Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

44

MEANWHILE, IN LONDON...

Esther looked skyward at the imposing Gothic exterior. Its many pinnacles and spires sliced through the low-hung clouds like knives stabbing the sky, buried so deep that the jagged edges were all but hidden from view. The carriage had just come to a stop in the circle drive of one of the largest private residences in London. "It can't be," she whispered, turning to her companion.

"Oh, but it is," Susan replied, a smile playing upon her lips as she adjusted her glove. "I would not have infringed upon your time, Lady Babington, if it were not necessary to make a memorable impression." They stepped down from the carriage onto the cobblestone drive, hands holding their bonnets into place as a fresh gust of wind greeted them, "and we simply cannot afford to be anything less than memorable now."

Esther had heard often of the Carlyle family, London society's most recent addition, and the wealthiest household to grace the streets of Piccadilly in living memory - however, the lady of the house had remained a mystery to her.

"Is she an acquaintance?" she asked, as they approached an entrance framed by an imposing pointed arch. Susan tapped the Gothic door knocker twice.

"Not quite, no, but she will be by the end of our visit if I have anything to do about it," Susan turned to her, a look of resolve emerging before she transformed into the picture of poise and friendliness as the door cracked open, its hinges sounding as if they were unused to any manner of movement. The sound echoed down a grand arcade, complete with ribbed vaulting fit for a cathedral, and travelled up to the ornate tracery that embellished and framed vast windows of stained glass.

"Lady Worcester," said a rather overeager voice from the entrance, and both Susan and Esther peeled their eyes from the exquisite interior and the imposingly tall footman who had opened the door, and looked down at the unexpectedly squat woman before them who, despite her expensive attire, appeared to be as unaccustomed to her surroundings as her visitors.

"Mrs Carlyle," Susan said, extending her arms, "so wonderful to see you."

"I-I could hardly believe that you of all people should call," she said, almost amazed, then broke into an uneven smile, "Lady Worcester in my very entry hall...I never would have guessed it."

"And what an entry it is," she murmured, her eyes drawn back upwards to the impossibly high vaults. "May I introduce you to my dear friend, Lady Babington," she said, stepping through.

"Oh! Lovely, yes, but I do recognise the name," said Mrs Carlyle, her tone nothing short of reverential. Esther responded with an uneasy smile and, knowing not what to make of this woman, moved a step closer to Susan.

They stood in the entryway, silence building for a moment before Mrs Carlyle jumped, and said, "Oh! How foolish of me. Please allow me to escort you."

She scurried away so abruptly that Susan and Esther had little chance to exchange a look of confused wonderment before Mrs Carlyle had disappeared around a corner, the rapid clicking of her shoes against the marble floors the only hint at her location. They followed, winding through a corridor until they arrived in a reception room that would more than suit the expensive tastes of the Prince Regent - and once again, their eyes were drawn upwards to the ornate plaster ceiling as Mrs Carlyle waved them over to a cluster of chairs that surrounded the fireplace. Every step echoed throughout the otherwise empty room as they approached.

"Please," she said, gesturing to the seating, "do sit down."

"Such... elaborate furnishings, Mrs Carlyle," Susan remarked as they each took a chair.