Page 26 of Twelve Drummers Drumming

Jemima laughed with a calculated nonchalant air. “Is it really so much to think perhaps I am happy for you and have no wish to make you miserable?”

“Well, yes.”

Burning with shame, Jemima determinedly did not turn away from the window to look at her stepsister. “It hurts you would assume that of me,” she said quietly, watching a chimney sweep move along the street, knocking door to door, obviously hoping for some more business before Christmas.

But although Jemima could not see Caroline’s expression, it did not appear to have changed her stepsister’s mind. Caroline seemed convinced there was something suspicious going on.

“But—” Caroline began to say, but she was interrupted by the opening of the bedroom door.

Jemima turned her head eagerly, hoping for some news of Hugh—though why he would be sending her news she had absolutely no idea—her eyes lost their sparkle as she saw it was her stepmother who had entered the room.

Selina bustled over to her eldest daughter. “Caroline, if you do not have things nailed down around you, then they will start to go walking away. Here,” and she held out the matching glove to the one in Caroline’s hands, “I found this.”

Caroline’s raptures were unabashed by her mother’s gentle dig at her tidiness. “Thank you, Mama,” she beamed. “I do not know what I would have done without you—Jemima and I were frantic with worry, we had no idea where else to look!”

“Jemima?” Selina said in a confused tone. Caroline pointed to the window, and Selina turned her neck to look. “Jemima! I had not seen you there, I do beg your pardon.”

“Think nothing of it, Mama,” was Jemima’s reply.

She had spoken almost without thinking, her eyes absorbed by the progress of the chimney sweep and her mind absorbed by Hugh. It was not until the words were out of her mouth that she sighed inwardly. Such a polite response was sure to elicit more confusion than a rude one would have.

“My word, Jemima, what has got into you?”

“I was about to tell you,” said Caroline eagerly, standing up from the bed and taking her mother’s arm as she spoke. “I do not believe that Jemima is entirely well, Mother. She has not been herself for the last day or two, and in the last hour she has behaved in a most peculiar manner.”

Jemima sighed, then spoke despite knowing she would not be heeded. “I am quite well, I assure you.”

“Unwell!” Selina narrowed her eyes as she examined her. “You certainly do sound out of sorts, Jemima. Have you eaten anything which you believe may have disagreed with you?”

A million retorts, each one ruder than the last, would have sprung up in her mind at any other occasion, but Jemima’s mind was not really even in the room. She was already imagining Hugh’s entrance at the engagement ball, taking his arm, dancing every dance with him, ignoring the rest of the world.

When her stepmother spoke again, Jemima started, not realizing Selina had moved closer and closer to her as she had been lost in her thoughts.

“You do not look sickly,” said Selina thoughtfully, putting the back of her hand to Jemima’s forehead.

“I am one and twenty years old, not a child!”

“You are a little warm, but nothing of any consequence, nothing that would concern me enough to fetch a doctor—unless you wish me to, Jemima?”

Brushing away Selina’s hand with her own, Jemima muttered, “I am quite well.”

Caroline had not crossed the room with her mother but had sunk back onto the bed—and a glint in her engagement ring which caught her eye made her smile mischievously.

“Perhaps Mama,” she said, her smile broadening, “Jemimaissick, but we do not know the exact cause yet—but will tonight!”

Both Selina and Jemima turned their heads to look at Caroline at these words, confusion painted on both their faces.

“Tonight?” Selina asked, confusion turning into bewilderment. “What is happening tonight?”

Caroline giggled and said, “Perhaps Jemima islovesick. Perhaps her cure will be attending my engagement ball this very evening!”

Both she and her mother laughed as Jemima’s cheeks burned. She willed them to stay pale and cool, but it seemed that she had lost all her faculties, including her ability to control her expression.

Her clear discomfort only made Caroline laugh harder.

“Who is he, your young man follower?” She said gleefully. “Butcher, baker, or candlestick maker?”

“Now, now then,” said Selina, having gained control of her laughter, “there is no reason to tease your sister.”

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