us that a few years ago she delivered a paper to the Statistical and Social Inquiry Society on the need for a state provision for the education of the deaf and dumb in Ireland. It was one of the many social issues she felt strongly about, and although membership of the society was strictly male and no lady had presented a paper before, Ma was never one to let something as trivial as a male-only club prevent her from communicating a message. She would have stood outside their halls and shouted had they not invited her in. Ma had since become an associate member, and presented more papers, most notably regarding the female emigration from workhouses.
I had attended her first speech, and the president of the society, Judge Longfield, pulled me aside to tell me how pleased he was by her delivery. I had learned later that twelve of the members refused to attend Ma’s speech simply because she was a lady while others attended because she was. Ma had a serious manner about her that even the most hardened of gentlemen could not help but respect.
Matilda told us about her recent trip to Paris and her desire to return there as soon as possible. Father scoffed at this idea, no doubt concerned about the cost, but I had never seen her so happy, and a smile upon her face is worth any price. She spoke of the galleries and the food, the people bustling in the streets. “It’s not like Dublin,” she said. “Paris teems with people from dozens of countries. More people on holiday than actual residents, it seems.”
“And you went with your entire art class?” I asked.
Matilda nodded. “Twenty-three of us. Twenty students and three teachers: Mrs. Rushmore, Sir Thomas Jones, and Miss Fisher.”
Pa’s eyes narrowed. “Thomas Jones? There were men on this trip?”
Matilda glanced at Ma, then back down at her plate. “There were a few gentlemen in attendance, yes, but they remained exactly that: gentlemen. Sir Thomas Jones saw to the men, and Miss Fisher was charged with the ladies. Mrs. Jones accompanied her husband as well. As head of the Dublin Art School’s Figure Drawing Program, Mrs. Rushmore oversaw our itinerary. Both men and women were chaperoned and sequestered from each other; I scarcely realized the men were there.”
“Uh-huh,” Pa grumbled.
Ma placed her hand on Pa’s. “Your daughter is a grown woman, Abraham, you cannot keep her locked away under your roof for her entire life.”
“Of course I can.”
Ma ignored him. “A trip like this is precisely where she will meet her future husband, of that I am certain.”
“I adored the Louvre,” Matilda chimed in. “To behold the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo in person. There are no words to describe their beauty.”
“May I be excused?” Thomas said.
Ma frowned. “And what do you need to do that is so pressing it cannot wait until we’ve all finished supping?”
“There is an unofficial rugby match at Trinity tonight.”
“In the dark? Are you playing?” I asked. “I’ll go with you.”
Matilda kicked my ankle under the table and stared at me, her lips tight.
Thomas said, “No, just watching. My shoulder is still giving me some trouble after the last game; I’m sitting this one out.”
“And you plan to go off to war?” Pa grumbled. “A sore joint will be the least of your worries.”
“Enough of that, Abraham,” Ma said. “Not at the dinner table.” She turned back to Thomas. “Go ahead, enjoy yourself.”
With that, Thomas pushed back his chair and stood. He glanced at me. “Coming?”
Matilda’s eyes burned into me, and I shook my head. “Maybe later. Matilda wants to tell me all about Paris.”
Thomas shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He was out the door a minute later, a slice of apple pie perched precariously in his hand.
Matilda turned to Ma. “May Bram and I be excused from the table? I want to show him all my sketches from the trip.”
Pa waved a hand at both of us, then reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve his pipe.
* * *
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