Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

53

Candlelight danced over the bookcases in Mr Campion's study, casting an imposing shadow behind its source as she paced from one end of the room to the other, her face illuminated, eyes bright, aflame.

"Of course, I expected it of Miss Lambe. But I never thought you would be capable of such betrayal. Am I-" she paused, taking a breath, "Am I not soon to be your own sister?"

Arthur did not respond, and instead remained transfixed by the shadows. They reminded him of the sun's reflection upon the sea, their movement constant - the motion soothing in spite of its restlessness. He had found himself inexplicably drawn to them until he couldn't look away. In truth, he didn't want to look away - looking away would bring him back to the situation at hand - back to her.

She lowered her raised chin a fraction, her voice swimming back to him, cutting through the waves inside his head. "Now, I am left to wonder how I might ever trust you again."

He blinked.

Her words did not cut, after all. They slashed and gutted, sending pain signals through his body as he looked down to his feet. His brow furrowed of its own accord, his mind resolute in its opposition - and yet, he could not prevent himself.

"T-trust me?" he repeated, breaking his stare, his eyes finding hers at last. A shiver ran down his spine, fury building rapidly, mingling with the fear coursing through him as he gritted his teeth, "you wonder how you might ever trust-"

"There is only one explanation for it, of course," she continued, as if unaware, "She is a pretty sort of girl, I admit. Your Miss Lambe. And yet-"

Arthur swallowed, heart pounding as she began to pace the room again. The shawl that draped over her arms threatened to fall to the floor as she walked about distractedly, finally shaking her head as if in defeat.

"Even still, I cannot wrap my head around it," she said, stepping closer to his place upon the floor - the place where he had fallen, "-why, or how, you found yourselves under the heel of Otis Molyneux."

----------

"Georgiana. Wait."

The sound of panting emerged from the darkness behind her, boots thudding as they rebounded off the frozen ground, and in a flash, Otis gripped her arm, his face appearing at her shoulder as she stopped in her path.

"What don't you understand?" she spouted, her voice louder than intended, "I have made up my mind. So please, just stop." She winced at the unexpected show of emotion.

He tightened his grasp on her, "It's bloody suicide, Georgiana. You must know that," he puffed out bursts of air like smoke in the night, the only warmth left between them.

"I don't care if it is bloody suicide," she cried, wrenching her arm free, "I will not leave without him."

He caught her again, pulling her closer, her forearm held tightly against his chest, locked in its place, "Why have you come? Why - of all nights - would you have chosen-" He cut off, his teeth bared in frustration, "We had a plan, Georgiana. It was all arranged, and now-"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, louder, exasperated.

He searched her eyes, looking perplexed, astonished as she stared resolutely back, her fingers tightening into a fist.

"Evidence," she said, watching as his eyes travelled back to the house - to the now distant study window - and back to the ledger tucked beneath his arm.

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"O-Otis Molyneux?"

"Yes. It was he I intended to-" she paused, fading off as her eyes narrowed. "He and that incorrigible Miss Lambe. Imagine the shock I felt upon finding out that the footman we all knew as James had no history in service, but had instead been sent to spy on me. I've no doubt that trollop, Lady Worcester, was behind it all," she stilled, the candlelight passing over her like flames, "I know what she is attempting to do. But that she would go to such lengths -"