Seemly Justice

By Lee Johnston

Praise for Seemly Justice

In her novella, SEEMLY JUSTICE, contemporary author, Lee Anne Johnston, is the Jane Austen of Upper Canada. She has penned a narrative of Victorian propriety and domestic violence, dipped her metaphorical quill in indelible ink. Here, she writes with the voice of a historical poet and her 19th century women are beautifully rendered: angry while socially restrained. An early feminist, her Penelope Clearwater, refuses family abuse, practices instead quiet justice, as well as the ministry of medicine and healing in the Christian charity of the day.

In a sequel, THE POISONED GIFT, Penelope appears in another gripping novella. As a doctor’s wife--again based in Galt, an industrial town in southwestern Ontario--she serves as a nurse whose sensible shoes are mired in a mystery involving the poisoning of a child and subsequent assault on Mrs. Smythe, the child’s mother. Through the events of this narrative Penelope is able to assuage a guilty conscience and heal feminine insecurities. The story moves as quickly as the Grand River on which it is set despite the rigid protocol of upper class Victorian religious and cultural mores. Johnston’s command of the diction, class structure, costume, and architecture of the day are so convincing it is as though she has snapped a shutter on detailed Daguerreotypes of decorum and violence in this early Canadian life.

In another period piece, MY WAR, Alice Cunningham is a WWII nurse who migrates from Galt to London, England. Johnston weaves vivid details of a war hospital and the brutal effects of battle on both Canadian and British health, culture and ethics. As in the first two stories, many of her women are early feminists and healers. Some rise while others fall, as a result of the social and medical mania of world war: its romance and blood, drama and horror.

- April Bulmer, author of Women of the Cloth (poems published by Black Moss Press, Windsor, Ontario, 2013)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Johnston
• Release date: Sep 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9780993871924

Lee Johnston

Lee has a BA and MA from the University of Toronto, and completed her Certificate of Creative Writing at U of T in 2017. She was a long time member of the Cambridge Writers Collective, and is now an enthusiastic member of the Round Table, located in charming Paisley, Ontario. DAMNATION CORNER is her first full length novel, following SEEMLY JUSTICE, released in 2014, a collection of historical mystery stories. Lee moved to Bruce County in 2018, and her snow-shovelling skills are coming along nicely.

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Seemly Justice

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Published by Lee Anne Johnston

Copyright © 2014 by Lee Anne Johnston

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, events and situations portrayed in this novel are either figments of the author's imagination or used in a wholly fictitious manner.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Johnston, Lee Anne, 19??—

Seemly Justice / Lee Anne Johnston

ISBN

I. Title.

This book is also available in print through the author.

To my family and friends, whom I love.

Special thanks to April, Becky, Marcie and Stan.

Praise for Seemly Justice & Contents

In her novella, Seemly Justice, contemporary author, Lee Anne Johnston, is the Jane Austen of Upper Canada. She has penned a narrative of Victorian propriety and domestic violence, dipped her metaphorical quill in indelible ink. Here, she writes with the voice of a historical poet and her 19th century women are beautifully rendered: angry while socially restrained. An early feminist, her Penelope Clearwater, refuses family abuse, practices instead quiet justice, as well as the ministry of medicine and healing in the Christian charity of the day.

In a sequel, The Poisoned Gift, Penelope appears in another gripping novella. As a doctor’s wife--again based in Galt, an industrial town in southwestern Ontario--she serves as a nurse whose sensible shoes are mired in a mystery involving the poisoning of a child and subsequent assault on Mrs. Smythe, the child’s mother. Through the events of this narrative Penelope is able to assuage a guilty conscience and heal feminine insecurities. The story moves as quickly as the Grand River on which it is set despite the rigid protocol of upper class Victorian religious and cultural mores. Johnston’s command of the diction, class structure, costume, and architecture of the day are so convincing it is as though she has snapped a shutter on detailed Daguerreotypes of decorum and violence in this early Canadian life.

In another period piece, My War, Alice Cunningham is a WWII nurse who migrates from Galt to London, England. Johnston weaves vivid details of a war hospital and the brutal effects of battle on both Canadian and British health, culture and ethics. As in the first two stories, many of her women are early feminists and healers. Some rise while others fall, as a result of the social and medical mania of world war: its romance and blood, drama and horror.

- April Bulmer, author of Women of the Cloth (poems published by Black Moss Press, Windsor, Ontario, 2013)

Seemly Justice

May 1893

I, Penelope Clearwater, have decided to chronicle this most exciting chapter of my life after a long and nauseating voyage from London, England, to Quebec City, Lower Canada. I am travelling at the request of my dear sister Caroline, who is married to one of the leading distillers in Galt, Upper Canada. Tonight I am resting with my maid Betty, at a moderately priced inn in Quebec City.

We took a walk earlier on, and my, it was pure bliss to stretch our legs after the nine-day sea voyage. However, they are plagued by mosquitos over here, clouds of them, and they are even more aggressive than the midges back home. When the wind picked up over the St. Lawrence River, I was positively thankful as the clouds of insects dispersed. They had burrowed into my hair, my reticule, even my gloves.

Still, it was wonderfully exhilarating to see this vast, intimidating and starkly beautiful country. We meandered along the walkway in front of the Chateau Frontenac, the grandest hotel in Quebec City. It perches majestically on a tall cape overlooking the St. Lawrence River. And what a river it is! It is so vast in areas that one can barely see the other side.

The weather is decidedly cooler here than I am accustomed to, and I am grateful for the wool shawls Mamma insisted I bring along, even this late in spring.

Betty and I took the Grand Trunk Railway the next day to Toronto, where we again stayed the night. Toronto seems a middling city like any other, but it is quite muddy at this time of year. Such strange names over here: Toronto is a Mohawk, or Indian name. It literally means where there are trees standing in the water! Why they ever changed it from the solid name York, I will never understand!

However, the hotel was reasonably priced and reasonably clean; no bed bugs, which was my primary concern. Following our night in Toronto, we took the Grand Trunk for the final leg of our rail journey to Guelph, a small town fifteen miles east of Galt. We were met there by Caroline’s servant, and drove in her carriage along the Galt-Guelph Road to Galt. What a long and exhausting trip. I felt grimy and a little tearful when the groom told us we were finally entering Galt.

Galt is a small, bustling town of about 7,500 nestled along the Grand River, which snakes its way through Southern Ontario to Lake Erie. It is a diversified industrial centre, with mills, two foundries, two axe factories, two woolen factories, two distilleries, and a variety of smaller manufacturing operations. It is considered to be the most important town between Hamilton and London (London, Upper Canada, that is), and was incorporated as a town in 1857.

Caroline’s husband, Mr. Jeremy Hunter, is English as well, hailing originally from Manchester. He was quick to realize the potential of this growing, industrial town and owns and operates the main distillery in the region. He and my sister met when he visited London seven years ago for business purposes, and she ended up returning to Canada with him as his wife, after an unseemly, hasty courtship and solemn marriage ceremony at St. Martins-in-the-Field. A few months ago, Caroline wrote to Mamma, imploring that I come over to keep her company, as her second confinement approaches.

Mamma is a widow of many years standing, comfortably circumstanced, busy with her church and District Visiting of the Poor and Infirm Society, as well with the regular visits and celebrations that are the hallmarks of Society. She gave me her permission to visit for six months, and as I remained a stubborn spinster, having been launched two seasons ago to no avail, we both agreed with some relief that this would be an appropriate escape for me.

So thus I arrived, to Caroline’s relief and my bemusement, in Galt. Caroline greeted me with open arms and murmured apologies: Mr. Hunter was away on business. I didn’t mind; Jeremy Hunter always seemed a rather forbidding sort of gentleman, driven to make the most of his business. To speak bluntly, he is a merchant of lower middle class origins but over here in this new country, social distinctions do not seem to matter as much as at home. They live in an imposing red pressed brick home in the Dickson Hill area. The house is two stories, with two huge bay windows overlooking the river and the many businesses that dot the riverbank. The graceful and charming home is finished with a bathroom, water closet, sink and bath boiler with all the necessary connections! Bliss.

Caroline showed me to a charming and airy bedroom, and I gratefully made use of the washbasin and cleansed myself of some of the dreadful grime of travel. I descended to the dining room where tea was laid and Caroline and I began to catch up.

Where is Ella? I demanded. I had yet to meet my six-year-old niece.

In the nursery with Miss Williams, who works as our Nanny and Governess, replied Caroline.

I’m anxious to see her, can you not bring her down now? I demanded with unseemly but heartfelt impatience. Caroline looked stubborn but then relented and summoned the maid to collect Ella. I was surprised at the sheer number of servants Caroline seemed to take for granted. Back home with Mamma, we relied on one elderly maid, one manservant and upon a certain Mrs. Pyrnne who came to do the heavy work three times weekly. But Caroline seemed to have a small cadre of servants to wait upon her every demand.

Ella came into the room, interrupting my ruminations. She was a plump child, with dark shiny hair and a shy but brilliant smile. Caroline said brusquely, Come meet your Auntie Penelope, don’t be shy, darling.

Reluctantly, she walked across the room and stood in front of me for inspection. I wrapped her in my arms, released her, then reached under my chair where I had secreted a china doll that was all the rage in England. She accepted the gift mutely, her dark eyes signaling her thanks. But this was not enough for Caroline.

Ella, you must thank your Auntie Penelope or return immediately to Miss Williams! she ordered in what I considered a very harsh tone. I looked at her in surprise, but she was concentrating on her daughter, who flushed a dark and unappealing crimson, mumbled thank you as tears started to roll down her cheeks.

My sister drew breath but before she could reprimand Ella again, I gave her another soft hug and began asking about favourite toys, her favourite colours, anything to postpone the tirade I sensed trembling on Caroline’s lips. I preempted Caroline again by asking if I could accompany Ella to the nursery.

Very well, she snapped, and Ella and I left the room in relief. She silently put her hand in mine. I was touched.

The nursery was a small, unadorned but cozy room in the attic. A few dolls and blocks decorated the floor haphazardly, and the room was dominated by a huge wooden desk. Miss Williams was sitting in a rocking chair when I entered, and she looked startled, and a little guilty to be caught reading a novel. She was a middle-aged lady, dressed humbly in calico with a face seared by deep lines and pox marks. Her brown eyes appeared intelligent and sharp as she jumped to her feet.

No need for that kind of formality, Miss Williams, I assured her. My name is Penelope Clearwater, Caroline’s sister and Ella’s aunt.

Welcome, she said quietly. She directed Ella to return to her studies, and I departed, not before noticing how relaxed and at ease Ella was with her governess, in contrast to her rigid demeanour before her mother.

I pondered this as I returned to the sitting room to visit more with my sister. We chatted about the baby, due now in only four weeks, and I presented her with the knitted blankets and cozy shawls Mamma and I had crafted. I inquired after