“As did Papa, but now he is gone, and I must make my own way in the world.”
“Dear me!” murmured Sir Randall, still scratching the goat. “How very tiresome.”
“I am not without some knowledge,” Angelica persevered. “In addition to assisting Papa, I have read Mr. Matthew Baillie’s Morbid Anatomy, and Mr. William Wethering’s An Account of the Foxglove, and Mr. Jenner’s work on the causes and effects of the variola vaccine. Unfortunately, I have been unable to keep abreast of such studies since Papa’s death.”
“Jenner, eh?” By this admitted lapse of diligence, Sir Randall did not appear especially disturbed. “Injections of cowpox to inoculate against smallpox. What did you think?”
Angelica briefly forgot her adopted humility. “I think, sir, that for the Royal College of Physicians to refuse to admit Jenner unless he passed the usual examinations in Latin was a great piece of nonsense! And I further applaud him for refusing to take their silly tests.” It occurred to her, tardily, that Sir Randall was undoubtedly a member of that august body. Would he dismiss her without further ado? Angelica eyed a panther that was similarly eyeing her, and hoped Sir Randall would.
He did not. “So I told them at the time,” he said, as he intimated to the goat that it should remove itself from his lap. “That examination is so much poppycock. Membership to the college can be obtained for a down payment of fifty guineas after passing three examinations of twenty minutes each. Any man who is a good classical scholar may pass, yet know nothing of chemistry, medical jurisprudence, surgery and anatomy—as is all too often the case. To that unhappy situation, your brother is one of the rare exceptions.”
Angelica flushed. “He told you.”
“You need not fear that I shall blazon about your family difficulties.” Sir Randall inched about on the bench, the better to contemplate his guest. “I give you my word that I shall be silent as the grave. Though with the busy sack-’em-ups, the grave is none too silent these days! Medical instructors are at the mercy of the rascals—but without cadavers the teaching of medicine would come to a halt. One can hardly learn to perform surgery without a subject on which to operate! I myself am a member of a committee formed to impress on the government the necessity for an alteration in the law— but that’s neither here nor there. You may not be aware that my dear wife passed away some years ago, Miss—er. I think we should bestow upon you another name, since all of my household is not so discreet as myself. Smith, I daresay, is innocuous enough. To continue: mine is a bachelor household, Miss Smith. The presence of a young lady, even for a few hours each weekday afternoon, may give rise to gossip.”
Angelica elevated her gaze from the panther to Sir Randall, who was regarding her no less keenly. “It is good of you to concern yourself,” she replied, smiling. “But I cannot imagine who would suspect a female of my appearance of behaving improperly! My family might load me with reproaches were they to learn of it, but my family—excepting Valerian!—are all feather-heads. And since they won’t know, it doesn’t signify a straw.”
Sir Randall had listened to these disclosures with an expression indicative of secret disagreement. Angelica interpreted that expression as arising from displeasure with her disregard for the proprieties. “To be blunt, sir,” she added, on a deep intake of breath, “a female in my position can’t afford delicate principles!”
“I did not mean to question your decision, merely to put you on guard.” Stiffly, Sir Randall rose, displaying a stature deficient in inches and cozily corpulent. “The matter is settled, so far as I am concerned. Shall we retire indoors before you turn to ice?”
Upon this display of belated solicitude, Angelica raised her brows. “My household,” Sir Randall explained simply, as he
“Dear me!” murmured Sir Randall, still scratching the goat. “How very tiresome.”
“I am not without some knowledge,” Angelica persevered. “In addition to assisting Papa, I have read Mr. Matthew Baillie’s Morbid Anatomy, and Mr. William Wethering’s An Account of the Foxglove, and Mr. Jenner’s work on the causes and effects of the variola vaccine. Unfortunately, I have been unable to keep abreast of such studies since Papa’s death.”
“Jenner, eh?” By this admitted lapse of diligence, Sir Randall did not appear especially disturbed. “Injections of cowpox to inoculate against smallpox. What did you think?”
Angelica briefly forgot her adopted humility. “I think, sir, that for the Royal College of Physicians to refuse to admit Jenner unless he passed the usual examinations in Latin was a great piece of nonsense! And I further applaud him for refusing to take their silly tests.” It occurred to her, tardily, that Sir Randall was undoubtedly a member of that august body. Would he dismiss her without further ado? Angelica eyed a panther that was similarly eyeing her, and hoped Sir Randall would.
He did not. “So I told them at the time,” he said, as he intimated to the goat that it should remove itself from his lap. “That examination is so much poppycock. Membership to the college can be obtained for a down payment of fifty guineas after passing three examinations of twenty minutes each. Any man who is a good classical scholar may pass, yet know nothing of chemistry, medical jurisprudence, surgery and anatomy—as is all too often the case. To that unhappy situation, your brother is one of the rare exceptions.”
Angelica flushed. “He told you.”
“You need not fear that I shall blazon about your family difficulties.” Sir Randall inched about on the bench, the better to contemplate his guest. “I give you my word that I shall be silent as the grave. Though with the busy sack-’em-ups, the grave is none too silent these days! Medical instructors are at the mercy of the rascals—but without cadavers the teaching of medicine would come to a halt. One can hardly learn to perform surgery without a subject on which to operate! I myself am a member of a committee formed to impress on the government the necessity for an alteration in the law— but that’s neither here nor there. You may not be aware that my dear wife passed away some years ago, Miss—er. I think we should bestow upon you another name, since all of my household is not so discreet as myself. Smith, I daresay, is innocuous enough. To continue: mine is a bachelor household, Miss Smith. The presence of a young lady, even for a few hours each weekday afternoon, may give rise to gossip.”
Angelica elevated her gaze from the panther to Sir Randall, who was regarding her no less keenly. “It is good of you to concern yourself,” she replied, smiling. “But I cannot imagine who would suspect a female of my appearance of behaving improperly! My family might load me with reproaches were they to learn of it, but my family—excepting Valerian!—are all feather-heads. And since they won’t know, it doesn’t signify a straw.”
Sir Randall had listened to these disclosures with an expression indicative of secret disagreement. Angelica interpreted that expression as arising from displeasure with her disregard for the proprieties. “To be blunt, sir,” she added, on a deep intake of breath, “a female in my position can’t afford delicate principles!”
“I did not mean to question your decision, merely to put you on guard.” Stiffly, Sir Randall rose, displaying a stature deficient in inches and cozily corpulent. “The matter is settled, so far as I am concerned. Shall we retire indoors before you turn to ice?”
Upon this display of belated solicitude, Angelica raised her brows. “My household,” Sir Randall explained simply, as he
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