out the purse for McGill. “It is true you are not ordinary, Agnes. Extraordinary is the word that best fits.”
As soon as Laure finished we walked out into the sunshine. The playing field had been recently mowed and mounds of cut grass were giving off a fresh, hopeful smell. In front of us groups of girls were laughing and talking. Some of them looked my way and waved. I waved back, then lifted my hair so the breeze could reach my neck. Suddenly I felt much better.
Janie Banks Geoffreys and two other girls approached us. They had seen Laure with her golden hair and fine looks and wanted to meet her. “It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,” Janie said, nodding her head once as if not wanting to show more enthusiasm until Laure had been assessed. “Are you a genius too, like your sister?”
Laure blushed. “Heavens no,” she said innocently. “Agnes is the clever one.”
Janie Banks Geoffreys smiled, but Miss Skerry’s expression turned fierce. Laure was just doing what girls did — downplaying her abilities — but Miss Skerry did not approve. Intelligence, she had told us repeatedly, was nothing to be ashamed of.
“Your sister is certainly special,” said Janie.
“Oh yes,” said Laure, not catching the underlying insult.
Janie was paying me back for forcing her to endure me as a roommate all year. She was not smart enough to think up a decent jibe. All she could manage was this sarcasm, a word whose Greek root, I had recently learned, meant to tear flesh like a dog. I longed for McGill, where a mind like Janie Banks Geoffreys’s would be barred from entry.
Miss Skerry’s hands twitched at her sides. She saw exactly what Janie was up to. She seemed about to intervene, perhaps to put Janie in her place, when Grandmother walked over. “Your mother pointed you out to me when I was at the tea table,” she said to Janie. “I am so pleased to meet you.”
Janie stepped back, eyeing her. Her friends exchanged glances.
“Your mother and I had a lovely chat.”
Janie’s eyes narrowed. The sensual mouth stretched into a practised smile as she waited to see where the conversation would go. She had not made up her mind whether she should be polite to Grandmother or dismissive.
“It is my understanding that you are to attend McGill this fall,” said Grandmother.
“She is?” I said before I could stop myself. Janie Banks Geoffreys could barely spell. If she had not cribbed my notes, she would never have passed the year.
“I’ll be an occasional,” Janie said, shrugging, as if anyone or his pet dog could gain admission.
“So your mother said. Well I think it is marvellous. I had no idea so many girls from your class had applied. I thought Agnes was the only one.”
“Oh no,” said Janie. She nodded at the girl to her left. “Marianna’s going too. There will be four of us including Agnes.”
“Do not include me,” I said, unable to lift my gaze from the lawn.
“As a matter of fact, Agnes,” said Grandmother brightly, “you will be joining them. My mind was quite changed by my chat with Janie’s mother.” McGill, Mrs. Banks Geoffreys had explained, was safe for girls. They were sheltered in separate classes, and unlike the men there was no pressure to take a degree. Most girls took only a course or two. Of those who had applied the previous year more than half were now engaged.
Miss Skerry was standing behind Janie and her friends, leaning against a tree. When I looked over at her she grinned.
I grinned back. Life was full of irony, another word that happened to come from Greek. Janie Banks Geoffreys would attend university, and — irony of ironies — I would be indebted to her for life. I squinted into the sunlight, blurring the governess’s small, oval face against the backdrop of leaves until her grin, like that of Lewis Carroll’s cat, was the only thing I could see.
5
FEBRUARY 1890
Puddles had sprung up all over campus, making the ground glitter. I was walking with Felicity
As soon as Laure finished we walked out into the sunshine. The playing field had been recently mowed and mounds of cut grass were giving off a fresh, hopeful smell. In front of us groups of girls were laughing and talking. Some of them looked my way and waved. I waved back, then lifted my hair so the breeze could reach my neck. Suddenly I felt much better.
Janie Banks Geoffreys and two other girls approached us. They had seen Laure with her golden hair and fine looks and wanted to meet her. “It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,” Janie said, nodding her head once as if not wanting to show more enthusiasm until Laure had been assessed. “Are you a genius too, like your sister?”
Laure blushed. “Heavens no,” she said innocently. “Agnes is the clever one.”
Janie Banks Geoffreys smiled, but Miss Skerry’s expression turned fierce. Laure was just doing what girls did — downplaying her abilities — but Miss Skerry did not approve. Intelligence, she had told us repeatedly, was nothing to be ashamed of.
“Your sister is certainly special,” said Janie.
“Oh yes,” said Laure, not catching the underlying insult.
Janie was paying me back for forcing her to endure me as a roommate all year. She was not smart enough to think up a decent jibe. All she could manage was this sarcasm, a word whose Greek root, I had recently learned, meant to tear flesh like a dog. I longed for McGill, where a mind like Janie Banks Geoffreys’s would be barred from entry.
Miss Skerry’s hands twitched at her sides. She saw exactly what Janie was up to. She seemed about to intervene, perhaps to put Janie in her place, when Grandmother walked over. “Your mother pointed you out to me when I was at the tea table,” she said to Janie. “I am so pleased to meet you.”
Janie stepped back, eyeing her. Her friends exchanged glances.
“Your mother and I had a lovely chat.”
Janie’s eyes narrowed. The sensual mouth stretched into a practised smile as she waited to see where the conversation would go. She had not made up her mind whether she should be polite to Grandmother or dismissive.
“It is my understanding that you are to attend McGill this fall,” said Grandmother.
“She is?” I said before I could stop myself. Janie Banks Geoffreys could barely spell. If she had not cribbed my notes, she would never have passed the year.
“I’ll be an occasional,” Janie said, shrugging, as if anyone or his pet dog could gain admission.
“So your mother said. Well I think it is marvellous. I had no idea so many girls from your class had applied. I thought Agnes was the only one.”
“Oh no,” said Janie. She nodded at the girl to her left. “Marianna’s going too. There will be four of us including Agnes.”
“Do not include me,” I said, unable to lift my gaze from the lawn.
“As a matter of fact, Agnes,” said Grandmother brightly, “you will be joining them. My mind was quite changed by my chat with Janie’s mother.” McGill, Mrs. Banks Geoffreys had explained, was safe for girls. They were sheltered in separate classes, and unlike the men there was no pressure to take a degree. Most girls took only a course or two. Of those who had applied the previous year more than half were now engaged.
Miss Skerry was standing behind Janie and her friends, leaning against a tree. When I looked over at her she grinned.
I grinned back. Life was full of irony, another word that happened to come from Greek. Janie Banks Geoffreys would attend university, and — irony of ironies — I would be indebted to her for life. I squinted into the sunlight, blurring the governess’s small, oval face against the backdrop of leaves until her grin, like that of Lewis Carroll’s cat, was the only thing I could see.
5
FEBRUARY 1890
Puddles had sprung up all over campus, making the ground glitter. I was walking with Felicity
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