The Education of Miss Katrina Parke
A tattered coach-for-hire pulled to a stop in front of the fine London townhouse, and after a moment its side-door creaked open, allowing a young lady dressed in her finest to clamber from the hansom cab to the cobbled street and step to the pavement while keeping the hems of her dress from the dirt below. Miss Katrina Parke, niece of Sir Archibald Parke the importer, paid the driver a coin, reaching her gloved hand up carefully to his out-stretched hand.
She gazed up at the porticoed entrance. Beyond those grand doors lay her future, and an uncertain process over which she had no control. Her rich uncle, now her guardian following the untimely death of her parents, had decided that she needed training in order to become a better prospect for marriage to a suitable young gentleman of means. Her uncle's philosophies were a strange mix of conservative authority and non-conformist opinions, she thought. But he was footing the cost, and when the head of the household insisted, women had no choice.
So here she was for her first appointment with her uncle's choice of mentor, Dr Richards; a celebrated sexologist, she thought perhaps she had heard her uncle say. In truth, she had stood in her uncle's library several weeks ago, in front of the large desk behind which he spent much of his time accepting client visits or receiving mail, simply stunned by his unexpected announcement, and she had not taken in much beyond the headlines concerning marriage and training.
Back in her bedroom that day she had wondered if she would be introduced to keeping household accounts, or maybe the purchasing of supplies. But why would a doctor waste his time instructing her on those subjects? They were the matters that perhaps a governess or a finishing academy would deal with. She herself might have become a governess, except that Sir Archibald had never produced any offspring, let alone an heir, for her to tutor even though she was proficient in grammar and literature, the classics and Latin.
Sir Archibald was naturally more concerned about the destiny of his estate and now that of her deceased parents, and of course the running of his empire, for he was very involved in its daily business; brokering deals between ship captains and London warehousemen for exotic goods that entered England from the Orient, as well as taking his cut for financing and planning each sea trip.
And as she recalled that other word "sexologist" -- a very new-fangled kind of word but with a very recognisable core -- she was left perplexed and apprehensive, yet still ignorant of what lay before her. She could not imagine what might be asked of her, but she was panicking that her intimate body - a body that had developed womanly aspects over several years until now at eighteen had a shapely and well-proportioned form -- would be subjected to indignities under the guise of medical practice. In truth no man had ever seen her uncovered, nor embraced her except chastely while whirling around the ballroom back at her parents' estate, and on those occasions she had been still a girl, undeveloped and gracile.
What was worse, Katrina suspected -- no, truthfully, she absolutely knew -- that she would sensibly and obediently perform everything this doctor instructed her to do, because she had always seemed unable to do anything in terms of rebellion or resistance. It was just the way she had been brought up; not by coercion but by reasoning, and both she and her younger sister had grown up somewhat retiring and obedient, but certainly not cowed. Both were intelligent and inquisitive thinkers, and she had the advantage of being well-born, her father being of the English aristocracy and her mother a minor French countess. It was ironic that her father had been brought down by a lowly highwayman, who had callously filled both her parents with leadshot, and who had subsequently been hanged beside the Thames before being quartered and cast into a mass grave somewhere near Newgate Prison.
Her parents had been affectionate, and they engaged with their daughters and their education, which was unusual for families of wealth, where the custom was to banish their offspring to the ministrations of wetnurses, maids and then governesses. But in contrast her uncle was a cantankerous, rich merchant who brooked no argument against what he wanted to happen. He had been used to getting his own way all his charmed life, and his pathetic wife offered little safety for the two young nieces, unwelcome responsibilities for his household.
Nevertheless, this was her duty; it was the wish and command of her guardian, and she could understand his reasoning, so although without knowing what was involved, Katrina had to trust to her personal angels to keep her safe.
Blinking a couple of times, she took a deep breath and started to ascend the stone steps to where a brass knocker awaited. After a couple of raps she heard footsteps and the door was opened by a bookish looking young man in frockcoat, breeches and buckled shoes.
"You must be Miss Parke," he exclaimed. At her nod, he continued. "Samuel Orr, the doctor's assistant and secretary, at your service. Thank you for being punctual."
She took his offered hand, which lingered exactly the right amount, with the correct pressure, a short squeeze.
"The doctor is waiting, so let me take you through to his consulting room. That is, unless you need to visit the water closet or powder room first?"
Although Katrina felt quite nervous, her bladder system did not react that way, so they proceeded down a panelled corridor; a knock on the wooden door labelled with the doctor's full name -- Dr Jeremiah Richards and some letters of qualification -- bringing a call from within.
"Please enter, Samuel."
The door swung open, and as the assistant announced her, Katrina absorbed the interior. Large windows opened to the side of the building, allowing plenty of light in what was a capacious room. Bookcases faced her, laden with scholarly volumes, and there were easy chairs as well as several odd-looking pieces of apparatus. The voice had come from a walnut desk over in the corner, covered in folios and open books, and her eyes shifted quickly from them to the occupant as he rose.
Oh dear!
Without thinking deeply about it, Katrina had half-imagined that the doctor as a corpulent older man with bushy sideburns, his waistcoat buttons straining. Instead this doctor was younger, handsome of face, and his frame looked as if he rode every day, with the wide muscular shoulders and thick thighs of a horseman. He looked like a highwayman. She realised that she was flushing, and looked away as if to find a chair, but in fact she wanted her hide her facial response.
"Please, Miss Parke, feel free to choose a seat. We are mostly going to talk this morning. In time we will talk boldly of all kinds of intimate matters, but I need to start by simply better knowing your circumstances."
