When A Physician Was Considered Lower Class

Highlighting Historical Romance: A Holiday in Bath

I have the privilege of participating in an anthology for Mirror Press called A Holiday in Bath.  My story, Lord Edmund’s Dilemma, for once doesn’t feature any of the continuing characters from my previous books. In it two young people encounter one another while they fetch waters for elderly relatives in the famous Pump Room. I had fun writing it.

The Pump Room

Edmund’s challenge is that he is entirely dependent on his father for income, and his father, a marquess, has very definite ideas about what he wants his son to do. Edmund has ideas of his own, but once he meets Lucy, his decisions get complicated. Should he do as his father wants and seek ordination and accept a position on the Archbishop’s staff knowing he would be miserable? Should he defy his father and become a doctor knowing he could not support a wife for several years? Would Lucy consider a life of poverty in a small village while he works as a simple curate or a rural doctor? What is a young nobleman with ideals, duties, and great passion to do?

In the process, I discovered quite a bit about medical education. Perhaps it is best if I let you listen in while Dr. Barry explains it to Edmund:

“Well, Parker,” Barry said when their plates were cleared and their glasses refilled, “I don’t think you brought me here to discuss beefsteak, as good as that one was. What is troubling you, my young friend?”

Edmund peered into the ruby liquid swirling in his glass and tried to gather his thoughts.

“Well?” Amusement gave a lift to Barry’s voice.

“Can Bath support another physician?” Edmund blurted out. “That is, if it were possible and didn’t take ten years and—”

“Slowly, slowly. One question at a time. The first is easy. Bath is a haven of the invalided and elderly. Physicians are always in short supply—particularly honest and able ones.”

Edmund breathed in slowly to calm himself, relieved that Barry didn’t take his ambition as a threat or competition. “What would it take to develop a practice?”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. You have to study first. Have you completed your university courses?”

“Certainly. Oxford.”

“Greek and Latin, of course. What about lectures on medical science, few and far between though they may be?”

“For the past year, yes.” Edmund felt embarrassed. “My parents intended me for the clergy, and so my studies primary focused on theology, but after observing with Cartwright, I couldn’t stay away from the lectures.”

“You already have rather more clinical experience than many of the sprigs who come out of the lecture hall to be licensed without ever seeing a patient,” Barry mused. “Can anyone there serve as a reference for you in this matter?”

Edmund pondered the question. “Stallings,” he said at last. “I certainly pestered him with questions.” He grinned ruefully. “I took to following him to his premises after lecture.”

“Cartwright also, I presume, and myself, of course. If you wish to practice in Bath, you could avoid the Royal College of Physicians and those London hospitals. The bishop here can license you for local practice. Your charity work will weigh in your favor.”

Edmund sat up straighter. Could it be that simple? “I’ll write to Stallings and Cartwright immediately!”

“One other thing. It would help if you observed for a period at the General Hospital here; it may, in fact, be necessary.”

“For how long?” He slumped back in his seat.

“Months. A year. You can get yourself set up during that time. I gather there is some pressing desire to move quickly.” When Edmund didn’t respond, Barry went on, “I presume this has something to do with Miss Ashcroft.”

“The medicine, no. I will pursue that in any case, but the urgency, yes. It has everything to do with Lucy Ashcroft.” The marchioness always insisted any talk of money reflected on the speaker’s poor taste and bad manners; however, something in Barry’s manner encouraged trust.

“They don’t approve—my parents, that is—and if Father doesn’t approve . . .”

“He won’t support you,” Barry concluded.

“I’m dependent on him for my income, at least until I make a start.”

“Families like yours generally provide their sons with other sources of income. Does your father control them all?”

“I own a small estate in Devon from my maternal grandfather.”

“You could set up a family there,” Barry pointed out.

“The house is small and needs repair before I could live in it. It would take what little income comes from the land and rents to make it habitable. There would be insufficient funds to feed them.”

“But your father might help, in that case,” Barry said.

“Not if I defy him about the archbishop,” Edmund replied. “What would I do with myself marooned in the country? I would have to give up medicine.”

“Villages need physicians as well, though the income, I fear, is meager.” Pity gave Barry’s words a somber tone.

“How can I ask Lucy to be content as the wife of an impoverished country doctor? I might not even afford more than a single servant to help her in that crumbling county house,” Edmund went on miserably.

“That brings us back to Bath and establishing a practice. You don’t think your father will assist you at the beginning?”

“Then least of all. He’ll want to vent his disapproval.” The marchioness had already dispatched at least two heated letters to London, but no reply had come to Bath. He still had no idea where he stood with the marquess.

“From what you say, you aren’t without assets, but you’ll have to live frugally.”

“I can’t ask the lady to accept deprivation for my sake.”

Barry bit his lower lip. Edmund suspected he hid amusement. “A noble thought,” the doctor said, “but perhaps you ought to ask the lady what she thinks first.”

A Holiday in Bath will be released on May 9. Click here to pre-order a copy.