In A Class Of Their Own by Anne Stenhouse

Amabel’s mischief had certainly managed to cause Arthur a spot of bother!

SOPHIA mulled over the implications of the university’s pronouncement about her efforts to be included in tuition with male students.

The recruitment of a few other ladies answered the charge about the expense and difficulties of arranging classes for one woman.

She had hoped it would have breached the barrier to joint tuition, but it was not to be – yet.

By the time she was able to welcome Miss Edith Pechey and Mrs Helen Evans to join her as prospective students, she’d worried over the decision until it had formed a lump of unanswerable questions in her mind.

It was uncomfortable news to offer new recruits.

“The professor is a man blinded by his belief in the immutability of tradition,” she said.

“I regret to have to tell you, ladies, that he has prevailed in the matter of joint classes with the male students.

“We will have to organise our own, and pay for them accordingly.”

“Perhaps,” Miss Pechey said with a wry smile, “he is further blinded by his good opinion of himself?”

Miss Pechey had impressed Sophia with her intentions of working hard and her modest opinion of her own abilities.

“What do you think, Mrs Evans?” she asked the other lady. “You have been married and have more experience than Miss Pechey or I.”

“More experience than you, Miss Jex-blake! What can you mean?” Helen Evans looked astonished.

“More experience of placating the male when he finds himself threatened,” Sophia said.

“Oh, I see. However, I don’t think the character of my dear late husband gives me much of an insight into dealing with difficult men!

“Dare I say it, but I think we’ll find men are like women, and they come in the good, the bad and the indifferent varieties?”

“Indifference is our worst enemy, I think,” Miss Pechey said. “People in our favour are good.

“People opposed to us may be reasoned with, but the indifferent person is impervious to the need we see for change.”

Sophia glanced from the girl’s face to the pile of letters on her work-table.

What would Edith think if she had read some of the correspondence from those fervently opposed to their cause, she wondered.

“I see you looking at your letters,” Helen Evans said quietly. “Is it a mistake to believe that opposition can be reasoned with?”

Sophia took a deep breath. She knew a flush would be spreading across her cheeks.

The other ladies needed to be aware of the degree of opposition and the depths to which some men were prepared to go when they believed themselves under threat.

Sophia had to act before Edith thought her opinion was being looked down on.

“I would not wish to contradict you, Miss Pechey – Edith – but I fear indifference is not our worst enemy. Perhaps . . .” She faltered.

She had made a collection of the worst examples of unreasoned bile among the letters and she picked them up now.

Helen Evans stretched out a hand to take the sheaf of paper from her.

Sophia watched the others’ expressions while they browsed.

Polite interest soon gave way to utter outrage.

“I am mightily relieved that neither of you has swooned,” Sophia said.

“I can hardly credit the evidence of my eyes,” Edith said.

“Nor I,” Helen added faintly. She sat down. “Do these letters follow you around, Miss Jex-blake?”

“No, but some good citizens of Edinburgh have found strength in a collective voice, I fear.

“It is also true that many have written in our favour and, I should add, Mr Alexander Russel of ‘The Scotsman’ has offered his support of our aims.

“I believe he will help us raise some of the funds we will need to pay lecturers.”

“Will we find lecturers?” Helen asked. “If the senior professor is opposed to the teaching of women, then he will attract support.”

“He will, but he is not the only professor,” Sophia said more bracingly than she felt.

Sophia saw Edith stretch and realised they had been confined in her room for around two hours.

“Would it suit you ladies to walk out with me? Miss Megs Begbie, who is spearheading our campaign among the women of the city, has secured lodgings for us in Buccleuch Place.”

“I looked that address up in the post office directory, Sophia,” Edith said.

Sophia heard the diffidence as the girl spoke her given name and made a mental resolution to be more relaxed.

“Buccleuch?” Helen mused, “A distinguished name.”

“It is well situated, and we should be able to walk out to many of our classes.”

Clearly Edith intended to enjoy the walks, even if they were made in Edinburgh’s bracing easterlies.

Sophia suppressed the caustic comment that seemed to afflict her whenever she heard one of Megs’s actions praised.

“Miss Begbie has many influential friends, and the intervention of Professor Masson has helped.”

“I have heard of him,” Helen said. “I know he runs extra mural classes in English which are well attended.”

The ladies fastened their hats and pulled on their gloves.

They gathered their bags and sailed out of the street entrance, into the person of Mr Alexander Russel.

“Mr Russel, were you intending to call on me?” Sophia smiled at the editor.

“You are a welcome sight among all the ne’er-dowells who seem to decorate every street corner.”

As she spoke, a gaggle of urchins broke apart and sloped off.

Russel gazed after them and Sophia did not miss the thoughtful expression their presence brought to his face.

“Do they trouble you, ma’am?” Russel raised his hat and made a small bow.

His glance now, however, was all for the two ladies Sophia had with her and she made haste to introduce them.

Did Russel’s hand grip Mrs Evans’s longer than politeness demanded?

“We are setting off to look in on the house Miss Megs Begbie has taken a lease of in Buccleuch Place, Mr Russel. Would you accompany us?”

“I’m honoured to be invited. I was coming to speak to you about this latest thrust of the medical establishment.”

Russel fell into step beside Sophia and she led the little party forward.

“Thank you,” she said. “It is a disappointment, but not exactly unexpected.”

“Yes, I am sure,” Russel said. “But I do want to make you aware of other views. There are people like Watson, you know.”

“The surgeon? Patrick Heron Watson?” Sophia felt the lightening of her mood. “He has written to me in warmly supportive tones.”

“I fear indifference is not our worst enemy”

“Aye, I am glad to hear that. I think he will become a plank in our fight.”

****

Jane Begbie stopped in the downstairs hall.

Amabel had persuaded her to make a tour of her new laboratory in the back garden’s former pigsty.

Her niece had wasted little time in securing permission to use the empty space once she’d discovered it.

Jane knew her cook had been plagued by requests for small containers.

“I had to fill the coal scuttle myself,” Beattie grumbled as she stopped by Jane on her way down from the drawing-room.

“Miss Amabel had the lad down the stables after she heard there was the chance of a fish tank.”

“I’ve seen it, Beattie. It’s very splendid and doesn’t have any cracks.”

“She’s not a very peaceful child to have in the house.”

Jane stared after Beattie’s retreating back as the maid headed down to the kitchen.

It puzzled her that Beattie had spent so many years working among them but clung to such conservative values.

She would have Amabel confined in a back room with a pile of sewing.

Jane was unsure whether that thought made her want to laugh or scream.

“I don’t think you’ll succeed in changing Beattie’s outlook, Jane,” Megs said at her elbow.

Jane felt the other’s fingers moving in her hair, and when she

looked round she saw Megs was holding a wad of cobwebs she’d pulled out of it.

“I was given a tour of the Begbie-cowie Laboratories,” Jane said, and welcomed the smile on Megs’s face.

It had been a couple of trying weeks for her sister, although a residence had been secured for the medical ladies.

She knew Megs resented that Professor Masson had had to intervene in order to make it a reality.

“Were you, indeed?” Megs said. “I understand Jenny has asked Tina to stay with our young scientist while your meeting is underway this morning. How many do you expect?”

“A good number; perhaps fifteen to twenty.

“It is sad, but domestic education for the poorer classes is seen as a much more attractive cause to support than medical education.” Jane stood to one side to allow Megs to go upstairs.

“I am expecting Mistress Fairweather, although I wouldn’t relish working with her on this project.”

“Or on any project,” Megs interjected. “The woman is poison.”

“Megs!” Jane was startled. “Where is your Christian forbearance?”

“I’m a little out of sorts today, I’m afraid. Perhaps our dear Jenny will have words of wisdom to offer. Is she in the drawing-room?” Jane nodded.

There was nothing she could say to lessen the chagrin she knew her sister must be feeling, and she needed to concentrate on her own project.

Taking a glance through the window that lit the hallway, she was pleased to see Henrietta Kennedy approaching the steps.

She was joined by Catherine Charteris, whose husband had worked to have the Church of Scotland Assembly set up a Committee for Life and Work.

This was what had spurred Jane on to suggest a cookery school.

“Jane,” Catherine said as she came into the hall, “Archibald is delighted with your initiative.”

“Oh, Catherine, I am relieved to hear it.”

“Are you, my dear? Rumours of those meddlesome Begbie sisters have reached your ears, then, have they?” Catherine kept her eyes down as she spoke, pulling off her gloves.

However, Jane saw the mischief in them as her visitor lifted her head.

Henrietta, too, was handing her umbrella to Beattie, who had returned to the hall in a clean apron.

Jane heard her laugh and relaxed. These people were her friends and supporters.

“Catherine,” Henrietta said. “You were always inclined to poke fun.

“If the Begbie sisters did not show us lesser mortals the way, there would be nothing for our daughters to look forward to except more of the same.”

“Domestic drudgery for many and endless ‘artistic projects’ for others,” Catherine conceded.

“Where is Harriet?” Jane asked. “I thought that she was interested in helping with the proposed school.”

“Indeed she is,” Henrietta agreed, “but she asked permission to walk here by a longer route.

“We’ll see her in due course, but don’t wait. I can tell her anything she misses.”

Jane saw the expression on Henrietta’s face and pondered over it.

Did Arthur Grant have a morning off on Thursdays?

Would he be encountered walking to the Edinburgh Academy if a person knew which roads he favoured?

“That’s the bell again, Miss Jane,” Beattie said, bringing Jane back to the present with a start.

Once settled in the upstairs room, the group amounted to 17 persons.

Letty Fairweather had arrived with a small party of four or five ladies whose husbands were all medical men like hers.

They bristled with nervous energy, and took seats together.

Jane cast a glance towards her sisters. Both Megs and Jenny were seated but restless.

Megs was teasing a lock of hair she’d pulled out of her already untidy bun.

Jenny was doodling down the margins of the paper she intended to use to take notes of the meeting.

Remembering how confident Sophia had been when she addressed a group about her proposals to try for the medical school helped Jane.

She smiled and thanked everyone warmly for attending before outlining her proposals.

It was when she threw the floor open for questions that the meeting became a fast-flowing tide of pent-up resentment.

Catherine asked about premises.

“I know you conduct a reading and writing class here in the attic, Jane, but that would hardly suit a project where work-stations and a fire are needed.”

“No, you’re right, our attic wouldn’t do at all.

“We need to find a church hall or perhaps a public school whose premises could be used in the evening.

“It is one of the tasks some of you might like to undertake – finding premises.”

“Just as Miss Megs Begbie has been finding premises for her hoydenish women proposing to elbow their way into the profession of medicine?” Letty asked.

Jane saw the glances exchanged among Letty and her group. She didn’t dare look at Megs.

“I did hear it said that Masson found those premises,” one of Letty’s friends added.

“So perhaps your sister should not have that task allocated to her.”

Jane stiffened. How dare these people intrude so selfishly into what was a serious matter?

If any of them had been to visit in even a fraction of the poorer houses she had, they would concentrate on this more immediate need.

Megs stood and came forward to stand with Jane.

“Premises have been found for the brave ladies who wish to attempt the exacting business of studying for medicine,” Megs said without heat.

“I hope it would never be thought that I do not appreciate the sterling work and assistance of men in the matter. Not all the men of this city are afraid.”

“But they should be, Megs Begbie,” Letty said, and Jane saw that she was barely holding on to her temper.

“Brave ladies! How dare you assail us with such nonsense?

“They are unnatural hoydens wishing to intrude on anatomy classes. Every decent girl should wait until marriage before discovering the secrets of the male body.”

“Yes! And then it should be revealed to her by her husband,” one of the others said in that tone of finality Jane knew Megs must be weary of hearing.

A quiet lady Jane recognised as a spinster who had run her own school in Abercromby Place stood up.

She was tall and the aura of a school teacher still clung to her.

There was a moment or two of calm while she surveyed the room.

“I would never wish to imply that Edinburgh ladies are naïve, but I find my good manners tried by listening to stupidity such as that last remark.”

The collective gasp of horror afflicted the ladies in the room.

However, the teacher carried on.

“In all the years I taught small girls and boys, I was deeply saddened by the attitude of their parents.

“They brought me little boys for whom they had every expectation and their sisters for whom they had none.”

Letty Fairweather, who was the mother of both boys and girls, also rose.

“It’s all very well, Miss Sinclair, but boys need grounding to prepare them for a profession and their position as head of a household.

“If these women forget themselves and go through with their ambitions, they will endanger the jobs available to our sons.”

“Endanger?” Miss Sinclair challenged. “And why might a well-qualified, capable person not earn a position?

“Are you suggesting that no woman should hold a position until every man, however poorly qualified, has been offered it?”

Jane knew that was exactly what Letty was suggesting, but that Letty realised agreeing would make her look ridiculous.

“Really, ma’am, are you expecting the known social order to be overturned by these women overnight?” Letty asked, and was rewarded by murmurs of assent from her friends.

“No, Mistress Fairweather, because I know the strength of the opposition they face from narrow-minded persons like Doctor Fairweather.”

“My husband is strongminded, ma’am, not narrow- minded. He will not leap on to these newfangled fashions,” Letty protested.

Jane began to feel the meeting was out of control. She had no stomach for trading insults and quailed as Megs took a deep breath at her side.

“Ladies, my sister and Mistress Charteris have invited you here to discuss a different issue.

“Letty, if you and your friends have no wish to help with the proposals for a peripatetic cookery school, please do not let us detain you.” Megs spoke with commendable calm and then crossed to the door and opened it.

Jane noticed Beattie moving rapidly backwards on the landing, and hoped the maid wouldn’t trip down the staircase.

There was silence in the room. Miss Sinclair sat down. Letty gathered her belongings and eased out of the corner. Her friends rose, too, and they left.

****

Arthur Grant was dawdling along the road when he caught sight of Harriet Kennedy ahead.

He called and Harriet waved frantically at him before lifting her skirts and jumping over the low wall beside the flag-way to drop out of sight.

Arthur paused in astonishment but realised Harriet must be reacting to something happening down beside the Water of Leith.

He took to his heels and, when he looked down the slope from where Harriet had disappeared, he saw what had made her run.

Down the steep-sided embankment, Aunt Jane’s maid, Tina, was frantically trying to hold on to Amabel Cowie, who’d gone into the fast-flowing water.

Tina was already wet up to her knees, but she didn’t seem to have the strength to pull the child out.

Resisting the temptation to laugh, Arthur hared down the slope and joined Harriet.

“Take my books, would you?” he said and thrust his bundle into Harriet’s hands. “Tina, step back.”

He held out a hand and pulled Tina up the side of the burn on to the pathway.

“Oh, Mr Arthur, I don’t know how she did it. I told her it was slippery.” Tina was on the verge of tears.

Arthur spoke rather brusquely to her.

“Quiet! Nobody will blame you. Everyone knows what a mischief Amabel is.”

“Come back here, Tina,” Harriet added soothingly. “Arthur will reach her in a moment.”

“Thank you, miss. It’s the tank,” Tina said.

Within a very short time, Arthur had scooped the child off the loose rocks she was balanced on and turned back towards the shore.

“Harriet!” Arthur called, “Can you take her weight?”

Harriet passed the books to Tina and moved closer to the edge of the burn.

As Arthur leaned forward, she stretched and caught Amabel, swinging the little girl round and setting her on her feet.

“You’re a bit smelly,” Harriet said to the shivering child, and Arthur laughed.

It was well judged, he thought, not to make too much fuss. Amabel would no doubt have a proper scold from her mama.

However, Arthur was mistaken.

When they arrived to return the wayward girl to her family, Mistress Cowie came down from the closing moments of Aunt Jane’s meeting and took in the dripping cavalcade with exasperated forbearance.

“I expect this is the result of that tank,” she said, and Arthur and Harriet exchanged glances.

“A tank has been mentioned,” Arthur said.

“Mama, I was collecting specimens, you know,” Amabel said.

“It is a wonderful tank and the boy is going to fill it with water for me and I’ve found some splendid rocks and . . .”

“Amabel,” Jenny said quietly.

Arthur watched in some amazement as the little girl stopped babbling and shifted from foot to foot.

“Amabel, I did ask you to stay with Tina while the meeting was underway.

“Now, young lady, do not say to me that you did stay with Tina, because you are well aware I meant in the house with Tina.”

“Yes, Mama. Sorry, Mama.”

Arthur saw the eyebrow Mistress Cowie raised.

“Sorry, Tina,” Amabel said. “Sorry, Miss Harriet. Sorry, Mr Arthur.”

“Good girl. Now go and get out of those wet things. They smell atrociously.” Mistress Cowie turned to Tina.

“You must have got a bad fright, Tina. I’m sorry.

“However, understand that what Amabel says should be questioned.”

Tina dropped a curtsey and turned to Amabel.

“Come along then, miss, let’s get out of these wet things.” The miscreant and her helper left the room.

“Thank you both. I expect you also got a fright.”

“I certainly did, Mistress Cowie, but Arthur was as calm as anything.” Harriet spoke warmly and Arthur felt a blush tinge his skin.

“Nonsense, I was laughing inside, and it was you who was calm.

“Poor Tina, though, she did get a fright. Do tell us, ma’am, what is this tank?”

“Amabel commandeered the old pigsty and has set up her research laboratory among the cobwebs.

“The boy who comes in to do the coals and the boots told her about an old fish tank in the stables.

“I knew it would lead to trouble, but Jane is not yet wise in Amabel’s ways. So the boy set it up. Today Amabel was probably looking for newts or frogs.”

Arthur laughed again. This intelligent little girl was every bit as diverting as his young brothers.

“Does she know they escape if it isn’t covered?” Harriet asked.

“She does. I see you are fast becoming captivated, too,” Mistress Cowie said to them both, “But, please, do not offer her any assistance in having gas led out to her bench.”

Arthur whistled in astonishment and Harriet giggled.

“Arthur are you late for classes? Should I write a note for your master?” Mistress Cowie smiled.

Arthur considered her offer. On the one hand, it looked awfully like seeking out praise for his actions.

On the other, the duty master was known for irrational behaviour and Arthur felt his dignity had gone beyond being caned for doing a good turn.

“It might avoid any misunderstanding, ma’am,” he said at last.

“I’ll do that. Harriet, your mama is upstairs. She will have much to tell you. The meeting lost its way for a little while.”

“We did see Mistress Fairweather and some other ladies walking away,” Harriet said.

“Yes,” Mistress Cowie said, “you would do. Ah, here come the others. I’ll find some paper, Arthur.”

“You were so brave, Arthur,” Harriet whispered.

“I appreciate how willing you were to do as I asked

without any fuss.”

“It seemed to be the right thing,” Harriet said simply.

The moment was gone as Aunt Jane and Aunt Megs sailed into the room with Harriet’s mama.

“There you are, Harriet.” Mrs Kennedy was pulling on her gloves. “Let’s be off. I have much to tell you. Good afternoon, Arthur.” “Mrs Kennedy.” “Arthur?” Aunt Jane said, as the outer door closed on her final guests and Beattie stomped off to the basement. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“He’s been pulling my daughter out of the river,” Jenny said as she came back into the room waving an envelope to dry the ink.

“Your boots do look a little the worse for it,” Megs observed.

Arthur tucked the envelope into his pocket and crossed to the sidetable where he’d put down his bundle of books as he came in.

Glancing out on to the street, he saw his papa approaching and pausing outside.

Arthur prayed, but to no avail – his papa disappeared from sight and the house bell clanged deep in the downstairs hall.

“I must go,” Arthur choked out and swept past an astonished Beattie to drop into the basement.

“Mr Grant,” Jane said a few minutes later. “Please take a seat.”

The ladies said nothing of Arthur’s visit or his hurried departure.

Mr Grant was nervous and Jane hoped her sisters might remove themselves.

“Perhaps, you’ll excuse me, Jane,” Megs said, “I have some letters to write.”

“And I also,” Jenny added. “Thomas frets if he doesn’t hear regularly how we go on.”

“It is unexpected to see you here, Mr Grant,” Jane said. “Is it Lucilla?”

“Yes,” Grant said with an abruptness Jane knew originated in unhappiness.

“Yes, she is much worse and yet she will still not see anyone other than our own mediocre practitioner.

“I am worried she will not live out the month, Miss Begbie.”

Jane brought her hand up to stifle a scream of protest. How could this be happening to her young and beautiful friend?

“I distress you, and I am truly sorry for it. Miss Begbie, will you not call and ask Lucilla, my lovely Lucilla, to consult someone who might help her?”

“Of course, Mr Grant. I’ll do anything I can to help, but you know she will not see Doctor Wyvern.”

“I know it. Please, Miss Begbie, any . . .”

“Aunt Jane?” Amabel asked as she came into the room.

Jane saw the child was wearing a dry dress and had yet again escaped all supervision.

This was the worst moment and she heard Mr Grant’s intake of breath.

“Aunt Jane, why did Mr Arthur leave by the servants’ stair? Did you tell him off for saving me?” Mr Grant stood up. “Arthur brought Amabel back earlier.

“She had an accident and fell into the Water of Leith. We are very grateful to him.”

“We are,” Amabel agreed. “Beattie said he should have let me drown.”

Jane stood up then, too. She must speak to Beattie.

“Amabel, this gentleman and I were having a serious conversation. Would you go to your mama?”

The little girl pouted but did as she was bidden.

“I am sorry, sir. She has not been very long with us and is not yet used to our household ways.”

“Arthur did not wish me to see him in this house, Miss Begbie,” Walter Grant said with ponderous formality.

“I have forbidden him to visit, as I do not wish him to absorb the views you and your sister hold about the medical education of women.”

“Mr Grant . . .” “Good day, ma’am.” He paused. “Oh, and as to my earlier request. I feel it is already too late.”

To be continued.