She didn’t know how she’d done it, but somehow she had. She had managed to lose Zipporah and Delilah, the latter of whom was chaperoning them, amongst the exhibits, and then managed to wander out of the exhibition rooms entirely.
So Jemima had trotted down the museum halls, cursing her own inattentiveness and general lack of direction until she found herself back by the lobby and the entrance of the exhibit. Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrounged out her previous ticket, sure she would be back in before anyone had noticed her wandering off alone - except they would not let her in.
Single entry only, they said. Jemima had managed to mumble something about not meaning to leave, because she hadn’t, but they were having none of it and the more embarrassed she got the harder it was to protest properly and she didn’t have any money with her to buy a new one, because Delilah had bought the others and Jemima’s purse only had a magically-shrunken sketchbook and some pastels that had fallen everywhere in it. So her hands had come out caked with colour and there wasn’t even a stray coin so, biting her lip, she skirted away from the employees’ line of sight and sat on a museum bench in a hallway of statues, supposing she would just have to wait here, miserably, for her sisters to reappear.
She felt extremely awkward, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap like a little lost child, but she did not feel relaxed enough to go wander the rest of the museum alone, and certainly not to go engage with any of the people just arriving to the art exhibition. As a matter of fact, most often when someone from society strolled past the hallway towards the doors, she leant her head back against the wall and looked away, hoping the statues would hide her from notice.
At some point of this, her eye caught on an arrival to the exhibition who actually looked familiar. Jemima tilted her head forwards a fraction, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. Maybe she should - no. She wouldn’t go over. He was nice enough, he probably would help her, but it would be needlessly embarrassing to ask him. She could just suck it up and wait. The interactive exhibition hadn’t been that interesting, anyway.
But she knew Jack Humphrey-Mavis, a little - they were very almost nearly friends, she thought - so, in spite of herself, Jemima straightened up on the bench and dared to lift her hand to catch his attention, in an awkward little wave hello. (He might think it was odd of her, but if he didn’t already know she was odd by now that was hardly her fault.)
So Jemima had trotted down the museum halls, cursing her own inattentiveness and general lack of direction until she found herself back by the lobby and the entrance of the exhibit. Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrounged out her previous ticket, sure she would be back in before anyone had noticed her wandering off alone - except they would not let her in.
Single entry only, they said. Jemima had managed to mumble something about not meaning to leave, because she hadn’t, but they were having none of it and the more embarrassed she got the harder it was to protest properly and she didn’t have any money with her to buy a new one, because Delilah had bought the others and Jemima’s purse only had a magically-shrunken sketchbook and some pastels that had fallen everywhere in it. So her hands had come out caked with colour and there wasn’t even a stray coin so, biting her lip, she skirted away from the employees’ line of sight and sat on a museum bench in a hallway of statues, supposing she would just have to wait here, miserably, for her sisters to reappear.
She felt extremely awkward, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap like a little lost child, but she did not feel relaxed enough to go wander the rest of the museum alone, and certainly not to go engage with any of the people just arriving to the art exhibition. As a matter of fact, most often when someone from society strolled past the hallway towards the doors, she leant her head back against the wall and looked away, hoping the statues would hide her from notice.
At some point of this, her eye caught on an arrival to the exhibition who actually looked familiar. Jemima tilted her head forwards a fraction, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. Maybe she should - no. She wouldn’t go over. He was nice enough, he probably would help her, but it would be needlessly embarrassing to ask him. She could just suck it up and wait. The interactive exhibition hadn’t been that interesting, anyway.
But she knew Jack Humphrey-Mavis, a little - they were very almost nearly friends, she thought - so, in spite of herself, Jemima straightened up on the bench and dared to lift her hand to catch his attention, in an awkward little wave hello. (He might think it was odd of her, but if he didn’t already know she was odd by now that was hardly her fault.)
