Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

1

It was evening, and the sky loomed low and forbidding over Sanditon. Torrential rain had swept through the town that day, bouncing up from the streets, pinging from rooftops with what seemed to be an unprecedented ferocity, flooding the town within hours and yet, even now, the clouds remained dark and ominous. The front door of Trafalgar House burst open, a gale-like force whirled through the entryway sending pictures askew and papers swirling. Tom Parker stamped his feet as he walked across the threshold, holding his tophat in place against the wind, his cape billowing behind like a sail.

"Any sign of him?" Mary asked with urgency, her eyes searching Tom's expression, knowing his answer before it was spoken.

He shook his head, distress upon every inch of his countenance as he removed his tophat, eyes downcast as he held it in his hands, "No."

Mary covered her mouth with her hand. Her entire body trembled as she turned away from Tom, shifting direction to prevent her mind from reeling, to regain control. "Tell me, h-how far did the men travel?" she asked, at last, wiping at her eyes.

"All through the town," his voice faltered, "the gambling halls, as far out as the cove."

"But not beyond?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I am not certain, but I believe he may have ridden that way earlier. Charlotte's carriage travelled in that direction, you see. Perhaps he met her along the road." She began to wring her hands.

"Why on earth would he do such a thing? He and Charlotte were merely acquaintances." His tone was sharp, disbelieving, his words amplified in Mary's ears.

"Please, Tom," she beseeched, grabbing his coat by the lapels, "send the men out to the clifftops. I-I fear he may have gone, that he was not in a state-" she stopped abruptly, overcome by the thoughts flooding her mind, her expression crumpling with the weight of them.

Tom wrapped his arms around her, "It's alright, my dear. I shall go myself to fetch Young Stringer. We will find him. We must."

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Mary stood by the front window of Trafalgar House for several hours that night, waiting, watching as the flooding in the streets gradually rose, a near-constant stream of water cascading down the window.

It was not a coincidence that Sidney Parker disappeared the very same day that Charlotte had left their town, possibly never to return, and if anything might have happened to him, damaged him, she was fully aware of how responsible she and Tom were for such damage. They were responsible for any future misery that awaited him.

At last, she stepped away, feeling a sudden urge to pace, and walked about the ground floor, wandering through rooms aimlessly, her mind swirling with possibilities, most of them very dire, indeed. She walked into Tom's study, resisting an urge to overturn the table at the centre of the room that held the model of Sanditon, and instead decided to look over the post that had arrived that day. Perhaps a mundane activity would calm her mind. But as she reached for the letter at the very top of the pile, her hand paused, hovering over the stack of letters, her eyes fixed upon the script written in a strikingly elegant hand. It was addressed to Charlotte Heywood.

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"Mary!!"

She started, lifting her head sharply from the writing desk at the sound of Tom's voice. Standing before her mind could fully register the situation, she ran, stopping just outside of Tom's study as she beheld the scene before her.

Young Stringer and Fred carried an unconscious Sidney across the threshold of Trafalgar House, his arms draped around their shoulders, his feet dragging along the floor behind them, and in an instant, Mary's world began to shrink in on itself as they cleared a table and laid his still form upon it. Tom mouthed the words, "Dr Fuchs", but she could no longer hear them as her surroundings swirled and shifted. She set her hands upon the table to remain upright, her fingertips grazing his overcoat as she breathed deeply, steadily to regain control.