Perhaps the worst of it was that she had been on the other side of the door before. In the cloakroom, caught with Ford, entirely innocent of whatever Mrs. Dempsey had imagined. She remembered how terrible it felt, how world-ending; she knew Ford must too. So she might’ve felt bad for them, if only this wasn’t some kind of betrayal, and also much, much worse than anything she had ever done or been rumoured to have done. It was almost beyond her comprehension. The more she tried to grapple with it, the longer she stared at Ford’s drunk friend making excuses for them and her – her husband standing there white-faced and dumbstruck, the more her blood boiled.
And somewhere at the back of her mind she knew there had been things Ford had not confessed to her, because she still hadn’t asked him outright where he had been before coming through the Floo. Maybe they had not been going to – do anything depraved tonight, maybe they were not carrying on some sordid affair, maybe all the indecency had been strictly before. And Ford had not chosen to marry her, obviously; Ford hadn’t been obliged to love her.
But Jemima had at least supposed he liked her well enough, or respected her well enough to live a married life. (And she had liked him, that was the worst of it – just the other week, she had been foolish enough to tell her sister she was happy, foolish enough to think that maybe this had all worked out – and she was wrong, as usual. Stupid, stupid girl.)
And now Ford was going to lie to her face? Did they think she was that stupid too?
She was too furious even to look at her husband anymore, so she rounded on Tycho instead (she had heard the name Tycho tonight, and couldn’t remember his surname over all the buzzing static in her brain), visibly shaking, and hardly caring about the volume of her shriek. “And were you just teasing the last time YOU WERE INSIDE HIM?”
She didn’t know what exactly that meant, but she – she was quite sure mulling over the mechanics wouldn’t make it any better.
And somewhere at the back of her mind she knew there had been things Ford had not confessed to her, because she still hadn’t asked him outright where he had been before coming through the Floo. Maybe they had not been going to – do anything depraved tonight, maybe they were not carrying on some sordid affair, maybe all the indecency had been strictly before. And Ford had not chosen to marry her, obviously; Ford hadn’t been obliged to love her.
But Jemima had at least supposed he liked her well enough, or respected her well enough to live a married life. (And she had liked him, that was the worst of it – just the other week, she had been foolish enough to tell her sister she was happy, foolish enough to think that maybe this had all worked out – and she was wrong, as usual. Stupid, stupid girl.)
And now Ford was going to lie to her face? Did they think she was that stupid too?
She was too furious even to look at her husband anymore, so she rounded on Tycho instead (she had heard the name Tycho tonight, and couldn’t remember his surname over all the buzzing static in her brain), visibly shaking, and hardly caring about the volume of her shriek. “And were you just teasing the last time YOU WERE INSIDE HIM?”
She didn’t know what exactly that meant, but she – she was quite sure mulling over the mechanics wouldn’t make it any better.
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