She turned back to the street vendor and bought two pinwheels. Her heart lightened a little as she imagined the joy these colorful paper trinkets would give to Sam and Jemmie. She walked east, catching sight of St. Paul’s Cathedral before turning northward. She passed the court for criminal trials, known as the Old Bailey, and Newgate Prison, which loomed next door. She prayed for Myrtle and for Gwen. Their trials would take place in a few weeks. Julia prayed they would find justice and, in Gwen’s case, leniency.
There was one last stop she made on her way. At the shop of the baker who’d been so kind to Cara, she bought fresh bread. She also bought apples and a small meat pie from street vendors near the shop. She’d have to give up several dinners for this extravagance, but it would be worth it.
Sybil and the baby were in satisfactory health, considering their living conditions, as were the other children. Sybil and Hettie worked together doing piecework to support them all. It was a hard life, but Julia was impressed by their resilience. They received her simple offerings with such joy that she might as well have brought a feast.
Julia had always taken satisfaction in helping others, whether tending to physical needs through nursing, or to spiritual needs via prayer and sharing the gospel. Today, however, was the first time she felt others had truly ministered to her. The visit had turned into an impromptu party of sorts and given a lift to her downtrodden soul.
She looked around the simple room, which seemed more cheerful than when she first saw it. A fresh breeze coming through the window helped, as did the bright red pinwheels that the children were fanning with delight. Hettie had brewed tea to enjoy with the meal. Doreen had joined them, too, bringing a spoonful of tea leaves to add to the pot so there would be enough for everyone.
“You will surely be a doctor one day,” Hettie insisted after Julia told them about the trial and its outcome. “You have a gift for healing. Today was bad, but God is with you. You speak to us all the time about the power of prayer, yes?”
“Yes.”
“So what has changed?”
Julia felt her eyes grow misty even as she smiled at Hettie’s question. “You’re right, Hettie. God has not changed.” She held out her hands. “Shall we pray together?”
They did. Sybil prayed for Edith, for they all were sad to learn it had been her own father who’d been fighting the school. Even Doreen joined in, adding a simple prayer for Myrtle that touched Julia’s heart. At first, Doreen had staunchly refused to talk about God, but over the last few weeks, she had softened as Julia had continued to stress God’s love and forgiveness.
After the prayer, Doreen said, “I don’t mean to tell the Almighty how to do His business, but do you think maybe your handsome barrister friend can help Myrtle, too—like he helped us?”
Julia’s breath caught. One detail she hadn’t shared was the role Michael had played in the trial. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk about him. Even now, the mention of him sent her heart in contradictory directions. “I can’t promise that, I’m afraid.”
Doreen sighed, but accepted this with a nod. “I suppose he only works for the finer set.”
“Something will come through for Myrtle, I’m sure of it,” Julia assured her.
When it came time to leave, there was still a half hour or so of daylight left, so Julia wasn’t worried about the walk home. The narrow lane was as grimy and unwelcoming as ever, but it seemed less threatening today. Perhaps this was because Julia had grown accustomed to it. It was bustling with people, filled with noise as children played and dogs barked. No one paid her any mind.
Doreen’s mention of Michael had been the only damper to an otherwise uplifting visit. It seemed impossible to think of Michael without sorrow. She could not hold any anger against him, though. She loved him too much for that.
Julia felt a sense of melancholy returning as she made her way up the lane. Uncertainty still tugged at her heart, along with a feeling that maybe the answer was within reach, if only she could discern it. She paused when she reached the street corner, feeling an urge to turn around to take in the scene again before moving on. At one doorway, a mother was consoling a crying child. At another, a husband and wife were arguing. At a third, a young girl sat listless on the stoop to her decrepit home. Above them all, lines of laundry hung between the buildings. From bedsheets to petticoats, they formed a wall of white that flapped in the breeze.
“Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.”
Julia inhaled sharply at the memory of these words from the gospel. She’d once heard in a sermon that as Jesus had spoken this admonition, He might have been pointing to the crowd eagerly coming to see Him, as many people wore white garments in those days.
These are all people in need of help.
She had known that, of course. She’d seen it vividly during her visits to the charity clinic and the slums. There was poverty and misery throughout London, but Julia had never anticipated the way it would impact her heart. These people lived in a Christian country, and yet many did not truly know God. Nor was spiritual need limited to those in poverty; Julia knew this from her dealings with many others, including fellow students and the daughter of an earl.
Julia understood now. Even if she never became a doctor, there were people here whom she could help in the way that counted most. She thought of the admonition to seek first the kingdom of God, and the promise that in doing so, all other needs would be met.
London was a mission field, and it was big enough for a lifetime.
Friday night dinners in the great hall of Gray’s Inn were always well attended, but this week the meal had turned into a victory celebration.
Michael sat with a half-dozen colleagues, all of whom had congratulated him heartily for his part in winning the libel suit. Everyone agreed this could only launch him to greater things. “You shall have all the briefs you want after this,” one man assured him.
“Tamblin was the lead barrister,” Michael reminded them.
“Yes, but we all know he will be called up for a judgeship soon, and no longer able to practice. Besides, your part in the case did not go unnoticed.”
“It will be a good one for the law books,” said another man. “The way the case was pursued at trial was not what people were expecting.”
Michael looked around the ancient oak-paneled hall, which at the moment was filled with barristers and law students dining at rows of tables. Stained-glass windows on every wall bore the coats of arms of the Inn’s most notable members over the centuries. This venerable place was steeped in history. Michael had long desired to make his mark here, but pleading a questionable libel suit was not how he’d envisioned doing it. The outcome of the trial still bothered him.
One of the men at the table voiced a concern that Michael had also been considering. “It does seem an extraordinary verdict, though—to find for the plaintiff and yet award so small an amount. What do you suppose they meant by it?”
“Perhaps they felt his lordship already has all the money he needs,” one man offered.
“Maybe they didn’t want to find the defendants guilty, but they knew they had to award to Lord Westbridge anyway,” put in another.
“You gentleman seem to have missed the letter in the Times this morning,” said John Findlay, one of the Inn’s members whom Michael knew best. “There was a letter from one of the jurymen giving the whole story. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it with me, but I’d be glad to sum up.”
Michael was immediately intrigued. “What did he say?”
“He said everyone on the jury was of the opinion that the plaintiff ought to have provided clear evidence of the falsity of the defendant’s claims regarding the death of his lordship’s son. Nevertheless, they were split regarding which way to give the verdict, and they were not convinced that the excessive amount for damages requested by the plaintiff was warranted. The juror said they asked the clerk of court whether they could find the defendant guilty withou
t assessing damages. They were told they could not. They then asked if assessing just one pound would carry expenses for court costs against the defender and were told it would not. So that is how they reached their decision. They were surprised, therefore, when the Court in fact assigned the expenses to the defense.”
“The problem, then, is that the clerk did not give them correct information,” said one of the men, to which everyone, including Michael, nodded in agreement. “What they ought to have been told is that damages of less than five pounds do not necessarily entitle the pursuer to expenses, but that it is still nevertheless at the discretion of the Court.”
“Precisely!” said Findlay. “Given these circumstances, I do not think the verdict carries much weight. If I were counsel for the defense, I’d advise them to appeal based on the incorrect interference of the clerk of court.”
“Findlay, why are you trying to throw cold water on Stephenson’s victory?” one of the other men said. He raised a wineglass. “We still owe him a toast!”
But Michael had already come to the same conclusion as Findlay. When the meal was over, he pulled Findlay aside as everyone was leaving the hall. “Will you join me for a stroll on the walks?” he asked. “I’d like to follow up on something you said.”
Findlay looked surprised but readily agreed. “I hope you did not take umbrage at my earlier remarks,” he said, once they’d made their way to the gardens and chosen a path at random.
“Not at all. As we know, there are always multiple sides to every case, and even to every verdict. As you pointed out, the juryman’s letter shows they were sympathetic to the defendants. However, it’s not always easy to go against such a powerful figure, even in our most excellent legal system.”
“That is very true.”
“In fact, I think someone from the legal profession should write a letter to the Times, responding to the juror’s letter as you did tonight.”
Findlay stopped in his tracks. “You do?”
“Obviously it cannot come from me. But as you are a disinterested party and a respected barrister, I wonder if you might do it.”
Findlay looked at him quizzically. “Why would you want to do anything to encourage their appeal?”
“Let me ask you a question: Do you think women ought to be allowed to be licensed as physicians?”
“Indeed I do!”
This was exactly the answer Michael expected. He knew Findlay was one of the more forward-thinking members of the Inn.
Findlay added, “I expect women will also enter the legal profession someday. I’m not against that either, but I will say it gives me some trepidation about winning future cases. Based on personal experience with my sisters, no one can argue a point like a woman.”
He said this with a smile. Michael’s heart twisted a little, remembering the day he’d thought the same thing about Julia. “Well, then, this letter could help lessen the sting of the verdict, in terms of the school’s reputation among the public. It might vindicate them morally, if not financially.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Findlay admitted. “But I’m surprised to hear it from you.”
“If I may speak confidentially . . .” Michael paused, waiting until Findlay nodded his assent, before continuing. “I am for women in medicine, too. I have done my best to live up to the tenets of our profession and win this case for my client, but all of that should have no bearing on the school’s ability to continue its mission.”
“Right you are.”
“There’s one more thing I’d like to ask you, if I may. I have heard you do pro bono work sometimes at the criminal court. I’d be interested in doing something of the same. I’m thinking specifically of two women currently in custody, although my scope might broaden in time.”
Findlay gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Stephenson, before today I thought of you as someone driven to achieve personal success at all costs. But it appears I’ve been mistaken. You might be a man who favors truth and justice above personal gain.”
“Just don’t let the word get out.”
This drew the laugh he’d intended, though Michael knew in his heart that Findlay had been right on both counts. He’d still be that first sort of man today, except Julia had changed him.
CHAPTER
28
JULIA SAT WITH HER HANDS CLASPED in her lap, praying. Her eyes were wide open, though. She looked at the paper lying facedown on the table in front of her. As soon as the proctor finished handing them out, the Latin exam would begin.
This was the culmination of so much work. The matriculation exam would take place over the next three days. Latin was the first subject to be covered, and for Julia, this first hurdle was the most important. If she was successful, it would set the tone for the days to follow.
After the trial, Julia had immersed herself once more in her studies. She wasn’t going to forget the truth that God had sealed in her heart that day—that she was already in the right place, fulfilling her primary calling. Medical training would only enhance that, and so long as there was a chance the school would stay open, Julia would pursue it. The trustees of the medical school had publicly declared that they would continue with the current term as scheduled, which would end in late July. The tutoring continued as well. The court fees were still being assessed, and the collateral damage, such as possibly losing clinical privileges at the hospital, was not yet known. The dust would likely settle during the long break between July and the next term, which did not begin until October. As she studied, Julia set a vision of herself passing the exam and beginning medical studies in October. She would not allow herself to think of anything else.
The room held over one hundred examinees, although only about twenty were women. Not all the women here planned to attend the medical school, however. Some had set their sights on other fields of study at the University of London.
They had all been seated together at the back of the room.
“Is this so we don’t distract the men?” one of them had whispered sarcastically as they’d been directed to their seats by a university official.
“No, it’s to keep us closer to the exit, so that if someone faints from the strain, she can be easily removed,” Lisette had quipped in return.
Julia didn’t really mind. She felt it was a triumph just to be allowed to test in the same room and vie for the same goals in education as the men.
After reviewing in detail the rules to be followed, the proctor gave the command for everyone to turn over their papers and begin.
The first hour was to be spent translating a passage from Latin to English. Julia quickly skimmed the text to get an overall feel for it. In spite of her nervousness, she couldn’t help a tiny, aching smile. She wouldn’t need the Latin words for wildflower or hogshead today. But she was still exceedingly glad she’d learned them.
Taking a deep breath, she inked her pen and began.
“Congratulations on winning the lawsuit,” Jamie Anderson said.
Michael was once more in the offices of the P&O Steamship Company. Even after receiving Anderson’s note inviting him back here today, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d be received. “I trust you won’t take it personally.”
Anderson gave him a good-natured smile. “I’ve told you before that I don’t allow my wife’s affairs to affect how I do business.”
“Still, the loss was a hard blow to the school.”
“They haven’t given up the ship just yet. The court costs are enormous, but the directors are actively seeking sponsors to help pay that debt. The harder work will be keeping access to clinical training at the Royal Free Hospital. But there are people with influence working on that, too. I think a certain letter in the Times is swaying some opinions.” From the way he looked at Michael, it was obvious Anderson thought he’d written it.
“Yes,” said Michael, “I saw that letter, too. John Findlay made some very good points.”
Anderson nodded in understanding. “Well, if you know him
, please send him my personal thanks for writing it.”
“I will.” Even though Michael could take no credit for that letter to the Times, he was glad he’d spurred Findlay to write it. “May I ask, have you learned anything more about Paul Bernay?” He was hoping that was the reason Anderson had asked him here.
“Yes, but not before running across a few obstacles. The man I spoke to at the Marine Casualty and Insurance Company was not particularly helpful. He told me only what was already in the public record: the ship was on its way to South America when it was caught up in the hurricane and sank.”
“I suppose I expected that.”
Anderson opened a large book, fully four inches thick, that sat on his desk. “However, I did find one piece of information from this shipping register. This lists the names of the captains and officers of the ships. I can’t find Bernay listed anywhere as a ship’s captain.”
“How could that be?”
“I presume the Bernay sisters are mistaken. After all, they were very young when they lost their parents.”
Michael shook his head. “Julia specifically remembers her mother telling them he was a captain. The directors at the orphanage must also have known his title, and no one ever told the sisters any differently.”
Anderson shrugged. “I can’t explain it. I only know that according to this register, Bernay was second officer during the ship’s final voyage. This is still an important position, but it ranks third behind the captain and first officer. The second officer also has important duties regarding navigation. If the ship was off course, he would have been in some measure responsible for it.”
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