romancing a little in his description.
‘I have an idea and I hope it is wrong. That is all I will say.’ He was staring at the fire as he spoke, but now he turned back to me. ‘I believe my own anxiety caused me to be a little churlish with you earlier, Doyle. Of course I would like to have been there sooner, but if somehow your drunken waiter had got away, no doubt Beecher would have been all the more insistent that he had perpetrated both crimes. So in that sense you performed a very useful purpose and were ill thanked for it. Now it is time to lock up and go to bed, for tomorrow I have to make a journey.’
I was pleased he had said as much, and slept well, but next morning, when I returned to the university, I reflected that I was still no nearer to finding Miss Scott. There was quite a crowd of students around the square and I heard laughter and cheers. Then I recalled with a sinking heart this was the day one of the school of medicine’s most important patrons, Sir Henry Carlisle, was being given a ‘royal’ tour.
I had seen Carlisle often enough and had no high opinion of him. A large, bewhiskered, self-important man with raffish good looks and a swagger, he had made a packet in the colonies and now seemed to like nothing better than to parade himself before the students. I had no doubt his money did some good, nor did I care if he wished to flaunt it, but what always irritated me about Carlisle was the way he sought to ingratiate himself. He would endlessly wink and joke and snigger for our amusement, and had consequently built up a sizable band of followers, some of whom I knew from the rugby field. Indeed there was a story that on one hot day he had declared after his usual tour of the university that the ‘men’ looked a little parched and he would buy them all some beer. At which there was a great cheer and he was carried shoulder-high to Bennett’s Bar, where no doubt they laughed at his jokes for as long as he wished.
As I drew closer, I saw that on this occasion Carlisle was being escorted by one of the most pompous and unctuous medical teachers in the university, a physiologist called Gillespie. ‘If you come this way, Sir Henry,’ he was saying, ‘I would like to show you how our newest operating theatre is progressing, thanks to your generous help.’
Sir Henry grinned at the crowd, and I noticed for the first time that there were women among it. ‘Delighted,’ he said, looking round him. ‘Though I have to admit I am almost expecting to find lace tablecloths draped over the instruments of surgery. After all, much as we may abhor it, it seems you have the tender sensibilities of women to consider now.’
Here was the kind of humour he favoured, even though today, unusually, his wife Lady Sarah Carlisle was beside him. She was small and fair and looked rather ill at ease.
‘Yes,’ Gillespie answered with a smile. ‘It has been left to each teacher to decide whether to admit women.’
‘Quite so,’ Carlisle replied, climbing the steps to the theatre, and winking at one of his acolytes, a sly man who played fullback in the university team. ‘And I hear Latimer for one stands out agin it.’ Here he raised his voice for the benefit of the men by the door. ‘He says the only women in his anatomy class will continue to enter feet first!’
There was a great guffaw of approval and a whoop of delight from Crawford’s gang, who were standing not far away. Moreover, as soon as he was in the theatre and the door had closed, a great jeer went up against the women standing by the entrance. I walked away to my class, but my blood was boiling and Latimer’s dissection did nothing to improve my mood. How could Carlisle abuse his position in this way to stir up feeling against the women? He was not a doctor or a teacher. He had no jurisdiction over any of us. He was merely meant to be involved in charity and good works. And now he was using his money to further his own prejudices. By the end
‘I have an idea and I hope it is wrong. That is all I will say.’ He was staring at the fire as he spoke, but now he turned back to me. ‘I believe my own anxiety caused me to be a little churlish with you earlier, Doyle. Of course I would like to have been there sooner, but if somehow your drunken waiter had got away, no doubt Beecher would have been all the more insistent that he had perpetrated both crimes. So in that sense you performed a very useful purpose and were ill thanked for it. Now it is time to lock up and go to bed, for tomorrow I have to make a journey.’
I was pleased he had said as much, and slept well, but next morning, when I returned to the university, I reflected that I was still no nearer to finding Miss Scott. There was quite a crowd of students around the square and I heard laughter and cheers. Then I recalled with a sinking heart this was the day one of the school of medicine’s most important patrons, Sir Henry Carlisle, was being given a ‘royal’ tour.
I had seen Carlisle often enough and had no high opinion of him. A large, bewhiskered, self-important man with raffish good looks and a swagger, he had made a packet in the colonies and now seemed to like nothing better than to parade himself before the students. I had no doubt his money did some good, nor did I care if he wished to flaunt it, but what always irritated me about Carlisle was the way he sought to ingratiate himself. He would endlessly wink and joke and snigger for our amusement, and had consequently built up a sizable band of followers, some of whom I knew from the rugby field. Indeed there was a story that on one hot day he had declared after his usual tour of the university that the ‘men’ looked a little parched and he would buy them all some beer. At which there was a great cheer and he was carried shoulder-high to Bennett’s Bar, where no doubt they laughed at his jokes for as long as he wished.
As I drew closer, I saw that on this occasion Carlisle was being escorted by one of the most pompous and unctuous medical teachers in the university, a physiologist called Gillespie. ‘If you come this way, Sir Henry,’ he was saying, ‘I would like to show you how our newest operating theatre is progressing, thanks to your generous help.’
Sir Henry grinned at the crowd, and I noticed for the first time that there were women among it. ‘Delighted,’ he said, looking round him. ‘Though I have to admit I am almost expecting to find lace tablecloths draped over the instruments of surgery. After all, much as we may abhor it, it seems you have the tender sensibilities of women to consider now.’
Here was the kind of humour he favoured, even though today, unusually, his wife Lady Sarah Carlisle was beside him. She was small and fair and looked rather ill at ease.
‘Yes,’ Gillespie answered with a smile. ‘It has been left to each teacher to decide whether to admit women.’
‘Quite so,’ Carlisle replied, climbing the steps to the theatre, and winking at one of his acolytes, a sly man who played fullback in the university team. ‘And I hear Latimer for one stands out agin it.’ Here he raised his voice for the benefit of the men by the door. ‘He says the only women in his anatomy class will continue to enter feet first!’
There was a great guffaw of approval and a whoop of delight from Crawford’s gang, who were standing not far away. Moreover, as soon as he was in the theatre and the door had closed, a great jeer went up against the women standing by the entrance. I walked away to my class, but my blood was boiling and Latimer’s dissection did nothing to improve my mood. How could Carlisle abuse his position in this way to stir up feeling against the women? He was not a doctor or a teacher. He had no jurisdiction over any of us. He was merely meant to be involved in charity and good works. And now he was using his money to further his own prejudices. By the end
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