Meaning that tomorrow they’d have to start again.
And again.
It began to feel like a miserable circle: starting,going nowhere, and repeating the process. Maybe he should have stayed in London, let the criminals keep his name and use it until they tired of it and found a new one. For all the bloody good it did to leave London, he could be home, judging all the peers and drinking good brandy. Not that the duke’s Cambridge residence had poor brandy by any stretch. But it was frustrating, going nowhere.
As Michael rounded a corner and disappeared, Collin thought perhaps he should just do the same. Joan would miss him, and Rowles. His other best friend, Quin, the Duke of Wesley, would miss him as well, but they’d all survive. Maybe what he needed was to get away from England entirely. No one could use his name for crime if he was out of the country.
Michael came back around the corner. “You coming?”
Collin shook himself from the depressing thoughts and nodded. “Right behind you.”
Ten
The young have exalted notions, because they have not been humbled by life or learned its necessary limitations; moreover, their hopeful disposition makes them think themselves equal to great things.
—Aristotle,Rhetoric
Elizabeth closed the book and leaned back in the wooden chair. She rotated her neck and sighed deeply as she woke her body up from the nearly frozen position she’d been in while she reviewed the pages ofDiscourseby Descartes. She was familiar with the text but wanted to reacquaint herself with the subject matter that she would be covering tonight with her students. For years she’d watched her father pour himself into the same books over and over as he strove for deeper understanding of the material he was devoted to teaching.There’s always something deeper if you take the time to look.His words echoed in her mind. And he was correct.
She’d readDiscourseenough times to be quite familiar with the subject matter, but as she studied,aspects of it would shine differently, and she’d consider them in a light she hadn’t seen before. If one wished to teach, one must first be an insatiable learner. She could think of nothing more delightful than seeing something new in a book, or researching a question to find out the answer, or better, finding a new question she hadn’t considered. Her books were her friends, providing long, thoughtful conversations that never seemed to fully end.
She smiled to herself as she stacked the books carefully and placed them back on their proper shelves. She was alone in the library, the light fading as the room took on the shadow from the sun arching lower in the sky. As she scooted her chair back under the table, the scratching sound was overly loud and irreverent in the quiet room, but since she was alone, she didn’t worry about it being disruptive to others.
She picked up her parchment notes and placed them in a leather reticule, then walked away from the table and toward the door. The college would be quiet, with most classes already dismissed. Those who lingered in the halls would either be professors or academically focused students who regularly used the library, such as herself. But she wasn’t a student, and the mental reminder stung. She paused a moment before opening the door to the hall, hoping it was deserted.
After opening the door silently, she scanned thecorridor beyond. It was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, she relaxed her rigid posture and walked down the hall, not taking the more hidden route she’d usually use when it was crowded. For a moment, she closed her eyes and pretended she belonged, that it was acceptable, normal, for her to be walking down these halls with other peers, other women and men, all joining in the journey of education. A smile tipped her lips as the familiar daydream filtered through her mind with each step she took. She opened her eyes and was continuing toward the door when she heard footsteps behind her. Quickly, she moved to the far side of the hall, her shoulders rounding as she tried to blend in as much as possible.
The footsteps slowed as they neared her. Heart racing, she steeled herself as she glanced behind.
“Your father is gone home,” the older man, Professor Greybeck, said. His eyes were hard as flint as he regarded her as if she were a mess left behind by someone reckless. “You shouldn’t be here ever, but especially if your father isn’t here on campus. And so I’d suggest you run your skirts out that door and head home.” He barked the words softly.
Elizabeth nodded. “My apologies,” she whispered and started on her way.
“Women don’t belong here, and you’re only proving that fact. Not the opposite, Miss Essex. Your presence does a disservice to women. You are not championing them, nor are you proving thatyou can be equal to the men in these halls. You’re simply existing against anyone’s will, save your father’s. And all the respect I’ve had for him over the years has seeped away with every day that he’s weak enough to allow you to remain here. Go.”
Elizabeth didn’t turn back when he spoke, and his last words were punctuated by the closing of the door behind her as she quit the building. It took all her power not to run, or, conversely, turn and vehemently defend herself. Neither would work, nor would they shift the man’s opinion. And truthfully, she could take whatever insults and maligning he threw in her direction. She’d developed some tough skin during her time in the college, but it was when they attacked her father that it shattered her heart. Because deep down, she knew it was true. Her father could say he didn’t care, didn’t mind, and he likely didn’t. He wasn’t one to lie to her; nevertheless the fact remained that she cared. She cared about the ostracism her father was dealt because of her, because she stubbornly remained somewhere she wasn’t wanted. However, the other option available to her was to be at home…and do what? Learn another melody on the pianoforte? Practice her needlepoint? Gossip with some friends? She’d rather rot. Unfortunately, as she grew older, it seemed the only respectable option for her, but more importantly, for her father.
She should have told her father she was at thelibrary so he could have escorted her. However, again she’d refused to use good sense and now had to walk home alone. Thankfully, Cambridge didn’t have the same strict social constraints as London, where a woman’s reputation could be questioned if she were alone in public, but being alone still wasn’t wise. She should hurry, but she paused as she crossed a bridge into the market square toward the tea shop where she taught in the back room. She needed a moment to herself, to collect her thoughts and release the tension that dug into her back with each step.
She had a decision to make. Staying at Cambridge wasn’t an option. If she was honest, she had to admit she’d outgrown that a few years ago, but she’d stubbornly lingered. What now? She had to decide, and soon. But maybe not tonight. There had to be another option, or else there would be too many women miserable in life. She leaned against the stone railing of the bridge and pinched her nose with her gloved hand. Drawing one deep breath after another, she released her nose and opened her eyes, losing her focus in the relaxing flow of the water beneath her. She lingered a few more moments, waiting for the tension to drain and for her mind to take on some of the required clarity needed to approach the lesson for the night.
Determined, she pushed back from the stone rail and walked toward the tea shop. It was time forteaching her ladies’ society, and the tea shop where the class was held was now closed for the evening. Squaring her shoulders, she walked around back of the building and knocked on the door, smiling as she inhaled the sweet scent of tea cakes and other delicious things lingering in the air around the shop.
“Good evening, Miss Essex!” Mrs. Smith said cheerily as she set down a dish she’d been washing. “Mary is already in the back and several others have arrived as well.”
“Good evening to you and thank you!” Elizabeth walked through the kitchen and into the small space between the kitchen and the tea sitting room. It was a bit smaller than the front of the store, but it was far more private, which was necessary. Elizabeth greeted her students and waved when Patricia came in and slid into a chair beside Mary.
What remained of Elizabeth’s previous stress melted away as she took in the eager faces of her students. This…this was what a calling felt like. That sense of rightness, of providence that it came to pass, and the idea that she was giving them something good and tangible. It filled her.
“Shall we begin?” she asked and opened her leather satchel to withdraw her notes. “I hope everyone reviewed the material?”
She watched as several nodded and some glanced away. She bit back a grin at that. “Today we will continue reading, but I wanted to give you severalimportant aspects to think about as we read.” She began to walk around the room as she considered her notes.
“InDiscourse on Method, René Descartes lays out four clear methodologies for studying and learning. We will address three of the four. These are fundamental to understanding how to break apart more difficult problems, but also in recognizing the small pieces of the whole picture in a situation. Allow me to list them.” She paused and regarded her students, making sure she had their full attention.
“The first point I want you to consider is this rule, in which he states:Never believe anything unless you can prove it yourself. Now, can someone tell me what he’s referring to as far as subject matter?”
This was an important question, clarifying the direction they would take on the concept.
