Jemima was not exactly the sort of person who had been trained for this, for any emergency situations at all, and she was quite at a loss of what to do with all the nervous energy in her veins. So she had just been looking at him, helplessly, when something else struck him. Jemima exhaled a little in relief as he sprang into action, nodding along gratefully at his talk of protection spells, as if she had anything to offer when it came to putting out fires.
She stopped peering blankly at the door – which didn’t seem to be burning through just yet, so his spell must have done something – when he asked her a question. Jemima blinked, trying to tease out the process of events as they had happened. “My sister and her husband,” she said, with confidence. “And my brother was at the party, too. And –” she hadn’t been with any of them when she’d broken the glass in her hand, she had gone to look for them, and – Delilah wasn’t here. (Jemima shot a quick look at the foot, just in case she could recognise her sister’s shoe and stocking. Neither looked recognisable. Good. That was probably good.)
Except the answer to the young man’s question was no, they didn’t know she’d come in this direction, so... oh, no, that meant no one would know to look for her here. “Maybe,” Jemima began, chewing on her bottom lip and feeling like she was telling a lie, because amongst all that chaos how would Delilah have kept track of her? “I don’t know. Maybe not.” Why had she ever left the ballroom?
She twisted her hands together, never mind that her palm was tender from the cut across it, to try and resist the sinking feeling in her stomach. Still, maybe someone was looking for him. She didn’t know who he was, but – oh no, he wouldn’t have come to the ladies’ powder room if he weren’t looking for someone too. What little was left of her hope and cheerfulness abruptly evaporated in the heat of the room. “Are we – going to die here, do you think?” Jemima asked seriously, her bottom lip wobbling now. No, no, no: if this was the end, she was going to meet her end bravely and not cry, just for once in her life.
(She wasn’t sure that was actually going to work, but it was the thought that counted.)
She stopped peering blankly at the door – which didn’t seem to be burning through just yet, so his spell must have done something – when he asked her a question. Jemima blinked, trying to tease out the process of events as they had happened. “My sister and her husband,” she said, with confidence. “And my brother was at the party, too. And –” she hadn’t been with any of them when she’d broken the glass in her hand, she had gone to look for them, and – Delilah wasn’t here. (Jemima shot a quick look at the foot, just in case she could recognise her sister’s shoe and stocking. Neither looked recognisable. Good. That was probably good.)
Except the answer to the young man’s question was no, they didn’t know she’d come in this direction, so... oh, no, that meant no one would know to look for her here. “Maybe,” Jemima began, chewing on her bottom lip and feeling like she was telling a lie, because amongst all that chaos how would Delilah have kept track of her? “I don’t know. Maybe not.” Why had she ever left the ballroom?
She twisted her hands together, never mind that her palm was tender from the cut across it, to try and resist the sinking feeling in her stomach. Still, maybe someone was looking for him. She didn’t know who he was, but – oh no, he wouldn’t have come to the ladies’ powder room if he weren’t looking for someone too. What little was left of her hope and cheerfulness abruptly evaporated in the heat of the room. “Are we – going to die here, do you think?” Jemima asked seriously, her bottom lip wobbling now. No, no, no: if this was the end, she was going to meet her end bravely and not cry, just for once in her life.
(She wasn’t sure that was actually going to work, but it was the thought that counted.)
