Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

55

The carriage sped along the country lane, clouds circling above it as the wind whistled on either side of them: white noise to accompany a sudden charge in the air.

It was enough to make Charlotte hold still, frozen in her seat as she picked up on the cadence of Lord Townshend's breathing - which now emerged in bursts, short and panicked, across from her as he sat in the shadows.

A sliver of moonlight had appeared on one side of his face, gradually moving across it, revealing the steely gaze that did not waver from a place over her shoulder. And she heard it behind her, then: a weight shifting at the back of the carriage, motion where there hadn't been just moments ago.

She closed her eyes, attempting to quell the panic as she entertained the possibilities in her mind. There was only one thought that lingered; one possibility she could fathom.

"Lord Townshend-"

He raised a hand, a quick gesture, and she paused - her suspicions confirmed. That something had just occurred. Something to alarm him.

That someone had made his presence known.

In a flash, Townshend reached for her, pulling her low to the floor.

"Bridges," he muttered under his breath, watching the shadow move again, tracking it with his eyes, "I'm certain of it."

Charlotte shifted toward the door and he caught her arm, pulling her back. "Stay exactly where you are," he commanded through his teeth.

She glared at him, wrenching her arm from his grasp. "What, and do nothing?"

"I shouldn't have allowed you in the carriage."

"Well, you did," she called back as she crawled to the far corner, "and unless we act quickly-"

"It was reckless," he said, and she heard the fear in his voice, more prominent than before, "You insisted upon coming and I knew-" he cut off, glancing over at her with something resembling guilt in his eyes, and it caused her to freeze again. "I knew the risk," he finished, almost whispering the words.

The stillness pressed in on them as the shadow returned, moving over Townshend's face - any silent conveyance in his eyes swept away.

She started, another jolt of panic coursing through her, unavoidable as it took hold, then reached for Townshend's cane at her knees.

"If he is here for me," she said as she hooked the cane beneath the door handle, angling it across the seam, attempting to find some way of locking it into place, "I will not go willingly."

Townshend traced the carriage interior with his eyes.

"I trust he will have to bide his time until we stop," he whispered, at last, "There is no way he could reach the door from his position - not without getting tied up in the spokes."

They were met with a stream of moonlight, hitting them as if it were the sun.

The carriage box quivered, and Townshend's gaze moved upwards.

"He... can't be-" Townshend cut off, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

He was answered by a thump, the carriage swaying as the weight shifted above them. Then another.

And they saw it. The curve of a hand as it hooked over the edge, fingertips gripping the window, splayed as they held on, shifting steadily along the glass - steadily toward the front of the carriage.

"No," Townshend sucked in a breath and bolted backwards, pounding his fist on the window, "Driver!"

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