Sanctuary Fiction
Helen found herself standing next to Lizzie Bullen near the front of the crowd to listen to her former tutor’s speech.
“In May next year the foundation stone for the new hospital will be laid by the Princess of Wales. Hopefully, we will also see our 100th female medical doctor qualify next year. But our struggle is only just beginning. We are still on the lowest rung of the ladder, reaching with our finger tips to touch the next rung up. The next ten years will be the most exciting and turbulent that the cause of women’s rights will have ever seen. And the new century beckons - who knows what wonders we will see.” Helen heartily joined in the round of applause. “And what we must remember is that we are not alone in this. Our sisters in the United States, in Canada, and in Australia and India join with us in common cause.”
“What we are witnessing is the persistence of a missionary spirit as well as a desire to succeed, work such as that being done amongst the poorest of our own people here in London by Dr Magnus,” Helen’s head shot up and she blushed crimson on hearing her name mentioned, “and by others amongst us in the slums of Manchester, Newcastle, Glasgow and Cardiff. Our former students are doing pioneering work in nutrition and women’s health, in the treatment of tuberculosis, diseases of the heart and of the blood, work of which we can all be rightly proud...”
Helen began to feel a little strange. The room was hot and her conversation with Dr Garrett Anderson had been emotionally difficult. Her corset seemed to be burrowing its way into her flesh and her toes were being pinched by her shoes and her ankles hurt. She risked a glance at her wristwatch, it was almost eleven. Once Dr Garrett Anderson’s speech was over she would make her excuses and…
The rushing sound in her head grew louder and the room began to tilt. Then someone’s arm was around her waist and she was being guided to a chair. She sat down gratefully, and someone held a glass of iced water to her lips. She took a few cautious sips not wanting to make her sudden nausea any worse.
Her sight steadied enough so that she could see who had come to her aid. It was ironic really. A room full of the finest medical minds one could find and it was her stranger from Dutfield’s Yard who had come to her aid.
“Take it slowly,” her good Samaritan advised. “You were almost out on your feet.”
“It is a little warm in here, and I was never fond of crowds,” Helen said. It was ridiculous to feel embarrassed about the situation. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. She was pregnant, that was all.
An appreciative round of applause went up around the room as Dr Garrett Anderson finished her speech.
“You were embarrassed at being singled out, weren’t you?”
“A little,” Helen admitted. “It’s not… my place. It’s not why… I saw there was a need for my skills and…” she shrugged. “You know of my clinic - I saw you…”
“At Dutfield’s Yard on that terrible night. Yes.”
“What exactly were you doing in Dutfield’s Yard that night, Mrs…?”
“You don’t have the monopoly on good works in Whitechapel, Dr Magnus. I have provided some money to set up a… project in the area. My agent and I were looking at various sites when we got caught up in events,” the woman said smoothly. “Ah… Mrs Irvin is presenting the bankers draft for the hospital wing.”
There was another round of applause which both women belatedly joined in. When Helen looked up to ask the woman her name in a more direct fashion, she was gone.
Helen did not see her again for the remainder of the party. At just before one, the carriage returned for her and she made her way home, unable to get the strange woman out of her thoughts.
Dr Garrett Anderson did not forget her promise. On New Years Eve a letter arrived containing the names and résumé’s of three final year students who would be willing to work at the clinic for a little practical experience. Helen arranged to interview them at the clinic in a week’s time. They would have one day each to prove to her if they were ready and able to handle the varied case load that the Whitechapel Clinic presented every day.
The day after New Year it snowed heavily and was so cold that few people were out on the streets at all. Helen closed the clinic early and Moses escorted her home. As she entered the house, she noted a closed carriage waiting outside, and her father coming down the stairs, escorting a veiled young woman.
“I will speak to Dr Seward directly about the plans for the complex. I am sure you are right, though, a subterranean…” he paused when he saw Helen. “Ah, Helen, I don’t believe that you know Mrs Harker. She has been so kind as to donate the building that will house a new clinic that Dr Seward and I hope to open soon, a sanctuary for those cases that medical science cannot yet help. Mrs Harker, this is my daughter, Dr Helen Magnus.”
“Mrs Harker, a pleasure…” Helen paused as the woman lifted her veil. It was her good Samaritan.
“Dr Magnus, a pleasure to see you, also. And please, my name is Mina.”
TBC