Do What Thou Wilt

“20,000?! That cannot be, sir!” Clara's breath hitched in her chest as spots formed before her eyes. Suddenly she worried she might faint, despite the fact she had never been the sort of woman who was prone to fainting spells.

"I assure you, Ms. Harris, the sum is indeed correct," the solicitor looked over the brim of his glasses and down his hawkish nose to peer at the young lady sitting across from him. “Mrs. Hughes Blalyle cared a great deal for you. Her children, Ms. Luella and Mr. Alvin, are well aware of their mother’s wishes and have no desire to dispute your portion of the estate.”

“Oh my goodness!” She could barely squeak the words. Now Clara was sure she would faint. “Mr. Nutter, could I trouble you for a glass of water? I am suddenly feeling quite warm.” Clara pulled at her collar. The tall, balding man stood up quickly from behind his desk and rushed to the office door, calling to his secretary. A moment later a fine crystal tumbler was clutched in Clara's trembling hand; the water inside nearly sloshing onto her skirts. She drank deeply to calm herself and to buy a few more moments to think of how to respond.

In a voice she didn’t recognize as her own Clara began. “Well you see, Mr. Nutter, the fact of the matter is, I only met Dr. Hughes Blalyle once— nearly five years ago, if my memory serves, in the spring of 1912. We were introduced during a dinner party.” Clara paused to sip at her water as she decided how much to tell this man she had just met.

“We had a lovely conversation about my then upcoming trip to America where I was to help with a newly established hospital for blacks in rural Mississippi,” the young woman continued. “The good doctor defended my choice to travel abroad alone, to another of the dinner guests, and insisted that despite having just met me, she was sure I was fully capable of defending my own honour should the need arise. We also discussed her mayorship of Aldeburgh and my deep admiration of her work with the women’s hospital in London.” Clara smiled at the memory as unexpected tears sprang to her eyes.” I remember Dr. Hughes Blalyle seemed to be impressed with my….adventurous spirit, and said that I brought to mind memories of her younger self. We were both well aware of why we had been invited to attend the evening’s festivities; her a female mayor, and I a black female doctor. I suppose we bonded over our mutual uniqueness that evening. She was such a lively and spry woman— I was saddened to hear of her passing.”

“Yes, Mrs Hughes Blalyle was, indeed, a dynamic woman. I do not believe I have ever known another woman quite as independent and capable. She will be deeply missed by all of us. But, Ms. Harris, am I to understand you were not aware of Mrs. Hughes Blalyle wishes to include you in her will?” Mr. Nutter looked Clara over discreetly. He saw in her exactly what Imogene Hughes Blalyle had seen during that single encounter with the young doctor all those years ago— a well-educated and composed woman, with passions that could not be quelled by anyone or anything.

Having been the Hughes Blalyle family’s solicitor for nearly 30 years, Mr. Nutter was well aware of Imogene’s own passions, as well as that of her daughter’s. He had lost count of the number of times he sat in his office, alone, worried for their safety as the Hughes Blalyle women attended suffrage meetings and rallies— waiting for messages from police to post bond for one or both of them. Nutter had nearly suffered a heart attack the day he received word from his secretary that Luella had been arrested during an attempt to storm parliament, along with 300 other protestors seven years earlier.

“No, sir, I had absolutely no idea Dr. Hughes Blalyle even remembered me, or our conversation,” Clara replied, twisting the water glass in her hands as she spoke. “Mr. Nutter, are you sure she was of sound mind when she finalized this consignment? I would be remiss if I did not ask, especially with it being such a large amount. And to be clear, sir, it is ‘doctor’. Doctor Harris, and Doctor Hughes Blalyle, not Ms. or Mrs.” The young woman locked eyes with the older man. She would not allow herself to feel ashamed in asking such a vital question nor in making such an important distinction in title.

Mr. Nutter met Clara’s eyes and smiled warmly at her. She reminded him of his eldest, Harriett— standing up for herself, speaking her mind, and not afraid to ask difficult questions. It was no wonder Imogene chose to include Clara in her will. The youth of this new century would change the world, for sure. “I am positive Dr. Hughes Blalyle was of sound mind and body when she amended her will to include you. She wrote a letter for you to read upon your acceptance. If you are to accept, you will receive one-thousand a year for the next 20 years,” the solicitor adjusted his glasses to skim the document, “to supplement your own income and help further your adventurous endeavors.” Nutter met Clara’s eyes once again.

She could do so much with one-thousand a year! She could continue to travel all over the country, the world even, to provide healthcare to poor women and children in need. She could afford to buy basic supplies for rural hospitals, fund life-saving procedures, and more easily educate women on their bodily health. And to think of what she could do within the suffrage movement! Clara and her dearest friend, Mary, had always dreamt of forming a Black Women’s Union, and buying their way into all the meetings and events the likes of which the Hughes Blalyles, Mrs. Pennham, and other middle-class women could only attend. One-thousand a year could go so far and help her achieve so much.

“Mr. Nutter, it would be my honour, and pleasure to accept Dr. Hughes Blalyle’s most generous allowance,” Clara declared. “So long as you are absolutely certain her children are not against it. I wouldn’t dream of creating any troubles for them.” She bit her bottom lip out of nervous habit. Clara knew of Dr. Luella and Alvin Hughes Blalyle in reputation only. Both were extremely generous in their philanthropy and supportive of social programs to help the less fortunate. Clara had even found herself crammed into a crowded cell across from the one holding Luella and several other well known, middle-class suffragettes on that horrible Black Friday, back in 1910. She knew Dr. Hughes Blalyle had raised outstanding children who fought for justice and fairness, but would they truly allow a complete stranger to assume so much of their family’s fortune without question?

Mr. Nutter’s smile deepened into a broad grin as he leaned back in his leather chair. He clasped his broad hands across his chest as he answered, “It may interest you to know, Dr. Harris, that our dear lady— erm doctor, followed you and your achievements very closely. She was deeply impressed with your passion, your cunning, and your commitment to caring for the indigent,” Nutter’s smile grew wistful as he continued. “She saw the same fire in you that she felt in herself, and her desire was to stoke that fire into a blaze. But she also knew you would never accept her help outright, which is why she chose to amend her will. Dr. Hughes Blalyle told the children of her plans to include you, and they accepted their mother’s wishes wholeheartedly. You have no need to fear them. In fact, they are both eager to meet you as soon as your schedule permits it.”

Clara could no longer hold back the tears. This woman, whom she had barely known, had followed her career for the past five years. And somehow she had surmised from that one short encounter that Clara would have never accepted Dr. Hughes Blalyle’s charity while she was living. A younger Clara may have even scorned the woman for assuming she couldn’t achieve her goals on her own merits. Appreciation couldn’t even begin to hit the mark. And not only had this woman thought so much of Clara, but even her children wanted to know her as well. A small hiccup escaped her throat as she tried to muster a bit of composure to speak. “I truly am overwhelmed, Mr. Nutter. When I came here today I was fully prepared to meet with another lawsuit from some irritated husband over his wife’s deeper understanding of the inner workings of her anatomy.” Clara sniffed into her handkerchief as she continued. “Instead I am met with the most generous gift one could ever imagine, with no way to properly show my gratitude.”

Mr. Nutter picked up a small cream envelope from the documents on his desk and made his way around to kneel next to Clara. “This is the letter Imogene— Dr. Hughes Blalyle, left were you accept the allowance. She also made arrangements to permanently retain me as your solicitor if ever you are in need of counsel; it would be my honour to offer you my services.” Nutter held the letter out to Clara. “I know all of this is a huge shock to you, Dr. Harris, but if you don’t mind my saying so; in the brief time I have spent with you here, this morning, I can understand completely why Dr. Hughes Blalyle was so taken with you. I also know the only thanks she would ever want is to know that you are happy. You are a remarkable woman, and I can only hope that my own daughters grow to be as remarkable as you some day.”

“Please call me Clara, Mr. Nutter,” she replied as she exchanged the now empty water glass for the letter with the kneeling man. “If you are to be my solicitor I suppose we should become more comfortable with one another. I find myself in need of legal counsel more often than most doctors, it seems. I hope you won’t mind defending me against frivolous fellows and their silly suits?”

“It would be my pleasure, Clara. And please, call me Charles. Now, if you will, please give me a few moments while I fill out these documents for the bank. There are a few others that I will need you to sign, as well.” The older man stood and returned to his desk where his leather-bound, black notebook sat open, covered in a mess of papers and documents. Clara sat quietly for a moment looking at the delicate cream envelope in her hands. On the front it was addressed, “To My Esteemed Colleague: Doctor Clara Matilda Harris”, in Dr Hughes Blalyle’s spidery script. It was stamped with the Hughes Blalyle family crest in black wax. Clara held her breath as she cracked the seal open and unfolded the letter.

“Dear Clara,

I am sure all of this comes as a great shock to you. However, from the moment we met I felt compelled to offer you my support, but only when I knew you would accept it. Thank you for giving an old woman hope for the future. Go forth and do what thou wilt. Be bold, be brave, and never doubt yourself. Such a weakness is meant only for men to suffer.

With all my respect,

Imogene”

Tears of gratitude stained the letter in her hand as they fell from Clara’s cheeks for the second time that morning. Mr. Nutter pretended not to notice as he rifled through the papers on his desk and asked, “Now, Clara, how would you prefer to receive your monthly allowance?”