Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

33

The streets of London had cleared considerably in the rain. Pedestrians sought out the shelter of carriages and shops, street vendors retreated under awnings, and the normally congested pathways of Mayfair had been abandoned almost entirely as the rain pelted down in cold, dense sheets. As lightning struck overhead, followed closely by the rumblings of thunder, Sidney Parker ran.

He ran from Green Street to North Audley Street, through Grosvenor Square to Charles Street. His overcoat, shirt and waistcoat moulded to his skin as he filled his lungs with air for the first time in months, and though they felt fit to burst, he found that slowing his pace was no longer an option as her words played through his mind. The choice is yours.

Skidding to a halt outside Weston Place, he bounded up the stairs leading to its grand entry, ringing the bell once, twice, a third time until Lady Worcester's butler arrived at the door, looking frankly alarmed to see him in such a state.

Sidney stood gasping for air. "Ch-Charlotte..." he managed to say as he hunched over, hands upon his knees, and the butler looked at him quizzically. "I beg your pardon..." he began in an affronted tone.

"Bradford, who is it?" Sidney heard Lady Worcester's voice emerge from the entrance hall, and as she approached, her eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, a smile playing upon her lips. "Mr Parker, I must say that we weren't expecting you in such weather. If you have come to call upon Miss Heywood, I am afraid that she may be in a similar predicament at the moment."

"She...what?" Sidney croaked, placing a hand upon his chest as he braced the other against the nearest pillar.

"She left not long ago, you see, in the direction of the park."

He stilled for the briefest moment. "The park," he murmured.

"Yes, she prefers Green Park to Hyde. It is far less congested at this time of day."

He nodded, backing away from them. "Thank you, your Ladyship." His voice nearly broke in gratitude.

"The entrance off of Half Moon Street. If you hurry, you will catch her." Susan winked at him and he turned, taking the steps two at a time, increasing his pace as he ran the length of Charles Street, rain pelting into his eyes and mouth as he went, rivulets of water running down his body as adrenaline propelled him forward. He must find her. He must. He must. He must.

At last, he reached the park entrance, looking to paths left and right, attempting to solve the mystery of which she would have taken until he noticed a rather lovely tree-lined third option before him.

He ran ahead, seeking her out, looking around to spot a glimpse of a white dress, the flash of a ribbon through the downpour. The trees grew denser as he progressed, and he was struck with a sudden terror that he would pass her by, were she further removed from the path. But in the midst of his distress, he caught a flash of movement in the copse of trees up ahead.

His heart adjusted its rhythm, feeling as if it were skipping around inside his chest as he stopped, not quite believing it could be her. And yet, there she was, huddled beneath a large oak tree, its canopy large enough to provide some degree of shelter. Her green spencer was nearly the same colour as the evergreens behind her, but it was the white dress, which clung to her legs from the rain, that had caught his eye. She stood near the large trunk of the oak and looked out at the rain, hair hanging, saturated, at her shoulders - the ribbon of her bonnet, almost forgotten, looped around her wrist.

His eyes honed in on her as he alighted from the path, taking great strides, top hat in hand - and she froze, mouth agape as he approached her, eyes locked to his in bewilderment.