Chapter 4 #3
Feeling happy and thankful for those around me, I ruin my own moment by glancing at Mr. Ashford.
His eyes land on mine as soon as I consider him.
All sorts of curse words scream in my head, mainly at myself for choosing this exact moment to look at him.
And now I fear it’s opening the door for a conversation I do not want to share—at any cost.
Mr. Ashford relaxes in his chair, a sly grin playing on his lips.
“Miss Fairfax,” he calls out, about to do exactly what I wish he wouldn’t. I suppress a groan and instead give him a false look of intrigue. “How does it feel to have obtained your undergraduate degrees at Oxford?”
“I’m relieved and happy to have received my degrees, but I’m also saddened that my time at Oxford has come to an end,” I respond politely for the sake of our audience.
If it were only the two of us, I would not have been so inclined to reply.
“Well, if you feel like three years in Oxford was not enough, you must certainly apply to the post-graduate programs,” he suggests. “You’re guaranteed to remain in Oxford for the end of time.”
He’s referring to the universal joke that once a student enters a post-graduate program, their chances of finishing are slim, thus making their time at the university seem indefinite.
“I believe I’m now in my third year in the program,” he adds, then glances at Amina and Dr. Alarie. “How long did it take both of you to conclude your dissertations and receive your titles?”
“I believe…five or six years, give or take,” Dr. Alarie answers.
“Three for me,” Amina replies.
Mentally, I applaud her for achieving such a feat in so short a time. Yet again, another example of how women can match men, and often surpass them.
“See,” Mr. Ashford exclaims. “You could have another three to six years in Oxford if that’s what you wish.”
He presents this idea as if it’s something I’ve never considered. If he knew I’m as academically minded as he is, he wouldn’t have brought it up, as if I were too dumb to know it existed. He should have asked whether I applied to the program after finishing my undergraduate degrees.
But perhaps I expect too much from someone with a long history of thoughtlessness.
In academia, I’ve learned to read between the lines of what a man says and how he says it, as it often reveals exactly what they think of you.
At this moment, I know Mr. Ashford is talking down to me, but it’s the way he does it that shows how little he thinks of my intelligence.
He believes he’s being sly and cheeky, insulting me to my face without it seeming explicit.
If I were less astute, I might have missed his jab and thought it harmless.
But due to his ignorance, he doesn’t realize I’m much cleverer than he believes.
“Applying to one of the post-graduate programs is a good idea, Mr. Ashford—especially since I want to continue my education in archaeology,” I reply, looking him directly in the eye.
His smile grows, clearly pleased with himself, convinced he has won our little game. But in fact, it’s just getting started.
“Which is why I did exactly that,” I quip, watching his smile falter.
“That’s wonderful to hear!” His excitement comes off unnaturally. “You would be starting during Hilary term then, yes? As the expedition will end during the middle of Michaelmas term.”
I give him a curt smile. “That would be correct. If I were accepted in the first place.”
His face falls, completely drained of expression. He blinks, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows drawn together—caught between shock, confusion, or thought.
“The archaeology department didn’t accept your admission?” His voice comes out low at last.
I glance at the others. Amina and Grandad watch me with sympathetic eyes, while Dr. Alarie looks between Henry and me. Henry seems caught off guard, seeking confirmation that he heard me correctly. I decide to make my point clear, rather than dragging this any longer than necessary.
“Yes, my admission was rejected,” I admit, with no ounce of remorse or self-pity in my voice.
“And it’s not because I wasn’t bright enough, or capable enough, as you may think.
Honestly, I wish that were the case, as that would imply they looked at my qualifications to begin with.
Instead, they only saw my name on the file and made their decision.
They have never admitted a woman into their post-graduate program, and they never will. ”
Mr. Ashford’s eyes drop, the spark gone, leaving only a look of pity and embarrassment. “I’m sorry to hear this, Miss Fairfax.”
For a slight second, I nearly believe he means it. But I know better.
Glancing at my wristwatch, I know it’s time to call the evening. My eyes feel heavy, and my body is craving a bed. I imagine the others must be as exhausted as I am, which means it’s time for me to get right to the point.
“Please, don’t feel sorry for me, Mr. Ashford. As that would suggest, I had a fair chance to begin with. But in this world, women never have—and never will—be given the same opportunities as men.” Playing my final move, I know he has no response left. Checkmate. Our game is finished.
I glance at the others and smile. “With that being said, I shall call it a night. Thank you all for a lovely evening, and I look forward to starting our preparations tomorrow morning.”
Rising from my seat, I exit the dining room and make my way back to my stateroom.
A new sense of pride runs through me as I walk along the hallways, knowing I can hold my own when challenged.
Mr. Ashford’s initial intent may have been to make me look foolish and na?ve, but what he didn’t expect was for me to turn the tables on him.
Exactly as I hope will happen with the archaeology department once this expedition is over.
And thanks to Amina’s advice, I feel hopeful and confident that I can secure a spot in the program.