Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

63

Further afield — Hemlock Hall

He was on fire. The flames licked at his boots, the blaze blistering his arms, travelling upwards until he became hazy from the smoke.

It was Charlotte's voice that came to him through the haze, slicing through in the direction of Charles Bicknell:

"Tell me that you would not be so cruel."

"Forgive me, Miss Heywood, if I have been too harsh with you," Bicknell replied, "You must understand that I do not often negotiate with young ladies."

"Negotiate..." Charlotte said harshly, "You mean to interrogate me, then."

"I mean to acquire the information I need by whatever means necessary," Bicknell's voice fanned the flames, "You must decide whether your silence is worth the ramifications I've laid before you."

"I might have given you the information you so desperately seek willingly."

"Perhaps, you might have done," Bicknell said, a knowing glint in his eye, "Or perhaps not."

"You don't believe me..."

"I've given you a choice, Miss Heywood," Bicknell said, a hint of impatience in his tone, "A choice I shall leave in your hands."

Sidney gripped the edge of the seat, knuckles turning white. It was as if something had flipped, just there behind his eyes, a light blinding him until he had no control left over his senses. Just anger remained, its sudden onslaught enough to jumpstart his heart as he stared daggers at the man across from him.

"Choice..." He hadn't even known the word had come out of him until it had been said. And yet, there it was; his voice, filling the void in the carriage.

He felt Charlotte's fingertips brush his sleeve, flames returning in their wake. "Sidney, if we merely explain..."

"You think you've given us a choice?" he said through his teeth, flames consuming him, ready to swallow him whole. "You little—" He was hurtling forward straight into Bicknell, a fist smashing into the man's jaw, his hat thrown from his head. And a flash of the man's eyes, soothing the flames briefly as he saw the fear in them. Hands pulled at his coat, his sleeve and he resisted them, his own hand arriving at Bicknell's throat.

"Sidney," Charlotte cried out in the fringes, "Sidney, stop."

"You wish to double-cross me...? To risk the life of my ward for your own gain?" he said, inches away from Bicknell's face as he let out a gurgle in response, eyes bulging from his head. "Then know this... I would kill you with my bare hands if it meant that Georgiana was out of harm's way for another second," Bicknell's hands had rested over Sidney's, pulling desperately at them to no avail as the fire raged on, "So if you refuse to order your men to finish the journey as quickly as possible, I will take my chances with full armies of men against me to reach her, let alone the paltry guard that surrounds us."

Bicknell had gone an unnatural shade of puce, choking out an incoherent response, and Sidney tightened his grip.

"I swear to God... that if anything happens to her—anything in the slightest—I will hunt you down and do the very same to you. Do you comprehend me?"

"Master Parker," came Linton's plea, "It is imperative that you calm yourself. The guards... they are armed."

"I said," he gritted his teeth, "Do... you... comprehend..."

There was a hand. Her hand, at his elbow. He could not see it—he could not see anything for the flood of tears that had clouded his vision—but it was now very persistently gripping his wrist, working to pry his fingers free.