Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

49

Charlotte circled his brow with her fingertips, skating over temple and cheekbone, the stubble along his jaw, down to his neck. The faint pulse greeted her again, and she moved upwards, tracing the outline of his ear as she attempted to make him out. She dipped her head lower, hair brushing his shoulder as she skirted chin and lower lip, her touch a steady reminder to them both.

The carriage jostled them as it progressed all too quickly down a country lane, and Charlotte placed a hand protectively at his shoulder, keeping Sidney as still as possible as they rushed onward.

Despite the speed at which they travelled, time had begun to stretch to impossible lengths. Every beat of a pulse, every hardly discernable breath, left them waiting for the next.

Lord Townshend had insisted they follow his carriage, that he could guide them through a shortcut to Raynham Hall, which consisted of a lane so indeterminate it could hardly be considered a lane at all. The body of Robert Campion had remained in its place, for the time being. And Bridges, who had awoken shortly before they left, with no recollection of his whereabouts, had been hastily brought along at Charlotte's insistence. After all, they couldn't just leave a man to die, even if he might have done just that - or worse - to any member of their party.

And now, here they were, caught in the transition, the in-between. The relief of having found Sidney, alive, still flooded every sense, every thought that emerged - and yet, as time crept on, it melded with an encroaching dread that seeped into every pore, every crook of her mind. It wasn't supposed to end like this. And yet, as she held her breath, waiting for the next sign that Sidney still breathed on his own, she could no longer deny that it might.

"He survived croup as a boy," Linton said quietly, moving Sidney's coat aside to check the bandages as she circled around to his forehead, and she paused, looking over at him. The carriage rocked them forward for a moment, then righted them, as they both sought an anchor, better footing on which to balance, crouched next to the seat where Sidney lay. Linton's hands still shook as he worked, the sound of his breath unsteady as he shifted waistcoat and shirt aside to check for signs of further bleeding in the darkness. He righted himself again, eyes searching. "The doctor warned us that he would not live out the night," he paused, bracing his hands against the edge of the seat as if it were the only thing left to support him, now, "and yet he fought so-"

Charlotte stroked his forehead, moving in closer, searching for the flutter of eyelashes, the raising of an eyebrow - some sign that he could hear them.

"It happened so quickly then," Linton murmured, "bedridden one moment and asking for a trek out to the stables the next - as if he had no recollection of what had transpired - how close he had come to taking his last breath." He brought the back of his hand to his mouth, smiling despite everything as tears welled in his eyes, and took a breath, sharp and fleeting. "I nearly brought him as well. He was strong-willed, even then. So... determined."

"And had you wrapped round his little finger, I imagine," Charlotte said, tears falling freely down her face as she blinked them away.

"Yes," he emitted something akin to a laugh, a burst of emotion - joy and sorrow in a single sound - and at that moment, she knew that he felt the same sense of foreboding. "I was well prepared for such a life - the hard graft of it - the sacrifice. But the attachment-" he swallowed, shaking his head, "-nothing might have prepared me for that."

Charlotte's fingertips paused in their place over Sidney's pulse, another beat emerging, slight but still present - as if providing an answer he could not give. "Yes," she whispered, blinking again.

"And yet, here I am, watching him fight for a single breath - and the only thought running through my mind is that he should be in my place, watching me. The world seems very cruel to reverse it - for a man like him to-" he cut off, the glint of a tear, then another, on his cheek as he took in the still form before them, placing a trembling hand upon Sidney's sleeve. "I don't know a life without him."

The air in the carriage suddenly felt further away, impossible to take in, suffocating as she fought for another breath, the reassurance of Sidney's pulse beneath her fingertips flooding hope back into her, fleeting as it was.

"Then, we must remind him," Charlotte faltered, breathing in as she skirted Sidney's forehead again, "that we are still here... of what is worth staying for," her fingertips traced the edge of his ear, "in whatever way we can."

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From the moment the carriage doors opened at Raynham Hall, the world began to move around Charlotte, rotating about her as she stood, stagnant, in the gravel drive. And as a hand guided her toward the door they had carried him through, the same thought remained - persistent and unyielding in her mind - as she took one step, then another: What next? What on earth was next?