Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

64

Further afield — Hemlock Hall

It was a curious thing; a sudden quickening of the heart; an inundation of adrenaline so acute there might have been an immediate threat to be tended to. Charles Bicknell had yet to move from his place outside the carriage; the guards stood still as statues. And yet the pang of unease settled there in his chest, one beat so intense that he felt it ricochet, felt the pain of it through his lungs; and the next so quiet it might not have been there at all. Perhaps, he wondered, it had stopped. Perhaps he would prefer such an end to whatever was about to be spoken. For he recognised the look in Charlotte's eyes; resolved and unyielding. Whatever she was about to say, she would not be swayed in the slightest.

"Dear me... He has an ashen look about him, does he not?"

Sidney felt the back of Charlotte's hand running down to the pulse at his neck. A look of concern had washed over Linton's face, and it was directed at him:

"Master Parker... are you certain you're all right?"

Charlotte's hands moved lower to the place where his overcoat hung open, the torn hem of her skirts secured tightly around him.

He was not all right; not in the slightest. The intensity of disquiet coursed through him at the thought of how quickly the transition had occurred in her. Charlotte, one moment, hardly able to speak, visibly shaken by what had happened with Lord Townshend and Bridges. And the moment he had spoken, the moment he had revealed that Lord Townshend was that much nearer Georgiana and Arthur, the resolve had taken root like some impenetrable weed that could not be plucked.

He could see it in her eyes. In the look she gave him, still...

She was about to propose something—to do something—and he had a good idea of what that something might be.

"Sidney," he watched her lips form his name, fearing the next words that would come from her...

"Can you hear me? Is it—?" Her hand had moved lower toward the wound.

He shook his head, breath caught in his throat for a moment before he could speak, "No," he said at last, and Charlotte lifted her gaze, her hand hovering at his waist, "It has nothing to do with that..."

His fingers had reached out of their own accord, circling the cuff at her wrist, and he felt the tendons there, the tension relaxing ever-so-slightly.

He waited, hoped beyond all else that he had misinterpreted, perhaps picked up on a fear of his own in reading her.

"Perhaps...," Linton said, ruminating, "... it is the light that has had a most unfortunate effect upon your pallor." He leaned forward as if to examine Sidney further, "Very unfortunate, indeed..."

It was enough to make him remember precisely why they were seated here, breath steaming, minds whirling. At an impasse they had yet to cross.

Georgiana. Arthur. How would they possibly reach them in time when every second felt as if it might potentially be their last?

He must find a way to snap out of this state, and quickly...

He must reassure them that he was not as damaged as they feared.

He must...

"Any distress that you see upon my face," he said quietly, turning to Linton, "has everything to do with the fact that we are still stranded in this carriage, surrounded by guards led by a man who seemingly refuses to assist us further while Lord Townshend is...," he stopped, feeling suddenly light-headed, as if his mind had frozen over and he had to grasp for the words, reaching further than he thought possible to retrieve them. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.