This story is based upon the research of Sheila Rowbotham. For more details about the life of Miriam Daniell and Robert Nicol, see her book “Rebel Crossings.”
I had been forbidden from knowing my wife for three long years. The doctor had been most emphatic on that point. Of course I objected, and in the strongest possible terms. But Miss Jex-Blake fixed her small brown eyes on mine, telling me that my wife had a terrible disease, that those charming little warts I used to call my ‘love buttons’ that my Miriam had in her most intimate place were the signs of cancer. I shivered inwardly. How could something so lovely be so poisonous? And if she had it, did I? Miss Jex-Blake continued that it was my fault my wife had such a condition, and that she was going to operate. I fled, hurrying through the streets so fast I almost knocked someone down. Three doctors pronounced me healthy.
But Miriam’s condition persisted. When I pressed her, she reluctantly complained of burning sensations down there. Every summer she visited Edinburgh to “take the air,” as we told all of our acquaintances. No-one knew what was wrong with her except myself, my consulting physician, Miriam, and her lady doctor. Unless, of course, Miriam chose to confide in Helena Born, her bosom friend. But surely, even she wouldn’t do such a thing. [To be continued next week.]