Oh. Whatever hell Ford had been living in, then, he had been living in for the last five years. Jemima felt a lump of fear in her throat already forming, before he had even explained anything – only that he had been twenty-three (a year older than she was now), and still practically a child. If he hadn’t been able to cope with it then, maybe she didn’t want to know after all.
But she had asked it of him, hadn’t she? Demanded it of him, in some ultimatum she hadn’t quite realised she was making until he had given in. So Jemima could hardly stop him now, now that things were veering out of her control. But her heart rate was picking up as he spoke, at odd intervals and snatches of his story, as though in sympathetic panic. There wasn’t any money. Debts. They didn’t own anything, not even this house. He had been ready to live in Pennyworth – and that, in the tone he was using, somehow sounded like a best-case scenario.
She was confused and concerned in equal measure, and doing all she could not to start hyperventilating again. It hadn’t been Ford’s fault, at least – she told herself this as if it was any comfort, and curled her hands tight into her sheets to stop herself from clutching at her face in abject horror. “Because...” she began, struggling to comprehend everything he had just confessed; her voice came out so faint it was not much more than a whisper. “Because they didn’t get married? And there was no more – money for them.” Verity had married, but the others... the others were still here, weren’t they, dependent on him and this house and the family finances. And what of the debts? Were there still the debts? How could there be? How bad had it been?
Bad enough that he would have moved to Pennyworth. “I don’t understand,” she said faintly, although he had told her to wait until he was finished; but she couldn’t fathom what else there could be to add. Surely they were in a better place now. She was an extra burden, then, she could see that well enough – but her dowry, she thought, had been a reasonable sum (and perhaps more than it ought’ve been, to make up for the circumstances). So was there money now? Surely there must be some money. “What did you do then?”
But she had asked it of him, hadn’t she? Demanded it of him, in some ultimatum she hadn’t quite realised she was making until he had given in. So Jemima could hardly stop him now, now that things were veering out of her control. But her heart rate was picking up as he spoke, at odd intervals and snatches of his story, as though in sympathetic panic. There wasn’t any money. Debts. They didn’t own anything, not even this house. He had been ready to live in Pennyworth – and that, in the tone he was using, somehow sounded like a best-case scenario.
She was confused and concerned in equal measure, and doing all she could not to start hyperventilating again. It hadn’t been Ford’s fault, at least – she told herself this as if it was any comfort, and curled her hands tight into her sheets to stop herself from clutching at her face in abject horror. “Because...” she began, struggling to comprehend everything he had just confessed; her voice came out so faint it was not much more than a whisper. “Because they didn’t get married? And there was no more – money for them.” Verity had married, but the others... the others were still here, weren’t they, dependent on him and this house and the family finances. And what of the debts? Were there still the debts? How could there be? How bad had it been?
Bad enough that he would have moved to Pennyworth. “I don’t understand,” she said faintly, although he had told her to wait until he was finished; but she couldn’t fathom what else there could be to add. Surely they were in a better place now. She was an extra burden, then, she could see that well enough – but her dowry, she thought, had been a reasonable sum (and perhaps more than it ought’ve been, to make up for the circumstances). So was there money now? Surely there must be some money. “What did you do then?”
