Sanditon: A Sisterhood Forms

48

"Were I not equipped with a blade so dull, he wouldn't have made his escape."

In a moment, Linton's expression transformed into something murderous as his hands trembled with the force of his grip. His jaw clenched as he let out a broken cry, the force of it echoing around them as he pushed back against Robert with all of his might, and they both tumbled to the ground.

And in a single breath, Charlotte came to, seeing the chance for what it was as she stumbled from the carriage, willing her legs to support her as she went to the body lying upon the ground, her mind resisting every step until she dropped to his side.

She reached for his neck, seeking any sign of a pulse, moving down to his heart, her hands trembling so violently, they could hardly grip his waistcoat as she lifted it and placed the cloth firmly against his side.

She gritted her teeth as she tried to gain control of her hands, holding both sides of the waistcoat, now - focusing with all she had left as she attempted to fasten the button at his waist. The sound of her own breathing became amplified in her ears.

Hands pulled at her shoulders and she pushed them away, screaming in frustration as she attempted it again, looping the button through as her hair was tugged from above with such force it lifted her to a standing position.

She looked up, the figure of Linton only just visible. They had taken him several strides from the carriage, "You put up a fight?" said the voice in her ear, as the man called Bridges looped an arm around her neck - his putrid breath washed over her as he held her head in place, "you watch."

She saw him emerge from the darkness, looking sorrowfully in her direction. "Lord Townshend," she murmured.

"Miss Heywood, I-" he started, his eyes shining.

"Now!" shouted Robert, "I won't be made a fool of. We might have been killed ourselves after their little sabotage."

"I had no wish for you to see this," Townshend called out.

And that was when she saw it - a flintlock pistol shining briefly in the light as he stepped closer to Linton, who was in Robert's grasp, kneeling upon the ground, facing away from them. Robert moved back as he approached, the gun only feet away from Linton's slumped form.

"No," she said, writhing in the arms of Bridges as she scratched at his eyes, his face, and he shook her violently in return. She lifted her feet from the ground, forcing him to carry her weight as they came back down again. She pushed backwards, knocking her head into his and he fell, his arms still tight around her.

She heard a sickening crack as they collided with a large object behind them, then rolled sideways to the ground. Bridges lay behind her, the carriage wheel within view, and she crawled away from him, looking back as a long, drawn-out moan escaped from him, a dark pool of blood forming at his temple.

She stumbled backwards. The sound of the pistol firing filled the air, echoing through the night - and another figure dropped to the ground.

----------

Gunsmoke permeated the air. A second shot sounded, and Charlotte ran - away from the carriage, into the darkness. The smoke enveloped her like a dense fog, her heart rising out of her chest as she scanned the landscape.

The pistol was still raised in Townshend's shaking hand - his arm extended - and their surroundings fell into a silence broken only by Charlotte's cry. "What have you done-"

He turned to her. "Charlotte, I- I had to."

She ran to the body, slumped over in the darkness, and caught sight of the damages - blood seeping through shirt and waistcoat, his overcoat torn open. "I-" she stopped, breathing in deeply, "I don't think I can-"

"He would have killed you," Townshend whispered, "or worse. I couldn't let him do that - not to you."

She paused in the darkness, reaching for the lapels of the man's overcoat as she turned the body into the light. It was Robert Campion. "You haven't-"

"What? No, of course not. Miss Heywood - I am on your side."

"Then, where has he gone?"

They turned instinctively, the lantern light drawing them back to the form that had wandered over to his master, and knelt next to him, removing Sidney's bandages one layer at a time.

"Linton," Charlotte whispered, the air absent from her lungs as she rushed over to him, falling down to the ground opposite him.

"I - am afraid I may not be able to treat him. Not something so severe," he said, sniffing, defeated, "I might only wind the bandages a bit tighter, Miss Heywood, and hope it will be enough."

"He's-"

Linton nodded, "feel it for yourself if you must."

Her fingertips glided over his neck, searching for a pulse that would not emerge - until a slight beat thrummed upwards along his neck - weakened, but present. "He's alive," she sobbed. Any words she might have said caught in her throat as she looked across at Linton, who could do nothing more than nod a second time, his eyes shining in the light.

"Might I suggest we take him somewhere nearby?" Lord Townshend called out, and they both turned. "My home - Raynham Hall - is not far. We might have him there within the hour."

----------

'And you, Miss Heywood? You must have a memory in mind for yourself.'

'I couldn't possibly say.'

'Grown tired of me already?'

She had smiled at this. He remembered it, still.

'If you must know, the memory hasn't occurred yet.'

'Naturally, you would conjure up an exception. Tell me, is it too late to change my answer?'

Her smile broadened.

'I would choose the very last, Mr Parker. If I have the last - I hold every memory that came before, even if I can't relive them.'

'And if our final time together is something akin to a tragedy?'

'I'm willing to take the risk.'

'Well then, it is settled. You shall have a lifetime of memories, and I shall have something to look forward to when the end arrives.'

'Ah yes - possibility.'

'And the sight of you, when I had resigned myself to believing we might never meet again.'