“I have been told that I ought not speak today, but I have also been told that I ought not practice medicine, or read too many books, or commit to my studies, and I never listened to any of those commands, either.”
A soft tittering rolled through the crowd at that; not at her expense, but with her. These people were truly listening and liked her moxy. Sebastian saw her take notice of this, and stand a bit straighter. He could not deny his own ego boost at hearing his wife be so admired.
For the first time, a new possible scenario occurred to him: Success.
“Many of you in this crowd have come with the belief that a woman would not excel at treating a patient. I would like to push back on that. You all, once upon a time, were young children who fell ill. When you did, whenwedid, I believe we all reached out for the same person: Mother. That woman sat at our bedside as our first doctors, our first alienists, our first priests. She cared for us until our sickness fled, and then again when the next illness befell us.”
“That is an emotional ploy,” she’d said as they’d written that line.
“Yes,” Sebastian had said. “But it is also the truth.”
And that was what she was here to do; tell the truth.
Did he support her truth? Even still, standing there, he did not know completely. The image he’d had of their life together had been so different. Quiet. Respectable.
Before he could dwell on the thought, the sun chose to peek out through the clouds, whereupon it crowned Augusta’s black hair. He thought of a painting he had once seen of Joan of Arc, and in that split second, he thought perhaps this was better. Crazier, yes, but better.
“You may tell me that this is an unfair comparison,” Augusta continued, “but I disagree. You may balk at a female doctor, but you never once balked at the woman who gave you water when you were with fever, or spread balm on your burns, or who listened when you were unable to understand your own mind. It was uneducated and crude, but it was all medicine, and it is the only reason that we all stand here today to fight amongst ourselves about an issue which, in reality, has already seen its own resolve.”
“That was my line,” Bancroft whispered, giving Sebastian a self-satisfied nudge.
“Sod off,” Sebastian whispered back. “You don’t even care aboutthe Society.”
Bancroft scoffed. “As ifyoudo. You’re only here for her affections.”
“Andyou’reonly here for the affections of Miss Greene, so perhaps you ought to become more comfortable looking in the mirror, Bancroft.”
“Well, I…” Bancroft said, his voice so deep that it was nearly a growl. “That is ridiculous.” After a short pause, he added, “I am here purely on political purposes.” After another, longer pause, he added again, “And to support a friend.”
“Surely,” Sebastian whispered with a roll of his eyes. Let his friend figure out his love life for himself.
Slowly, the world around Sebastian came back into focus, including Augusta’s voice.
“...might find yourselves in need one day. And if those of us who are part of the fairer sex, who have studied and worked and cared so deeply about our craft, might be of some use to you, then I believe it behooves you to give us a chance.”
So there it was - all that she had to say, and everyone she had to say it to. It was over. She turned and exited the stage. A low murmuring rolled through the crowd as attendees each turned to the person next to them, the immediate need to speak on the novelty of what they had just heard overtaking them.
“Finely done,” Bancroft commented, the barest hint of respect evident in his voice. “For a woman, I suppose.”
Finely done, indeed.
There was no applause, save for a few scattered fits and starts of clapping that died as quickly as they arose. Augusta paid no attention to them as she retreated with the same quiet grace with which she had entered.
At the bottom of the steps, Dr. Pinkton awaited her, taking her hand to aid her down onto the cobblestone.
Sebastian’s feet carried him forward before he fully realized that he was moving.
“What are you doing?” he heard Bancroft ask.
“Going to her,” he called back, though he was not sure if his voice reached his friend.
Were he being honest with himself, he would have admitted that it was the burning in his chest at the sight of Pinkton’s hand on Augusta’s. As he was not being so honest with himself, he decided that his hastening was merely a reflection of his concern for her.
One of the Society ladies had taken the stage after Augusta, capturing the attention of the audience as she spoke into a megaphone, which carried her voice much further. She urged the crowd to do something that did not quite reach his mind, but which seemed to bewitch everyone around him.
Still, heads turned as Sebastian pushed his way through.
He was near to the stage, finally, when he was jostled about by the men around him. Discontent rippled through the audience. When Sebastian righted himself, he looked about for the source.
