“Oh no, they needn’t count if you weren’t here,” Jemima assured her, still trying to be kind. She wished they were not in public; but it was nice to speak to someone who had next to no knowledge of or care about the scandal she was currently mired in. She nodded earnestly at the questioning of sleeves; she would be so pleased if she managed to offer Miss Mackenzie any useful advice. (Was this what married women did – reform other girls for the better?)
Jemima was just about enjoying herself in this conversation when Miss Mackenzie mentioned skin, and Jemima’s face fell, her colour going ashen. She gulped. She couldn’t comprehend the comment any other way. Miss Mackenzie must have heard the rumours in all their sordid glory. Jemima had been half-dressed with a man in the coatroom. She had shown enough bare skin (in front of the Minister’s wife!) to last a lifetime, and this felt like a much unneeded reminder of it.
“I’m s-sorry, I really must be on my way,” she spluttered out, feeling as humiliated as she had in the shop not so long ago. She couldn’t meet the other girl’s eye now; she nodded at her stiffly, without looking. “Good day, Miss Mackenzie.”
Jemima was just about enjoying herself in this conversation when Miss Mackenzie mentioned skin, and Jemima’s face fell, her colour going ashen. She gulped. She couldn’t comprehend the comment any other way. Miss Mackenzie must have heard the rumours in all their sordid glory. Jemima had been half-dressed with a man in the coatroom. She had shown enough bare skin (in front of the Minister’s wife!) to last a lifetime, and this felt like a much unneeded reminder of it.
“I’m s-sorry, I really must be on my way,” she spluttered out, feeling as humiliated as she had in the shop not so long ago. She couldn’t meet the other girl’s eye now; she nodded at her stiffly, without looking. “Good day, Miss Mackenzie.”
