Chapter Text
SANDITON, PART TWO
Chapter One
"Goodbye, Charlotte. I wish you every happiness." Sidney whispered.
"...Goodbye." Charlotte climbed into the carriage swiftly, trying unsuccessfully to hide her face as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Sidney felt numb as he latched her carriage door shut, unwilling to think about how this would be the last time he would ever see Charlotte Heywood - this willful, fascinating, generous, and beautiful girl he so desperately loved.
The Parker's carriage rolled steadily away over the green hills of Sanditon. Sidney watched it depart, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. He wanted to stop it, to cry out after her, to do something. Yet he could not. Never had he felt so helpless.
As the carriage rounded a bend out of sight, Sidney mounted his horse and tore off at a breakneck pace. He rode hard for more than an hour, thundering over the clifftops with little regard to his destination. He knew only that he had to get away – from this moment, from Sanditon – and most of all, from the memory of Charlotte’s brown eyes sparkling with tears.
Chapter Two
It was nearly nightfall when the Parker’s carriage pulled up to Longtree Hall, Charlotte’s family estate in Willingden. She had barely exited her seat when a crowd of young Heywood siblings tumbled out of the manor door to embrace her. This was a joyful reunion indeed, and for some minutes they all stood in the darkened courtyard crying “Charlotte’s home!” or “My, how you have grown!” with one or two “Please tell us about Sanditon tonight, Charlotte?” being heard as well.
“Now children, let her catch her breath!” cried Mrs. Heywood, who had emerged from the house at that moment. She was a fine and genteel-looking woman, with an easy smile and delightfully warm manner. She greeted her eldest daughter with a motherly kiss. “There will be plenty of time to hear of Charlotte’s adventures tomorrow. Now, Mr. Heywood, will you and the boys help Charlotte with her trunk?”
“Good evening, Papa!” said Charlotte, embracing the gentleman with affection.
“Welcome home, love. You must be tired after your journey. Come in, come in, sit by the fire and tell us all about it. Rather a long way to come alone!” Mr. Heywood stated gruffly, as though he disapproved of the Parkers sending Charlotte on her return journey without a companion.
Charlotte was weary, but she had been glad of her solitude. Her final meeting with Sidney had been so unexpected - at once blissful and painful. The thought of him waiting at the crossroads until her carriage had passed, just for one last chance of seeing her, had nearly broken her heart. She had cried for several hours after their parting. With some difficulty, she ceased sobbing before they neared Willingden and the certain scrutiny of her family. It would not do to return home with red eyes and a broken spirit.
She walked into the Hall with a crowd of children following her like little ducklings. She was happy to see them all, and happier still to be in the comfort of her own home, but found that she was unwilling to face their questions. “I am afraid I am rather worn out, Papa. I think I must retire early. But I shall be very happy to see you all tomorrow, and talk all about the delights of Sanditon!” Charlotte exclaimed with a brave attempt at a smile.
“Of course dear – go and get some rest. Good night.” said Mrs. Heywood, noticing for the first time how pale Charlotte looked, and the drawn and resigned look that had replaced her usual mirth and merriment.
“Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, Papa.” Charlotte took a candle and climbed the staircase to a small room she shared with two sisters. She looked about, taking in the familiar pictures, the simple furniture, the books – all unchanged. Quickly she made herself ready for bed and curled beneath her coverlet, shivering slightly in the cold. Tears streamed silently down her face as she thought again of Sidney Parker, and how much she missed him. She missed his dark eyes, flashing with passionate emotion. His intelligence, as he keenly probed her mind with questions. His strong arms, wrapped longingly around her in the only kiss they would ever share. Her heart was very heavy tonight indeed.
Chapter Three
Tom Parker was alone in his library, busily shuffling papers around his desk. He was hopeless when it came to organization, and he was already starting to feel the effects of Charlotte Heywood’s absence. He had gotten quite used to her being his assistant, and she had been enormously helpful to him during her stay in Sanditon – such a capable, good sort of girl, he thought.
He ran a hand over his tired eyes and reached for the port decanter. It had been a nightmarish week for him and his family as they had awaited Sidney’s return. Even now, when all was happily resolved, he could not shake the feeling that he had somehow cheated fate. A glance out of his window at the terrace’s blackened façade reminded him how close to ruination he had come. He suppressed an anxious shudder. If it hadn’t been for his brother (and the conveniently wealthy Mrs. Campion), he might even now be in the debtor’s prison.
Tom’s thoughts were interrupted as his wife Mary entered the room. “Have you spoken with Sidney?” she inquired. “He is leaving for London this afternoon.”
“What? You must be mistaken.” Tom replied. “He assured me he was staying until at least the end of the week. We have several matters to discuss in regard to the – er – financing of the rebuilding.”
“That may be, but I can assure you he is packing even now. Won’t you go up and speak with him?”
“Yes, yes of course, all right. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Tom replied absently. He left the library and climbed to the second level of their home. Sidney’s bedroom door was open, and stepping into it he saw that Mary had been right. Sidney’s trunk was nearly full, and he was packing with some purpose and speed.
“Sidney, what can be the meaning of this? Were you not planning to stay with us a week at least?”
“I’m sorry Tom, but my plans have changed. I have several business matters to attend to in London. I’ll be leaving within the hour.” Sidney spoke stiffly, with his back to Tom.
“Ah! Well, I’m sorry to hear that. No doubt you and the lovely Mrs. Campion have wedding plans to attend to!” Tom laughed nervously. Sidney did not answer, busying himself with his cases.
“Well, I’m sure our business here can wait a week or so. When do you expect to return to Sanditon?” Tom asked, not altogether sure why he felt so uneasy.
Sidney stopped packing for a moment, finally looking up at his brother. Tom shifted uncomfortably under his brother’s piercing stare. “I have no immediate plans to return. I shall write when I have news of your financing. Until then, you must do what you can to pacify the town.” With that, Sidney swept up his cases and walked out of the room, leaving Tom alone.
“Sidney – wait! Wait, brother.” Tom followed him. Sidney stopped at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable.
“I – I know that this has been a trying week for us all.” Tom began, feeling a surge of guilt at the inconvenience and fatigue his brother had been put through. “And, I – I am fully aware that my family and I are greatly in your debt.”
Sidney said nothing.
“As difficult as that is for me to say, I hope you know how pleased I am that this – unfortunate – incident, has been resolved. Most of all, I must say how glad I am that this unpleasantness has at least been tempered with the promise of your forthcoming marriage - to the woman you love.”
Tom smiled, sure that Sidney would soften at this mention of Eliza. He was eager to put Sidney in a better mood and move on to discussing the rebuilding. He was to receive no satisfaction, however. Sidney’s jaw stiffened, and he flatly replied, “Please make my apologies to Mary, Tom. If you need me, you can reach me at our London house. Farewell then.” He turned and walked swiftly down the hallway, leaving Tom Parker confused and quite alone.
Chapter Four
“My dear, have you noticed a change in our Charlotte since she has come home?” Mrs. Heywood was in her parlor mending the torn sleeve of a shirt. Her husband was sitting opposite her, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation by the fire. She took this opportunity to engage him on the topic that had been most perplexing her.
“Hmm?” her husband replied, not looking up from his book.
“Charlotte, my dear. It’s been two weeks since her return, and I fear that something is amiss. She seems unhappy.”
“Our Charlotte? Nonsense my dear, she seems well enough to me.”
Mrs. Heywood persisted. “I agree that most of the time she seems completely well. But if you observe her closely, when she is not telling the children stories of sea-bathing or cricket or pineapple tastings, her countenance is marked by a certain…melancholy. Have you not observed it?”
Mr. Heywood closed his book. He said nothing, but the way he drew his brows together told his wife that, despite what he may say, he had noticed a change in Charlotte’s manner, and it disconcerted him. Reassured, Mrs. Heywood continued, “At first I thought it must be the natural fatigue of travel, or simply her adjusting to our quieter surroundings after the bustle and grandeur of Sanditon.”
At this last statement Mr. Heywood stood up in agitation, pacing in front of the fireplace. “Isn’t this what I warned might happen?” he said. “When young, impressionable folk go off to these seaside resorts, it breeds every kind of trouble. We should never have let Charlotte stay with those vain, insipid –”
“Come now, my dear, you liked the Parkers very much, remember?” interrupted Mrs. Heywood calmly. “And from everything Charlotte has told us, she was treated most kindly and generously by their family. No, I’m afraid the cause of Charlotte’s unhappiness is not that she went to Sanditon, but rather that she returned.”
“What are you talking about, my dear?” asked the man in genuine frustration.
Mrs. Heywood sighed. “I shall explain, William, but for heaven’s sake try to keep an open mind about it.” Her husband stopped pacing, nodded reluctantly, and waited.
“To put it simply, our Charlotte is growing up. She’ll be nineteen this coming Spring. She has outgrown this little hamlet, and there is no use in our denying it.”
Mr. Heywood resumed his pacing. “I cannot agree - she has always been happy in Willingden, and she will be so again. This is her birthplace, her home! Give it time, and you will see.”
“Time?” replied Mrs. Heywood, who was beginning to feel exasperated. “What will more time in Willingden bring Charlotte? What are her prospects, her opportunities here? She’s clever, William, and spirited. She has seen a bit of the world, and our little village is simply not enough for her anymore. We must accept that!”
“I suppose you are suggesting we send her away again, on a grand tour of the world this time!” Mr. Heywood was visibly distressed. His wife softened. She knew that her husband governed his life by familiarity and routine. He had no love of travel, and indeed had not left Willingden for over ten years. How anyone could bear the discomfort and insecurity of new experiences was beyond his comprehension. She also knew he had struggled with Charlotte’s absence more than he had let on.
Mrs. Heywood reached out her hand in a comforting gesture. Her husband stopped his pacing, pausing for a brief moment before taking it in both of his own. He pressed it firmly, looking through the window towards the hills of his ancestral home. He could see several of his children running outside. It was a gray afternoon that threatened rain, but his children played outside whatever the weather. Charlotte was with them now, leading them in a game of blindman’s bluff. The muffled sound of their laughter floated through the window. “Such a dear girl.” murmured Mrs. Heywood. For a few moments the couple watched their children in satisfied silence.
“There are so few young people in our town, William.” began Mrs. Heywood softly. “And there are even fewer who could equal Charlotte in sense and temperament. She needs the chance to make new friends, to grow and blossom as a woman - to start her own family. Frankly,” – Mrs. Heywood’s voice was nearly inaudible at this point – “she needs more than we can give her here.”
Mr. Heywood sat down heavily. He looked resigned. “What do you propose we do?”
Mrs. Heywood smiled. “As it happens, I’ve just had a letter from my cousin in London.”
Chapter Five
“Ouch!” cried Charlotte, cradling the finger she had just slammed in a cupboard door. It throbbed painfully, and she gently sucked it to stop the stinging. Her mind had been far away, fixed on Sidney instead of the leek and mushroom pie she was making. “Focus, Charlotte.” she murmured as she picked up several onions she had dropped. How she wished she might collect her thoughts as easily.
It was Mrs. Byrd’s day off, and as they had no assistant cook, Charlotte had volunteered to make the pie for supper. The Heywoods had only two house servants (their cook and a maid), so she and her siblings were very used to helping with the daily chores. She didn’t mind the extra work - indeed, she had purposefully been keeping herself very busy as of late. In the past two weeks she had beaten the drawing room carpets, sorted the linen closet, wiped sooty buildup off of their few good paintings, and catalogued half the books in her father’s library.
Charlotte’s finger was still smarting, but she paid little attention to it now. She sat down near the stove, lost in thought. It had been two weeks since she had said goodbye to Sidney Parker. Two long weeks. On the whole, Charlotte felt a faint sense of pride at how she had handled her transition home. She had never been the sort of girl to languish and mope in the face of disappointment, after all. She had made it through this period tolerably well, crying only once or twice a day for the first week and not at all in the second. Staying active and occupied had been her best source of consolation, with the added benefit of keeping her mother’s searching eyes away from Charlotte’s face.
The trouble was, despite her efforts to keep busy, her thoughts still reverted to Sidney all too easily throughout the day. Their shared moments crept, uninvited, into her consciousness. She recalled the tenderness with which he held her during their London dance - the first time she had felt truly seen by him. She could picture the look of surprise and interest in his dark eyes when she had scolded him for instructing her at cricket. She stifled a laugh. How delightful it had been to see his astonishment at her skill.
Most of all she went back to those precious, intimate moments they had stolen together on the river during the regatta. She had been nervous when he led her onto the water, unsure why he wanted to catch her alone. Perhaps he had needed an escape from the chaos of the crowds - or his confusion over Eliza. The gentle rhythm of the currents and the soft breeze had relaxed them both. How soothing it had been to be in each other’s company. There, at last, after so many missteps and misjudgments, their defenses were down. They understood each other as equals. And they finally felt safe enough to show they cared, deeply.
Charlotte smiled sadly. Turning these instances over in her mind, she realized how many times Sidney had sought her out, finding even the smallest ways to be near her. The memory of his warm hand brushing against her waist in the rowboat drew a sharp breath from her even now. A familiar wave of sadness washed over her. She felt resigned to the grief of never seeing him again. What she found harder to bear was the knowledge that with each passing day, the time they shared would become a less significant part of his existence. He would build a new life with Mrs. Campion, and Charlotte would become, to him, merely a girl he knew for a short while one summer. That thought was simply unbearable.
At that moment, the kitchen door opened. “There you are, Charlotte!” said Mrs. Heywood. She closed the door behind her, a letter clutched in her hand. “I was hoping I might find you alone.”
“What is it, Mama?” She wiped her hands on her apron, hoping her tone was casual and attentive.
“I’ve had a letter from my cousin, Mrs. Thatcher. You remember Mrs. Thatcher, don’t you?”
“No?”
“Mrs. Amelia Thatcher? Really, you don’t recall? Well, I suppose you’ve never met her, now that I think on it. She grew up in the neighboring town, and we played together often as girls. She’s married now, but has no children of her own. She sends us a basket of figs every Christmas.”
This sparked something in Charlotte’s memory. “Ah, yes of course. The – Christmas fig lady! That’s very kind of her, I’m sure.” Charlotte waited for her mother to reveal the letter’s contents, but Mrs. Heywood said nothing. She was re-reading the message. “And…what is it that she writes?” Charlotte prompted. And how does it concern me? she thought to herself.
Mrs. Heywood folded up the letter. “She says that her husband has recently shipped out. He’s a sailor in his majesty’s army you see, a navigator or some such thing. He’ll be in the West Indies for nearly a year.”
“Heavens! Quite a hardship!” exclaimed Charlotte. “And she has no family?”
“None that are nearby, I think. Her mother and father are long since deceased, and she has but one brother (in Bristol). No, she is quite alone, except for a servant or two, which is why she has written. You see,” said Mrs. Heywood, sitting down next to Charlotte, “she is in need of a companion for a few months, just until she gets used to his being gone. She’s a bit sickly by nature. She has quite poor vision and often suffers tremendous headaches. I understand that her husband’s absence makes this particularly hard to bear.”
“Indeed! Poor thing.” said Charlotte sympathetically.
“Yes. She asks if I can come and stay with her for a few months. Well, as you know, it would be quite impossible for me to leave Longtree for that amount of time. But sending you would be a tremendous blessing to her.”
“Me?” said Charlotte with astonishment.
“Of course!”
“But – I have only just returned,” began Charlotte, looking confused.
“Oh, I know it seems quite irregular, but I’ve been turning it over in my head all morning. I’m sure it’s the right course of action. It is almost serendipitous - here is my cousin Mrs. Thatcher in great need of companionship, and here is my daughter Charlotte, in desperate need of a change of scene and society.” Mrs. Heywood gave Charlotte a knowing look.
Nothing escapes a mother, thought Charlotte. It was clear Mrs. Heywood had noticed the shift in her daughter’s wellbeing, however much Charlotte had attempted to keep her spirits high. Though she did not like to admit it, her despondency was only enhanced by the quiet and isolation of Willingden. “I do love my home.” said Charlotte, almost apologetically. “And I have missed you all tremendously. I am truly trying to be content. It’s just that – “ she stopped, unsure what to say next. She was not ready to talk about Sidney. She began swiftly chopping leeks, just for something to do.
“My dear girl,” said Mrs. Heywood, “I do understand. Our little corner of the world must seem very small now.” She smiled sadly. “But!” She gestured to the trees lining their park, their leaves just shifting to autumnal gold. “We must change with the seasons of our lives, mustn’t we? You have done all the growing here that you can. It’s time for fresh soil and a bigger plot!”
Charlotte laughed. “I admire your commitment to agricultural metaphors. And I must say,” she teased, “that it rather seems as though you want me out of this house!”
“Not in the least, my dear.” returned Mrs. Heywood. A look of affection passed between the mother and daughter. Charlotte returned to chopping leeks. “What is Mrs. Thatcher like?” she asked. Her curiosity in this proposed adventure was growing.
“I haven’t seen her for some years, but she was always very pleasant. A singular sort of person -in the very best way, of course. She is what you might call an individual!”
“And where does she live?”
“She and Peter – her husband - moved some years ago to a small apartment. Number four, Blackwood Place.” She referenced the letter. “It’s in a borough on the outskirts of London.”
Charlotte stopped chopping and looked up. “London? Oh, no no no. I cannot.”
“Whatever is the matter?” asked Mrs. Heywood. “Are you frightened at the prospect?”
“Not at all, it’s just – I am not overly fond of London.”
“Indeed? Well, as I understand it, they live in quite a remote part of town." said Mrs. Heywood, thoughtfully. "Amelia writes that it is a charming little borough, not at all smoky, or overcrowded, or hectic. I think you could be there and still feel quite separate from the rest of the city.”
“Then it is not a fashionable part of town?”
“I highly doubt it, no.”
Charlotte was conflicted. The thought of being in the same city as Sidney gave her immense anxiety. How could she be at peace knowing he was so near? And what if they should accidentally meet? She desperately wished to avoid the pain of seeing him as a married man. And yet, thought Charlotte, if Blackwood Place is an unfashionable address, I can be almost certain the future Mrs. Sidney Parker would never venture there. Suppose I keep to the outskirts of town and avoid going into society? It might be successfully done.
“And Papa is willing?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?”
“Yes!”
Charlotte had made up her mind. “When shall I go?”