Typhoid Mary's Got Nothing On Cornelia Robertson

The field of public health is still a fairly new one in 1900 -- and actually, if this week's contemporary TV programming is anything to go by, some people could use a refresher on basic principles. But Cornelia Robertson, in her role managing social services at The Knick, has seen how devastating an outbreak of infectious disease can be, and she's determined to do her utmost to combat it.

This hasn't been easy. Locating the person who's spread typhoid fever through Manhattan has required Cornelia to take on some very uncomfortable tasks. She's had to spend time with the extremely crass Inspector Speight. She's had to bring him into the homes of people in her social circle and listen as he's quizzed them on their bathroom and hand-washing habits. She's potentially exposed herself to typhoid fever half a dozen times.

When Speight and Cornelia finally narrow down their search to Mary Mallon, the one and only person present at all the disease sites and find her at the fancy boarding house where she's just started working, it's quite probable that Cornelia doesn't know the lengths to which she would go to keep Typhoid Mary from spreading infection any further than she already has. But when Mary aggressively refuses to go willingly to The Knick to undergo medical testing (particularly since she's asymptomatic herself), spits on Speight (not the first time that week that he's been an expectorant target, probably), and attempts to flee the scene, Cornelia may surprise even herself with her reaction. She...certainly surprises me!

Yep, that's a grown-up debutante, an exceedingly elegant lady who's probably never done any exercise more strenuous than a vigorous walk along the beach in St. Augustine, physically tackling a woman for the sake of safeguarding public health. And it's pretty bad-ass.

The heartbreaking aftermath of Cornelia's textbook "flying squirrel" is the assumption that her days of direct, intense, hands-on philanthropy are nearly behind her. She's still flushed with victory when she returns home at the end of the night, and the men she finds there playing cards -- her dad, her fiancé, and her soon-to-be father-in-law -- could not be less interested. Phillip's verbal head-pat about the great stories she'll have when she's a lady of leisure in San Francisco is patronizing, but at least acknowledges that she has reason to feel proud of herself.

But Phillip's father Hobart obviously wasn't even paying attention to the story of what she did at work that day if he thought it was a good idea to creep into her room when she's getting ready for bed and make some suggestive intimations about the relationship they'll share when she marries into the family. "Start calling me 'Dad,'" Hobart? Really? To a woman who just threw her body on a typhoid carrier to defend the lives of people she'll never meet? Maybe Cornelia was too shocked by Hobart's overtures to react in the moment, but let's hope she's just conserving her strength for his next assault -- and I feel pretty sure they'll be one -- so she can put him in a sleeper hold and then drag him into an open sewer.

"Call me 'Dad.'" How about you start calling Cornelia "Miss Jackson." 'CAUSE YOU'RE NASTY.