Cara looked confused. “You can’t mean Julia.”
“No, I am speaking of Edith Morton—or more properly, Lady Edith Morton, as she is the daughter of the Earl of Westbridge.”
Cara stared at him in surprise. “Lady Edith?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No hint of it. Julia called her ‘Edith,’ and of course with those smallpox scars on her face, who would have thought . . .”
“Blue blood does not make a person immune to disease.”
“I know, but . . . I mean, why . . . ?”
Michael could see questions filling her mind too quickly to voice aloud.
“Lady Edith wishes to become a physician and succeed on her own merits, not simply because of an accident of birth.”
How ironic that he sounded as if he were taking her side. Which, to be honest, he supposed he was. Or he would, if he had a choice. But the earl was his client, and Michael’s professional ethics demanded he set personal opinions aside and put forth every effort to win the libel case. The strain of this was increasing by the day. It would be a relief when the case was finally tried and he could be done with it.
“Does that mean Julia could be home already, at this very moment?” Cara’s voice held a new hopefulness.
“It’s possible.”
“Then we must go there at once!”
Now Michael regretted he’d said anything about Edith. This had only turned Cara’s head the wrong direction. “I believe we should take you home instead. The boardinghouse where Julia lives will be shut up tight, and it would be unwise to rouse them.”
“But if she’s there!”
“If she’s not, we may create a whole different set of problems with the school authorities,” Michael countered. “Whether she’s there or at the jail, she should be safe for the night. On the other hand, the later it gets, the more difficult it will be to explain your absence to your employers. I would not want to see you put out of work with no character.”
“I don’t care about that!” she insisted.
Once again Michael thought about how different she was from her sister. Cara was led by her feelings, whereas Julia had a mountain of common sense. He realized his best chance of persuading Cara was to appeal to her emotional side—the part of her that had begun to see Michael as a rescuer. “You said you trust me, did you not? Do you believe I can give you the best counsel in this situation?”
Although he truly did believe this was the best course of action, there were other reasons for taking it that he did not divulge. To go looking for Julia at her lodgings in the middle of the night—even at the behest of her sister—could cause a scandal that would damage both his personal and his professional reputation. If he truly thought Julia was in any physical danger, he would not hesitate. But as things stood, he had to be more circumspect.
He told himself that coaxing Cara to his plan was truly for everyone’s benefit. Even so, it pained him to see her so easily swayed by his words. Looking at him with sincere innocence, she responded, “I suppose we should do what you think is best.”
There was nowhere but the floor to sleep. Eliza was still unconscious on one bench, and the gray-haired woman had claimed the other. “I was here first,” she told them in a manner that dared anyone to fight her for it. She made no mention of the girl in the corner who’d arrived with her.
The girl had drawn her knees up and was resting her head on them, her arms wrapped protectively around her legs as though trying to keep warm. She looked lonely and not a little scared. Perhaps this was her first time in jail, although her companion had clearly had lots of experience.
Julia decided to sit by her. The girl raised her head in startled surprise, as though she were used to being ignored. Julia didn’t speak right away but gave her a friendly nod.
In a short time, the older woman was asleep, her mouth open and occasionally letting out a grunting snore.
The floor felt uncomfortably damp, but that might only have been the cold seeping up through the hard stone. The days were warm now, but the nights still held a distinct chill. Myrtle and Doreen sat together against a wall, their arms linked for warmth, their eyes closed. Edith had taken up her vigil next to Eliza.
Julia bowed her head, thinking of Cara, praying fervently to ward off fear.
At one point she opened her eyes and noticed the girl was looking at her curiously. Speaking softly to keep from disturbing the others, she said, “My name’s Julia. What’s yours?”
“Gwen.”
“Did you come here with her?” Julia indicated the woman asleep on the bench.
Gwen nodded. “That’s my Aunt Henrietta.”
“Is she really your aunt?” Julia remembered her sister Rosalyn’s terrible tale of arriving in London alone and being picked up by a woman named Aunt Molly, who was really a procuress for a house of prostitution.
“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not like that. She’s my mum’s sister. Raised me from the age of five, after my parents died.”
Henrietta didn’t seem very loving for an aunt. But there was no need to point that out to the girl. She asked gently, “Why are you here?”
Gwen gave a worried glance toward the bench, but Henrietta was asleep. Gwen didn’t return her gaze to Julia but focused once more on her feet. “Caught stealing. My aunt says it’s my fault. I was supposed to talk to the shopkeeper and keep his attention turned away from my aunt so he wouldn’t notice she was pocketing a little clock.”
“Sounds like it was your aunt who was in the wrong. Does she often steal?”
“We have to eat.”
Something in this answer made Julia think the girl was simply parroting her aunt. Julia’s heart went out to her, sympathetic to her tough situation.
“But you don’t want to steal, do you?”
“No.” The single word was laden with hopelessness.
Gwen looked over at Edith, who was seated on the floor next to the bench where Eliza was lying. Her shoulders were slumped, and she looked like she was dozing.
“I suppose you’re some kind of gentry, too, like she is,” Gwen said.
“Not at all. I was raised in an orphanage in Bristol.”
Gwen’s mouth fell open in surprise but closed again as she gave a sad nod of understanding. “Poverty can make people do all sorts of things.”
“That’s true, but it’s not why I’m here.”
Continuing to speak in quiet, whispered tones, she told Gwen about how she’d come to London and what she was doing here. She explained how at the orphanage they had been taught from an early age to trust in God and that He would provide all their needs as they asked in prayer.
Gwen listened intently. Unlike her aunt, she did not react with scorn at Julia’s mention of God. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do.”
It had been good for Julia to say these affirmative words aloud. Surely God would protect Cara, keep her safe from harm. He was a loving Father.
“I’ve often thought about God,” Gwen confessed. “But we are not church people. In fact, my aunt rails against God a lot, saying terrible things. She says ever since she was a little girl she’s been told what a terrible sinner she is.”
“Sometimes when people are raised in condemnation, they feel they must live up to it.”
Gwen’s eyes opened wide. “I never thought about it that way.”
“He will help you, too, Gwen. Would you like to pray together?”
Gwen cast another glance at her aunt. When she replied, it was barely a whisper. “Yes, I would.”
Julia took Gwen’s hands, chafing them a little to counteract the cold. Together they bowed their heads. Julia prayed for Gwen, and then she prayed individually for everyone in the cell. She did not hesitate to pray for Henrietta, as well, and she felt Gwen start in surprise. Julia took her time with the prayer, feeling Gwen relaxing as she spoke. Julia’s own heart eased, as well. She had done all she could. She would have to leave the rest in the L
ord’s capable hands.
When they were done, Gwen whispered, “Thank you.”
She gave a deep sigh and leaned on Julia’s shoulder. Eventually, the two dropped off to sleep, warmed by each other.
Somehow Rawlins had managed to locate a four-wheeler cab, which was good, since they needed a vehicle large enough for Michael, Cara, Mrs. Ames, and Harry. They dropped Harry off at his son’s bakery before going to Belgravia, a wealthy neighborhood south of Hyde Park. The carriage pulled to a halt on the street where Cara said she was staying.
“Is this the place?” Michael asked, wanting to be sure. Cara had been unable to remember whether the address was 122 or 124, and Michael had no wish to awaken members from the wrong household at this hour.
“That’s the one!” Cara said, pointing. “I knew I’d be able to spot it by the lovely flower boxes above the bay window.”
By the glow of the streetlamps, Michael could make out the flower boxes with red and white blooms spilling out of them. Cara might not have a head for numbers, but she clearly had an eye for visual details.
“Let’s get you inside, dearie,” said Mrs. Ames. Michael was grateful she’d been willing to come along to lend an air of decency to Cara’s late-night return. No one would have believed she hadn’t spent an illicit night alone with a man if Michael took her to the door. Mrs. Ames had a far better chance of success.
Cara did not seem eager to leave the carriage. Looking at Michael, she said, “You will send me word as soon as you can, won’t you? I’ll be sick with worry until I know what has become of Julia.”
Michael had answered this question a dozen times already, but he understood her anxiety. “I will get you a message directly. Or better yet, I’ll bring her myself.”
“Thank you. I knew you were a good man the moment I set eyes on you.” She reached out to take his hand. “I know you will make sure my sister is safe.”
She was placing too much confidence in his abilities, assuming that because he was a barrister, he could clear any legal obstacles in Julia’s path. Michael knew this was far from true. But he also knew he intended to try his hardest to make it so.
Mrs. Ames and Cara left the cab. Michael watched as they went through the wrought-iron gate and down the steps that led to the servants’ entrance. Mrs. Ames was gone for what seemed to Michael a very long time. Was there a problem? What if they did not allow Cara back into the house? Michael didn’t want to imagine what he would do if he suddenly had charge of a single young lady. He supposed he’d have to depend on Mrs. Ames’s kindness to keep her for the night.
But at last Mrs. Ames reappeared. Michael was relieved to see her coming up the steps alone.
“Is everything all right?” he asked as she was helped into the carriage by the cab driver.
“They were very put out, as you might expect. But we told the housekeeper what had happened, and she was willing to let Cara back, albeit with a harsh reprimand.”
“You really told them everything?”
“I figured I could be honest with the servants. If Cara’s employers had been at home, it would have been quite a different matter. Thank heaven they are out of town until tomorrow. The housekeeper said Cara is the only person who can keep their little boy in line. He adores her.”
Michael leaned back against the carriage seat. One problem was solved for now, but the larger question of what was happening to Julia—and what would happen to her tomorrow—could not yet be answered. He could only wait. Tired as he was, he knew he would get no more sleep tonight.
CHAPTER
19
MICHAEL HAD BEEN to the magistrate’s court before in the course of his work, but it depressed him every time. There was always an air of gloom that had more to do with the people than with the dingy, cavernous space with its peeling plaster and battered wooden benches.
Men and women who’d been detained by the police on suspicion of various crimes were seated in the front benches, women on the left and men on the right. The dozen or so male prisoners here today were, as usual, a dodgy-looking bunch, all of them wearing sour, scornful expressions.
Looking at the women’s side, Michael spotted Julia immediately. His first reaction was deep concern that she’d been placed in this predicament. And yet he was amazed to see her sitting with her back tall and straight, looking undaunted by her circumstances and apparently unharmed despite a rough night. She was seated in the middle of the row, with Lady Edith to her left. The two of them stood out easily from the others, primarily by their demeanor. Lady Edith was watching the proceedings with interest, almost like a spectator at a play. If either of them was worried, they didn’t show it.
Because their attention was focused on the magistrate and the case currently being heard, the women did not notice as Michael quietly took a seat at the back.
Michael had visited the magistrate’s clerk first thing that morning and learned that Julia and Edith were still in custody. From the position of their names on the docket, he knew it would be a while before their names would be called. He watched as several of the men were brought up on various charges. Nearly all were remanded to jail to await trial. This magistrate was not one of the lenient ones.
A handful of journalists were in the courtroom. For most of them, court reporting was their regular assignment. Michael had known they would be here, but he also knew it wouldn’t make his position any easier. He would have to carefully parse out his representation of the women as being for this affair only. Although it had nothing to do with the ongoing libel suit, the reporters might attempt to make a connection anyway, once they discovered one of the defendants was Lord Westbridge’s daughter.
Two women were called up and charged with shoplifting. After hearing the testimony of the shop owner and the policeman, the women were remanded to prison to await trial. As they were being led out, the younger of the two threw a sad glance at Julia. In response, Julia gave her a sympathetic smile and clasped her hands together near her heart. Was it a sign of empathy? Of prayer? Whatever it was, the young woman looked as though she were trying to gather courage from it, even though the fear on her face was unmistakable. Michael felt sorry for her. The police had labeled her an “accomplice” to the older woman, but Michael suspected she was no more than an unwilling pawn. He’d seen many such cases. There was a chance she’d be pardoned at trial, but she wasn’t going to have an easy time of it until then.
The court usher announced the next case, reading out Julia’s name along with the others in round, ringing tones. They had all been charged as accessories to violent theft and assault. An attorney was there to represent the victim, who could not be present due to his injuries. According to the attorney’s statement and the testimony of the constable, the two people most likely to have committed the crime weren’t even in the courtroom: a woman who’d been brutally injured while resisting arrest, and a man who had escaped. This seemed further corroborated by the testimony of the defendant Myrtle Hodges, who knew both of the prime suspects.
The magistrate then turned his attention to Lady Edith. “You were found in the suspects’ company when the police arrived to make the arrest, shortly after the crime was committed. Can you explain to us what you were doing in that particular gin shop at that time?”
“I’d be happy to, your worship,” said Edith. She was using the customary and proper term of address for a magistrate, but Michael heard a hint of irony in her voice. It only added to what he knew about this woman: by all reports, she enjoyed questioning authority.
Her description of events matched what Cara had told Michael, although she was more concise and didn’t use the hyperbole Cara had indulged in at times.
“So you see, we were innocent bystanders, nothing more,” she finished. Pointing toward Julia and a woman called Doreen, she added, “If your worship will also question these two women, they will confirm this version of events.”
“Thank you, I am aware of my job.” The magistrate referred to the papers on his desk and
then looked out over the courtroom. “It says here that Mr. Michael Stephenson, barrister at law, wishes to speak for the defendant Julia Bernay.”
Michael rose to his feet. “Yes, your worship.”
There was a rustle and murmuring in the courtroom as he made his way to the table at the front reserved for legal counsel. He felt a pang of delight as Julia’s lovely mouth widened into a grin of joyous surprise. Edith, on the other hand, glared at him as though unsure whether he was friend or foe.
“Yes, I am here on behalf of Miss Julia Bernay. She is entirely innocent of anything to do with the assault and robbery in question. Last night, she went to Bethnal Green in order to assist with a difficult childbirth. She and these two women had been passing by the gin shop on their way home and entered it with the sole purpose of helping out a woman in distress. It was all exactly as Lady Edith Morton has just described.”
The collective gasp that filled the courtroom when Michael spoke Lady Edith’s name was exactly what he expected. Everyone stared at her in wide-eyed shock. There was no movement except for the pencils of the newspaper men, who were writing furiously while simultaneously staring at Edith—an amazing feat of dexterity.
Lady Edith clenched her fists and turned a furious gaze on Michael. Why had she been trying to hide this information? He couldn’t imagine she wished to remain incognito due to shame at her actions.
Understanding dawned in the magistrate’s eyes. Like everyone in London’s legal circles, he would be familiar with the libel suit and the famous Earl of Westbridge. He must have finally put this together with Edith’s name and appearance.
“The title that Mr. Stephenson gave when referring to you—is this correct?” the magistrate demanded.
“It is the title I was assigned at birth, your worship.”
The room was abuzz as people chattered to one another about this amazing development. Michael distinctly heard a woman with a cockney accent tell her friend, “Aww, what a shame that is—she got all that birth and breedin’ but ’er face is ruined by the pox.” Someone else said, “The daughter of an earl, gone slumming in Bethnal Green! What is the world coming to!”
The Heart's Appeal Page 19