Page 12 of Twelve Drummers Drumming

Not that ownership of trifles really occurred in the Fitzroy family, not with six sisters; if it existed, it was borrowed.

“I’ll see you later then, Jemima,” said Arabella slowly, and she left the breakfast room.

Any other day, the discomforting conversation which had just taken place would have irritated Jemima to the core and caused her probably to snap at her sisters—but not today.

She had read in the newspaper just that morning that there was to be what was being termed an “anti-war rally” by some, a “pacifism meeting” by others, and a “damned nuisance” by still more.

Jemima had never given her promise to her father about not attending such a thing, but she knew none of her family understood. They did not even try.

Today was the first day the family’s attention had been so distracted she may actually be able to attend. To see what others thought about the war. To hear from soldiers whether they wished to return to France.

Today was the day that Caroline had her wedding invitations engraved. Jemima snorted, alone in the breakfast room. A most important day indeed.

It did not take long for her to find the location of the gathering, printed inconspicuously at the bottom of the article, and even if she had not remembered it exactly, she would have had absolutely no difficulty in finding it.

Shouts and cries were emanating from one particular street, and despite the heavy fall of snow the previous night, there were countless people teeming the streets. Some were carrying banners, and one woman who pushed past Jemima was wearing a white sash.

Never before had she ever encountered anyone who understood her passionate desire to see all the soldiers return home and stay here, in England. Was this it, perhaps? Was she about to find people amongst whom she did not have to pretend?

Jemima looked around, bright-eyed, and as she turned the corner, she saw two men standing on a large box that put them head and shoulders above the crowd gathered there.

“…at once!” one of them was shouting. “It simply cannot continue, and the ceasefire which can bring hope and peace to our once happy nation must occur at the swiftest opportunity! Only by joining together with amity and true friendship can the war in France come to an end!”

Cheers and applause rang out, and Jemima clapped her hands together. Was there anything so isolating as believing you could be the only person to think one way—and anything so freeing as discovering you were just one of many?

The second man on the box was now speaking. “And we are not alone in this! All those who signed the Loughborough Petition stand alongside us, and there are still more in other countries who also cry out for the end of violence!”

More cheers echoed around her. Jemima could feel her heart pounding, almost audible for those around her she was sure, so heavy in her ears it was, like the pounding of the ocean’s tide against the cliffs.

Surely this war could not continue as it was, when so many people here stood against it!

She turned her head around to take in the sight of so many people—shopkeepers, gentlemen, a few children running around their heels. A woman over there wore such a rich fur that she was surely nobility of some kind, and over there—

The heartbeat Jemima had been hearing in her ears stopped and then started again.

Captain Hugh Rotherham.

The man who had toppled her to the ground—or she had toppled, she had almost forgotten which—was standing right there, his gaze rapt on the speaker on the box. And he was in uniform.

Leaving little thought for the consequences, Jemima pushed past those between them, and within twenty seconds of first espying him in the crowd, found herself before him.

“What in God’s name do you think you are doing here?”

It was, perhaps, not the best of opening sentences for a conversation.

The man’s eyebrows raised. “This is a free country, madam—free thanks to the bravery of soldiers who keep this country free of tyranny, may I add. ’Tis no crime to stand here.”

“No crime!” Jemima hissed. “Do you think this is a good idea, standing here in a crowd of people who hate war, in the bright red uniform of a soldier?”

She blushed at her own words. The last thing she wanted was for Hugh to believe she was such a person, unsupportive of the common soldier.

But he laughed. “Not good pacifists are they if my safety is in danger by merely being here. I bring no ill will, I am just…curious.”

Captain Rotherham stared at her, and Jemima’s conscience pinched her.

She was not supposed to accost gentlemen in the street for simply standing where they wished to. She knew that. She had been raised a lady and should comport herself such.

But Captain Rotherham did something to her. Something she did not understand. His presence drew her to him, no matter what she told herself was right and proper, and there was a flicker of concern in her heart for the man she had spent but ten minutes with until this moment.

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