The Heart's Appeal

by Jennifer Delamere

  “Does that blemish interfere with your eyesight?” Julia asked, leaning forward to get a better look at Miss Morton’s left eye, which sagged at the outer edge from the pox scars.

  Miss Morton’s brows rose in astonishment.

  “Oh! I beg your pardon,” Julia exclaimed, realizing belatedly how rude the question must sound. “I truly meant no offense. It’s just that I saw several smallpox cases when I worked at the hospital in Bristol. We had a case where a pustule formed on the cornea—”

  She was interrupted by Miss Morton’s laugh. “Miss Bernay, I like you very much already.”

  To which Dr. Anderson added, “I can see you have the makings of a true physician, Miss Bernay. Medical interest overrides everything else, including the rules of polite conversation.”

  “There is no offense taken,” Miss Morton assured Julia. “I bear these marks with pride, for it was my illness and the treatments and issues related to my recovery that spurred my interest in medicine. And the answer to your question is no, thank God. My eyesight was spared, even if my face was not.”

  “Perhaps we might get back to the subject at hand?” Dr. Anderson suggested.

  Julia nodded, still feeling a little embarrassed. But Miss Morton was smiling.

  Dr. Anderson said, “I was alarmed when Miss Blanco told me one of our prospective students had been involved in the accident. However, I was also impressed to hear of your actions in the aftermath.”

  “I do feel it was fortuitous that I was on the train that day. I would not have been there if I hadn’t been trying to get to that lecture by Dr. Stahl. The Lord does seem to work in mysterious ways!”

  “So he does,” Dr. Anderson replied, but it seemed to Julia that her tone was noncommittal. Pointing to the newspaper, she said, “This article describes a nurse who splinted the leg of an injured woman. That was you?”

  “Yes.” Julia felt a little surge of pride that her medical abilities were already being noticed, and she wasn’t even a student here yet.

  Dr. Anderson absently gave the paper a little nudge as she focused on Julia. “Miss Blanco informed me that you helped another person, too. Someone known to this school. I’m curious as to why that bit of information did not make it into the paper.”

  “Although we have several theories,” Miss Morton interjected.

  “Why don’t you go over everything from the beginning?” Dr. Anderson prompted.

  The two ladies listened with interest as Julia described the accident and the measures she’d taken to keep Michael Stephenson’s bleeding in check until the doctor arrived. She explained that, at the time, she had no idea who he was. “Not that it would have made a difference,” she insisted. “I will treat anyone in need.”

  “Yes, that is our calling,” Dr. Anderson agreed. “But this brings me to the question I am most anxious to ask. Does Mr. Stephenson know of your forthcoming attachment to this school?”

  “Yes.”

  “And according to Miss Blanco, you went to see him afterward. What happened then?”

  Julia described her visit, saying only that she’d briefly seen Mr. Stephenson and was able to assure herself he was recovering well. “This Dr. Hartman seems proficient enough,” she declared. Seeing Dr. Anderson smile at this, and added anxiously, “Did I misspeak?”

  Dr. Anderson shook her head. “I was simply amused to hear your assessment. Dr. Hartman has a stellar reputation in the medical community.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Julia answered with feeling. Perhaps too much feeling, for she saw the other two women trade glances. “I mean, it’s criminal for anyone to be mistreated by someone incompetent,” she clarified.

  “You are correct on that point,” Dr. Anderson agreed. “Did anything else happen while you were there? How did they receive you?”

  “They managed to be grateful and yet keep a distance at the same time. It is a delicate situation, what with Mr. Stephenson’s involvement in the libel suit.”

  “You are too generous to defend their side,” Edith remarked with a scowl.

  “I am glad you were able to confirm that Mr. Stephenson’s wounds were not ultimately fatal and that he will recover fully,” Dr. Anderson said. “If the worst had happened, they might have found an excuse to blame the school for it.”

  “Oh! I hadn’t thought of that! I wanted only to help. I didn’t think anyone would try to draw a connection between my actions and the medical school.”

  “It would have been impossible to foresee. Even so, we are in a precarious position for several reasons. I do not approve of Dr. Tierney’s actions or the things she said that brought on the libel suit. I don’t think such remarks about a member of the aristocracy can help her cause. However, we cannot remove her from teaching at the school, lest that be seen as an admission that we believe in her guilt. We must do all we can not to harm our chances of prevailing in this suit. In addition, I am on record as having supported the acts when they were passed some years ago.”

  “You are?” Julia couldn’t help but be surprised. She’d assumed all the women here were against the acts.

  “I have treated many innocent women who were infected with venereal disease by husbands who consorted with prostitutes—either before or after their wedding night. I have seen their anguish, both emotionally and physically. As distasteful as the measures are, I am willing to support them if it will help eradicate this terrible problem.”

  Julia turned to see Edith’s reaction to this, but her expression was unreadable.

  “It’s good that things turned out well,” Dr. Anderson continued. “I only wish there was some way to keep abreast of how Mr. Stephenson continues on. I worry, lest there be any delayed reaction that might be used against us.”

  “Perhaps since you know Dr. Hartman, you might find out more information through him?” Edith suggested.

  Dr. Anderson shook her head. “I would never ask him to breach physician’s confidentiality. I suppose we’ll just have to rely on publicly available information and hope for the best.”

  Julia wanted to tell them she’d be seeing Michael again, but she stayed silent, knowing she was honor-bound to keep her word.

  “That woman you helped—have you followed up to see how she is doing?” Dr. Anderson asked.

  “I have not,” Julia admitted. “I know she was taken to the Royal Free Hospital, so I have no doubt she is getting good care.”

  “I am going there now,” Miss Morton said. “I work as a surgical dresser, and the doctors have been allowing me to visit the patients as well. Would you like to accompany me? We can look in on her together.”

  “I would like that very much,” Julia said, eager to observe how the medical students interacted with the hospital staff.

  Miss Morton smiled broadly. “Excellent.”

  As they were rising to leave, Dr. Anderson said, “Miss Bernay, would you like to come to a conversazione at my home in three weeks’ time? This is an informal gathering that I hold sometimes with our students. We generally focus on some medical topic that is currently of interest.”

  Julia was pleasantly astonished by this invitation. “I would be honored!”

  Dr. Anderson took out a sheet of paper and wrote down some information. She handed it to Julia. “Here is the date and the address. We look forward to seeing you. And we don’t fuss about what to wear.”

  Julia looked down at the address. It had been scrawled quickly and on plain paper, but even if it had been printed on a gilded card it could not have been more valuable.

  “Everything looks fine,” Edith pronounced as she and Julia inspected the leg of the woman Julia had helped during the Underground accident. The doctors had replaced Julia’s makeshift splint with one made for the purpose, and the flesh wound was sutured and clean.

  The woman, Mavis, had been largely silent as they looked her over. She looked at them with dull eyes, the only gleam coming from the glint of tears as they spilled over to her cheeks. She’d been crying the entire time
, making no effort to wipe away the tears.

  “You should take some beef broth to keep up your strength,” Julia told her, reaching for a wide mug that Mavis had left untouched on the bedside table.

  “No.” Her voice was flat. She turned her head away from the proffered drink.

  “Are you in great pain?” Edith asked. Earlier, Mavis had refused a tonic to dull the pain.

  “No more than I deserve,” Mavis muttered miserably.

  “Why do you say that?” Julia asked.

  “I’m going to die. I know what happens with a broken leg. I saw it when my uncle broke his. It turns black and green, and then you die. It’s judgment on me.”

  “Not every broken leg leads to gangrene,” Edith said crisply. “Certainly not this one. It was treated properly and in a timely manner.”

  Although Edith’s assessment was accurate, Julia saw a deeper problem that medicine wasn’t going to address. She took hold of Mavis’s hand. “Do you think God is judging you?”

  Mavis began to sob, her fingers tightening around Julia’s. “I’ve done bad things, and I’m going to hell for it. God hates me.”

  “It’s true that God wants us to live in a manner pleasing to Him.” Julia paused just long enough to allow this to register in Mavis’s heart, but not long enough to leave her in condemnation. “However, He is not waiting, poised to punish us at every opportunity. The devil is busy enough doing that.”

  This comment only caused Mavis’s tears to flow faster.

  “If she wants a chaplain, we can find her one,” Edith said. “You are only distressing her.”

  Julia didn’t reply. She’d seen a person cry like this before because God was healing their heart. With her free hand, she covered Mavis’s. “‘I am the Lord, that healeth thee.’ Will you repeat that after me?”

  Mavis looked at her, confused. “What?”

  “It’s from the Bible. There are many verses that speak of healing. God wants you to be healed and give glory to Him. Shall I share a few more with you?”

  Mavis blinked, still looking dazed. She didn’t answer, but Julia did not read denial in her expression, either.

  “‘Bless the Lord, who forgiveth all thine iniquities,’” she continued. “‘Who healeth all thy diseases. Who redeemeth thy life from destruction—’”

  “I will check on some of the others,” Edith whispered to Julia, then left the bedside.

  Julia continued to quote the verses that came to mind, adding words of encouragement about God’s grace and mercy. After a few minutes, Mavis’s grip on her hand began to relax. She lay with closed eyes, but Julia knew she was listening. Edith, on the other hand, seemed to be making a point of not listening. She worked her way toward the opposite end of the women’s ward, stopping to speak a few words to each patient along the way.

  He sent His word and healed them. This was the verse most on Julia’s mind as she promised Mavis, who was calmer now, that she’d return to visit again tomorrow. Mavis began to sip at the broth as Julia left.

  Julia caught up with Edith as she entered the main hall connecting the women’s ward to the ward for children.

  “Finished?” Edith’s irritation was clear.

  “I’ve found that people will often heal faster if they are in a good state of mind,” Julia told her. She wasn’t going to apologize for what she’d done.

  They began walking down the long hallway toward the wide main stairs that joined the two wings of the hospital. Two nurses passed them, each carrying trays stacked with dirty dishes.

  “I’m glad that boy finally stopped grousin’ about the food,” one of them remarked to the other. “He was only upsetting the others.”

  “I suppose Master Crawford must get very fine food at his mansion in Spitalfields,” scoffed the second nurse in agreement. She spoke with an ironic air, for the Royal Free Hospital had been established to care for the poor and destitute.

  “Excuse me, Miss Peters,” Edith said. “Are you speaking of Roger? What was the problem?”

  The nurses paused, evidently knowing Edith but looking perturbed at being interrupted in their duties. “He was moaning that the food we gave him made him sick to his stomach,” Miss Peters said. “He’s stopped complaining now, though. Finally came to his senses.”

  “Did he eat the food?”

  “No. But his father says he’s very particular about what he eats.” She said this with a roll of her eyes.

  Edith’s brow furrowed. “He was complaining about a stomachache, but he says he’s fine now?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” the nurse answered impatiently. “If you’ll excuse us?”

  Edith nodded and seemed hardly to notice as the two nurses hurried off.

  “Is something wrong?” Julia asked.

  “Why don’t we go and take a look?”

  Julia didn’t know what had arrested Edith’s attention. She followed willingly, though, thinking there might be something to learn.

  “The boy in question took a bad tumble down some stairs,” Edith explained as they walked toward the children’s ward. “He fractured his arm and hit his head soundly to boot.”

  “They’ve been watching him for signs of concussion, I suppose?”

  “That’s right. They plan to discharge him tomorrow, but . . .”

  She didn’t finish the thought. At the children’s ward, she went to the bed nearest the door. A boy who looked to be around ten years old was propped up in a seated position. There was a little wooden toy—a cup with a ball and string attached—lying next to him, but he had apparently lost interest in it. At the moment, he lay listlessly against the pillows, his eyes closed.

  “How do you feel today, Roger?” Edith said, gently holding the wrist on his uninjured arm to take his pulse. “Miss Peters tells me you were complaining of a stomachache.”

  Roger grimaced. “I don’t like her.”

  Edith frowned as she let go of his hand, but Julia didn’t think she was reacting to his words. “I’m going to inspect your stomach for a moment,” she told him.

  She began to move her hands over his abdomen, pressing down gently. He cried out in protest when she reached his left side.

  She removed her hands. “All done,” she said briskly. She pulled Julia aside and said quietly, “I believe he has internal hemorrhaging. The doctor blamed his soreness on bruised ribs, but it may be that his spleen has ruptured. His abdominal area is hard and distended, perhaps from filling with blood. His pulse is fast and weak.”

  Julia took in this information, amazed that Edith had discovered this problem.

  “I’ve got to find the doctor,” Edith continued. “Will you wait here with Roger? Talk to him—we don’t want him to lose consciousness.”

  “Of course,” Julia replied, but Edith was already hurrying from the ward.

  “That was a remarkable thing you did,” Julia said, as she and Edith walked out of the hospital three hours later. The doctor had confirmed her diagnosis and immediately taken the boy to surgery. Neither Julia nor Edith had been allowed into the operating theatre, but they’d waited until Roger was brought out again. He was going to pull through. “Was it something Miss Peters said that made you want to check on him?”

  “Yes. Sometimes internal bleeding can cause colic-like symptoms, but then it dissipates. She said he’d been complaining of stomachache but then stopped. I thought it was worth checking.”

  “You are very astute for still being a student,” Julia told her. “You’ll be an impressive doctor one day.”

  Edith clearly took pride in the compliment. “I also volunteer at a free clinic in Bethnal Green. We deal with lots of injuries there. You did a fine job setting Mavis’s leg. If you’d ever like to join me at the clinic sometime—”

  “Indeed I would!” Julia answered without hesitation.

  CHAPTER

  8

  YOU CANNOT IMAGINE HOW DISTRESSED I WAS! There was Mr. Stephenson, laid out on the carriage floor with blood gushing from his neck—!” Lau
ra paused, one delicate hand raised to her forehead, as though she might faint even now at the mere memory of it.

  She certainly had the attention of everyone at Corinna’s elaborate dinner table. This sample of London’s elite listened to Laura with morbid fascination as she described the events in a dramatic manner that made Michael feel ill at ease. Picking up his wine glass, he took advantage of the motion to catch Corinna’s gaze. He lifted his brows a fraction to send her a silent question as to the propriety of having such a grisly discussion in the middle of her elegant seven-course dinner.

  Her response was a slight crinkle of her eyes—her way of telegraphing a shrug without anyone else in the room noticing. He supposed she was taking pleasure at this display of Laura’s distress over Michael. He and Laura having survived this terrible ordeal together would cement them as a couple in the minds of tonight’s guests, and that was exactly what Corinna wanted.

  “Why, the sight must have been terrible!” exclaimed Mrs. Dalrymple, a wiry old lady who loved nothing more than exciting gossip.

  Laura nodded emphatically. “I believe it was only sheer strength of will that kept me from fainting dead away on the spot.”

  “I am sorry to have caused you so much anguish,” Michael said, patting her hand. “Believe me, if I could have avoided doing so, I would have.”

  “Ho, ho!” chuckled Mr. Dalrymple. “I’m sure you would have, poor fellow.”

  Laura rewarded Michael for his joke with a smile and a coquettish blink of her lashes.

  “Thank heavens you didn’t faint, Miss Maynard, or we would never have gotten out of the tunnel and found help for my brother,” Corinna declared.

  “But we did, didn’t we?” Laura answered proudly. “I feel we must also give credit to that kind gentleman, Mr. Browne. There were so many people in that tunnel! But Mr. Browne cleared the way for us because we had to get help to Mr. Stephenson right away.”

  Despite praising Laura just now, Corinna had given Michael a different story. Laura had been more of a hindrance than a help. She’d been overtaken with panic and near-hysteria. Corinna was the one who’d had the real presence of mind. She’d gotten Laura down that tunnel to the station through a combination of pushing and cajoling, all the while desperate to get help for Michael. This Mr. Browne that Laura mentioned had also offered to take Laura to a cab, freeing Corinna to locate a doctor for Michael.