Julia noticed the use of the word our and the way the young woman in the corner hugged herself a little at the gray-haired woman’s response. It seemed they’d been brought in together, although it appeared neither wanted much to do with the other.
Edith went to Eliza’s unconscious form and began examining her, lifting her eyelids to check her pupils and searching her head and neck for skull or cervical injuries. Julia crouched next to the bench while Edith placed two fingers on Eliza’s neck.
“Pulse is weak,” Edith murmured. “No sign of consciousness. I’m worried for her.”
The door creaked open, and a policeman pushed Myrtle back into the cell. “You’re next,” he said to Doreen.
The gray-haired woman smirked as Doreen went out. Julia saw her eyeing Edith’s frock, which although simple and functional was clearly made of quality material. “I guess they’re saving the best for last.”
“What did they ask you?” Julia asked Myrtle.
“The usual things.” She began pacing the cell, her fists clenched. “If I ever see that Bob Logan again, I’m gonna give him a big piece of my mind. And maybe my fist, too. All I was trying to do was warn him, and now look what’s happened. If I get consigned, I’ll be stuck in jail until the next assizes, and then what’ll I do?”
“What do you mean, ‘consigned’?” Edith asked.
But Myrtle didn’t answer. She paced back and forth, consumed with her own agitated thoughts.
Julia had the same question. She wished she could ask Michael for advice. He would surely know what to do.
The gray-haired woman crossed her arms and gave Edith a condescending smile. “New at this, are you? Allow me to fill you in. If the magistrate decides there’s enough evidence to consign you, you’ll be remanded to jail until the trial. Unless you got the brass for bail. Otherwise, you get to cool your heels in prison until the assizes.”
Once more the young woman in the corner twitched. Julia had a hard time controlling her own worried reaction. She didn’t know how much bail would be, but she had no spare money of any kind.
“I see,” said Edith, receiving this information with detached interest, as if none of this applied to her. Perhaps she wasn’t worried because she had money to pay bail, if needed. Edith could say what she wished about not wanting to depend upon aristocratic privileges, but she had an independent trust fund that allowed her to live well, if not lavishly. It would presumably provide what she needed in such an emergency.
Doreen wasn’t gone long. Unlike Myrtle, when Doreen returned to the cell, her movements displayed calm resignation.
Julia asked the policeman, “Has anyone else been brought in tonight?” Even with everything else going on, Cara was never out of her thoughts.
“If there had been, you’d know about it” was the gruff reply. “All the ladies end up in this cell.”
He summoned Edith next. When they’d gone, Doreen came up to Julia and whispered, “If I was you, I wouldn’t tell anyone at the station about your sister. She could get in worse trouble for evading arrest.”
“Surely not!” Julia protested.
Doreen nodded solemnly. “People have been sentenced to six months in prison for less.”
It was another grim vision of what could happen, and it would be Julia’s fault for allowing Cara to go with her to that unsafe neighborhood. Her sister was tender and naïve, often given to daydreaming and flights of fancy. These traits had irritated Julia over the years, but she would never wish to see Cara brought to the harsh realities of life by being thrust into a prison and crushed like a flower underfoot. She said earnestly, “Thank you for the warning.”
Turning away, Julia went to the window, although it was too high to look through. She had been praying for Cara to be found and pulled in from the streets, but now she didn’t know what to pray for. Reflexively she clasped her hands together and murmured, “Lord, you know what’s best. Please keep her safe.”
She’d meant this as a private moment, forgetting that the older woman was still watching them closely.
“Oh, a godly one!” said the woman sarcastically, raising her hands in mockery. “Well, don’t bother sending up any prayers. He don’t pay no mind to the people in the slums.”
Although startled by this outburst, Julia didn’t hesitate to answer. “On the contrary, God hears every prayer, holding both rich and poor in equal consideration.”
The woman’s sour expression showed what she thought of that answer. “I’m sure it was your pious ways that got you here. But I suspect it’ll be your money—not your prayers—that gets you out. Oh yes, I got a good look at that one.” She stretched a bony finger toward the cell door, referring to Edith, who had just left for her turn with the stationmaster. “She’s got someone keeping her, that’s for sure—though Lord knows why, with a face like that. How about you?”
“These are good women!” Doreen exclaimed. “Not grifters or whores. Be quiet!”
The woman advanced menacingly. “Care to make me?”
Doreen held her ground, tensed for a fight. Julia pulled her back, putting as much distance as she could between them and the other woman. The last thing they needed now was an altercation. “Please don’t get insulted on my account. Ugly words don’t change the truth.”
Doreen still looked riled up but held her peace. The gray-haired woman looked pleased with herself, as though she’d won this round.
Edith was back in less than five minutes, looking as unruffled as when she’d left.
Julia pulled her to the far side of the cell, whispering to keep from being overheard by the gray-haired woman. “What happened?”
“He asked my name and place of abode.”
“And how did you answer?”
“I said my name is Edith Morton and I live in Boswell Street, Bloomsbury.”
“But even with this information, he didn’t make the connection of who you must be?”
Edith shrugged. “London’s a big city. I imagine there are plenty of women with the name Edith Morton.”
Julia sighed in exasperation, still speaking under her breath, “But there are not too many who are the Honorable Lady Edith Morton, daughter of the Earl of Westbridge.”
“He didn’t ask if I had an honorific, so I didn’t offer it.”
“I don’t imagine they would, given the circumstances,” Julia replied through gritted teeth.
“Well, then, it’s their fault for not doing a thorough enough job, isn’t it?” Edith delivered this criticism of the Metropolitan Police with an air of disdain that made her sound exactly like the daughter of an earl.
“This is foolishness,” Julia said. “With a word, you could probably get us all out of here.”
“You may tell them what you like about yourself. Say whatever you like, if you want to leave,” Edith returned. “For myself, I am very interested to see firsthand what happens to women like these. Don’t you see? This is what our struggle is about. Everyone, high and low, male and female, should be treated equally under the law. My father thinks I cannot survive outside the protection of our rank and station. I am determined to prove otherwise.”
“And if the magistrate orders you to undergo a physical examination?”
Edith blanched a little, although her answer was bold enough. “Then they will see how utterly wrong and useless these laws are. It will further our cause.”
Julia thought over these things as she was led to the stationmaster’s desk. She understood Edith’s desire to stand on her own two feet, but she also thought there was a flaw in her approach. She had not told them she was a student at the London School of Medicine for Women. Surely that would have been better than saying nothing at all, wouldn’t it? That she was on the verge of qualifying for her license was something she’d accomplished on her own. Why would she not say that? Julia thought that perhaps Edith wanted to be treated in the worst possible way, to experience for herself the horrors she’d heard about. But that indicated a kind of morbid fascination Julia c
ould not understand. She had no compunction about telling the complete truth. She had no important family lineage giving her privilege, and she didn’t think she’d hide it in any case.
The station chief was a harried man who looked a little bleary-eyed, as though he’d been on shift too long. He barely looked at her as she came to a halt in front of his desk, but remained with pen poised, ready to write.
“Your name and place of lodging.” He barked it out as a command rather than a question.
“Julia Bernay. Eleven Harley Street.”
His head came up sharply, and he gave her a good look for the first time. “Did you say Harley Street?”
“Yes. I am a student at Queen’s College, and I live in lodging next to it.”
He set down his pen. “You’re a student at Queen’s College? What were you doing in Bethnal Green at night?”
“Helping to deliver a baby.”
“Well, that seems to have been everyone’s job tonight! Must have been a whole fleet of babies being born.”
“Perhaps, but we were all delivering just the one.”
Her attempt at pleasantry got no response. His voice remained cool. “And why should you want to go all the way to Bethnal Green to deliver a baby?”
Julia told him about being a nurse, about her preparation for the London School of Medicine for Women. She even told him Edith was already a student there, but he still didn’t make the connection between Edith and the libel suit. Perhaps the case was only momentous in the eyes of those who had a stake in its outcome.
“So you see, we are innocent of any wrongdoing. We were guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He grunted. “Unfortunately, that’s enough guilt to keep you here. You were in the company of one woman who is suspected of robbery, and another who attacked a policeman with murderous intent. We cannot rightly let you go until you explain all this to the magistrate.”
“So we must remain here tonight?” Her heart sank at the thought.
“We’ll take you all over to the court in the morning. The magistrate will decide whether you are to be dismissed or remanded to trial.”
“Can you do anything for Eliza, the woman who was knocked unconscious? She needs medical attention.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Why can’t you give it to her, seeing as you’re so qualified?”
“I mean, she ought to be taken to a hospital.”
“She is a danger to others. We are not taking her to a hospital. There will be a doctor along in the morning.”
Once she’d been returned to the cell, Julia told Edith what had happened.
“That was exactly what he told me,” Edith said.
It was disappointing, but at least she and Edith would be able to watch over Eliza. She would also be here in case they brought in Cara. Julia resigned herself to a long, sleepless night.
Michael was awakened by a loud knocking on the outer door. He fumbled in the dark for a match to light the oil lamp, his mind scrambling to think what could be the matter. Whoever wanted him at this late hour could not be bringing good news. He could only think the worst—that something had happened to Corinna or David.
By the time he’d made his way to the door, Rawlins was already there, unlatching the bolt. Michael watched as his valet opened the door about a foot and peered out into the dark passageway. “Who’s there?”
To Michael’s surprise, he heard a woman’s voice on the other side of the door. “Please, sir, is Mr. Michael Stephenson here? I must speak to him right away!”
Rawlins turned to look at Michael for instructions. “It’s a woman, sir. And a man is with her.”
Before Michael could respond, the woman poked her head through the door. “Are you Mr. Stephenson?”
Michael tightened the sash on his dressing gown and ran a hand through his hair. But there was no way to look presentable after being roused from bed in the middle of the night. “I am. Who are you? Have you come from the Barkers?”
But even as he asked, he couldn’t think why they would send two servants to deliver a message. Certainly they wouldn’t send out a young girl like this, for she looked no older than twenty. Her clothes also looked very damp. He couldn’t account for that, as both the day and evening had been fine.
His mention of the Barkers did not even seem to register with her. She rushed forward and said, “Oh, thank God we’ve come to the right place!”
By this point Rawlins had also admitted the man. He was a grizzled older gentleman with shabby clothes, holding a tattered hat in his hand. He remained just inside the door while Rawlins kept a suspicious eye on him.
Michael looked at the woman, still flummoxed. “May I ask what your business is with me?”
Looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes, she said breathlessly, “My name is Caroline Bernay. My sister is Julia Bernay. You know her, I believe?”
The mention of Julia brought all sorts of new questions to mind, and no less worry. “I know her. But why—”
She launched into a rapid-fire explanation. “I don’t live in London. I’m only here for a week. I’m a nanny—oh, that part doesn’t matter. I was spending the afternoon with Julia, and we went to someplace called Bethnal Green to help deliver a baby, but we were out late and got caught up in a fight and—oh! Now she has been taken off by the police!”
CHAPTER
18
YOU HID IN THE WASHING KETTLE?”
Michael was still trying to comprehend the chain of events that had brought this woman to his house. At the moment they were seated by the fire, along with Mrs. Ames, the head charwoman for these buildings. She had a small set of rooms nearby and had been good enough to come when Michael sent the request via Rawlins. He didn’t think it was right to have a woman here in the middle of the night without another lady present.
Once Mrs. Ames arrived, Michael had taken a few quick moments to excuse himself and quickly dress. He’d at least gotten Cara to realize there was nothing they could do for her sister at the moment. He’d persuaded her to have a cup of tea, get dry and warm, and tell him what had happened.
“It was a large copper kettle. It must have belonged to a professional laundress. I’m glad there wasn’t water in it, although what had been left at the bottom was enough to ruin this frock.” She looked woefully at her skirt.
The man who had brought her here, who’d introduced himself only as Harry, seemed to find this more amusing than distressing. With a little grin, he said, “Good thing there wasn’t more water in it, or you’d have looked like a drowned kitten for sure, ’stead of just damp around the edges.”
At least by now the warmth of the fire had dried her skirt, although it was dirty and wrinkled from the experience.
“How long did you stay in the kettle?” Michael asked.
“Oh, such a long time. I waited until I couldn’t hear anyone moving about.”
“And when you left, what did you do?”
“I knew I needed to get to a better neighborhood where I could find someone nice to help me. But I had no idea which direction to go. I cautiously made my way to a street and tried to decide which way looked more promising. Far down the street I saw a post box. The bright red stood out so prettily in the gloom, so I decided to go that direction. After that, I followed my nose.” She said this last part with a little giggle.
“Your nose?” Mrs. Ames repeated.
“My son’s a baker,” Harry said. “He was baking bread for the morning customers.”
“I could smell it a block away.” Cara breathed deeply and sighed, obviously reliving the happy memory. “I knew a baker would be the sort of person who’d help me.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t follow your logic.”
She looked at him as though he were a little dense. “Who could be bad if they make something that smells so wonderful?”
He was finding it hard to believe this was Julia’s sister. They seemed such opposites, whereas he and Corinna were more like birds of a fe
ather.
“Right you are,” Harry said. “At least when it comes to our bakery. We bake good quality bread, no alum added. We don’t cheat no one if we can help it.”
Michael rubbed his face. He still could not believe this conversation was happening in his chambers in the wee hours of the morning. “So you went into the bakery . . .” he prompted.
“The shop was still closed, but I went around back and found the door to the oven room. That’s where I found Harry.”
“I help my son when I can, though I can’t do so much of the hard labor anymore. My back’s not what it used to be. When she told me she needed to get to Gray’s Inn, I offered to take her.”
“And how did you think to come to me?”
“I know Julia saved your life on the Underground. I saw your calling card on her desk, and that’s how I knew your address. Gray is easy to remember because it’s a color, even if it’s a drab one.”
“My card?” Michael had no idea how Julia might have acquired one.
“It was from the accident, I think. There is dried blood on it.”
“Oh.” It was an intriguing thought, to imagine her finding the card on the train and deciding to keep it.
“Since you are a barrister, you can help her get out of jail!”
“It doesn’t exactly work like that, I’m afraid. But I will go to the court tomorrow and see what can be done. Most likely they will release her.”
“Do you really think so?” Cara responded hopefully. “If you say it, I believe it, for surely you know the laws.”
She seemed a trusting soul—first with this man Harry and now with him. Michael found himself growing uncomfortable under her admiring gaze. She expected quite a lot from him.
“I’m sure Julia will be able to prove her innocence. In fact—” Michael snapped a finger as he realized he’d neglected to consider one very important detail. “In fact, they may have gotten released immediately. Once the policemen discovered they had brought in a member of the aristocracy, they might well have let them go.”
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