Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

47

Georgiana lifted her head after what felt like an age. The fire had all but died, reduced to the odd fizz and nothing more. The moonlight was the only source left to guide them.

"Arthur," she whispered at last, "are you all right?"

"We should go," he whispered back as she stood slowly.

"I believe I've twisted my ankle."

She tested her foot as she braced an arm upon the balustrade. "Could you carry that?" she asked, indicating the ledger that had been discarded in their panic.

"Yes. Yes, of course," he said, "It should be enough, you think?"

"It will have to do," she hopped lightly onto the first step, supporting herself on either side of the staircase. "What are the chances?" she murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"That she would come back to Norfolk the very evening we needed her to stay away."

"I've no idea," Arthur said, "but it does seem very unlucky."

She hopped down to the ground floor and winced as it creaked underfoot.

"I've got you," Arthur said as the floor creaked next to her. He shifted the ledger beneath one arm and leaned into her. She reached for his shoulder, gripping tightly as she hopped. The floor creaked again.

"Arthur," she breathed, "we need to hurry."

"Nearly there, Miss Lambe. Nearly there, now." She looked across the room at the window, which somehow seemed further away with each step to bring them closer. The floor creaked louder as they progressed, the sound amplified in the silence, echoing from the walls around them. She heard Arthur's breath next to her, quick and shallow as he supported her.

"Arthur..." she started, looking behind them into the darkness.

"Shhh," he quieted her, "to the window, now. Come on."

They were still paces away when he scooped her up, supporting her legs as he walked unsteadily to the window, his breath coming faster.

She glanced behind them into the dark expanse of the study as she heard it again, in the room this time. Not footsteps, something lighter. A rhythmic clicking upon the wooden floor.

Georgiana gripped his arm as a deep, guttural snarl filled the room. Arthur kept moving - lifting her legs through the open window, holding her until she landed lightly upon the grass. "Arthur, come on!" she said, pulling forcefully at his arms.

He pushed the ledger through the open window, and jolted forward, crying out.

She pulled at his large form, the ledger landing in the grass next to her as she tugged at his arms, his shoulders - the window's opening somehow smaller than it had seemed before. "Arthur!"

"Remember to travel south," he said through clenched teeth, "The carriage will be waiting."

"No," she cried, "I'm not leaving."

"Yes, you are," his chin trembled, "Georgiana, don't waste this chance. You have everything you need to fix this."

"That's not true."

"Go," he said desperately. His eyes widened, more visible than ever as the room lit up behind him. The glow of candlelight had returned, and with one last look at her, he retreated backwards, shielding her still as the second hound attacked.

She stared in horror at the sight, limping backwards, Arthur's words fresh in her mind.

A sob escaped as her vision blurred, and she stepped back again, her body colliding with a solid form. She breathed in as a hand covered her mouth, tears running down onto it as she writhed and scratched. She pried at the arms wrapped firmly around her as the figure guided her backwards, then stumbled, her ankle giving way - and as the arms supported her, she stilled, inhaling as she registered the scent. "Don't say a word," said the voice in her ear, and she sobbed again.