Chapter Ten
Winnifred waited on campus, ready to sit for her final examination.
She was, of course, dressed as Fred. She hoped it was the final time she would need to be.
Thus far, appearing on campus this way hadn’t resulted in the catastrophe she’d feared.
She hoped the fact that no one had said anything or come to accuse her was a good indication that four years of effort, hiding, and worry were going to pay off.
And yet, she’d not seen Liam since their discussion walking to the flat.
He knew everything, and she hadn’t the first idea what that meant.
She wanted to believe that, whether or not he approved of her deception, he wouldn’t place her in danger.
But, even if he decided that telling her secret was the right thing to do, she couldn’t deny that her own choices had placed her here.
Kinnelow needed a doctor, and they had placed on her shoulders the responsibility for becoming their “man” of medicine.
She likely could’ve left Trinity without taking her exams, knowing the village simply wanted her to have the knowledge to help, not necessarily all of the official credentials.
After all, once she returned home, she would be living as herself, not as Fred.
There would be no diploma bearing her actual name.
She wouldn’t be able to rightly acknowledge her accomplishments.
It was the knowledge that was important, not the degree.
But she’d never been one to quit a race early. She meant to see her risky education to its conclusion. So there she was, donning her “brother’s” clothes, and praying she could manage this ruse one last time.
The other medical students were milling about, all waiting on this moment of truth. They had studied and learned and were now waiting for the chance to show themselves worthy of the title of doctor. She, alone, would never get to use it.
The other students wished each other well, laughed over their shared experiences.
Winnifred could see they were all a little nervous, but they were comforted by their camaraderie and togetherness.
She wished that could’ve been part of her time here.
Perhaps someday women would be permitted to attend university as themselves and have a full experience like this.
But for now, she would simply be grateful to have managed to learn all she had.
Into the throng of students came a familiar, silver-haired man.
Many of those waiting to sit their exams greeted him as he passed.
Echoes of “Good morning, Dr. Poole” bounced off the walls and landed as dart after dart in her chest. According to Liam, Dr. Poole was one of the people investigating her.
And there he was, approaching her on the final day of her disguise.
She tried to tell herself it was a mere coincidence, that he was not, in fact, seeking her out. But he passed by all of the others and stopped directly in front of her.
“Mr. Fitzsimmons,” he said. “May I have a word?”
She didn’t know if he was calling her “Mr.” on account of the other students nearby or because he had not, in fact, learned her secret. She dipped her head in acknowledgment and stepped to the corner of the room with him.
“Some information has come to my attention,” Dr. Poole said, “and I need to speak with you about it.”
Merciful heavens.
“I have learned through another student a little bit more about your situation,” he continued.
Winnifred did her best to breathe calmly.
“I had harbored some concerns about you,” Dr. Poole said. “I could not, however, ascertain what it was that made you stand out in my evaluation. I will admit to some doubts about your honesty and your worthiness to be here.”
That did not bode well.
“And for that, I must apologize.” Dr. Poole could’ve knocked her over with a feather in that moment.
He meant to apologize? To her?
“I did not realize your state of mourning,” he said.
Mourning? What did he mean by that?
“Concern over the welfare of a parent could render anyone unusually quiet and withdrawn. But grieving the loss of both—that would most certainly weigh a person down.”
She wasn’t certain where this was coming from. But it was true. She had lost both her parents. And while ten years had passed since they’d left this mortal clime, she did still mourn them. Her grief was, perhaps, not as sharp as it had been, but it certainly had not gone away.
“Being orphaned is a terrible thing,” she said in her “Fred” voice.
“It is, indeed. And my actions, I fear, have not made it easier. I do not doubt you have learned from your home village of the inquiries I sent there. I am embarrassed to say that many were sent addressed to your parents, I not being aware of their passing.”
She nodded, choosing to avoid the extra risk of speaking.
“Perhaps,” Dr. Poole said, “when the sting of their loss has grown less sharp, you will be able to look back on your time here as a positive experience, no matter that it was wrapped so closely in your grief.”
That answered one of the questions she had. Dr. Poole did, indeed, think her parents’ passing was very recent. He had been led to equate Fred’s oddity of behavior as the natural result of deep mourning. It was as good an excuse as she was likely to ever be given.
“I hope so as well.”
He offered a dip of his head. She returned it. In her mind, she silently pled with him to move along, to leave their interaction to this, and allow her to undertake her exams with a lighter heart and fewer worries.
Amongst the crowd, however, came her tormentor. Gerard Hopkins always seemed to arrive at the worst possible time. He was always there, either in her lowest moments or what had the potential to be her highest. This time was no exception.
“It’s a pleasure to see you here among us, Dr. Poole,” Gerard said. “Are you offering Fitzsimmons here a spot of good fortune?” He made the observation with enough jest to render it somehow insulting to Winnifred.
“I am, in fact,” the doctor said. “Mr. Fitzsimmons has worked very hard. I hope that his effort is reflected in his results today.”
“We all hope that, I am certain.” Gerard seemed to suspect he was on thin ice. His tone became far more conciliatory.
“For yourself, or for one another?” Dr. Poole asked.
Gerard’s eyes darted about a bit, apparently searching for the right answer. “Both?”
Dr. Poole nodded, but the gesture was more than a bit vague. Whether he approved of Gerard’s answer, Winnifred couldn’t say.
To her, Dr. Poole said, “I wish you luck today, Mr. Fitzsimmons.”
“Thank you.”
And he walked away. That was to be all. No revelation of her true identity. No stripping her of her status as a student. No police. No prison.
She walked into the exam in something of a daze.
She’d lived in such fear of being unmasked, and now that threat seemed to have been eliminated by a “fellow student.” Only Liam knew of her orphaned state and her need for an excuse regarding Fred’s difficult behavior.
She hadn’t a doubt he had given Dr. Poole and Rev.
MacDonnell the excuse that was now saving her.
Liam.
Who hadn’t come to visit.
Who hadn’t told her of his intentions.
Liam.
Who still held a surprising degree of her heart.