The Heart's Appeal Page 9

  She stepped closer to him. “Would you mind if I take a look?”

  He removed his hand from the wound and began to smooth his cravat. “That won’t be necessary. Dr. Hartman assured me everything is fine.”

  “When did he last see it?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Those symptoms could be normal, or there could be an infection setting in. That might have serious consequences if not treated right away. Would you allow me a peek, just to ensure everything is all right?” She looked up at him, aware again of how tall he was. He returned her gaze, and she could see he was wavering.

  “You will need to make it quick if you want a Latin lesson. I only have an hour to spare today.”

  “I promise this won’t take long. Perhaps if you would sit down, I could reach it better.”

  Still looking vaguely uncomfortable, Michael took a seat at the table. Julia sat in the chair next to him, leaning in close as she gently worked his cravat looser to get to the bandage. She caught the scent of the dressing ointment but something else as well. Had he put some pomade in his hair? Whatever it was, it smelled very good. She didn’t even realize she’d taken an extra moment to inhale until he tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. From his combed hair to his chin, now smooth from a recent shave, he definitely was more carefully groomed than before. But that was to be expected, since the last time she’d seen him, he’d just gotten out of bed. She remembered how comical he’d looked with his hair sticking up in all directions.

  Bringing her mind back to the present, she gently removed the bandage and studied the wound. Her concern had been unnecessary. The red welts around the sutures had lightened to a dark pink, which meant the wound was healing. “Everything looks good,” she told him. “No sign of infection.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  A hint of a smile played around his mouth, reminding Julia of a different scene: the moment he’d caught her looking at him on the Underground before the accident. Then, she’d wondered what sort of woman a man like him would be interested in pursuing. It had been a rare, foolish tangent for her thoughts to take—and now they were threatening to go that way again. There was no doubt he was handsome, but that wasn’t why she was here.

  Pulling her thoughts back in line, Julia dabbed her fingertip into the ointment and inspected it, rubbing it between her fingers and giving it a little sniff. “I see he’s put linseed oil over the stitches. This is good for now.” She carefully replaced the bandages. It really couldn’t be helped that her hands should brush against his crisp shirt collar and the smooth silk of his cravat. That her fingertips should be so alive to the sensations startled her, but she did her best to ignore it. “For the itching, I recommend a compound sold by Mr. Baines, the chemist on Gray’s Inn Road near the Royal Free Hospital. It is also excellent for healing scar tissue. You might want to apply some to the cuts on your temple.” She touched the area—only to indicate the places she was talking about—her fingers running gently along his hairline and the cuts currently covered with sticking plaster. Once again she noticed as she had on the train, that his hair was very fine and soft.

  “Mr. Baines,” Michael repeated, leaning back in his chair as though to put some distance between them. “Thank you, I will keep that in mind. Now, shall we begin the lesson?”

  “Yes!” Julia replied. It was time to focus her attention on the real reason she was here. But there was something she needed to say first. “I want to thank you for doing this. I am appreciative that you agreed to my request, even though . . .”

  He finished her thought for her. “Even though you couched it as a debt of honor?”

  She nodded. “Quite honestly, I wondered whether you’d change your mind once you had a chance to think.”

  “Did you? Perhaps because you don’t know me very well. I always keep my word.” He regarded her quizzically. “Do you?”

  He asked the question with a lightly conspiratorial air, as if they were sharing a secret. Which, in a sense, they were. This man could radiate charm when he wanted to. Perhaps it was a good thing that women could not serve on juries. How many of even the most sensible ones could resist this kind of friendly appeal?

  “Yes, of course.” She reached for the papers she’d brought with her. The sooner they got down to business, the better. “I have here the Latin portion of last year’s preliminary exam for the University of London.”

  “How did you get hold of that?” He sounded suspicious, as though she’d done something underhanded.

  “It is for sale at the booksellers in order to help students prepare. It’s a common practice.”

  “I see.” He took the paper and looked it over.

  “Do you mean to say you never did this?”

  “No need to. I felt confident enough in my knowledge to tackle whatever was given on the exam.”

  There was a hint of arrogance in his statement, but Julia could forgive it. She’d often been accused of pride when she’d only been giving a sincere assessment of her abilities.

  He continued to study the paper. “I see there are two parts to this test. First, translate a paragraph from a known Latin text. Second, answer seven grammatical questions.” He handed the paper back to her. “I assume you won’t know in advance which paragraph you will be asked to translate? You will need to ensure you have built a broad vocabulary.”

  “I know which text the paragraph will be taken from. That is always announced in advance. It will be Cicero’s De Oratore. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate a copy in any of the secondhand bookshops.” To buy a new copy was beyond Julia’s reach, but she didn’t feel she had to spell that out for him.

  “You are in luck,” he said cheerfully. “I own a copy. It is at my chambers. I will bring it next time.”

  “Wonderful!” Julia exclaimed. “That is my first big problem solved.”

  “As for the grammatical questions, they are straightforward, but they won’t be easy. Each one calls for a long and detailed answer. You will need a good vocabulary for that, too. You’ll need to recognize the principal parts of many types of verbs, not to mention being able to decline a good number of nouns and adjectives.”

  This need for declension—giving the various inflections of each word according to gender, number, and case—was a daunting task. Julia began to grow uneasy, in part because she knew that to receive the help she needed, she was going to have to admit just how much she didn’t know.

  “I suppose you have already attempted to answer the questions given here?” her mentor asked.

  “Yes.” Julia pulled out another piece of paper. “I have done all of it—with the aid of a dictionary,” she admitted sheepishly.

  She handed over her work, on edge as he read through it. He laid the two papers side by side on the desk, comparing the Latin paragraph with the translation she had written.

  She watched him as he worked, his face in profile to hers. It was a nice profile, with a straight nose and a chin that was in good proportion to the rest of his face. Not wanting to risk getting caught staring, Julia looked away, searching for something else to look at. Her gaze settled on the exotic chess set, reminding her again of her ultimate goal. “Did that chess set really come from Africa?”

  “I beg your pardon?” He looked up in surprise at this non sequitur.

  “There is a chess set in that curio cabinet with an African design. I don’t suppose Mr. or Mrs. Barker have actually traveled to Africa?” If they had, Julia was prepared to give them much credit and possibly even ask them some questions.

  But Michael only shook his head. “My brother-in-law invests in many companies that trade worldwide. I believe that was a gift from one of his clients.”

  “I plan to go to Africa.”

  “Do you?”

  She was not pleased at his look of disbelief, but it was a reaction she’d seen plenty of times before from others. “I’m going as soon as my medical studies are complete. I plan to be a medical missionary.” />
  “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because God has called me. And if the Lord calls you to do something, it isn’t wise to fight it.”

  A furrow deepened his brow. “Are you certain this is God’s calling? How can you know that for sure?”

  “Do you doubt the existence of God, or my ability to discern His will for my life?”

  “I don’t know either of you well enough to answer that question.” His response managed to be sardonic and to steer clear of giving a direct answer.

  “Are you not concerned about what God thinks of you?”

  “I don’t trouble myself much about God.” His tone changed to flat and hard-edged. “It’s not something we need to discuss. I made a commitment to help you in your endeavors, and you made a commitment not to interfere with mine. Did we not have this understanding?”

  So many objections bubbled up in Julia’s heart, so many things she wanted to say. Both Michael and his sister seemed intent only on material and social gain. This room was stuffed with objects, yet there was not one that hinted at spiritual inquiry. She actually felt sorry for them, despite these outward trappings of success. Without a spiritual life, what was the point?

  What was in his soul? That was the important question. For now, he was looking at her intently, awaiting a response to his question. Did we not have this understanding?

  Yes, they did. And Julia did not want to jeopardize it. Clearly she had touched a nerve, whether it was about God or the medical school or something else altogether.

  “I did not mean to tread on any toes,” she said. “I merely thought Africa might be a common interest for us. I forgot this is not your home.”

  His shoulders visibly relaxed, as did his expression. “Latin is our common ground for now, wouldn’t you say?”

  Julia could only nod in agreement.

  He pointed to the paper on which she had written her answers to the examination questions. “When translating this paragraph, I think you could have done a better job with this phrase.” He set before her a blank sheet of paper and a pen. “Let me tell you what I would have done. As my writing hand is still not fully functional, you will need to take this down yourself.”

  Despite the troubling detour their conversation had taken, Julia soon became convinced she had done the right thing by requesting these lessons. Michael understood the language very well, and he was adept at explaining its concepts. After reviewing the paragraph and enlightening her on some of the rhetorical devices it contained, he moved on to the grammar questions. Although he did not hesitate to point out her mistakes, he did not belittle her for them. That was all she could have asked—to be treated simply as a student willing to learn and not as a woman attempting the ridiculous.

  It was hard to believe she was working with a man actively engaged in trying to close the very school she wished to attend. Perhaps it was too great a contradiction for her mind to comprehend. Or maybe his work did not reflect his personal feelings? Although he had scoffed at the idea of her becoming a missionary, he had never derided her desire to become a doctor. What would it be like as a barrister to defend a client’s point of view that one didn’t agree with?

  She was debating whether to raise this topic or leave it for another day when the grandfather clock announced the hour of four with a series of delicate chimes.

  Michael closed the Latin book. “That’s all for today. I have business at Parliament tonight.”

  “Parliament?” This arrested her attention. “Do you involve yourself in politics?” She had not thought much about politics—aside from following the debate on whether women should be in medicine—until she’d come to London. Many of her fellow students and teachers read the newspapers thoroughly to keep up with everything that happened day by day.

  “As a barrister, I have to pay close attention to what our lawmakers are doing.”

  He rose and was helping Julia up from her chair—the two of them standing for that moment very close together—when Corinna entered the room. She must have just come home, for she was still wearing her coat and gloves.

  “My apologies for barging in,” she said. “I thought you’d be done by now.”

  Michael stiffened under his sister’s unfriendly gaze. “We are just finishing up.”

  All the warmth that had been in the room dissipated in the presence of Mrs. Barker. Her look of consternation when she saw the table strewn with books and papers told Julia that Michael had probably not consulted with his sister before removing the other items.

  Determined not to let this woman dampen her spirits, Julia said brightly, “Thank you for allowing us to use your parlor for this lesson, Mrs. Barker.”

  “It was no trouble.”

  But something in her gaze did indeed look troubled. Julia couldn’t help but think she was worried about more than returning the parlor table to its previous configuration.

  Turning to Michael, Julia said, “The lesson was most illuminating. I feel ten times more confident already.” She extended her hand, then remembered he was in no condition to return the gesture.

  “Our next lesson will be at two o’clock on Wednesday. I’ll bring my copy of Cicero, and we can review it together.”

  Julia thought he intentionally directed a note of defiance toward his sister. Although he was bound to have reservations about tutoring a would-be student to the medical school, he seemed determined to do it.

  Whatever his reasons were, Julia was glad.

  Collecting her book and papers, Julia said her good-byes and allowed a footman to show her to the door. She might have tried to get in another word or two with Michael, but he stayed behind in the parlor with his sister.

  As she walked home, Julia thought over all that had happened. By getting Michael to agree to these lessons, she was receiving excellent help with Latin. Perhaps it was an indication that the medical school would survive, for why would God provide this means to help her conquer the matriculation exam if she would have no way to study medicine? She had not yet been able to truly discuss the lawsuit with him, but this was only the first lesson. She would remain vigilant for an opening.

  Above all, she was intrigued by Michael himself. He had flatly refused to discuss spiritual matters. His underlying anger relating to the subject was unmistakable. Could she somehow reach him and turn him to God? To win a soul would be more important than anything else she could do. It might also be the tougher challenge, but she would welcome it.

  Michael worked his way to the front of the visitor’s gallery in the House of Lords, looking for a place to squeeze in. A large crowd had come to hear the Earl of Westbridge give a speech against the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Acts as a preemptive strike. It was rumored that a bill to repeal the act would be presented before the House of Commons later this week.

  Michael saw John Kelso, a newspaper reporter on Parliament proceedings, and made his way over to him. Kelso gave him a nod of greeting and moved over to make room on the bench. “Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Stephenson. Keeping up with your client?”

  “You could say that. I’m surprised to see so many others here, though,” Michael added as the two of them were forced to move over when another man commandeered a portion of the bench.

  “His lordship is gaining lots of notoriety with this libel suit,” Kelso pointed out. “Not that he doesn’t have enough already. As does the legislation itself. It should have been named the Contentious Diseases Act.”

  Kelso was still chuckling at his own joke when the lord chancellor took his place and opened the proceedings. Michael looked over the House of Lords as everyone settled into their seats. A good portion of the room’s red leather benches were filled, signaling the peers’ interest in tonight’s agenda. Ostensibly there would be a debate following the speech, but Michael didn’t think it would come to much.

  The next hour dragged on interminably, as other items of business were covered. There was little of interest to Michael, although Kelso,
busy at his profession, took copious notes with his pencil and notepad.

  At last, Lord Westbridge was given leave by the lord chancellor to speak. The earl tottered to the speaker’s podium. Nearing seventy, he had a shock of white hair, wire-framed glasses, and wore a suit that, although modern enough in cut, somehow evoked the midcentury. He paused, took a moment to adjust his glasses, and began.

  His speech was little more than a tirade in favor of keeping the act, setting forth a long list of arguments against repeal that consisted of everything Michael had heard before. The act protects the troops, who protect our nation. Why do we wish to imperil our sovereignty by allowing diseased women to infect our honorable soldiers? The very existence of our empire is at stake! His lordship even took time to mention how the women gained from this, too. Their diseases were caught and cured, making them happier people. Never mind that syphilis was never really cured. Nor that this entire argument tacitly accepted that there would always be prostitutes and that there was no reason to change that, so long as the women could be kept “clean.”

  Throughout this diatribe, there was not one mention of his own son, nor of the libel suit. That, at least, was wise. Tamblin had counseled his lordship to keep away from that subject. Every person in the audience, as well as most of the people who would read Kelso’s report tomorrow, knew it already.

  Michael grew more irritated as the speech went on. Why was he even here? Wasn’t it a waste of time to keep rehashing this bill over and over, since it would probably be defeated in the House of Commons anyway? Although some members had begun to advocate the repeal of the acts, they were still in the minority.

  And yet next to him, Kelso’s pencil worked steadily. “Wonderful press,” he murmured. “Readers will eat it up.”

  The earl finished his remarks to appreciative applause, and some people shouted, “Hear! Hear!”

  There followed the debate, which was little more than a series of statements by other eminent peers reiterating what the earl had just said.