Annabel sighed. It was the truth. When her mama died, her papa turned against everything and everyone who reminded him of her—including his own daughter.
“Give this to Mrs. Taylor.” Nate reached behind and produced a parcel of wrapped fish that he handed to Annabel. “You ladies deserve some fresh oysters after a long day’s work.”
“Thank you.” Annabel took the parcel and climbed down from the wagon. She waved to Nate before pushing open the wooden door to the seamstress shop and stepping inside. A small bell fixed to the top of the door chimed as she entered, and Mrs. Taylor looked up from her sewing and smiled.
“There you are. I was worried about you being out in that rainstorm.”
“I’m fine. Just a little wet, that’s all.” She smiled at baby Rupert, who sat on a small blanket next to his mother’s chair and chewed on a doll made from brightly colored fabric. He gurgled and kicked his chubby legs when he saw Annabel coming toward him.
“Mr. Trawler gave us some oysters for supper.”
“How wonderful,” Mrs. Taylor took the parcel and pressed her nose to it. “Freshly caught. What a treat!”
Annabel bent down and scooped Rupert up in her arms. Still clutching his rag doll, Rupert squealed and kicked his chubby legs as she lifted him from the blanket. She settled next to the fire and bounced the little boy on her knee. “Would you care to come with me to the ladies’ college tomorrow morning for the free lesson?”
“That sounds wonderful, but I cannot. With Rupert’s papa out at sea, I must work every day except Sundays when we go to church. He’s a growing boy, after all.” She smiled at her son.
Guilt pricked Annabel’s conscience. “Perhaps I should stay too,” she offered.
“No, go and enjoy yourself.” Mrs. Taylor pulled a thread of green through the garment on her lap. “I can manage. Rupert’s a good boy, and you have helped me so much already. All that, and your sweetheart brings us fresh fish for our supper.” She smiled.
“He’s not my sweetheart.”
“Maybe not. But a man doesn’t bring fresh fish for a lady unless he’s fixin’ to marry her.”
“He’s simply helping the widow of his friend.” Annabel averted her gaze. She hated having to lie to Mrs. Taylor.
Rupert squirmed, dropped his doll, and clawed at Annabel’s chest. “I think he’s hungry,” she said, kissing the child’s rosy cheek.
“Again? Never stops eating this one.” Mrs. Taylor took the baby from Annabel and kissed his forehead. Rupert arched his back and shrieked “Okay, I hear you.” She smiled and shook her head at Annabel. “This little boy knows what he wants.”
“Go on and feed him. I’ll be here if Mrs. Moffat comes to collect her dress.”
“Thank you, Luv.” Mrs. Taylor carried Rupert up the stairs to the rooms above where the family lodged.
Annabel hummed as she walked around the little shop, picking up bits of fabric and thread and putting them in a pile for Mrs. Taylor to sort through. Passing the mullioned window, she peered out to see if she could spot Mrs. Moffat coming down the street.
Annabel gasped and drew back from the window. Mr. Hudsyn stood across the street, watching the shop.
What is he doing here?
Nate’s words echoed in her mind.Rich men have eyes everywhere.Her heart began to pound and her mouth dried as she realized that his suitdidlook finely made. And worse, he and that suit were supposed to be on a train home!
Chapter Nine
The accurate habits of thought and the intellectual polish by which the scholar is distinguished ought to be no less carefully sought in the training of women than in that of men.
—Emily Davies,The Higher Education of Women,(1866)
Violet Thomas’s petitestature, plain features, and alabaster skin gave her a deceptively demure appearance. But as the headmistress of Canterbury Ladies’ College, she’d proven otherwise. Improving the future for women in England through higher education was her life’s passion, and she worked tirelessly to encourage her students to pursue their academic interests and to elevate her school.
Like her counterparts, many of whom had founded and funded ladies’ colleges of their own, she would not rest until all the universities in England opened their doors to women and allowed them to earn degrees.
“My little Frances is the brightest child,” she told Henry as they distributed ink pots and quill pens on the desks, “and when the time comes, she must have the right to earn a degree alongside her brother at any university of her choosing. My heart breaks when I think about how generations of great-minded women have been stilted and denied an education simply because of their gender. It must not continue.”
“But you are making progress, are you not? Ottilie tells me women are now permitted to study at the University of London, and there is a great deal in the papers about a new women’s college at Cambridge.”
“Oh, yes.” Violet’s blue eyes sparkled. “These are promising steps in the right direction, but it’s simply not enough. Women may study at the University of London and are subject to the same rigorous examinations as male students, yet still, they are not permitted to earn degrees. They must make do with a certificate. It’s the same situation at Cambridge. My colleague Miss Davies, a tireless advocate for women’s education, will open the college at Hitchin this month. However, her students aren’t guaranteed admission to lectures. They must beg permission from the professors, who have no obligation to them.” She shook her head. “I am certain they will face an uphill battle. One cannot believe the fuss made over the presence of a mere five women attending lectures at Cambridge.”
