He took a seat in the parlor and poured himself some tea and watched the steam swirl about as he finished filling the cup. He lifted it to his lips and smiled as he thought of a different set of lips.
And he suppressed a chuckle as he considered just how much she’d hate him thinking about her. That made him like her all the more.
Six
Common sense is the best distributed thing in the world, for everyone thinks he is so well-endowed with it that even those who are hardest to satisfy in all other matters are not in the habit of desiring more of it than they already have.
—René Descartes, Discourse on Method
Elizabeth scanned the small room at the back of the tea shop, meeting the eye of every student before she began with a quote. Her voice rang clear as she said, “‘I found myself beset by so many doubts and errors that I came to think I had gained nothing from my attempts to become educated but increasing recognition of my ignorance.’” She finished the René Descartes quote from Discourse. “Who remembers who said this?”
A few of the women glanced down. However, Patricia Finch’s eyes held steady as she called out, “René Descartes.”
“Well done,” Elizabeth praised. “Well done. And what can we glean from this quote? Amy?” Elizabeth turned to another student.
Miss Hasselridge was one of the quietest students, but she had the best attendance record. Though she didn’t like to speak out, Elizabeth found Amy always had an intelligent response to her questions.
Amy swallowed and glanced about the area as if searching for courage, or for someone to take the question instead. “I believe it means that the more you learn, the more you realize how much you still don’t know.”
“Well said,” Elizabeth remarked. “But did Descartes stop his education and the furthering of his mind?”
“No,” the women murmured.
“No, he did not. Rather, that very question is what spurred him on to greater and deeper understanding. This quote is taken from his Discourse, published in 1637. You’ll get the opportunity to brush up on your French as you read this. A nice change from the Latin you’ve been reading.” She took a deep breath. “Though the war with Napoleon is finished, I understand there is still some animosity toward the French, and I share it. Nevertheless, I don’t wish for it to cloud your judgment as you read this literature.”
Elizabeth opened the book and took a seat, turning to the first page and beginning to read in French. When she’d finished several pages, she stood and nodded to another student, who came to the chair before the book and took her place, beginning to read. Elizabeth listened to the words come to life as they were read out loud. It was the best option, under the circumstances. Not every household held a copy of the Descartes Discourse, so they read it together. The process was tedious and would take more time than she’d like, but the result was a widened scope of literature, of thinking and understanding. What resulted was education, and that was exactly the goal. Therefore if the process wasn’t ideal, the outcome was.
Slowly they rotated until every lady had read a few pages. Elizabeth took one final turn reading and then posed some questions to the class, asking them to consider them for next week. The whole meeting was a little over an hour, which never seemed long enough. However, it was a start, and it was a far cry more than any of the women would ever achieve on their own.
It wasn’t that Elizabeth was against more traditionally feminine forms of education; it was just that they were incomplete. Education was education, learning was learning, and whether it was needlepoint or flower arranging, it was still interesting and a learned skill. But education should be more. Women deserved more. Descartes was not on the normal reading list for most young women, and it would be a scandal if she cracked open his Passions of the Soul. She’d been scolded soundly when her father discovered she’d begun to read it, and her father was usually quite amenable to whatever she wished to read. Discourse was far less scandalous.
The ladies stood from their chairs and chatted for a bit, enjoying the social aspect of the class as well as the education. Elizabeth smiled as she took in the space, glorying in what it encompassed: tradesmen’s daughters, shopkeepers’ daughters, farmers’ daughters, gentlemen’s daughters all coming together and disregarding the ways in which society constrained them.
“I’ll see you all next week,” Elizabeth said as she stacked her books and placed them in her leather satchel.
“Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth met the inquiring face of Patricia Finch. “Yes?”
“May I read ahead?” Patricia asked as she traced her finger along the back of a chair.
Elizabeth paused, then nodded. “Of course. Does your brother have a copy?”
“Yes, he might balk a bit when I ask to borrow it, but he’ll let me, especially if I tell him you suggested it.” She gave a sly smile.
Elizabeth’s cheeks heated at her friend’s words. “Your brother would likely let you use the book regardless of who suggests it, Patricia.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” Patricia drew out the words. “I can’t remember the last time he asked about any woman, and he was certainly asking about you after you visited last week.”
“A polite inquiry, but it isn’t significant. Besides, I’m quite content to assist my father for the time being.” Elizabeth attempted to dodge another matchmaking scheme of her friend.
“Will you still come over for tea tomorrow?” Patricia asked.
Elizabeth held back a sigh. Of course she would go, although she didn’t appreciate the connection Patricia was trying to form between her and her brother. It wasn’t that she had anything against him. He was adequately handsome to tempt her, but that wasn’t enough. She wanted, needed more than attraction. And she wasn’t sure he held an interest in her, truly. Patricia likely was seeing only what she wanted to see, what she willed to be.
“Of course I’ll be there tomorrow. Two?” Elizabeth answered.
“Indeed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Patricia gave a mischievous wink and darted out the door before Elizabeth could say anything more.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth left through the back door of the shop and walked briskly across the cobbled alleyway. Her home wasn’t far. Nonetheless, as the light faded over the tall buildings of Cambridge, an uneasy feeling tickled her skin. She glanced around her, keeping an eye on her surroundings. She rounded a corner and then released the tension in her shoulders at the sight of her father waiting outside their door, watching for her return. With a smile, she slowed her hurried pace, knowing she was being watched. Her father rocked on his heels, a pipe in his mouth as he watched her progress. She had loved her mother, and her death had been devastating for them both. Her father keeping her nearby and at Cambridge had been her saving grace, and she knew it had cost him. She lifted a hand in a wave as she neared their stoop.
“Evening,” her father greeted her as she paused by the stairs.
“Good evening, Papa.” She reached up and kissed his rough cheek, a half-day’s beard growth scratchy against her lips.
He gestured for her to take the stairs ahead of him. “How was your evening? Miss Finch is doing well, I hope?”