all agree on that?”
Three seats down from Daniel, Harry dropped his head onto his arms. This lecture was going exactly as he’d predicted. Nora wished she could reverse the action of the clocks and refuse the invitation, or push them forward and escape. But there would be no relief, not for another half hour at least.
Adams smoothed his waistcoat, a motion belying his anger-blotched cheeks.
“It seems we cannot agree at all, Dr. Gibson.” This time, he was speaking to Daniel, facing him over the heads of the crowd.
“You signed my petition to stop midwives from practicing. Why would you do that if you agree with your wife and believe they should be professionally trained?”
Daniel flinched. “I wished to keep unqualified practitioners from deceiving the public. I still do. But I’ve reconsidered the best way it can be done. Especially in times like these, we need as many competent—”
“Your wife received only one and a half years’ instruction in a foreign country. Do you find that sufficiently qualified?” Adams didn’t look at Nora as he referred to her—only threw a lazy hand in her direction.
Nora wasn’t going to allow this. “I’m right here, Dr. Adams. I may have been in Bologna for a shorter time, but I’d been studying for years before I went.
I passed all the required examinations, and in my first attempt.
Not all your students can claim that. I’m not sure you can, either.
” She smiled at him, and Horace laughed again.
“Got you there, Adams. You faced your examiners twice, if I remember,” Horace said. Some members of the audience tittered nervously.
Adams glared, ready to hurl lightning.
The eyes of those in the audience darted from player to player, the performance much more fascinating than anticipated.
“I propose we train as many women as quickly as possible. The cholera, as devastating as it has been this year, is only just beginning. The spread is increasing.” Horace spoke slowly, collecting attention and fear with each word.
“We’ve lost well over ten thousand in London already since August. That is two short months.
Liverpool reports five thousand, and Glasgow four thousand.
“I know it is thought to be a disease of the poor, but at this rate, it won’t be long before it overruns the poor boroughs and spills into every part of the city.”
“But cholera has never spread to better neighborhoods,” one woman said, her eyes wide with fright.
“I assure you, it has no boundaries,” Horace continued. “A justice in Paddington died this week. There are people here who attended events with him only days before he expired.”
“It’s here,” someone whispered, the words carrying unnaturally in the silence.
Two ladies stood, edging their way to the nearest exit. All around, faces jerked left and right, accusing their neighbors with every glance.
“No need to alarm yourself,” Nora began, then bit her lip as more people began creeping toward the door. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re scheduled for another ten minutes. Then we’ll be opening the discussion for questions—”
Well, that horse was out of the barn. No one paid her any heed.
The club president stood and raised his arms. “If you can please remain in your seats…”
If anything, that seemed to send more people on their way, shoving toward the exits. Even the balance of people still in their seats eyed the doors.
Someone could get hurt if this didn’t stop.
“Please remain calm,” Nora said. When no one even glanced her way, she shouted, “You don’t need to stay. But you must exit in an orderly fashion!”
“Let me through!” a man bellowed, just as someone on the opposite side of the room slipped in the mayhem.
Nora’s legs quaked beneath her. She’d never seen a crowd lose their heads this quickly, though she’d read of mass panics in the newspapers.
“Good Lord,” she whispered as someone let out a terrified shriek.
Horace and the midwives were safe in the nearly deserted front row, joined by Harry and Julia. Harry stationed himself between them and the fleeing crowd, fists clenched to deter all comers.
Nora’s hand flew to her stomach, resting there uncertainly as she searched the crowd. The top row was mostly cleared, but she couldn’t find Daniel.