Grace in Wonderland - Chapter 65

65. Blue Stocking

It took about a week to complete the preliminary sketch for Grace Gurton’s portrait. Typically, when painting a portrait, artists would sketch the model for a day or two and then finish the remaining work in their studio. However, Madame Le Brun had a different approach.

She visited the Montague mansion once a day and steadily worked on the portrait for one to two hours each time. She believed this method allowed her to capture the vivid and genuine humanity of her subjects on the canvas.

When Élisabeth Le Brun set down her charcoal after the final touch of the sketch, Lady Mary Montague happened to be at the mansion. During her stay in Ingrint, Lady Montague regularly met with close friends, and today was the scheduled day for a gathering of her “Blue Stocking” group.

“Would it be all right to invite Madame Le Brun to the meeting?”

“I’d be delighted to join.”

“Young Lord Beaufort should come along too.”

“Me as well?”

Madame Le Brun paused her work of tidying up her tools and gladly accepted the invitation. Edmund Beaufort, who had been trailing behind her with obvious intentions, also found himself swept into the drawing room.

The “Blue Stocking” was a discussion forum led by Lady Mary Montague. Initially composed of women who loved literature, it had evolved into a group welcoming anyone with an interest in women’s rights.

According to social norms, refined noblewomen were expected to wear white or black stockings. However, Lady Montague had defied convention by wearing blue stockings to the gatherings, and thus, the group became synonymous with the term “Blue Stocking.”

Naturally, there were many who didn’t view the “Blue Stocking” favorably. Men were, of course, critical, and women often ridiculed them as well. Yet the number of people knocking on the doors of the Montague mansion continued to grow daily.

“Suppose Shakespeare had a sister. A sister with talent equal to his own.”

“And then?”

“Even if she could write as well as her brother, possessed a vivid imagination, and was courageous, could she have become a great playwright?”

The debate among the “Blue Stocking” members was in full swing when they entered the drawing room. Naturally, all eyes turned to Edmund Beaufort, the sole man in attendance.

“What do you think, gentleman?”

At someone’s question, Edmund felt as though he were a soldier captured on enemy territory. It was a dizzying and unfamiliar experience, unlike his past antics with countless women.

“Well, it could be possible…”

The room fell silent. Did I say something wrong? Edmund’s armpits grew damp with nervous sweat.

“Do you really think so?”

“That’s hard to believe. Shakespeare’s sister wouldn’t have had access to education. She wouldn’t have learned to read or write.”

“Exactly. She might have been forced into marriage at a young age.”

“She wouldn’t have been accepted in theater companies. There were no actresses back then.”

“Meanwhile, Shakespeare received an education, didn’t have to marry, and found work in the theater.”

“Think of the women who couldn’t join us today. They couldn’t attend because they’re caring for children or managing their households. They’re no different from Shakespeare’s sister.”[1]

What good was attending university at Grentabridge? Edmund Beaufort fanned the sweat beading on his forehead as he listened quietly to the bold women’s discussion.

“That’s why women need money,” said Lady Montague. This was the reason she hid her business endeavors from prying eyes and intended to leave her wealth to her future adopted daughter, Grace Gurton.

So that women could study when they wanted, so marriage wouldn’t be their entire lives, so they could sustain themselves even without jobs.

“Don’t you think so, Young Lord Beaufort?”

A lady seated beside Edmund shook him from his stupor. Swallowing dryly, he clasped his hands in front of him like a performing bear and replied as humbly as he could.

“Don’t women have husbands? They can use their husbands’ money, so they don’t really need money themselves…”

Silence once again filled the drawing room. Edmund wanted to smack the back of his own head for enthusiastically following Lady Montague into this setting.

“A husband’s money doesn’t belong to his wife, does it?”

“Some women don’t even have husbands.”

“And a husband might not fund his wife’s dreams of buying books, studying, or starting a business.”

At that moment, Madame Le Brun spoke up.

“But aren’t such dreams only possible for those of high social standing?”

Élisabeth Le Brun was the daughter of a poor tenant farmer. She was one of nine siblings, all of whom, along with their parents, labored daily until their backs bent under the strain. Yet, despite their efforts, the family was always hungry.

She had been extraordinarily fortunate. At the age of eight, she began working as a maid-in-training for an aristocratic household. During her breaks, she would doodle on the ground. The lady of the house, noticing her talent, became her patron. Only then was she able to start drawing seriously.

Had she stayed in her crumbling rural home with her family, such dreams would have remained mere illusions. Even among the women gathered here to discuss changing the future, all were aristocrats. For those struggling to survive, focusing on the future wasn’t an option; the present demanded their attention.

“I… I agree.”

Grace hesitated but voiced her agreement. Having spent time in a poorhouse and now teaching factory women in the slums, she knew that for some, even the concept of “dreaming” was a luxury. Dreams, after all, were rooted in experience, and for many, those experiences were absent.

“Our Grace has been teaching students at the poorhouse lately. She’s been working very hard.”

Lady Montague smiled warmly, her pride evident. Edmund Beaufort, on the verge of fainting, nearly toppled backward.

“The poorhouse? How could a lady possibly… teach in such a place…?”

But as soon as he met Lady Montague’s sharp gaze, he swallowed the rest of his sentence. It felt as if he’d been struck by an unspoken command to “shut up and stay quiet.”

“The… the students wake up at dawn and work fifteen hours a day. Even children under ten.”

“Goodness, that’s terrible!”

Grace’s words elicited gasps of dismay from the attendees. But in truth, they all knew. The plight of the poor was a regular topic in newspaper articles.

Conflicting interests abounded. The members of the “Blue Stocking” group were socially marginalized as women but held significant privilege as aristocrats. Their desires to instigate change as women often clashed with their reluctance to disrupt their privileges as nobles. It was an inevitable inner conflict—one that someone like Edmund Beaufort, a male aristocrat, could never fully comprehend.

“S-still, the students attend classes. D-despite their grueling workdays, t-they come to learn how to read and write numbers. N-no one forces them to do it.”

“That’s remarkable…”

A woman seated farther away murmured.

“A-and that’s why I believe that while women need money, e-education is equally important.”

“But don’t noblewomen already learn from private tutors? And don’t commoners receive education at charity schools or religious institutions?”

“Yes, b-but it’s not enough. M-more schools would be better.”

Grace clenched her sweat-dampened fists tightly. It was an uncharacteristically assertive action for someone who rarely contradicted others.

“Also, I-I think women should have access to higher education… i-institutions like the colleges at Grentabridge.”

“Grentabridge?”

Edmund Beaufort shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sensing the weight of the conversation. He felt an overwhelming urge to bolt right then and there.

“…Yes. G-Grentabridge has over ten colleges, b-but all of the students are men. I-I think it would be wonderful to establish a college there specifically for women.”

When Grace Gurton finished speaking, she fell silent. Lady Mary Montague observed her with a curious smile.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you express what you want so clearly.”

Grace’s cheeks flushed with shy embarrassment. For the timid and fearful Grace Gurton, who had spent her life in a cave, it was a moment of wonder.

Author’s Footnote:

[1] Partially modified from Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own