The Children's Book - A. S. Byatt [178]
The members of Miss Dace’s club had prepared a salad luncheon for speakers and audience. Elsie was hungry. She advanced on the table with the plates and teacups, followed by Pomona, who clung to her as though they were connected by magnets, so close that she kept almost falling over Elsie’s feet. Frank Mallett noticed them, and said he was pleased to see them. He asked if they had found the morning helpful, and Pomona said breathlessly “Oh yes, very.” “And you?” said Frank to Elsie. Elsie repeated the word “Helpful,” trying to work out what exactly the speeches were meant to help her with. Frank smiled. He said the world would be a better place if more women took an active interest in these matters.
Elsie said “It makes me see how ignorant I am. It makes me see I don’t know enough and don’t think enough.” Her tone was resentful.
Herbert Methley behind her said “Oh, but you will know enough and think enough. I am so glad you took up my suggestion. I am very happy to see you—and looking so well,” he said, smiling in the direction of the belt and shoes. “I am speaking after Mrs. Oakeshott, this afternoon,” he said. “I shall be interested to know what you think.”
Elsie had been wondering whether to ask Frank Mallett about the pantry—not now, but some time. It weighed on her. But Frank had slid away to greet other women, smiling courteously. Herbert Methley said
“You will enjoy what Mrs. Oakeshott has to say. You may even be persuaded to come to some of her evening classes on the drama. I’m sure she would be delighted to see you.”
He was looking directly at the red belt. Elsie was embarrassed, and wanted to slap Pomona for crowding her, for stopping her thinking clearly. She wished Pomona would just go away. Pomona, however, said blandly that she too would be interested in literature classes.
• • •
After luncheon, in what is always the dead time for speakers, when digestion takes place, Marian Oakeshott spoke of women’s education. She was handsome and golden: her hat had English meadow flowers on brown linen, her pale coffee-brown linen dress was trimmed with creamy lace. She had a pointed belt not unlike Elsie’s, and a row of little bright silk flowers round the neck of her dress. Her voice was warm and rich. The talk was a series of simple tales, which moved Elsie. The tale of Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, who with consummate persistence and courtesy became a doctor by attending lectures, and surgical demonstrations, from which everyone sought to exclude her. Two years ago this pertinacious lady had been elected President of the East Anglian branch of that very British Medical Association which at first had debated whether women could pursue rigorous medical studies.
She spoke of Millicent Garrett Fawcett, the doctor’s sister, and leader of the women’s suffrage movement, who had worked tirelessly, not only for the vote, but for the cause of women’s higher education in Cambridge. Mrs. Fawcett had had the honour and delight of seeing her daughter, Philippa, studying mathematics at Cambridge, placed above the senior Wrangler.
Elsie did not know what a wrangler was, and could not imagine Cambridge. She was astonished by the resentment this aroused in her. At just that point Mrs. Oakeshott began to tell stories of women—real and imaginary—who, to use the Christian parable Mrs. Methley had so efficaciously quoted, had buried their talents in the ground. It is not easy for a woman to study. If a family cannot send all its children to grammar schools, it will send the sons, and keep back the daughters to wield the mangle, the needle and the poker, to make the Home comfortable for the boys to study. “Duty” is a word that only too often acts like restraining magic, to make a woman deny an important part of herself—and thus, only too often, to deceive and disappoint her husband, by her triviality, her inability to meet his mind. They were not to think that many women were not defeated. Much fashionable nervous illness was, she was convinced,