The Heart's Appeal Read online

Heartily glad when it was over, Michael rose from the bench. There was nothing to be learned here tonight. Crouching low so as not to block the others’ view, he sent a quick gesture of good-night to Kelso and left the gallery.

  The evening was fairly mild for March, so Michael ignored the line of cabs and directed his steps toward the street. He turned over many things in his mind as he walked back to his chambers. For all the earl’s bluster about wanting to keep this legislation because of the good it was doing, Michael knew tonight’s performance was just for show. His lordship wanted only to use the act to bludgeon an opponent over something entirely unrelated. The old man was angry because his estranged daughter wanted to pursue medicine instead of living the life she’d been born into. The earl probably refused to consider the sad truth that, win or lose, he was hardly likely to win back the affection of his daughter in this way.

  Not surprisingly, Julia Bernay had never been far from Michael’s thoughts tonight. After all, the libel suit was really an attack against women like her, who were fighting for the right to earn a medical degree. If judgment went against the school, the damages the earl was claiming would be catastrophic. But even surviving that, the school might lose its clinical training privileges at the Royal Free Hospital, without which it would most certainly have to close its doors.

  Yet Julia had an unshakable belief that she’d been called to do both missionary and medical work.

  He kept remembering her words: If the Lord calls you to do something, it isn’t wise to fight it. Everything about her spoke of absolute determination, from the way she’d coaxed him into another physical exam to the vigor with which she approached her studies. She gave the impression of being an unstoppable force. It was tempting, in light of this, to worry that his efforts to win this case would ultimately fail. After all, if there was a God who was personally interested in the school’s success, who—or what—could ultimately withstand Him?

  He shook his head to dislodge that foolish notion. He did not think the Almighty took sides when it came to the political wranglings of men. Just because Julia believed in the inevitability of her success didn’t necessarily make it so. There were more factors in play than she could understand.

  Michael did not want to lose this case. He’d worked too hard to get this far. But even so, he was beginning to suspect that if he were to win and further his career as he planned, he would still feel some measure of regret over the school’s fate. That was something he’d just have to accept. For now, he had to concentrate on the goal of winning and not dwell on what lay beyond it.

  CHAPTER

  10

  AS PROMISED, EDITH TOOK JULIA WITH HER on her next visit to the free clinic at Bethnal Green, one of the poorer neighborhoods in London. Edith explained that they’d been hesitant to allow her to work there at first, but in time—and with notes of recommendation from Dr. Anderson and others at the medical school—she had won them over. She was relegated to seeing only minor issues among the women and children, but that was a good start.

  Julia was excited. Months of academic studies left her longing to get back to actual medical practice. This would also give her the opportunity to spend more time with Edith. Julia was impressed by her skill and dedication.

  As they rode in a hansom toward their destination, Julia said, “May I ask you a question? You can tell me if you think it is too personal, and I won’t bring it up again.”

  “You may,” Edith replied, although she gave a little sigh with it. “I expect it’s nothing that hasn’t been asked of me already.”

  “It’s about the libel case. Those things that Dr. Tierney said about your brother.”

  Edith gave a little nod. “I wasn’t at the rally. At the time, I felt my relations with my father were strained enough; I wasn’t going to make them worse by publicly supporting the CDA’s repeal, even though privately I do. However, I wish Dr. Tierney had not said what she did, primarily because of all that has happened since.”

  “I would have thought you’d be insulted or angry, as his lordship was. He denies that syphilis is what killed your brother.”

  “You are asking me if what Dr. Tierney said was true.” Edith turned cool blue eyes toward Julia. “In truth, I don’t know. I was at finishing school in France when he died. My brother was far older than me and already overseas with the army before I could even talk. Throughout his life, I never saw much of him. I suppose he was a dashing army officer and all that, but to me he seemed vain and self-satisfied, and not a man of much integrity. I think the rumors of syphilis are as believable as the version of events my father gives, especially since my father was always blind to my brother’s faults.”

  She turned to look out at the passing street. “I’ve decided to remain as neutral as I can in this whole affair, and the school has stood by me through all of this. My father thinks that by closing the school, he can get me to change my mind, come back home, and be a dutiful daughter. That is his other blind spot. I will not allow anything to stop me from my goal of practicing medicine.” She pointed straight ahead. “And that is the reason why.”

  The cab had been moving into increasingly poorer neighborhoods and now stopped in front of the clinic. There was a line of people outside waiting to get in, all shabbily dressed. Some looked toward the door with desperate anticipation, while others slumped along the wall, glumly resigned to the long wait. Most eyed Julia and Edith with curiosity as they alighted from the cab.

  When they got inside the clinic, Julia saw the reason for the line. The waiting area was already overrun with patients. Seated on plain wooden benches, waiting to be seen by the doctors, was a cross-section of the community. Young and old, from those who might be poor shopkeepers to many who looked like beggars. At a glance, Julia could see their ailments ran the gamut as well, from broken limbs and infected sores to colds, coughs, and more serious illnesses. There were pregnant women and others who held crying babies, vainly trying to soothe them.

  The next few hours were some of the most intense and eye-opening that Julia had ever experienced. Nothing she had seen in her previous work in Bristol, nor her glimpse into the London hospitals, was close to this. One overworked doctor and a few staff members did what they could, but the need was clearly greater than they could handle.

  “I cannot understand why it took so much effort to convince the doctors to allow you to come here and help,” Julia said to Edith as they washed their hands after tending to a woman with a badly infected cut on her leg. “There is no shortage of business.”

  “Yes, the need is very great,” Edith agreed. “I’m glad you wanted to volunteer your time today. I have a hard time persuading other students to come, even though it provides valuable experience.”

  “Is it because they are so busy?”

  “Partly. But also, they have no great interest in helping poor folk. Most are aiming to build lucrative practices serving women and children from the better classes. And perhaps they have a fear of coming here.”

  Julia could understand that sentiment. The neighborhood was rough, and the people desperately poor. Not to mention that one would be far more likely to be exposed to contagious and potentially fatal diseases here. “I am not afraid,” Julia declared. “I believe the Lord will protect me. I plan to go to the missions in Africa once I have my medical license.”

  This pronouncement drew a frown and a stern look from Edith. “Why would you waste your talents like that when there is so much need here in England?”

  The question took Julia by surprise. She hadn’t thought in those terms before. But she didn’t have time to formulate an answer. Their conversation was cut short by a disturbance in the waiting area. Edith hurried out of the little room where they had been seeing patients, and Julia followed.

  A woman was pleading with the harried clerk who took people’s information as they came in. “My sister is too sick to come here!” She spoke with an accent that sounded Germanic or Slavic. “She is pregnant, seven months. She has a fever that has
not left for three days. You must tell me what to do!”

  “No one here makes house calls,” the clerk responded harshly. “You will have to bring her to the clinic.”

  Julia glanced over the waiting area. There were a dozen people waiting to be seen, but none appeared to have life-threatening problems. “Perhaps you and I could go?” she suggested to Edith.

  “You are willing to do that? Coming to this clinic is one thing, but going deeper into the slums is quite another.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Edith looked at the waiting patients. She must have drawn the same conclusion as Julia, for she turned to the woman and asked, “How far away is your sister?”

  “Ten minutes! Only ten minutes!” came the answer. “Please say you will come!”

  “You are likely to find only more people with problems, more than you could ever hope to take care of,” the clerk warned them.

  But Edith simply replied, “We have to start somewhere.”

  They collected their coats and the medical bag Edith had brought with her to the clinic, and were soon following the distraught woman down the narrow street.

  Michael sat in Tamblin’s office, the two of them waiting while Lord Westbridge perused the statement Michael had obtained from the doctor at the private asylum. The old man muttered to himself as he read, but the tenor of the sounds indicated satisfaction rather than displeasure. Tamblin leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and looking content as he waited for his client to finish reading.

  The earl tossed the report on the desk. “This is very good. I don’t see how a jury can deny the truth of this statement.”

  “Right you are,” Tamblin replied. “If we should need it, this statement will certainly bolster our case.”

  “If we should need it?” Michael repeated. “Surely this will be the cornerstone of our argument.”

  Tamblin leaned forward, pointing toward the report. “While we don’t doubt the veracity of this statement for a moment, we cannot rely on the jury to reach the same conclusion. Certainly not if the defense tries to throw a cloud over the events surrounding the death of his lordship’s son.”

  The earl shifted in his chair and emitted a grunt of pain. This might have been a reaction to the mention of his son’s death, or it might have been in response to some physical malady. He often complained of arthritis. “Please explain your reasoning, Mr. Tamblin.”

  Tamblin said smoothly, “In order to be assured of success, we must ensure the case does not rely on each side trying to prove whether Dr. Tierney’s statements were true or false. In fact, we must use every tactic at our disposal to prevent the defense from even approaching this topic. We must focus the arguments solely and completely upon whether your lordship’s good name and reputation were harmed by Dr. Tierney’s recklessness in making such statements in a public forum.”

  The earl nodded in understanding and approval, but Michael found Tamblin’s words unsettling. “There is no doubt his lordship’s reputation was maligned, but—”

  “Precisely!” Tamblin exclaimed. “Of that there can be no doubt whatever. Stephenson, if you want to learn how to win your cases, pay close attention to what we do here. The defense must not be allowed to rest their argument on a matter of mere facts such as they might or might not pertain to his lordship’s son.”

  “That is brilliant!” the earl enthused. “Mr. Stephenson, you could not have found a better mentor.”

  Tamblin gave a smile of humble pride. “I am honored by your high opinion of me, sir. I shall continue doing my best to earn it.”

  The earl’s vanity was stroked by Tamblin’s obsequiousness, but he did not appear completely satisfied. “We have everything we need, including the perfect plan of attack. The only remaining question is, why hasn’t a date been set for the trial?”

  “The wheels of justice move slowly, sir,” Tamblin replied. “Remember that the attendant publicity over the months will only amplify our case.”

  The earl grunted again, this time in a show of impatience. “Be that as it may, I want us to move forward—and soon. The wheels of justice always move faster if the judge is given the right sort of prodding.” He rose unsteadily from his chair, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. “As far as I’m concerned, we have more than gained our point. Now I want vindication. I will expect a report from you next week regarding what progress you have made in this regard.”

  “You may count on it, my lord,” Tamblin replied.

  Tamblin walked out with the earl to escort him to his waiting carriage.

  Michael went to his own office and sank into a chair, deep in thought. In the two years since Tamblin had invited him to share these chambers, Michael’s practical knowledge of common law and his skill in the courtroom had grown exponentially. He’d always been cognizant of how fortunate he was to have been taken under Tamblin’s wing. The worth of the tutelage from such a distinguished barrister, not to mention the important contacts he’d made that could advance his career even further, was incalculable.

  For all these things, Michael was extremely grateful. Although they sometimes accepted cases where Michael thought the opposing party had the better claim, he knew this was a fact of life all barristers faced. Whoever your client was, you made their case to the utmost of your ability. Today was the first time, however, that Michael had felt an honest doubt about Tamblin’s approach.

  He rubbed his eyes, still trying to fully grasp the implications of this meeting. Tamblin’s proposed line of prosecution—to focus solely on the damage to his lordship’s reputation—might have pleased the earl, but was it really the proper way to go? It would be legal, for Tamblin was a stickler for staying within the bounds of the law, but it would take all of Tamblin’s finesse in the courtroom to lead the judge and jury down this path. One would expect that if a person was suing for libel, the focus should be on proving the falsity of the statements rather than simply their malignance. This was something Michael intended to ponder carefully. He wanted to be convinced of this plan if he was going to contribute to its success.

  For now, he didn’t much like that he’d spent those days traveling to the asylum and working up the report, only to have it set aside as backup. Especially since he had so many other demands on his time, doing the devil work for Tamblin as well as attending to his own clientele. The legal system might move slowly, but that didn’t mean barristers were idle. There were constant summonses, trials, and mountains of associated paperwork. The time Michael had lost recovering from the accident had set him very much behind. He currently had three briefs on his desk to attend to, plus an appointment at court this afternoon.

  Setting aside for the moment his worries over the libel case, Michael spent the next hour reviewing his newest briefs and attempting to make a schedule for the week ahead. But he could not keep his mind on his work. His head throbbed, and the scars on his neck had been itching all day. The itching was a sign that the cuts were healing, but that didn’t make the sensation any more pleasant.

  Tossing his pen down in frustration, Michael rose from his desk and looked out the window toward the park-like area attached to Gray’s Inn, known as the walks. Tender new leaves rustled in the trees, while the gusty March wind swirled the brown remnants of last year’s crop along the footpaths. He tugged again at his collar and remembered Julia’s recommendation of the chemist on Gray’s Inn Road who sold an ointment to treat the scars. He decided to stop there on his way home from the courts. It seemed ironic, though, to remember this bit of advice after spending a morning engaged in the business of attacking the school she hoped one day to attend.

  He packed up the papers he needed for his court appearance, grateful that the walk over to the Royal Courts of Justice would afford him some fresh air. He hoped the exercise might help his brain feel not quite so addled as he contemplated many conflicting concepts at once.

  Solvitur ambulando—It is solved by walking.

  Perhaps that Latin proverb was something to share wi
th Julia at their next lesson.

  Julia and Edith followed the woman, who had told them her name was Hettie, down the rough streets of Bethnal Green. As they walked, Hettie gave them more information about the woman they were going to visit. The sisters had come here two years ago from Poland. Her sister’s husband had died just six months ago in an accident at the dockyards. Hettie had never married but supported herself with piecework—sewing shirts from precut cloth for a clothing merchant. Now she was helping to support her sister and her sister’s two children as well.

  They found some relief from the buffeting wind as they turned down a narrow, crooked alley. Julia could easily imagine the opposite effect in summer: the hot air would be still and oppressive. Edith had given Julia a scented handkerchief to use as they went through the more foul areas, and they both pulled them out now to offset the rank smells of rotting food scraps, dead vermin, and urine. Hettie didn’t seem to notice the smells as she hurried on.

  They stopped at a building that was little more than a crumbling pile of bricks. Hettie opened a flimsy, ill-fitting door, and they stepped inside. In the gloom, for there were no lamps, they followed Hettie up a dangerously rickety staircase to the second floor.

  The only light in the hallway came from a tiny window set high up on the wall. Two doors stood on either side, each presumably leading to tenants’ rooms.

  Hettie opened one of the doors, calling out something in Polish as she ushered Julia and Edith inside.

  It was a pitiful scene. The apartment consisted of one room. Feeble rays of daylight barely penetrated what was left of the sole window. Half the window’s glass had been broken out, replaced with crudely fitted pieces of wood that blocked the light and did little to keep out the drafts. The walls were bare save for a rough wooden crucifix by the door.

  A woman lay in a saggy bed against one wall. Two children were there as well: a small boy stood next to the bed, looking anxiously at his mother, and a little girl of about two sat at the foot of the bed, playing with a rolled-up bit of cloth as though it were a doll.