Michael sighed. “Yes, what is it?”
“Mr. Tamblin has come to call on you, sir. Shall I bring him in here?”
Mr. Tamblin! The chief legal arm of the man attacking the college was in this house. Julia hoped he would be brought in here, as she wanted very much to see him.
To her disappointment, Michael answered, “No, don’t do that. Ask him to wait in the study. I’ll be along shortly.”
The butler gave a nod and left the room. Michael rose slowly from the chair, looking as though he felt plenty of pain from his injuries. Julia took his arm to help him up. This brought only a smile to his lips. Or perhaps it was a grimace. He leaned heavily on her arm until he found his balance.
“My apologies, but I must spend a few minutes talking with this gentleman. He is my employer, and we are in the midst of—that is, there is a lot going on at the moment.” He gave her a sidelong glance. Perhaps he suspected she was aware of his involvement with the lawsuit against the school. “Will you wait here? I am aware—and grateful—that you saved my life. I wanted to discuss—that is, if there is anything I can do to repay you . . .”
Julia looked at him, wondering if he knew what an open-ended and potentially dangerous offer that was. He knew the lawsuit made them adversaries, at least by proxy.
“Yes, I’ll wait.” She wasn’t going to turn down his offer to continue this conversation.
He gave her a brief, grateful smile and left the room.
Alone in the parlor, Julia decided to look around. Many of the objects on the shelves looked like they’d been imported from foreign lands. The Barkers were either world travelers or else they enjoyed buying goods from those who were.
She studied a colorful painting of punt boats along the River Cam with the venerable buildings of Cambridge University in the background. Julia had never been there, but she had seen photographs. From her Latin studies, she recognized the university’s motto inscribed on a gold plate attached to the frame: Hinc lucem et pocula sacra. She knew it could be translated as “From this place, we gain enlightenment and precious knowledge.” Was Mr. Barker an alumnus? Or perhaps Michael?
She wondered what was happening in the study. How she wished she could be a fly on the wall, hearing what the two barristers were talking about! Especially if they were discussing strategies for winning the libel case against Dr. Tierney. Julia toyed with the idea of crossing the hall and confronting them about why they were so willing to bring destruction on a school whose only focus was to help people. She even advanced halfway across the room toward the door before she made herself stop and reflect. Most likely, such an action would only get her tossed from the house.
As she pondered these things, her attention was arrested by a set of carved figurines inside one of the curio cabinets. Drawing closer, she saw that they were chess pieces sitting atop a finely inlaid chessboard. However, the figurines were not in the standard shapes. Instead of knights, queens, and castles, she was looking at the long neck and head of a giraffe with its two short horns, a woman with a pot on her head, and grass huts. Fascinated, she studied the entire set closely. The king had an elaborate headdress, and the pawns had rings in their ears and broad noses. The entire board was inspired by images from Africa.
It was a timely reminder that Julia should keep her mind focused on her future. She was going to complete her studies, and she was going to Africa someday. Whatever happened with the court case, surely the school would survive. And even if it didn’t, she would find some other way to qualify as a doctor before she left Europe. No matter what obstacles lay in wait along the way.
CHAPTER
5
MICHAEL PAUSED before opening the door to the study, catching his breath and giving his head time to clear. He was dismayed at how merely walking across the hall had exhausted him. Used to fending for himself, he did not have the patience to be an invalid.
Aside from the physical stress, his interview with Miss Bernay had muddled his senses as well. While she’d been inspecting his injuries, he’d been overwhelmingly aware of her nearness. Her hands were cool and businesslike, but her touch had affected him with contradictory sensations of well-being and a curious kind of agitation. And she smelled of soap. Not those floral scents favored by most women he knew—just plain, tart, astringent soap. Everything about her signaled that she was a straightforward and practical woman. One who had not the slightest qualms about coming into close proximity with virtual strangers. He’d never had a woman that close to him who did not have some other thing in mind.
All of these things left no doubt that she was every inch the medical professional she claimed to be. And yet this was curiously belied by her physical appearance—a young woman with a trim figure, expressive brown eyes that tended more toward almond-shaped than round, and an angular face softened by full red lips that could draw up into an appealing bow when she pursed them in serious thought—as she’d done while examining him. Even now, Michael found himself smiling at the memory of the butler’s face when he’d walked in on them. What did he think had been going on? It was not difficult to guess. Perhaps it would get back to Corinna in one fashion or another. The butler talked to the housekeeper, who talked to the ladies’ maid. He ought to be concerned at the possible impact of such gossip, but for now, he merely shrugged it off and went into the study.
Noah Tamblin, Queen’s Counsel, had the precise appearance and demeanor of a man befitting his title. With graying hair and a face lined with age, he exuded the dignified wisdom of a man who thoroughly knew the legal system after spending decades working in it. Just now, though, he looked genuinely appalled as he saw Michael. “Stephenson, you look awful.”
Only then did Michael remember he was still in his dressing gown with his hair askew and his face unshaven. How odd that he hadn’t wanted Laura to see him this way but had completely forgotten about it while he’d been with Julia. “As you can see, I am still convalescing.” He lifted his bandaged right hand. “I’d shake your hand, but . . .”
Tamblin shook his head in sympathy. “At least you are up and about. As soon as I found out what happened, I came straightaway to see you, but you hadn’t regained consciousness yet. Your sister told me the details. You were lucky there was a nurse on the train who knew what to do.”
“Yes, I was lucky,” Michael agreed. He reached up to touch the bandages at his neck, thinking of Julia. Tamblin had used the word nurse to describe her. It appeared that when Corinna had related the incident to Tamblin, she hadn’t included the interesting detail that the nurse was planning to one day become a doctor. If she had, what would Tamblin think if he knew the woman in question was even now in the parlor? Would he think an enemy had stormed the gates? Perhaps Michael should view it that way as well. Could it really be coincidence that she’d been on that train with him? Or had she been following him for some reason? That thought was not a little discomforting.
“So what’s the prognosis?” Tamblin asked.
“Everything seems to be on the mend.” Michael had to stifle a grimace as the various aches he felt everywhere belied that statement. “I expect to be able to return to work in a week or so.”
Tamblin gave a nod of satisfaction. “I’m relieved to hear it. You are critical to our work. You are hands down the best devil I’ve ever had.”
Michael had been working hard to make a name for himself as a devil, which was the title given to a junior barrister who did much of the paperwork and kept cases on their slow march through the sludge of the legal system. Success in this arena was a significant step toward furthering his legal career.
Tamblin was still studying him closely. “As I recall, the day before this unfortunate accident, you went to Buxton. What happened? Was it a success?”
“It was.” Michael had gone to interview the doctor in charge of a private sanatorium in the countryside where John Morton, the Earl of Westbridge’s son, had spent the last three of his forty-five years. Michael had taken a train there. He’d returned home
late on the evening before the accident, so he hadn’t had time to give Tamblin a report.
Still feeling light-headed, Michael eased into one of the two leather chairs next to the fireplace.
Tamblin took a seat in the opposite chair but leaned forward eagerly as he asked, “What happened? Was Dr. Gale willing to sign the affidavit?”
“Oh yes. Dr. Gale spoke quite freely, giving me an entire list of everything Morton had wrong with him, maladies both physical as well as mental. But nothing at all related to syphilis, of course.”
“Hmm, yes. That’s good. Another brick in the wall for us.”
Tamblin spoke as though he hadn’t expected this outcome from the beginning. But why shouldn’t he? From the day two years ago when Morton had been found drowned in the pond on the sanatorium’s grounds, the doctor had maintained that it was an accident. Morton had not been in control of his mental faculties due to a fever. Morton had been prone to reoccurrences of malaria ever since he’d first contracted it as an army officer in South Africa.
All of this information was public knowledge. But there were also rumors that the real reason for Morton’s actions was insanity brought on by advanced syphilis. He might even have deliberately committed suicide. This was the accusation that the Earl of Westbridge was fighting with this libel suit. From Michael’s point of view, the whole thing boiled down to nothing more than an attempt to keep scandal from besmirching the family name. To some extent, Michael could respect this. Hadn’t he and Corinna spent these past ten years fighting to regain the reputation their own father had ruined? The difference, of course, was that the Stephensons were not trying to hide the ugly truth, only to move beyond it. Although he was working hard to win this case for the earl, Michael suspected there was a good bit of cover-up going on regarding what really happened.
One hint of this was the manner in which Dr. Gale was so willing to lay out in public all of Morton’s supposed maladies. Michael was far from an expert on this subject, and yet it seemed to him a blatant breach of confidentiality. The doctor had shown Michael he was ready and willing to do anything to help Lord Westbridge win his case. It was entirely possible he was on the earl’s payroll. Or was that merely the cynical view? Perhaps the official version of events had been correct. On the other hand, Michael had noticed that the doctor had been wearing a very expensive waistcoat of embroidered silk, and that he’d pulled out a fine gold watch to check the time as they’d been concluding their interview.
Was it possible that doctors could be bought and sold, as many men in other professions were? Michael had always thought they’d be too altruistic to accept bribes. But perhaps no one was truly immune from the desire for gain. He couldn’t help but wonder what motivated Julia Bernay to become a doctor. He would bet that it wasn’t money, although he couldn’t say how he knew this.
Tamblin rose from his chair. “I don’t want to keep you from your rest. We need you back at full strength as soon as possible.” As the two made their way to the front door, Tamblin added, “His lordship knows about the accident, and he asked me to pass along his wishes for a speedy recovery. He is aware that your work on this lawsuit has been invaluable.”
“Thank you, sir.” Michael threw a glance at the parlor door. It was ajar, and he saw that Julia Bernay was still there. She was studying the contents of a curio cabinet.
She turned as Tamblin spoke, and her forehead crinkled. It wasn’t difficult to surmise what thoughts would be going through her mind if she’d heard Tamblin praising him for their expected victory over the medical school.
Michael reasoned that it was equally likely that she was unaware who Tamblin was. He had no idea how much she knew of the court case or the people involved. Her look of irritation might merely be caused by the fact that he’d kept her waiting. He certainly had seen a similar look on his sister’s face a time or two.
With a few final words, Tamblin left, and Michael gratefully closed the door after him.
“Thank you for waiting,” he said as he returned to the parlor.
“Was that Mr. Noah Tamblin?”
“Yes, that’s right.” He tried to appear nonchalant. “Do you know him?”
“I know of him.” Now it was clear that her look was one of flat disdain.
He met her stare evenly. “Perhaps now you are sorry you saved my life.”
She drew back in surprise. “Never! Don’t you know the Hippocratic Oath and its tenet of doing no harm?”
“You are not yet a doctor,” he pointed out.
“I will be, and I do my best to live by every principle of the oath now.”
He was tempted to admire her sense of purpose, but he was still not entirely sure of her. “So I suppose you keep all of your dealings and associations honest and aboveboard?”
“Naturally.”
“You would not, say, have had an ulterior motive for being in the same carriage as me that day? Something to do with this lawsuit?”
This seemed to genuinely surprise her. “What kind of motive?”
“You know of my involvement with a legal matter that threatens the medical school.”
“But I didn’t know that when I boarded that train. I had no idea who you were. I was on my way to a lecture, that was all.”
Her eyes shifted away briefly, and Michael had the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him. “I suppose you ended up missing that lecture.”
“Yes. But there will be lots more in the future. Especially after I become a student at the school.”
It was not a mere statement, but a challenge. In all likelihood, every other woman associated with that college had the same steely determination. Michael had gleaned that much from his work on the lawsuit already.
“You asked earlier what you could do for me,” Julia Bernay said. “How you could repay me for saving your life.”
Michael tensed. He couldn’t believe he’d spoken so hastily. Although he’d been sincere, he had not intended to couch his offer in such broad terms. “You did say quite plainly that your actions stemmed only from your desire to help,” he reminded her.
Her lips pressed together briefly, but the turned-up corners of her mouth indicated this was from amusement. “Are you worried that I shall ask for ‘half your kingdom’?”
“Well, I do seem to be at your mercy, just at present.”
She looked at him intently. “Quod in iuventute non discitur, in matura aetate nescitur.”
Taken aback, he murmured, “I beg your pardon?”
She repeated the phrase. “It’s Latin. Do you know what it means?”
“Of course. ‘What is not learned in youth is not known when fully grown.’”
“Very good.” She spoke for all the world as though she were a schoolmistress. In reality, her pronunciation wasn’t very good, although she had spoken the sentence with correct syntax. “Do you know Latin, then?”
Michael stared at her, unable to imagine why the conversation was moving in this direction. “I do.”
“I mean, really know it. Thoroughly versed in grammar and familiar with the classics.”
He couldn’t resist. After all, if she was going to boast about her commitment to medicine, he could match her with his qualifications for practicing law. Achieving the highest scores in his major field of study had been an important early milestone in his career. “A thorough knowledge of Latin is indispensable to my profession. I took a first in the classical tripos at Cambridge.”
“That is impressive.” Once more she glanced away, and this time Michael saw that she was looking at the painting of Cambridge that Corinna had bought out of pride for her brother.
“Might I ask why you are so interested in my academic life?”
Her gaze returned to him. “Because I am asking you to tutor me in Latin.”
Michael began to worry that his injuries were somehow affecting his hearing. “You want me to do what?”
“In order to pass the matriculation exam, I need to translate a Latin passage a
nd answer detailed questions on Latin grammar. There are other subjects, too, of course, such as algebra and English history. But Latin is my weakest subject.”
“I can believe that.”
She responded to his deprecating remark with a stinging glare. “So will you do it?”
“But I am not qualified to teach Latin.”
“Didn’t you just tell me you took a first? Congratulations, by the way. That is an accomplishment to be proud of.”
Was she trying to flatter him now? She seemed to be trying every tactic possible. “Knowing it and teaching it are two different things. However, I will gladly pay for a tutor for you.” It was the least he could do, and it would be little to pay in exchange for what she had done.
She gave him a look midway between hurt and disappointment. “Would you pay someone else to discharge a personal debt—and a moral obligation?” She shook her head. “Really, Mr. Stephenson, I had higher expectations from a man of your caliber.”
This had to be some kind of ruse. He could not believe she was speaking raw truth about her opinion of him, any more than she truly believed the nonsense she was putting forth about moral obligation. Who even spoke of such things nowadays? Michael’s life had been about striving to get what he deserved, and working even harder to lay hold of the things he didn’t. But this woman gave the impression of totally believing her words. If she was lying, she was better at it than anyone he’d ever met. Given the sorts of people he’d had dealings with as a barrister, that would be saying quite a lot.
“I’ve already assured you of my deepest gratitude. Why would I offer you a second-rate teacher”—he pointed to himself—“when I can make sure you obtain the best? How would that be neglecting my moral obligation?”
“I do not think you would be second-rate. You can teach me the techniques you used to pass your exam with flying colors. I saved your life. You have stated that you would like to pay me back. It seems to me that such a debt should not be paid by proxy.”
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