The Starlings - MissToni - Sanditon (TV 2019) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

“In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over; and looking up, I saw it was a starling hung in a little cage.—“I can’t get out—I can’t get out,” said the starling.

I stood looking at the bird: and to every person who came through the passage it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approach’d it, with the same lamentation of its captivity.—“I can’t get out,” said the starling.”

Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey (quoted in Mansfield Park)

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Thunder was rolling over the barren hills, and thunder was raging in Sidney’s heart. He spurred the stallion along the path and through the deserted valley, feeling frustration and anger rushing through his veins. What was he doing here, right in the middle of nothing and nowhere, chasing the poor horse towards an upcoming stormfront?

He did his brother’s bidding, of course. That’s what he was doomed to do: Tom Parker’s bidding.

He lifted his face towards the grey sky, scanning the clouds towering above the countryside like giants about to stomp down their feet and crush everything underneath. Crush him.

The wind was blowing heavily now, and large raindrops hit the exposed skin of his face: cool and fresh, welcome relief against the turmoil roaring inside him.

Lightning bolts broke through the clouds, turning the empty landscape into a distorted white and purple mirror image. Distorted: that’s what it all was, his presence here in this solitary valley, the quest Tom had sent him on, Tom’s grandiose plans.

He laughed out loud. The horse replied with a frightened neigh. Distorted: an ample description of his entire existence.

In Tom’s letter, it had seemed easy enough (but then, wasn’t that always the problem with Tom’s schemes: that whatever looked easy on paper required a lot of work in reality… and eventually, Sidney’s funding). The great projector had seen a doctor’s notice of dissolution of partnership in the Kent Morning Post. Willingden: that was the home of the doctor expected to perform miracles on Sanditon’s beau monde guests. Quick to see his advantage, especially when presented on a silver platter, Tom had asked (that is, commanded), “Dearest brother… on your way from London down to Sanditon, find that good doctor in Willingden … And if he is of any competence, make him establish his new practice here in Sanditon. If he has a better offer from Brinshore, double his potential income. Convince him to join our Sanditon efforts.”

No trouble there. Convincing people was Sidney’s daily bread: whether it was about new investments for his own trade or making people buy a share in the Sanditon venture, he knew how to charm anyone into putting money into something they did not even realise they wanted. He did not particularly enjoy this scheming, but there was no way around it if he wished for his business and the Sanditon venture to succeed.

Only that the doctor who was supposed to be residing in the Sussex village of Willingden proved somewhat elusive. As did, in fact, the whole village: for miles along the rough road, Sidney had encountered nothing but gorse bushes and the occasional rabbit running into hiding. No surprise any physician trying to make a living in this solitude was forced to give up his practice; the only potential patients being the sheep bleating on the hills and the crows circling the endless sky.

Somehow, the black birds made Sidney think of Mrs Campion. Another reason for the thunder roaring through his veins. What was it the woman wanted from him? Ten years after jilting him? Initially, her constant double-entendres and attempts at flirting had quite pleased him – and his vanity – but somehow, that first thrill of their re-encounter had worn off rather quickly. Was it conceivable that now all impediment to their relationship was gone, he was no longer interested in said relationship?

A man cannot step into the same river twice, for either it’s not the same river, or he’s not the same man. Where did he read that?

It all seemed to come together here, under the looming clouds in this godforsaken valley: Mrs Campion, Antigua, the Lambes, Tom. Tom’s never-ending demands. Sanditon, Sanditon, nothing but Sanditon. All of it, tormenting him. Numbing him. Crushing him.

Lightning struck again, followed by a deafening roll of thunder. The horse jumped, and Sidney struggled to keep the bolting animal under control. Raindrops hit his leather riding breeches in a wild drum. Best to seek shelter until the storm was over, but shelter seemed as elusive as the doctor and the village. No farmstead in sight and no hay barn, just a small copse at the bottom of the valley. That’s where he hoped to find, feeling the horse shivering nervously as a new wave of thunder came rolling down the hills.

Never, he silently swore, absolutely never again would he allow himself to be deluded by one of the great projector’s grand schemes. Next time Tom Parker was looking for a doctor, he was welcome to climb inside his carriage and search for them himself.

A heavy gush of rain hit Sidney, blinding his sight. He pulled hard at the reins to keep the animal in check when a torrent of water splashed down from his hat’s brim right into the collar of his greatcoat.

“Damn it!” he howled. Lightning struck again, and the stallion shied. When thunder hit, it knocked him off the horse’s back. The world’s lights went out, and so did the turmoil in his heart.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Previously...

Searching for a doctor for Sanditon, Sidney ends up in a thunderstorm that very much matches his dark mood. He’s thrown off his horse, losing consciousness...

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Pain and the faint scent of lavender, a cool touch on his cheek like the caress of a gull’s wing, a sweet voice whispering something soothing, and then again: agonising pain, shooting up from his leg through his body to his brain, paralysing every limb, numbing his mind, culminating in an all-encompassing scream.

“Shush,” the sweet voice said. Lavender, again, filling his nose, and then the sudden burn of strong liquor forced down his throat. Was this heaven? Or was it hell?

“This is going to hurt,” the voice said. Pain cut through every fibre of his body, hurling him into unconsciousness.

*

Sidney was drifting... drifting through a world of the strangest dreams, images and sounds. Out of the fog, a figure appeared: a tall, lanky man with the broad grin of a fake magician luring in their audience… no fake magician but his brother Tom. Tom, raking his hand through his sleek hair, his eyes gleaming wildly in expectation of the money rolling in. Behind him: Mary… ah, dear, kind Mary, her expression, as always, a bit wary of what her husband might be up to now. The children: Jenny and Alicia, giggling, proudly showing the gaps in their rows of teeth. Henry, asking for a piggyback ride. Someone was missing… who? Who? Who was missing from the family scene? Was it… himself? - He was up to something there, he certainly was… his heartbeat accelerated. Then Sidney remembered: Baby Jamie. Not he himself was missing, but Tom’s youngest. Tom, Mary, Alicia, Jenny, Henry, Jamie: his family, closest to him in blood, heart and mind.

Sidney felt his heartbeat steady. He wasn’t missing from the scene, and he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead . Though he wasn’t much alive either. His eyelids felt too heavy to open – in fact, his whole body felt too heavy to even lift a little finger, and something else was restraining him. But before he could protest against whatever was holding him, more figures materialised out of the mist: his sister Diana, her large blue eyes wide with panic, followed by their youngest sibling, Arthur, rubbing his sweaty brow. Miss Lambe appeared, shooting daggers at Sidney, still dissatisfied with her guardian’s treatment of her. He tried to open his mouth to explain himself, but his tongue would not obey, and all he could utter was an unintelligible grunt.

Three more figures came out of the mist, a man, a woman, and a child, yet they remained silhouettes only, greyish and translucent, floating towards him, beckoning him to join them. Father, he wanted to say, but again, words would not come out of his mouth. Mother, and baby sister Susan… gone … all gone… -

“He’s gone,” a man said.

“No, he’s not.” That sweet angel’s voice again, somewhat more determined now. Lavender tickled his nose once more as someone slapped his face. “You cannot die here; do you hear me?”

I can hear you , he wanted to say. I can hear you, I can hear you … but his lips wouldn’t open, and as pain took over, his body sent him into the kind relief of unconsciousness.

*

The next time Sidney woke up, it was different. He still felt sore within every inch of his body, unable to even move his little finger – or let alone open an eye. Yet it was different. Pain wasn’t numbing everything out anymore, and while his limbs might not work, his senses did.

There was a soft cushion under his head and an even softer weight on his chest. The air was a bit stuffy, not quite the fresh breeze Tom loved to promote, but he could hear the gulls caw outside his window. Somehow, he’d made it home to Sanditon then and was now under Mary’s loving care.

Only why the gulls sounded like sheep, he did not understand.

The soft weight on his chest moved. Hardly the sleepy head of a tired lover (not that he was in the habit of taking a lover to his bed, or rather, taking a lover at all). A puppy, perhaps, acquired to entertain the children.

Trying to lift his head, Sidney groaned. Or a puppy to bark Tom’s creditors away? That made perfect sense, he decided. Something soft and warm was rubbed against his nose, followed by a little purr. He finally managed to open his eyes and found himself staring into the yellow gaze of a grey and white kitten.

“Meow,” the kitten said, curled up into a fluffy ball and fell asleep again on his chest.

Ignoring the pain burning through his body, Sidney carefully turned his head, checking out his surroundings.

This was not Trafalgar House, nor was it Bedford Place: this was a much more humble, if not rustic abode. In fact, he found himself in a large four-poster bed with carved oak beams that looked ancient enough to be cut from the planks of William the Conqueror’s fleet. The chamber he was in was sparsely lit. It had a low wooden ceiling and two small square casem*nt windows catching the sunlight, each adorned with a carefully draped white muslin curtain and a simple clay vase filled with summer flowers.

Sidney frowned: This was as far removed from the elegance and sophistication of Trafalgar House as possible – and as if in confirmation, a goat started to bleat outside.

His memory returned, slowly but surely: Tom’s letter ordering him to pick up a doctor when riding down from London to Sanditon. That village he’d been looking for … Billington? Tillington? … riding through the thunderstorm, lost among gorse and sheep and dark clouds and the thunder raging in his heart… it all came back now. He’d taken a fall. Something was wrong with his right leg; he could feel it was fixed with a splint. And his right hand… he lifted it, finding the index and middle finger bandaged. The horse… Lord, what had happened to the horse? Trying to prop himself up on his elbows, Sidney fell back immediately, crying out in pain.

The kitten woke up, uncurled and gazed at him with some irritation before settling down on his chest again, tiny head up now and looking down on him as if it was not a stray farm kitten but the sphynx herself.

Carefully, Sidney lifted his good left arm and inspected the cloth covering it. A clean linen shirt. Certainly not sewn by a London master seamstress, but good quality. No signs of tear and wear, the faint scent of bleach and laundry soap still lingering in the fabric.

Which, of course, begged the question of what had happened to his own clothes, his shirt, the greatcoat, the leather waistcoat and the corresponding breeches. Someone must have undressed him.

Blinking that somewhat disconcerting thought away, he realised he wasn’t alone at all. There was more company than the grey and white kitten: at the foot of the four-poster bed, a white-haired man was dozing in an armchair, his chin resting on his sturdy chest.

Perplexed, Sidney stared at the man for a moment. Was this the doctor he’d been searching for? It made perfect sense – the professional way he’d been taken care of, the clean shirt and sheets, the splint for his leg … yes, he’d finally found Tom’s miracle doctor. A country surgeon, perhaps, but definitely a man knowing his trade. “Ahem,” Sidney said, clearing his throat. Not liking the sudden movement, the kitten hacked its surprisingly sharp baby claws into his chest. “Ouch!” Sidney cried, and with a sigh, the doctor looked up.

“Ah,” he said after a moment of irritation, a smile lightening up his tanned and wrinkled face. “The lost son is back. - Mr Parker, I presume? - Ephraim Starling, pleasure to meet you, sir. – No need to distrust us,” he added, seeing Sidney’s puzzled face. “If we’d wanted to rob you, we’d just have taken your purse and signet ring and left you where we found you.”

This was not exactly the reassurance Sidney had been looking for. “Are you a doctor?” he asked, his voice hoarse and raspy.

Mr Ephraim Starling gave a hearty laugh. “No, my lad. I’m a farmer. C’n mend a broken fence and help a calving cow but won’t try my luck with humans and their limbs.” He reached to a side table and rang a little brass bell.

Sidney frowned, not sure what to make of this. “How do you know my name?”

“You carried a letter addressed to a Mr Sidney Parker, Esquire, in Bedford Place, London. Assuming you’re not in the habit of stealing anyone’s post, we decided that gentleman must be you. Mind you, we didn’t read it, but young Mrs Starling penned a note to the folks at your address, informing them that we’d taken care of you after your mishap. – Still a bit too early to hear back from them, though.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” Sidney asked, quietly praising the unknown lady’s presence of mind.

“Two days,” the old man said, ringing the bell again. “And there wasn’t much life left in you when we found you; rest assured of that.”

At least Tom’s search for a doctor in this backwater made sense now; the surgeon who had patched him together must be an expert in his trade. How strange to find such professionalism, competence and capability so far off the beaten track! For once, Sidney had to salute Tom for his whims and nonsense. Look for a doctor in the middle of nowhere – and find such a gem! – Though, of course, it had come at a heavy price. And if he was in such a lamentable state, what about the horse?

Sidney was about to inquire after the animal and say that he wished to thank the master surgeon when the door was opened, and a young woman wearing a plain grey dress, a crisp white apron and a mob cap on her pinned-up chestnut curls rushed in. Her appearance brought a smile to Ephraim Starling’s face and a gleam to his eyes. “There you are, my dear,” the old man said. “Look who’s woken up.”

The woman turned to face Sidney, measuring him with a long gaze from cool yet soft brown eyes. For a split second, Sidney felt something he couldn’t name and certainly had never felt before. Then he was hurled back to reality when the woman stepped to his bedside, sniffed at the sheets and said, “These will have to be changed. And I’ll send Ham up to assist him with his physical needs.”

“Very good, my dear.” The old man winked as the woman returned to the door. “You couldn’t be under more excellent care, Mr Parker,” he added. “So don’t you worry, we’ll have you back on your feet and dancing a merry gigue before you even have your slippers polished.”

Sidney mumbled something non-committal, vaguely remembering the last time he’d danced a gigue, last Saturday at Vauxhall’s. Somehow, Mrs Campion managed to keep falling into his arms in a way the dance’s steps did not strictly require. One of the reasons why he’d been so angry on his ride from London. Which again reminded him of the horse. And the woman. The woman with those cool, soft eyes. Certainly not a maid, judging by her attire and her behaviour. Mr Starling’s daughter? Granddaughter? A housekeeper? And why had she barely acknowledged him? It was all very confounding. Far more relaxing to close the eyes and drift off… drift off into sleep.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Previously ...

Sidney wakes up in a rustic yet comfortable but definitely unknown environment. His elderly host introduces himself as Ephraim Starling, but who is the reserverd young woman who has so expertly seen to Sidney’s broken leg and injured hand?

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This time, Sidney dreamt of the cove.

The initial moment of excitement when he reached that secluded half-moon stretch of sands and pebbles and once more found it deserted. The freedom that came with shedding all layers of clothing, the breeze hugging his bare skin, the wet sand creaking under his naked toes. And then, with all force, the icy impact of the sea: when he plunged into the waves, tasting salt on his lips and tongue, feeling weightless and carefree as he ploughed through the swell, and peaceful when floating on his back, listening to the gentle song of the surf and watching the gulls fly patterns in the blue sky above.

Yet something was wrong. He had a sense of being watched. He wasn’t floating. He wasn’t in the water. And he was nowhere near the cove.

He opened his eyes and saw a boy and a girl of perhaps ten years standing by his bed in the low chamber, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and amazement. The girl was clutching a cricket bat, and the boy was cradling the grey and white kitten that had kept Sidney company before.

“Good afternoon, Mr Parker,” the boy said.

“Good afternoon,” Sidney croaked. His mouth felt dry and as if filled with sandpaper.

“Grandfather said to keep an eye on you while he’s stepping outside,” the boy continued. “So we’re doing that. Keeping an eye on you. Or, strictly speaking, six eyes.” He nodded at the girl and lifted the kitten in his arms.

“I see,” Sidney said, trying to think through the fog in his mind. The ridiculous search for a doctor. Riding through the thunderstorm. Being knocked off the horse. The horse… oh God, the horse. What had happened to the poor animal? And where was he again? Billingham? Willingham? – In a farmer’s home, Mr Stringer… no. That was Tom’s foreman. Mr Starling: that was the old farmer’s name. Oh. And the woman. Now he remembered. Those cool, dark eyes. Her touch, soft as a gull’s wing. A hint of lavender.

“I’m Timothy Starling,” the boy introduced himself with a little bow. The kitten took advantage of the moment, escaping Timothy Starling’s hands and quite elegantly landing on Sidney’s stomach. “You may call me Timmy,” the boy continued, unperturbed. “This is my sister, Miss Nellie Starling. “The girl curtseyed, blushing, still clutching the cricket bat. “She’s not much of a talker,” Timmy explained. “That one doesn’t have a name yet,” he added as the kitten started to lick Sidney’s stubbly cheek.

“Right,” Sidney said, realising he hadn’t shaved in days and probably looked like some wild man from the woods. The kitten didn’t seem to mind, though; it rubbed its soft wet nose against his chin, purred and rolled up in a ball on his chest.

“Do you want to drink something?” Timmy asked. “Grandfather said you might want some liquid when you wake up.”

Sidney nodded, unable to speak as a vision of the sweet taste of Madeira filled his mind. Or, better still, a handsome helping of the strongest Scotch to blur out this strange reality… which became even more real when young Timmy carefully set the kitten aside and held a flask to Sidney’s lips. Cold, fresh spring water filled his mouth, softening that ugly taste of sandpaper.

“Ah, so you’re gracing us with your presence again, sir?” Ephraim Starling returned to the room, a twinkle in his weathered face.

Sidney gulped down the water. “I’m sorry for being such a burden.”

“A burden?” The old man laughed. “You’re not a burden, Mr Parker. You are the most exciting thing that has happened in Willingden ever since the Heywood girls left itching powder on the pulpit to spice up the Sunday’s sermon.” He laughed even more before turning to his grandson, “Now, Timmy, you young rascal, will you run and tell the lady of the house that her charge has woken up?”

The boy ran, and the old man settled down in his armchair, the quiet girl – Nellie, Sidney remembered – nestling by his side. The kitten, the tiny traitor, left Sidney’s chest with a “Meow” and settled on the girl’s lap instead. “So, Mr Parker, will you stay with us long enough for a conversation this time?” Mr Starling asked, stroking his granddaughter’s hair.

“What has happened to me?” Sidney asked, licking his chapped lips. Mr Starling shrugged his shoulders.

“We hoped you might enlighten us on that. Neeson found you in the copse while gathering his sheep after the thunderstorm. You were buried under your horse, more dead than alive.”

Oh God, the horse. Sidney closed his eyes. “What’s the doctor’s prognosis for my leg?”

“What doctor?”

“The one that put the splint on my leg and bandaged my fingers.”

“Doctor! You’re a funny one, Mr Parker. Keep talking about a doctor!”

“My brother explicitly wrote to me about a doctor in Willingden who was dissolving his partnership and might be interested in starting a new practice in Sanditon.” There: Tom’s letter was very real, and that piece of reality kept him sane for the moment.

“Then your brother must be mistaken,” old Mr Starling said, unimpressed. “Happens to everyone. Though I might be able to explain it: There are two Willingdens in this county. Ours, and Great Willingden, which is quite down in the Weald. – And we, sir, are not in the Weald.”

“I see,” Sidney mumbled, silenced and defeated. It made perfect sense, of course. Mix up two places of the same name and send Sidney to the wrong one: nothing but another symptom of his brother’s very own Tom-ness. Only if Sidney was in the wrong Willingden, the one neither in the Weald nor providing a doctor’s services, then who had so expertly set his injured leg?

“Excellent timing, my dear. We were just discussing you,” Mr Starling beamed as the young woman in the mob cap entered the chamber, followed by young Timmy.

“Me?”

Her husky voice, accompanied by a glance from those cool, soft eyes, again sent a shiver down Sidney’s spine. An unwelcome shiver. He hadn’t come to Willingden to ogle random women. Somehow this search for a doctor had landed him in a parallel universe from which there seemed to be no escape.

“Yes,” Mr Starling confirmed. “Mr Parker here happens to be so awed by your skills in setting his bones that he hardly speaks about anything else.”

Sidney gulped. Clearly, he had to say something now. “I… I would not have expected you to be so capable, Miss…”

“Mrs Starling,” she informed him, another cool – if not challenging – gaze meeting his. “Because I’m a young woman? And where you come from, young women never get their hands dirty let alone bloody?”

“Mrs Starling,” Sidney repeated, perplexed now and seeking the old man’s expression for an explanation. She could hardly be his wife, could she? Maybe his daughter-in-law? Then where was her husband? And the children … She seemed too young to have children the age of Nellie and Timmy. And what an outspoken way of addressing him! – But Mr Starling, very much concentrating on filling his pipe, was no help at all.

In the meantime, Mrs Starling had quietly taken charge of the situation: sending Timmy downstairs to find Ham, the farm hand, to help her lift and clean Mr Parker without any breaches of propriety. Making his bed with fresh lavender-scented linen. Suggesting a shave or at least a combe for Mr Parker. Informing him that his right leg was broken twice and his right hand fingers once and that he better follow her advice unless he intended to limp for the rest of his life.

Sidney could not help but listen and follow Mrs Starling’s orders, bound to the bed and incapacitated as he was. She spoke with a calm and confident authority, showing that she knew not only perfectly well what she was doing but also what she was worth. As she competently and with total concentration redressed his leg injuries, he could not help but marvel at how different she was from any other women of his acquaintance. Dear Mary, his sister-in-law, in constant worry of what her husband might be up to next. Fussy Diana, his sibling, who saw agues and diseases wherever she went. Georgiana, the unhappy Antiguan heiress who hated only one thing more than the miserable English weather, and that was Sidney Parker. The Denham ladies: Miss Esther, the grand Lady D and her niece Clara Brereteon, who all three were set upon making each other’s life as miserable as possible.

Mrs Campion. Eliza, who was so gloriously superficial that she believed the humiliation of ten years ago would be forgotten if only she flashed her smile brightly enough at him.

“That should be it,” Mrs Starling said, covering Sidney’s leg and the splint with a clean sheet. “I’ll send up Leah with some bread and soup for you, Mr Parker.”

“Thank you,” Sidney said, and remembering his good manners, added, “If there is anything I can do to repay your kindness…”

“Oh, there is,” she nodded, picking up the soiled sheets.

“Indeed?”

“Next time you encounter a thunderstorm, don’t ride your horse into it.” And without gracing him with another glance, she left the room.

“Oh dear.” Ephraim Starling had been napping in his armchair during the whole operation but was awake now, frowning. “Your horse is haunting her, sir. She had to shoot it, poor girl.”

Sidney felt a sour taste in his mouth. The horse. Yet - “She… Mrs Starling…”

“The girl’s a crack shot. Doesn’t mean, though, that she enjoyed killing an innocent creature. – You must have been in quite a temper, Mr Parker.”

Sidney remembered the thunder roaring in his heart when he galloped downhill and right into the storm. That anger bubbling towards the surface, clouding his judgment and sense of direction. He wasn’t a man to abuse animals. And yet that poor creature had suffered and died because of his ire and recklessness. And Mrs Starling pulling the trigger… those soft, wise eyes. Such small hands, capable of setting a broken leg – or killing a horse. Women such as her didn’t exist in his world. And if there was any sense left in his addled brain, he made sure to return to his world as soon as possible.

“I need to go to Sanditon,” he said.

“Sanditon?” Mr Starling looked up from the pipe he had been stuffing. “Is that where your folk lives?”

Sidney refrained from explaining that his elder brother was actually Sanditon.

“Yes.” God, watching Mr Starling and his pipe made him crave a cheroot. To find some sweet relief in a mist of strong tobacco…

“I’ve heard of Sanditon.” The old man leaned back, measuring Sidney with his wise eyes. “Every few years one hears of a new place or other starting up by the sea and growing the fashion. How they can half of them be filled is the wonder! Where people can be found with money and time to go to them! Bad things for a country- sure to raise the price of provisions and make the poor good for nothing – ah! There’s some food for you, Mr Parker. Come in, Leah; he looks wild but is, in fact, quite tame.”

A servant girl had appeared at the door, carrying a tray with bread, cheese, soup and some fruit. Eyeing Sidney suspiciously, she set the tray down on a side table before sneaking out again.

“Let me do that for you,” Mr Starling offered, helping Sidney sit up with some cushions in his back and placing the tray on his knees. “I don’t have to spoon-feed you, do I?”

“I think I can handle that myself,” Sidney reassured him, even if it was difficult with only the left hand. The broth was hot and nourishing – if not a feast for his taste buds, then for his starved body.

“Now, Sanditon,” Mr Starling said, sitting by his side again. “Is it a fine place?”

The finest place on earth, Tom would say. Boasting the freshest of sea breezes, state-of-the-art bathing machines and a coastline unmatched in the whole of England. Fine hard sand - deep water ten yards from the shore – no mud – no weeds – no slimy rocks. And, if one was perfectly honest, no company either, leaving Tom to struggle with vacant apartments and an empty ballroom. Sidney wondered whether Babs Babington and Francis Crowe had kept word and travelled down to Sanditon to sprinkle a bit of gloss on the place… only to find their friend Parker missing.

They would look for him rather than carouse and make merry, right? Wouldn’t they? Sidney groaned, remembering how easily Crowe was enticed by a bottle of brandy and Babington by a pretty face. Well, if not his friends, then Mary: his sister-in-law cared deeply for him. She would miss him, wouldn’t she?

Mr Starling looked up. “Something’s ailing you, and I have an inkling it’s more than your broken leg.”

“It’s… umm, my family…”

“Don’t worry about them. I told you Mrs Starling has written to your London address. I’m pretty sure that as we talk, they are sending a carriage to rescue you from the clutches of us noble savages.”

“I would never think of you like that, sir.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, you know what, why don’t you close your eyes and take another little nap? And when you wake up, you’ll already be one step closer to home.”

Sidney leaned back on the pillows and tried to do as Mr Starling had advised. Yet there were too many images tumbling through his mind that kept the sweet relief of sleep from him: Crowe and Babington, smoking their pipes while flirting with the Crowne’s barmaids. Mary, dear Mary, clutching her necklace when hearing about his mishaps. Tom, leaning over his Sanditon plaster model, holding lectures about the place to an invisible audience. Mrs Starling, shooting his horse. The pained eyes of the helpless animal that knew its fate. Mrs Starling, holding the gun, aiming, ending the creature’s suffering with one single shot.

Holding the smoking gun down, her pretty face contorted by what she had been forced to do. By what his recklessness had forced her to do.

What a woman. Her image returned, her expression softer now, her eyes warm and full of kindness. She was lulling him into sleep with her gaze. Sleep, sleep. And when he woke up, everything would be fine. How could it not?

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Previously...

Sidney meets the Starling children, Timmy and Nellie. The kitten also continues to make friends with him. Mrs Starling, however, remains distant and aloof after having to shoot his horse, and Sidney misses his next of kin ...

🎩

That night, Sidney dreamed of his family. He could see them assembled around his brother’s desk in Tom’s study in Trafalgar House: Tom and Mary, of course, and Diana and Arthur, bent over what looked like the contents of his saddle bag. For some strange reason, they were wearing mourning armbands. Diana kept dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief embroidered in black, and even Arthur, jolly fellow that he usually was, looked somewhat downtrodden.

“Ah, the hip flask!” Tom called out, holding out a silver bottle into the dim candlelight. “How he enjoyed a good sip of brandy!”

“His pinky ring!” Arthur presented a tiny gold ring. “I shall wear this as a keepsake to honour his memory and the sacrifice he made for the success of Sanditon.”

“Indeed you shall,” Tom solemnly nodded, ignoring the silent tears running down his dearest wife’s cheeks.

Sidney shook his head. Why were they crying their eyes out over what appeared to be a jumble of Francis Crowe’s possessions? The last time he’d seen him, Crowe was merry and alive, enjoying the affection of a widowed lady in Notting Hill. And why would Arthur want to wear a keepsake of Sidney’s friend? What sacrifice was he referring to?

“His deck of cards!” Tom called out. “I’m sure he would have wanted me to have it. It certainly brought him luck – if not in life, then in gambling.”

“Agreed,” Arthur said, putting a brotherly arm around Diana, who was nearly collapsing from sobbing now.

Wait, wait, wait, wait… why would Diana… Diana, of all people… cry her eyes out about the passing of Crowe?

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. It wasn’t Crowe they were mourning in his dreams; it was…

“Me!” Sidney sat up straight in bed, fully awake now.

He wasn’t dead. It was but a dream. It was no dream, though, that he was sitting in the Starlings’ fourposter bed, wearing somebody else’s shirt, his hand bandaged, his right leg in a splint, a tiny grey and white kitten by his side driving its tiny claws into his good leg after the rough awakening.

And it was no dream either that he was hearing Tom’s voice and the thumping of his cane resonating through the thin walls of the old farmhouse.

“My poor brother!” Tom’s voice came closer, echoed by heavy footsteps hurrying up the staircase. Within moments, Mr Starling appeared, followed on his heels by none other than the great projector himself, Thomas Parker, Sanditon, delighted – who had to take off his top hat and bow his head when entering the low chamber.

“Sidney!” Lost in his brother’s hug, Sidney gathered that Mrs Starling had entered the room behind Tom. Quiet and efficient as always, she opened the window, shook up his pillows, and exchanged the water jug on the side table.

The kitten, however, obviously most grievously offended, arched and hissed at the newcomer before settling down again on Sidney’s good leg, one paw stretched forward as if to say, “Mine.”

Tom stepped back from the bed, leaned on his cane and regarded his brother with a mix of sorrow and affection. “My dear Sidney, what have you been through? And all this due to my misdirection… Never could I forgive myself if this adventure had led to your… your….”

“Your brother’s had a guardian angel,” Mr Starling remarked.

“Indeed he has. Our gratitude knows no boundaries, sir.” Tom eagerly shook the old man’s hand.

“It’s the shepherd, Neeson, and my granddaughter you wish to thank.”

Granddaughter? Sidney’s eyes flicked to Mrs Starling. That’s what she was? But then why was she called Mrs Starling ? And where was her husband? – Tending to the fields? The sheep? Milking the bloody goat that kept bleating all day?

“We shall tip the shepherd handsomely, shan’t we, Sidney?” Tom patted his shoulder, sending a new wave of pain through his back.

“Yes.”

“And you and your family, sir…,” Tom opened his arms, “you are, of course, cordially invited to join us for a season at Sanditon. – The freshest of sea breezes, state-of-the-art bathing machines, brand-new apartments, and a beach that caters for any activity and desire…” Tom’s enthusiasm was interrupted by Mr Starling’s hearty laughter.

“Too kind of you, sir… but we are farming folks. Don’t believe we can sheer the sheep and bring in the hay while sniffing your fresh breeze.”

“Or even afford the appropriate silks and muslin,” Mrs Starling remarked.

“Oh, but it will be Mrs Parker’s… my dearest wife’s pleasure to furnish you with whatever might be required to enter the Sanditon Assembly Rooms,” Tom declared merrily.

“We believe charity is best given to those in need,” Mrs Starling curtly said. Sidney winced quietly. As always, Tom knew neither reason nor boundaries. His ego seemed to fill all the space in the little room. Seeking a distraction from his brother’s Tom-ness, he said, “If we leave now, we’ll get to Sanditon in time for dinner.”

Tom, who had been staring somewhat befuddled at Mrs Starling, turned around. “Sorry, Sidney… you were saying?”

“Sanditon. If we leave now, we will get there in time for dinner.”

“But who would talk about leaving?”

“I do. I have taken advantage of the Starling family’s hospitality for long enough. I can mend perfectly under Mary’s care at Trafalgar House.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no. You’re far too delicate to be moved – is he not, sir?” Tom turned to Mr Starling. “We must prevail on your hospitality for a little longer.”

“Tom,” Sidney hissed before the old man managed to reply. “These people have certainly done enough for me.”

“And we’ll be forever grateful,” Tom agreed. “But for now, Sidney, I must insist that you spend your recovery here. What are we to do if the challenges of travelling add to your injuries? The roads in this county are a disgrace – I wonder: how are we to attract visitors to Sanditon when they are in danger of breaking their neck when journeying there?”

“I’m sure we could provide excellent padding and protection for your brother,” Mrs Starling interjected. “And if the carriage doesn’t go too fast, there’ll be no danger at all.” Sidney felt his mouth twitch. As much as he liked Mrs Starling’s practical sense, he didn’t like her eagerness to see him leave.

“But it’s not only transportation, brother,” Tom explained. “Where would you stay once you’re in Sanditon?”

“Well,” Sidney felt somewhat baffled. “I was expecting, of course…”

“Because we’re very busy at Trafalgar House,” Tom continued without looking at him. “My dearest Mary is terribly occupied with the children at the moment. Jamie has started teething… hardly a night goes by without him crying and wailing… no, Sidney, Trafalgar House is not the place for a convalescent right now.”

“I might stay at the Crown,” Sidney suggested, though the idea of healing a broken leg and a broken hand in a room above that den of vice was not exactly appealing.

“The Crown!” Tom cried. “Our reputation will be harmed beyond repair if word gets out that my brother is spending his days in a common bar. No, Sidney, with Lady Denham being in the state that she is, I cannot risk having you around.”

Sidney frowned. “What does Lady D have to do with this?”

“Quite a lot, quite a lot. Her ladyship has been bedridden for nearly ten days now, and her state is very poorly, but without a proper physician in Sanditon, it’s impossible to say what is ailing her.”

Probably some poison dripped into her tea by her scheming relatives, Sidney thought. Aloud, he said, “Is that why you sent me on that wild chase after a doctor? Because you cannot afford to lose your main investor?”

Tom, not in the least ashamed, shrugged his shoulders. “Basically, the idea was to kill two birds with one stone. Find a doctor to cure Lady D, and consequently, her investment will stay safe. As an added bonus, the physician’s reputation improves, and the news of her ladyship’s miracle healing attracts more wealthy guests to Sanditon. – Ingenious, don’t you agree?”

“Only that in the end, the two birds were still alive and your own brother nearly dead,” Mrs Starling said, honouring Tom with a look that Sidney found difficult to describe.

Tom blushed, chuckling nervously. “I would not use quite such dramatic terms, Mrs Starling. – Besides, Sidney, just think of the impression any visitor would get if you were to return to Sanditon right now.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sidney said, somewhat distracted by Mrs Starling’s cool disregard of the great projector himself.

“Well, we are a seaside resort. We want our visitors to spend carefree time filled with busy little nothings. We want them to attend our balls and enjoy a promenade. We want them to go for some adventurous sea bathing or join a cricket match, but first and foremost, we want them to have fun and spend, spend, spend as they spread the word about the charms of Sanditon amongst their peers.”

“Yes,” Sidney said. Apart from the sea bathing and the cricket, none of this appealed to him, yet he did see the need for more visitors to make Lady D’s investment – and his own - yield any profit.

“Now, how are the rich and mighty supposed to enjoy some leisure time when they hear that the projector’s very own brother is severely injured and the lady of the town on her deathbed? When all I do is advertise the advantages of sea air and invigorating dips in the sea? – No, Sidney, you’d be a living contradiction of my very own campaign. For the sake of Sanditon, I must ask you to stay away for now.”

For once, Sidney was unable to speak.

“Didn’t you mention a London home?” Mrs Starling said. “I’m sure your brother will find all the medical care he needs in the capital.” Again, Sidney felt like commending her for her practical sense when, at the same time, he felt a sting at the idea that she wanted him out of the house.

“All the way up to London!” Tom cried. “No, my dear madam, we cannot risk such a perilous journey. Just imagine if highwaymen were to stop the carriage… and I can’t see anyone convalescing properly in that town’s stench and noise. No, Sidney, I’m sure Mr Starling will be happy to extend his hospitality for a little longer, all for the good of Sanditon and your investment, of course.” Tom flashed his broadest salesman grin at the old farmer, who was obviously trying to figure out what interest he had in Sanditon and Sidney’s investment in the town. But it was his granddaughter who spoke first.

Wedging her slender yet at the same time beautifully voluptuous body between Tom and the bed, Mrs Starling said, “We’ll be honoured to do what little we can to ensure your great project’s success while you are so very busy, Mr Parker. Your brother is in safe hands here.”

“Excellent! That’s the spirit!” Tom clapped his hands, apparently hearing neither her sarcasm nor seeing the disdain on her face. “What do you say, Sidney?”

Yet Sidney didn’t know what to say. Torn between his anger about his brother and the loveliness of Mrs Starling’s profile (What a cute button nose! And that dimple in her chin!), he was utterly lost for words. Tom being Tom, however, didn’t expect a reply anyway.

“Now, Mrs Starling, Mr Starling, I must ask you to leave us – there are business matters to attend to that require some privacy.” Winking wildly, Tom shoved Sidney’s hosts out of the room.

Sidney sank back on the pillows. “What else, Tom?” he asked, sighing deeply as his brother pulled Mr Starling’s armchair closer and sat down, leaning on his cane.

“Just a trifling little matter,” Tom said. “You know how it is when the season has only just begun.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Well, our success being what it is, I needed to add new bathing machines to the beach… I have hired a unique Gaelic singer for the first ball of the season – we’ll start with a bang, but she insists on advance payment…” (Clever lady, Sidney thought) “… and naturally, I cannot have Mary attend such an occasion in last year’s gown…”

“So it’s money we are talking about?”

“Increase of your investment, dear brother. Your investment in the future of Sanditon. Once the season is in full swing and profit rolls in, I’ll return your generosity tenfold and in a jiffy.”

“I see,” Sidney said, and he saw indeed: There was no way to deny Tom’s request. Somehow, there never was. Under different circ*mstances, he would inquire about the building works, how many apartments had been sold on Waterloo Terrace, and what dear sister Mary had to say about all this, but in the end, he always relented. It was a well-rehearsed choreography between him and Tom, him trying to keep his face (and his money) when Tom knew that he only had to introduce Eliza and Antigua, and Sidney would give him whatever he wanted. Now, exiled from his kin and forced to rely on the kindness of the Starling family, Sidney didn’t have any fighting spirit left, so all he said was, “How much are we talking?”

“One or two thousand will do… if you make it three, we might be able to finally add a pagoda to the promenade.”

“Right.” Sidney felt his mouth twitch. “I’ll write to my accountant.”

“Now?”

“Tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to pressure you, brother, but I must admit that with Lady D so close to her demise, I am beset with worries.”

“Yes,” Sidney said, lifting his bandaged hand. “So am I.”

“I’ll ask Mrs Starling to help you with the letter writing,” Tom said, gazing out the window. “She seems to be a rather sensible soul.”

“Yes,” Sidney said again, thinking of Mrs Starling’s dimple and those lips that appeared only fuller when pressed together in disdain.

“Now,” Tom stood, thumping his cane on the wooden floor. “I must dash back to Sanditon. We cannot have fun without the master of the revels, can we? – I’ll make sure Mary writes to you, Sidney. Take all the time you need to fully convalesce, and make sure you don’t over-exert yourself.”

“Yes. Thank you for your kind advice.”

Tom, never one to spot sarcasm when hit over the head with it, gave his brother one final nod and left. A few minutes later, Sidney heard the horses neighing and the clatter of their hooves as his brother’s carriage left for Sanditon.

The kitten climbed back to his chest and rubbed its forehead against his chin. Sidney carefully stroked the fluffy bundle with his good hand, smiling when the kitten started to purr. And then he felt like crying, for what else was one supposed to do when one was abandoned by his own brother but adopted by a baby puss*cat?

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Previously…

Tom Parker upholds his reputation as the world’s biggest (insert any insult you like) when he tells his ailing brother that he cannot take care of him- while at the same time asking for his financial support. During his convalescence, Sidney remains with the Starling family, which might be a blessing in disguise, considering his growing chemistry with attraction to Mr Starling’s granddaughter…

🎩

“Now you certainly have an interesting family,” Mr Starling said after seeing Tom out, a pipe in his tanned hand and a frown on his weathered forehead.

“I must apologise for my brother’s behaviour.” Sidney keenly felt the embarrassment of his brother’s performance.

“I wish I could say I have seen worse, but I haven’t.” The old farmer sat down in his armchair by the bedside. “But don’t you worry, Mr Parker. Our company might not be refined or elegant, and Willingden boasts neither a pagoda nor a promenade, but I can promise fresh food and as much entertainment as a stable full of cows, an old man and some odd family members can provide.”

“You are very kind, sir.” Kinder than my brother, Sidney added for himself, absent-mindedly stroking the kitten by his side.

“Don’t call me kind but curious,” Mr Starling chuckled. “Curious to find out what a few weeks in the countryside will do to a fine gentleman such as you, Mr Parker.”

Sidney opened his mouth to explain that he had not always been a fine gentleman but very well knew hard work and plantation life in Antigua – but before he had uttered as much as a single syllable, the sun started shining on old Mr Starling’s face, and he said, “Ah. Now there she is.” Very quietly, Mrs Starling had slipped into the room, her expression as serious as ever while she set down a solid wooden case on a side table.

“Sit down, my dear,” Mr Starling offered, getting up from his armchair. And to the patient, “Now, Mr Parker, we are simple folks, but if you look hard enough, you will find some astonishing items of civilisation in our humble abode.” He bowed stiffly at his granddaughter, who was inserting a shiny brass key into the wooden case’s keyhole. The lid flipped open and revealed a perfect little writing desk, complete with fine, thick paper, a set of quills, a pencil, a sharpener, a ruler, ink, sand, and sealing wax.

“Your brother said you had some letters to write,” Mrs Starling said. “I assumed I might be of some assistance.” She pointed at his bandaged fingers.

“She writes a beautiful hand,” Mr Starling quickly added, the pride evident in his voice.

“Thank you,” was all Sidney could say as the lady of the house took the ruler from the case and, with swift gestures, started lining the sheet of paper in front of her.

“Mind you, Mr Parker.” Mrs Starling cast Sidney a disdainful glance, “I’m still angry with you for how you treated your horse. But I think on the general scale of disagreeableness, your brother outweighs you by a ton. I might come to the conclusion that it is not your deficient character that turned you into a brute, but the atrocious example that your own family set.”

Sidney nearly choked on the water he was gulping. “You are very free with your opinions, Mrs Starling.”

She merely shrugged, expertly sharpening a quill now.

Her equanimity annoyed Sidney only more. “Upon what experience of the world do you form your judgements? Where have you been? Nowhere, apparently. What have you learned? Nothing, it would seem. And yet you take it upon yourself to criticise a family you barely know.” He caught her glaring expression: she looked absolutely ready to stab him with the sharpening knife.

“Whoa!” Old Mr Starling launched himself between them, “What kind of talk is that? Assumptions and insults when there’s some important work to be done? – My granddaughter may know only little about your family and circ*mstances, Mr Parker, but then again, you understand nothing about hers either.”

Sidney breathed out – in fact, he hadn’t even noticed that he’d held his breath. The kitten, clearly not liking his agitated movements, showed its claws in protest. - Mr Starling was right, of course. He didn’t know anything about the woman other than that she’d seen to his leg and hand and released his horse from its suffering – in short, that she was capable and fearless. Plus the obvious: that she was very beautiful. But he didn’t understand how she’d acquired such skills, where her husband was, or even what her first name was.

“I apologise, Mrs Starling,” he said. “I got carried away by my emotions. I should have known better.” Was that a pink tinge on her cheeks?

“I apologise as well, Mr Parker,” she said, returning the sharpening knife to the writing case and taking out an ink glass instead. “I judged hastily.”

“Very well,” Mr Starling applauded, just as the kitten, with a sigh of relief, settled on Sidney’s chest again. “And very grown-up behaviour from both of you. Now, Mr Parker, if your letter doesn’t turn into a whole novel, Timmy can carry it to the vicarage before nightfall. They are likelier to see a post rider than anyone else in the area.”

“I gather Willingden is not exactly on the mainline of the stagecoach service?”

“Never seen such a thing as a stagecoach around this place in my life.” Mr Starling chuckled. “If you want to take flight from here, sir, you’ll either have to limp away, convince your brother to pick you up after all, or bribe our vicar into lending his curricle. – I told you, Mr Parker, you are the most exciting thing that has happened in Willingden ever since …”

“You didn’t tell the itching powder story!” Mrs Starling cried, suddenly very pink around the ears.

“I did,” her grandfather beamed. “And why not? It’s a fine account about Alison and you.”

Sidney thought that he would like to hear a more detailed account of the incident if Mrs Starling and some unknown Alison were involved in it, but she was having none of it. “We better start writing now if you want Timmy to carry the letter over to the vicarage,” she determined, and as she sat there, upright, quill in hand, her eyes fixed on him, ready to take his dictation, he felt the strangest of feelings grip his jaded heart – a feeling that…

“Mr Parker?”

A feeling that… - no. He shook his head, cleared his throat and started dictating his message to his accountant: transferring one and a half thousand pounds from his to Tom’s funds. It was only half the amount his brother had requested, but it would be enough to keep Sanditon afloat and the Parkers out of trouble. Or at least that’s what Sidney hoped. He detected a frown on Mrs Starling’s pretty forehead as she wrote down the transfer details. But then again, she was only the scribe. She wasn’t supposed to …-

“No need for that scowl, dear,” old Mr Starling said. “You didn’t volunteer to judge Mr Parker’s transactions but to write them down.”

Mrs Starling laid the quill down for a moment. “It’s just that … that is such an enormous amount of money.”

“All the more reason for us not to interfere,” her grandfather decreed.

“What would you do if you had one and a half thousand pounds?” Sidney heard himself asking. What was wrong with him?

Mrs Starling played with the quill and stared into the void for a moment. Clearly, she had never thought about having such a sum at her disposition. “Oh, I… I believe I would pay for a new roof on my father’s house. And I would buy a piano for the family’s entertainment…”

“Do you play the piano?”

“Oh no, I’m not that accomplished by society’s standards.” She blushed, looking down at her writing.

Sidney frowned. The woman shot wounded horses, set broken legs, knew how to write a fine hand and obviously ran the household of the Starling farm. To hear her call herself “not that accomplished by society’s standards” inspired an anger in him he didn’t even know he possessed. The image of Eliza popped up in front of him. Eliza, Mrs Campion now, the darling of the ton for her wit and elegance and fortune. And yet, facing half of Mrs Starling’s challenges would have reduced the great Mrs Campion to a bundle of tears.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” he said. “I believe you’re more than equal to any woman out there. – But a roof and a piano will not exhaust your funds if you had one and a half thousand pounds at your disposition.”

“She’ll spend it all on books,” Mr Starling chuckled.

“No,” Mrs Starling said. “Not all of it. In fact, I would invest most of it to have enough during hard times.”

“Told you she’s a clever one,” the old man nodded.

“But,” she continued, “Mr Parker, since you intend to loan such a large sum to your brother, don’t you think it might be wise to specify what he can use it for?”

Of course, that was the wise thing to do. Especially with Tom being the reckless, selfish idiot that he was. Sidney quietly nodded – and so did the kitten.

“A very clever one,” Mr Starling said, his pride evident in his beaming smile.

Once again, Sidney wondered where her husband was. Did the lucky chap know and appreciate what a rare gem he had secured? Or did his absence indicate a rather tragic fate? He looked at Mrs Starling, trying to decipher her style of dress. Married, evident in her title, hairstyle, and the mob cap covering her head. Her gown was a different matter; it was a simple cut lacking any frills, as expected on a farm, and of a dark grey colour that could indicate both practicality and the advanced stage of mourning. Her wedding band was a thin yet shiny silver ring that was apparently cleaned regularly and with care and attention. Sidney groaned.

“Mr Parker?”

He looked up, only to find Mrs Starling’s soft gaze questioning him. “Don’t you want to specify? The loan to your brother?” she repeated.

“Yes. Absolutely. Thank you for mentioning it, Mrs Starling.” He went on detailing how the one and a half thousand pounds were supposed to be used for the development of Sanditon, and Sanditon only: for adding new bathing machines to the beach and paying the workmen and building materials required for the completion of Waterloo Terrace, plus for financing events expected to lift the image of the town, such as the Midsummer Ball or the annual cricket match.

Mrs Starling wrote it all down on her portable writing desk, handing him pen and paper when she had finished. “You’ll have to sign it in some way.”

“I can’t.” Sidney lifted his bandaged hand. “The seal from my signet ring will have to suffice.” His signet ring… which he’d never worn (for wearing a fancy ring was an extremely unmanly thing, wasn’t it?) but carried on a string around his neck – and didn’t carry now.

“I allowed myself to secure it when we brought you over from the copse,” Mr Starling said, pulling it from his waistcoat pocket.

“Thank you.” Sidney breathed a sigh of relief. Was there anything these people did not think of?

“I’ll seal your letter downstairs and send Timmy on his way to deliver it to the vicarage,” Mrs Starling said. “And I’ll have Leah make up your linen, and Ham help you refresh yourself.”

“Thank you,” Sidney said, watching her and her grandfather leave. He leaned back, trying to remember the tale of the kind Samaritan. Biblical stories were not his strongest trait, but he did feel that if he had fallen amongst strangers, they turned out as the kindest Samaritans one could imagine. And the most beautiful… Mrs Starling. So very different from all the women of his acquaintance. Certainly no blushing English rose but of a more unique beauty that seemed to mirror her goodness and capability.

He wondered what her first name was … and then he scoffed and shook his head. He was clearly going soft in the brain. Fantasising about a woman who was neither his social equal nor – probably and much worse – married! He who had never wanted to put himself under someone’s power again! Such follies could only be attributed to his injury and the mental strain of being practically abandoned by his own brother.

Thankfully, Leah and Ham appeared, pulling him from his reverie while cleaning up both him and the bed.

Combed, scrubbed, smelling of wool fat soap, dressed in a fresh shirt, a purring kitten on his chest, he leaned back and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds coming from the little world around him. Busy swallows seemed to nest under the roof, and out in the farmyard, the angry goat bleated an ongoing complaint. Milk cans rattled in the yard, and someone hummed a merry melody.

It was all very peaceful. In the distance, a church bell rang the hour. Sidney started counting but drifted off into sleep before the toll was over.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Previously…

Shocked by Tom’s treatment of his injured brother, the Starling family continues to care for Sidney. Mrs Starling assists him with some urgent letter writing, once more proving her value by suggesting he better specify what the latest loan to Tom might be used for.

🎩

Sidney dreamed of Antigua. Beautiful, sun-filled Antigua, the island of turquoise sea and wide beaches. Swimming in a sea that was as warm as water in a freshly filled bathtub, running along the beach, his bare feet touching the hot pink sand. Tasting the sweet flesh of the Antiguan Black pineapple, the sticky juice running down his mouth. Fleeing from the heat into the shadows of the wild green forest: The gentle rush of the waves in the distance, the song of the treetops above him. The hum of an insect, a lizard flitting across the path in front of him. The magic colour palette of sunset, the cooler breeze that came with nightfall. Night: a canopy of blinking stars on a black velvet tent. The sounds more distinct now, the sounds of nature but also of men. The frequent beating of drums, the ancient rhythms of songs that had travelled across the oceans, all telling the same story. A tale of violence, of loss, of pain and heartbreak, and of death.

The story of what humans were capable of doing to each other when given ultimate power over their fellow human beings, the perversion of Christianity. The sweet taste of the pineapple turning bitter as the beat of the drums escalated to a deafening, threatening level.

Suddenly, the night was over, and it was day again, another day of glaring white sunshine that bit the eyes and turned every simple move into a major exertion. The whoosh… whoosh… of the sugar mill’s sails against the blue sky, the suffocating heat of the boiling house. Out in the fields: the sounds of the hoes driven into the soil to build holes for the young sugar cane plants. The pungent smell of the baskets full of animal manure carried by to protect the new plant. The irony that the sweet sugar cubes women such as Lady Denham and Mrs Campion elegantly dropped into their teacups with silver tongs literally grew from sh*t!

Sidney groaned. The smell of the manure baskets was bad, but much worse was the smell of human skin burnt by a hot iron. A sour taste filled his mouth, and he sat up, wide awake now and just in time to reach for the basin on the side table. He retched violently, then leaned back, his eyes closed, catching his breath. Oh God, Antigua. That devil in disguise of paradise.

His breathing steadied, and the hissing in his ears subsided. What he was hearing wasn’t a leather whip cutting through the air, rupturing bare skin when it hit, but the familiar whack of a cricket ball sent flying by the bat. “Well done, Nellie!” the boy, Timmy, applauded.

Sidney exhaled. It was the children, playing in the yard. This wasn’t Antigua; this wasn’t George Lambe’s poisoned sugar plantation, but Ephraim Starling’s humble Sussex farm. Nobody was flogged here. Nobody had a mark burnt into their skin. Nobody had their arm crushed when feeding the canes between the heavy rollers of the sugar mill. Nobody died.

“My turn!” Timmy cried, and moments later, another whack was heard, followed by the upset bleating of the goat. “Oops,” Timmy said, much less enthusiastic now.

“Timothy Starling! Will you stop murdering our livestock?” old Mr Starling’s voice resonated across the yard.

“The goat’s still alive, grandfather.” It certainly was, according to the bleating. “I only hit it by the horns.”

“That’s bad enough. We don’t harm animals; do you hear me?”

“You slaughtered a pig last winter, and you go shooting rabbits and pigeons.”

“That’s something entirely different, and if you want to be a good farmer, you better learn that difference now, young man. Come with me to the stables.”

“Aye, grandfather.” Playtime was obviously over. Sidney listened to the goat’s bleating slowly calming down. Now, in the afternoon, the light filtering in was softer, glossing a warm sheen over the dark oak beams of the bed and the clay vase holding summer flowers. He noticed the swallows returning to their nests under the roof, too quick to be more than shadows flapping by, and he heard the metal cans rattle in the yard: it was about milking time now.

Milking time. Sidney felt his mouth twitch. From a London gentleman owning a fancy pocket watch to a country bumpkin measuring the time by the tasks of the day: that had gone very quickly. He only wondered what had become of his time piece. Probably smashed when he’d fallen off the horse. Oh, the horse. We don’t harm animals, do you hear me? Old Mr Starling words rang harshly in his ears.

A quick knock on the door ended his musings, and to his surprise, the quiet little girl, Nellie, walked in, still clutching the cricket bat. She was followed by Mrs Starling. Mrs Starling was not clutching a cricket bat but a small stack of books. “I was wondering whether you… oh dear,” she interrupted herself, discovering the soiled basin.

“I’m sorry,” Sidney said, and he really was. And embarrassed. It was already bad enough to be bound to the bed and have that kind but smelly farmhand, Ham, assist him with his most basic needs. But having to bare himself to Mrs Starling like this again and again was truly humiliating.

Yet Mrs Starling merely shrugged, put down the books and covered the basin with a clean cloth before carrying it outside. Upon returning, she refilled his water glass and said, “We must be careful. If you are sick again, it might hint at your brain being concussed.”

Sidney felt his mouth twitch once more, unwilling to admit that it was not his brain but his past that was concussed.

“Anyway,” Mrs Starling continued, picking up the books again, “I was thinking you might want some company, so I brought you these. Our library here is rather small, and if you find nothing to your taste, you can let me know what you like, and I’ll ask my father.”

“Thank you. Your father is… umm… a librarian?”

“Oh no. Just a gentleman who values reading and education.”

A gentleman. Sidney blinked. That was not what he had expected. A gentleman’s daughter and a farmer’s granddaughter. Out here in the countryside, far away from the buzz of the ton, the lines between society’s classes seemed to be more blurred.

“When the milking is done, grandfather will sit with you again. Or is there anything you require now?” Mrs Starling asked.

Explanations, Sidney thought. I require explanations. And your company, madam. – But he could see that he would never get her alone, that even now she had been mindful of bringing the little girl as a chaperone.

“I might have to write more letters,” he said.

“Yes, of course you would. Let me know when I can help.”

Alone again, Sidney groaned, hiding his face in the pillow. What was wrong with him? There he was, injured, helpless, abandoned by his brother and left amongst strangers, utterly dependent on their mercy – and rather than falling into the deepest despair or boxing his way out of his predicament, all he could think of was the graceful Mrs Starling. That sweet dimple in her chin, the swell of her bosom when she leaned forward, her warm scent of sunshine and lavender. The cool touch of her fingers on his skin.

Maybe this fantasising was a side effect of his injury. Maybe he’d been deprived of agreeable female company for too long. And maybe it was something completely different.

Groaning again, he picked up the first book she’d left for him, titled “Fragments of Heracl*tus”. Greek philosophy… he wasn’t sure whether in his present state of mind, he would be able to follow the intricate thought models of the ancient Greeks. What did catch his eye, though, was a written note on the frontispiece. “My dearest daughter,” it said, “As you’re now entering a new stage of your life, may this book’s wisdom be your constant companion. Your loving father, John Heywood. Willingden, November 1817.”

Sidney closed the book, feeling as if he’d peeked into something very private. A father’s message to his beloved daughter, maybe on her wedding day. November 1817: a little more than two and a half years ago. So Mrs Starling had once been a Miss Heywood? One of the Heywood girls that had left itching powder on the priest’s pulpit? He chuckled; even if he still didn’t know her first name, he did know now that she indeed was a gentleman’s daughter, an educated girl who’d been doomed to spend her days on this farmstead due to some unpleasant fate – probably several bad harvests, with crops failing and prices rising everywhere after the terrible summer of 1816.

The second book was titled “A sentimental journey”. It fell open at a page that had obviously often been read. “In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over; and looking up, I saw it was a starling hung in a little cage.—I can’t get out—I can’t get out, said the starling,” Sidney read. “I stood looking at the bird: and to every person who came through the passage it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approach’d it, with the same lamentation of its captivity.—I can’t get out, said the starling.”

Sidney lowered the book, unsure what to make of this. Again, it felt intimate, like invading someone’s privacy, someone’s deepest cares and concerns.

The third book in Mrs Starling’s collection was a manual on classic architecture, and the next a description of a journey throughout the Americas. The fifth and last was a heavy tome titled “The Mysteries of Sableville”, a novel by a lady writer called Mrs Anthony.

Sidney had never heard of the woman before. Then again, he wasn’t much into novel reading – if one was perfectly honest, his own botched engagement to the lovely Miss Mathews – now Mrs Campion – and the subsequent journey to Antigua offered enough real life plot for an exciting tale. However, leading the life of a novel hero was far more appealing from the outside than from the inside.

So for the moment, Sidney settled on the manual about architecture. But even the most boring description of the stepped, crow-stepped, or corbie step gables of exemplary buildings of the North European Brick Gothic style did not help to take his mind off the alluring Mrs Starling.

She returned later, followed by the servant, Leah, who was carrying a tray with a sumptuous food collection: roast chicken, vegetables, thick slices of brown bread covered with fat yellow butter.

“You need something strengthening,” Mrs Starling determined. “And we cannot have you dawdle in bed all day; your muscles will suffer, and you’ll go all weak. So as soon as you feel safe, we’ll practice walking.”

“How do you know so much about nursing?” Sidney asked.

“I am the eldest of twelve siblings,” Mrs Starling said, arranging his pillows. “Someone’s always falling from a tree, or stumbling over their feet, or crushing a finger. – Did you find something to read?”

“I know all about North European Brick Gothic now,” he said.

Mrs Starling’s eyes started to glow with excitement. “Oh, that’s a fascinating subject, don’t you think? Though Brick Gothic is a style not often found here in England … the palace of Hampton Court might be a fine example, I believe.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow. “Have you been there?”

“Oh no, I’ve never been anywhere – not even to Sanditon.” She smiled. “I only travel in my mind.”

Since he’d not expected to discuss the architecture of a royal palace with anyone at the Starling Farm, he could not help but stare at her. “Your food,” she said, already at the door, pointing at the tray. “Don’t let it go cold.”

“Thank you,” Sidney mumbled, tucking in with the spoon in his left hand. Someone had been thoughtful enough to cut the chicken and the vegetables for him, and the food was simple but delicious. In London, food quality was a common topic of complaint, with milk watered down, flour stretched with anything from ground acorns to sawdust, and spoiled meat covered up with layers of spices. It was a development Lady Denham feared for Sanditon as well, as food prices increased with more visitors, and local suppliers needed to find a way to tackle the growing demand.

Sanditon again! Could he not even eat his dinner in peace without Tom’s project dropping in?

Soon after he’d finished, the farmhand, Ham, knocked to help him prepare for the night. The kitten hopped on the bed, and with that fluffy, purring ball nestled in the crook of his good arm, he watched as the sun travelled beyond the hills and the black cover of night slowly enveloped Willingden.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Previously…

Sidney learns more about Mrs Starling when she offers him books from her little library. She’s a gentleman’s daughter with many siblings and a certain interest in architecture. As much as she would love to see more of the world, she can only travel in her mind.

🎩

He didn’t dream of Antigua again. This time, he was walking up the slope to the Sanditon clifftops, that famous elevation outside the town offering breathtaking views of the countryside and the Channel. He was walking, the wind catching in the flaps of his greatcoat, the gulls above in the air cheering him on. He was walking up to the highest point of the cliff, and once there, right on the edge, leaning on his cane, he gazed across the vast stretch of sand and the smooth blue surface of the sea, searching … searching … searching for what? - or was it for whom?

The gulls seemed to circle lower now, their cries becoming louder, more urgent. If only … what were they calling? What was it they were constantly crying for? – He turned around to listen more closely, but he’d miscalculated his step, and instead of the edge of the cliff, he walked into thin air –

Sidney sat up, wide awake and drenched in sweat. He wasn’t falling. He wasn’t tumbling down the Sanditon cliffs towards certain death. He was alive – albeit not quite his best self – and in the Starling family’s four-poster bed. Outside, dawn rose above the hills, and what he had believed to be gulls calling a name was the farm rooster greeting the day.

He leaned back, his breathing calming down. Out in the yard, the goat angrily replied to the rooster’s wake-up call. A door banged as it was opened and closed; the household was slowly waking up and coming to life. Sidney lay still, waiting for someone to attend to him, allowing his thoughts to travel in this and that direction. Unfortunately, his thoughts knew only one direction: towards Mrs Starling.

Would she come and see him in the morning? He had an ingenious plan to enjoy her company during the day, but in order to make it work, he had to see her in the first place. And then he mustn’t forget that this was a farm in early summer, and everyone – including Mrs Starling, whose first name was still a mystery to him – had more important tasks to fulfil than look after the random stranger who’d chased his horse into a thunderstorm and broken his bones in their valley.

After what felt like torturing hours, kind but smelly Ham came to help him wash and empty the chamber pot, followed by Leah, serving a sumptuous breakfast of buttered bread, porridge covered with golden honey and a glass of deliciously warm and foamy milk. But no Mrs Starling: occasionally, he would hear her voice call through the farmhouse or just an echo of her laughter, but the lady herself remained elusive. Clearly, it was a busy household, and he was just one extra addition to their many chores.

Sidney resigned himself to the fact that his only companions over the day would be the affectionate grey and white kitten and Mrs Starling’s architecture book . At least, he had advanced from the secrets of North European Brick Gothic to the miracles behind the construction of the dome of the Florence Cathedral. Mrs Starling being an architecture enthusiast, such knowledge might help to impress her.

Sidney sighted. Who was he trying to fool? In his present state, he wasn’t going to impress anyone, and least of all an intelligent young woman with a sweet face and an independent mind.

Out in the yard, he could hear the noises of a busy farm: the ever-angry goat, cows mooing, sheep bleating in the distance. The clinking of tools, shouts and orders exchanged by Mr Starling and the farmhands. The buzz and shadows of the swallows returning to their nests under the roof. How strangely peaceful this sort of country life was – much more peaceful than the life he’d known on Mr Lambes Antiguan plantation – yet also how deceptive, always leaving the farmer’s family in a precarious balance that would be unsettled quickly with a streak of bad weather, or a draught, or even a bad seed or an unexpected illness affecting the livestock. A failed crop, cattle or sheep that didn’t sell, a drop in wool prices: the food might taste better in Willingden, the honey sweeter, the butter fatter, but life itself was an eternal, fragile struggle.

And Mrs Starling deserved better. Sidney cradled the kitten on his chest: his tiny friend pulled its usual act of being a purring, soft and fluffy little ball that was too cute to be denied anything. Mrs Starling… – there were footsteps outside, and the door was opened after a sharp knock, and who would walk in but the lady herself? A picture of the attentive housewife with her neat dress, apron and hair bun, and her serious expression.

“Good morning, Mr Parker,” she said, already busying herself with smoothing his bed sheets without disturbing the kitten. “I hope you haven’t felt neglected and abandoned this morning.”

“The dome of Florence cathedral has kept me company,” Sidney said, holding up the architecture book and only now realising that she was not alone. A thin, dark-haired man of thirty years followed her inside. His anxious expression, receding chin, thin lips and black beady eyes made Sidney think of the rabbits that were so frequently shot in Willingden. However, the plain black dress and flat hat made it clear that this gentleman was part of the clergy.

“This is our vicar, Mr Clement,” Mrs Starling explained. “Mr Clement, meet our guest, Mr Sidney Parker of Sanditon.”

“An honour,” Mr Clement said, smiling and bowing to Sidney rather unexpectedly. “Delighted and honoured, Mr Parker. However unfortunate the circ*mstances may be, let me welcome you most heartily to our lovely parish.”

“Thank you,” Sidney said, somewhat overwhelmed by the priest’s genuine kindness. The priests he knew were not genuinely kind. The vicar of Sanditon, Mr Hankins, had a reputation for flowery language and unholy double meanings. As to the vicar of St George the Martyr, the church closest to his London home in Bedford Place, Sidney didn’t even know the man’s name. He wasn’t a churchgoer. Any faith he’d ever had had been destroyed under the unforgiving Antiguan sun. He tried to catch Mrs Starling’s gaze, but she was busying herself at the window now, draping the muslin curtains.

“Mrs Starling has told me about your terrible mishap, Mr Parker.” The vicar Mr Clement furrowed his brow in sorrow. “How lucky we are that you so very bravely escaped the dark and looming shadows of death, sir.”

“Yes.” Sidney was somewhat at a loss as to what to make of this man of the cloth. Mrs Starling was no help in the matter either. In fact, she just righted the chair next to the bed and invited the priest to sit down. Mr Clement duly obliged her and smiled at Sidney. “I shall keep you company during the morning, Mr Parker.”

“Err, thanks,” Sidney mumbled. He preferred his own company much to anybody else’s – unless there was a way to keep Mrs Starling with him. But the lady of the house was already by the door, wishing the two gentlemen a lovely morning.

Mr Clement pulled his chair closer to Sidney’s bed. “Dearest Mrs Starling,” he said. “Such a kind and considerate soul. – I hope you’ll forgive me for discharging her? – But she does need a rest, of course, with all her duties and now her added responsibility for you…”

“I hope I’m not a burden,” Sidney uttered, fearing he’d misread the Starling family’s willingness to take him in.

“Of course not,” Mr Clement beamed with innocent happiness. “You are the most exciting thing that has happened in Willingden ever since … well, for a very long time. – Now, what do we have here?” Leaning forward, he inspected the pile of books on the bedside table. “Are you fond of reading, sir? – I, for one, can never resist a good tale. Fragments of Heracl*tus … rather heavy stuff for a leisurely read. Sentimental Journey … maybe not the kind of tale to uplift an ailing man… Principles of Architecture … not exactly my world … ah! The Mysteries of Sableville ! Now that is what I call a good, nay, an excellent story! Have you read it, Mr Parker?”

Sidney denied.

“Ha! I shall read it to you, Mr Parker. What do you say? This excellent tale will most pleasantly divert you from your troubles; I can vouch for that.”

“I’m not much into novel reading,” Sidney admitted.

“But you should be, Mr Parker!” the vicar cried. “And Mrs Anthony is chief amongst those authors who create works in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language.”

Sidney could not help but think that Mr Clement’s words sounded as if taken right out of a novel as well. He considered telling the priest to go away, to leave him alone so he could brood over everything (everything being Mrs Starling) and be unhappy on his own terms, but the vicar, being a Christian man, was having none of it. Mrs Anthony’s novel already opened in his lap; he was inspecting the frontispiece. “This one’s on loan from Miss Alison, of course – a young lady with a most excellent taste in reading. But then I think all the Heywood ladies have such a spark about them, wouldn’t you agree, Mr Parker?”

“I don’t know any of them,” Sidney admitted, somewhat confused by the quick change of topic.

“Oh, but you do,” the vicar insisted. “Our dear Mrs Starling? The eldest and the brightest of the Heywood girls, the pride and joy of her parents. They had such high expectations for her … but fate, incidentally …” The priest wiped his eyes. “Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows generously will also reap generously. – I pray daily that the time will come for her to reap what her kind heart has sown.”

“I’m really not familiar with my host’s personal details.” Sidney hoped he didn’t sound too eager to learn more about them, though.

“Tragic,” Mr Clement said, closing the book in his lap, Mrs Anthony’s tale all but forgotten. “That fateful summer of 1816 that left so many hopes and expectations foundered.”

Sidney nodded, remembering that summer: Tom sitting on the porch of a brand-new bathing machine, crying as the rain kept pouring down day after day. The disappointment of that first season at Sanditon was one of the reasons why Tom was now so absolutely dependent on Lady Denham’s significant investment.

Mr Clement, seeing Sidney’s wistful expression, nodded knowingly. “Mr Heywood is a fine gentleman – well-read, kind, fair to his tenants. But that summer of 1816, all the crops on his estate failed and killed most of their livestock. It was devastating, especially given that the Lord had been so generous with youthful additions to their family. They had so many mouths to feed, plus the added trouble of bringing out the elder girls in society.”

Sidney nodded. Mrs Starling had mentioned her many siblings when explaining her medical skills. Somehow, the very real challenge of feeding a large family put Tom crying over an empty beach into a new perspective.

Mr Clement nodded. “And in this rather desperate situation, Charlotte … that is, the eldest Miss Heywood …”

Charlotte.

Sidney bit his lip to hide his smile. So that was her first name. Charlotte. He couldn’t think of a better one. The name of a queen, of course. The name of a lady who reigned with quiet demeanour and fierce knowledge. He realised he was falling – falling so hard -

“… and so, she felt compelled to fulfil their parents’ fateful pledge.” Mr Clement had continued his tale, unaware his companion had been distracted by a name and was missing the crucial parts.

“Sorry,” Sidney said, “you were saying?”

“I was discussing their parents’ fateful pledge,” Mr Clement explained. “The Heywood and the Starling families, about their eldest children marrying each other.”

“I don’t understand,” Sidney admitted. “Didn’t you say Mr Heywood is a gentleman with an estate to call his own? Surely, the Starlings…”

“Oh, they are very good people,” Mr Clement nodded. “Very honest, decent folk, as you undoubtedly have learned for yourself, Mr Parker. But you are right, they are farmers. Yet Mr Heywood never liked leaving his home, and when he chose his companion for life – his wife, that is – he didn’t look far and beyond, but in the immediate area, and proposed to Miss Starling – Mr Ephraim Starling’s daughter.”

“I see,” Sidney said, drawing a chart in his mind. So Charlotte Mrs Starling was indeed his host’s granddaughter and had, for some reason, married her own cousin. Out here in the country, far away from the suffocating rules of the beau monde, the bonds separating society were perhaps less tight.

“Yet as the Heywood family grew and prospered, the Starlings were … doomed, I fear.” Mr Clement took out a fresh white handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Mrs Heywood’s brother, Mr Ephraim’s only son, had married a good girl from the neighbourhood, but their marriage was blessed with one child only, a son, young Ralph, and when, after twelve years, she was hopeful again, it all took a rather terrible turn. She was expecting twins, you see, and tragically perished in the process of giving birth.”

“Nellie and Timmy,” Sidney said, adding more names to the chart in his mind.

“Exactly. – And the eldest Miss Heywood, dear soul that she was even at only ten years, kindly helped to steer the aggrieved household along. She was excellent friends with young Ralph and her grandfather, and at that time, both families jokingly inferred they might be married later in life. – Now, as the years passed and the children grew up, this pledge was forgotten, but after the deadly toll of the summer of 1816, it was Char… Miss Heywood who remembered it. – Her father’s estate suffered seriously from failed crops, the dividends he used to collect dried up, and in the Starling family, Ralph’s father, who’d never been the same man after losing his wife, succumbed to a heart attack. The farm’s fate was now in the hands of old Mr Ephraim and Ralph, a lad of only twenty responsible for two much younger siblings. – Miss Heywood’s determination to marry into the family easily saved them all.”

“I see,” Sidney said, and he did indeed.

“Such an example of Christian selflessness ought to be rewarded generously, one would think,” Mr Clement continued.

“Yes,” Sidney said.

The vicar took out the not-so-fresh-now white handkerchief and blew his nose. “But… fate once more struck heavily on these poor people. Two winters ago, young Ralph encountered a wild boar down in the valley and… and… and perished.”

“Good God!”

“You may have heard it being said that Char… the young Mrs Starling is a crack shot, but even she could not save him in this instance. It grates heavily on her, of course. The household is not the same. Poor little Nellie has lost her voice over all these grievances. Old Ephraim does his best to hold his family together, but to lose first his son and then his grandson… ah. Sometimes, the Lord’s trials are too hard to fathom even for a man of the cloth.” Mr Clement wiped his eyes.

Sidney sensed something shift inside of him, something he could only vaguely discern yet felt was important: This was no longer about the evident physical attraction he was feeling for Mrs Starling. This was about to run into territories unknown and unchartered.

Outside, the goat started one of its complaints.

Mr Clement looked up and checked his timepiece. “Look at that! How we have been chatting, Mr Parker. I nearly forgot to indulge you with The Mysteries of Sableville. Shall we start? I gather you have never read a piece by Mrs Anthony before?”

Sidney shook his head, too distracted by the image of Char... Mrs Starling, crying over her young husband’s lifeless body. So, had theirs been a marriage of convenience? Or had she truly and passionately loved this young Ralph?

“An excellent author.” Mr Clement was already lost in the world of Mrs Anthony. “So full of deep understanding of the human nature as hardly any other, spinning her yarn – that is, telling her story - in a most impeccable style and with a firm set of morals.” The vicar opened the book in his lap and began reading aloud, “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. James Melbourne was one such man: nephew and heir of Sir Harry Melbourne of Sableville, independent through collateral heritage, owner of a dashing curricle…”

Sidney did not always follow Mrs Anthony’s wild tale of love found yet imperilled by the most evil forces, but Mr Clement, fully engrossed in sharing the story, didn’t seem to mind. And neither did the goat that was bleating outside, the sparrows returning to their nests, or the kitten happily purring on Sidney’s chest.

It was a peaceful little world, easily destroyed by any imbalance. And Sidney could not help but wonder whether he was about to tip the scale and bring that imbalance about.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Previously…

Willingden’s chatty village priest, Mr Clement, pays Sidney a visit. Thus our hero finally learns that his admired hostess is called Charlotte. She is indeed a widow now after having married her cousin for reasons of economy and family duty. Mr Clement is a great novel reader, and after some praise for the incomparable Mrs Anthony, he begins reading her acclaimed work, The Mysteries of Sableville, to his not-so-captive audience of Sidney Parker .

🎩

Mr Clement was most happily engrossed in the dramatic tale of the dashing, mysterious Melbourne and his lovely Lady Lotta – far too engrossed to notice that his companion’s thoughts were anywhere but near the rugged shoreline of Sableville. In fact, Sidney was quite lost in thinking of Mrs Starling – Charlotte –, her soft touch, her unfathomed gaze filled with such a wide range of emotions, her plush lips parted in expectation of ---

Some noise on the stairs propelled both gentlemen from their happy fantasies. The door was swung open, and in stepped no other but the object of Sidney’s dreams herself, his hostess – followed by her quiet chaperone, Nellie, and a shortish, middle-aged gentleman with a long nose and thinning red hair.

“Anon, anon, the doctor is here,” the gentleman cheerfully announced, setting down his wooden medicine chest and righting his glasses. “Herr Sidney Parker, I presume?” he added, bowing to the vicar.

“Umm, that would be me,” Sidney said while poor Mr Clement, who had blanched considerably at the word “doctor”, moved closer to the wall and hid behind the leatherbound volume of The Mysteries of Sableville.

“Ah, indeed.” The doctor turned to the bandaged man in the bed, righting his glasses again. “Your brother Tom has kindly alerted me to your urgent requirement of a qualified physician. – I am most happy to oblige. Doctor Maximilian Fuchs, at your service, Herr Parker.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Sidney grumbled, trying to read Mrs Starling’s expression as she stood by the foot of the bed. “I’ve been seen and tended to most expertly.” Was that the hint of a smile around her mouth?

“But by a mere amateur, if your brother’s report is to be believed.” The doctor shook his head, bowing kindly to Mrs Starling. “I don’t wish to disparage or doubt your methods, gnädige Frau. But Herr Tom Parker is so very anxious about his dear brother’s recovery and well-being that he asked me to observe the patient’s healing process.”

Sidney saw Mrs Starling raise an eyebrow. Tom: So very anxious about his dear brother’s recovery and well-being, he left said brother to convalesce among strangers. Sidney smiled to himself, feeling that Mrs Starling was sharing his thoughts.

“Then observe,” he said, holding out his bandaged hand.

“Mit Vergnügen.” The doctor opened his medicine chest, wiped his glasses and asked Mrs Starling to withdraw the muslin curtains to give him better light while assessing the patient’s injuries.

“Why don’t you sit down again, Mr Clement? You look pale,” Mrs Starling said to the vicar, who gratefully sank down on the armchair, mumbling that he was of tender disposition and always quite intimidated by medical men.

Dr Fuchs continued to examine the splint and bandages with which Mrs Starling had fixed Sidney’s injuries. After removing them all, he could not help but admit that these were indeed very well applied and the healing process taking its due course. “I will add a few of my ointments,” he explained. “To smooth the skin and stimulate the growing back of the bone structure.” … and expand the bill, Sidney thought with an angry scowl and even angrier groan.

“Ah,” the doctor said, “to ease your pain, Herr Parker, I strongly recommend my hot hydrotherapeutic shower baths. – A groundbreaking invention that will relieve not only the afflicted areas but the whole of your body.”

“No thank you,” Sidney said. “I’m sure a plunge in the sea will have the same effect.”

“But you are not by the sea here,” the doctor observed. “And, in the fragile state you are in right now, the shock of a cold bath might do more harm than good.”

“I’ve been swimming in the sea since I was a little boy.” Sidney noted how Mrs Starling’s eyebrow went a little higher at mentioning sea bathing – or was it at mentioning him sea bathing? “Besides, I doubt my generous hosts have space and time for such an appliance.”

“Very well,” the doctor said. “Wie der Herr wünschen. – I shall now apply my very special ointment to your wounds.”

Mrs Starling discreetly turned away as the doctor rubbed a good handful of greyish liquid into the skin of Sidney’s leg and hand, filling the room with a pungent smell.

“I’m sure it’s very healthy if it smells like that,” Mr Clement said, peeking from behind The Mysteries of Sableville.

“It is!” Dr Fuchs cried out. “Of course it is, mein Herr !” – and, as he proceeded to bandage Sidney’s wounds, he started singing in a deep baritone voice, “Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Töchter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum.”

Outside, the goat joined him with a slightly out-of-tune chorus of bleating.

Putting on the leg bandage, the doctor continued, "Wem der große Wurf gelungen, eines Freundes Freund zu sein, wer ein holdes Weib errungen, mische seinen Jubel ein!" Tieing a neat bow around Sidney's leg, he announced: "We are done, Mr Parker. This will do miracles for your course of healing.“

“Let me see you out, sir,” Mrs Starling offered above the noise of the bleating goat.

“Very good of you, gnädige Frau.” The doctor kindly nodded. “I understand my invoice is to be forwarded to Bedford Place, London?”

“Yes,” Sidney said grudgingly. “I’ll instruct my accountant to take care of everything.” Another letter he would ask Mrs Starling to write for him: so there was at least that little pleasure to look forward to for his expenditure.

“If you change your mind about the hydrotherapeutic shower bath, let me know,” Dr Fuchs bowed again. “I’ll be residing in Sanditon henceforward.”

“Yes,” Sidney said, tempted to pull the Mysteries of Sableville from the still-cowering vicar and hit the physician over the head with the book. Only that he was in no physical shape to act on his temper.

“I’ll see you out, sir,” Mrs Starling repeated, briskly walking towards the door, turning around to ensure the doctor followed her.

“Oomph,” Mr Clement sighed, returning to Sidney’s side. “That gentleman’s enough to make sure I’ll never get ill. Do you really swim in the sea at Sanditon?”

“Whenever the weather’s permitting.”

“How exciting! It does remind me of Sableville. In one of the next chapters, there is a stunning scene in which Lady Lotta chances upon Melbourne as he takes a plunge in the sea … - Would you allow me to come back tomorrow and continue our reading?”

“Why not?” The vicar certainly was not half as entertaining company as Babington or Crowe, but he was definitely better than the goat bleating outside. Or more fantastical doctors. Even though he thought of himself as a loner and an outlier, Sidney knew that left to himself all day, he would only drown in impossible dreams of Mrs Starling. Charlotte.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Mr Clement bowed out just as Charlotte … Mrs Starling returned to the room, followed by little Nellie, her faithful companion.

“I’ve sent the doctor on his way,” she said. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr Parker?”

Sidney had many answers to that question. Unfortunately, they were not compatible with the presence of a child. So he simply said, “I have to write another letter.”

“I’ll get my writing case.”

Sidney leaned back, groaning. The kitten jumped back on the bed, sniffed at the bandage soaked with Dr Fuchs’s ointment, wrinkled its tiny pink kitten nose and hopped off the bed again. So now even the kitten didn’t want to have anything to do with him. This didn’t bode well for courting Charlotte… Mrs Starling. But then again, which woman in their right mind would allow a bedridden man with several broken limbs to woe her in the first place?

Ah, how he longed for a cheroot to calm his nerves. Or for a deep gulp from Crowe’s hip flask. Even one of Babington’s jokes would do, even though they were never funny.

Mrs Starling returned, setting up her portable writing case as before and instructing little Nellie to sit by her side. The kitten snuggled into the girl’s arms, sending reproachful glances at Sidney as if it wanted to say, “I’d be with you if you didn’t smell like something pulled from the dung heap.”

“I’m ready,” Mrs Starling said with her pencil in her hand and a blank sheet of paper in front of her.

“Right.” With his good hand, Sidney scratched the edge of his hand bandage. “This letter goes to my ward, Miss Georgiana Lambe.”

Mrs Starling looked up. “I had no idea you have a ward.”

Of course not; he’d hardly struck her as the fatherly type. “Miss Lamb is the daughter of a … a…” – What exactly was he, Mr Lambe? Certainly not a friend. Or a business partner… - “… an acquaintance of mine from Antigua.”

“You’ve travelled to Antigua?”

“Yes. And back.”

“Obviously,” Mrs Starling conceded with a small smile. And she seemed so mesmerised by his travels that she didn’t even ask how he’d become Miss Lambe’s guardian if her father was a mere acquaintance. In fact, she stroked little Nellie’s head and told the girl, “Mr Parker has been to the other side of the world and seen places we can only dream of. - Will you tell us about it, sir?”

“Later, “ Sidney said, shifting to a more comfortable position and sending a wave of Doctor Fuchs’s pungent ointment through the room. Still resting in Nellie’s arms, the kitten hissed and ran off.

“Of course, the letter,” Mrs Starling remembered. “What do you want me to write?”

Sidney gave Georgiana a short and factual account of his accident and current predicament, knowing that his ward would not pity him, even after hearing a more dramatic version from Tom or Mary. Then he expressed his sincere hopes that she’d settled in well with her new governess, Mrs Griffiths, and her new companions, the Misses Beaufort. He added that he hoped she was doing well in the piano and embroidery lessons he had asked Mrs Griffiths to arrange. He pointed out that it was mandatory for her to excel in such female skills to be accepted as a member of the beau monde, taking the place in society her father had intended for her. In fact, he hoped … - Sidney looked up. Mrs Starling had stopped writing and was staring at him now instead.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Forgive me, sir, but didn’t you say your ward was from Antigua?”

“Indeed she is.”

“And has recently lost her parents?”

“Her father. Her mother… umm…” He did not feel like discussing the somewhat murky matter of Georgiana’s mother with little Nellie present.

“How old is she?”

“Nineteen.”

Mrs Starling laid down her pen. “So there is this young lady who’s been uprooted from her home, brought to this chilly island, probably still mourning her father… and your main concerns are her piano and embroidery skills?”

Sidney frowned; his main concern was actually the fact that Georgiana’s mother was a slave and that with an inheritance of 100,000 Pounds, this slave’s daughter would be a prime aim for fortune hunters with little interest in her well-being, much interest in her money and a lot of disdain for her heritage. But that was nothing he wanted to share right now, especially with all the itching going on under Dr Fuchs’s bandages.

“Please don’t preoccupy yourself with my responsibilities, Mrs Starling,” he said, sounding sterner than intended. “I appreciate your helping out here as a scribe, but I’ll thank you for not making assumptions.”

“So that’s what I am to you? A scribe?”

Of course not.

“No, you are…” … the most beautiful woman, both inside and out, with exceptional skills, insights and qualities, and I… He choked. Right now, he was a helpless miser who could not even use the chamber pot without assistance, whose wounds were itching terribly, and who saw his world collapsing around him. “You are…” He gave up.

Mrs Starling shook her head. “My apologies, Mr Parker. I seem to remember that I promised Leah to help her pluck the chickens,” she said. “The letter to your ward will have to be postponed, sir, I’m afraid.” And with the posture of a queen who did not care too much for her subjects, she rushed out of the room, the kitten and little Nellie following her.

Outside, the goat started bleating again. Sidney hid his face under the pillow, groaning in pain and frustration.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Previously ...

Tom Parker finally shows he has a heart and sends a physician to check on his ailing brother. With much fuss and singing, Dr Fuchs applies some magic ointment on Sidney’s wounds. Unfortunately, Sidney missteps dramatically a little later when Mrs Starling disagrees with his advice to his ward, Georgiana Lambe. In his angered reaction, he calls the good angel of his sickbed “a mere scribe”. Mrs Starling leaves, showing little inclination to ever return.

🎩

Sidney was in hell. In purgatory, in fact: his body was on fire, burning with pain, flames licking hungrily over his skin, consuming him, turning him into a living torch. He cried in agony: he wasn’t ready to die, not here, not now, - and not after parting from Mrs Starling on such bad terms.

She hadn’t come back after he’d called her a mere scribe and failed to share more of Georgiana’s story with her. Timmy had come up to keep him company for a while, and the farmhand, Ham, had brought him food and helped him with his personal needs before bedtime, but Mrs Starling had not returned, and he had not felt in a position to ask for her either. Needless to say, the kitten had deserted him, too.

“I appreciate you helping out as a scribe…”His words and actions called for an apology, an explanation, a substantial conversation… but the truth was that in his present state, a substantial conversation was the very last thing he felt fit for. Along with his anger about his blunder came a severe itching of the body parts Dr Fuchs had treated with his ointment. Sidney hadn’t mentioned it to Ham – unwilling to cause the Starling family more trouble than they were already experiencing on his account – but now, in the middle of the night, reeling from the impossibility of finding any relief, the itch had turned into the flames of purgatory, crawling up from his leg, across his upper body up to his neck and face.

Again, Sidney groaned in desperate torment, licking his chipped lips. If only there was water to quench the fire burning inside of him … Mrs Starling always made sure to leave a water glass by his bedside, but Ham must have forgotten about it. Mrs Starling… Charlotte, Charlotte, who was anything but a mere scribe to him… he listened into the darkness of the night. Out in the distance, the death cry of an animal meeting a predator echoed through the valley. Sidney howled in sympathy, feeling the poor creature’s distress.

Suddenly, everything changed. She was there. The flickering of a candle, a tiny light of hope in the abyss of his agony. Her voice, calm yet full of concern: “Mr Parker?”

“I’m here,” he gargled, reaching out to her with his good hand. “I’m burning.” Her right hand softly enfolded his fingers, and the left checked his forehead. Her skin was rough, that of a working woman, but her touch was cool and gentle.

“You have a fever,” she said.

“My leg,” he cried. “Please don’t go. I’m in hell.”

“I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not in hell.” She pulled back the blanket covering him and inspected his leg, carefully peeling away the bandages Dr Fuchs had applied. Her face was but a blur in the shadowy light of the candle, yet he believed he saw her frowning.

“Don’t look,” she said as he tried to raise his head and see what she was seeing. She filled a water glass and held it to his lips. “Slowly,” she warned as he eagerly gulped down the cold liquid. “One swig at a time.”

She covered him with the blanket and collected the soiled bandages in an empty basin. “Whatever was in that doctor’s tincture has burned your skin,” she said as she removed the dressing around his right hand. “I’ll clean you up and make cold poultices of buttermilk and oatmeal. That will soothe the pain. Please try not to move until I’m back.”

“Thank you,” Sidney whispered, trying to grasp her hand again, but she was gone already. “Thank you, Charlotte,” he whispered to the empty room, his eyes filling with tears.

He expected her to come back with Leah or old Mr Starling in tow, but when she returned, she was still alone, carrying a water jug, a basket with bandages and supplies and a pile of linen sheets.

Quietly, she set about cleaning him, wiping down his right hand and leg with a wet cloth until every remnant of Dr Fuchs’s poisonous unguent was gone. Her expression was calm and collected, her touch purely professional. She discreetly covered his modesty before allowing her hands to travel across his body, and she seemed to instinctively understand where she had to go softer and where she might apply a little more pressure. Yet still Sidney hissed several times in pain when she came too close to a tender spot, and it always felt as if her touch only became more delicate whenever he sighed. She spoke only when she was nearly done, now dabbing his knuckles with a piece of cotton wool.

“You will have to write your brother about this tomorrow,” she said. “You don’t want any of his exclusive guests to fall into this charlatan doctor’s hands, do you?”

She was right, of course. If this had happened to a paying guest at Sanditon, it would have been enough to ruin the town’s reputation forever. “Why do you think of these things, Mrs Starling?”

She gave a shrug. “It seems the logical thing to do to me. Minimise the harm?”

Sidney thought of the women of his acquaintance. What would they have done? Certainly not thought about minimising the harm. Mary, Tom’s dear suffering wife, would have done something sensible. Maybe not as competently as Charlotte, but at least she would have done something. Diana would have panicked. Mrs Campion … Eliza … ah, she would have pressed a scented handkerchief to her nose and turned around in disgust. And Georgiana … well, in all likelihood, Georgiana would have calmly looked on during his suffering and told him that he deserved no better. Georgiana… he did owe Mrs Starling an explanation for his earlier behaviour when he’d dictated the letter to his ward.

“Lift your arms,” Mrs Starling said. “You’ll need a fresh shirt as well.” She helped him out of the garment, and once she’d slipped a clean linen shirt over his torso, she finally looked at him like an artist admiring their work. “Much better now.”

Sidney was too caught in the moment to react immediately. She’d saved him, released him from torturous pain, maybe even saved his life. Again. She’d touched him, seen him naked, but had not for one second lost her countenance. And yet, instead of raising her grandfather or even the servant girl, she’d tended to him alone, breaking her principle of never being around him without a chaperone.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

“You owe me a handful of sleep,” she replied with a rare smile, putting the water glass to his lips before carefully tucking him in.

She was right, Sidney realised. The sooner he went back to sleep now, the sooner morning would come. And he wasn’t going anywhere tomorrow; he’d still be here, in this small chamber with the low ceiling, the muslin curtains and the clay vases filled with summer flowers. He’d still be here, in the one place he wanted to be: in Charlotte Starling’s realm.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Previously…

Dr Fuchs’s treatment leaves Sidney tormented by a terrible itch. Once again, Mrs Starling rushes to his aid, relieving him of his troubles. But is his thoughtless comment about her being “a mere scribe” truly forgiven and forgotten?

🎩

Sidney slept well, with no pain and no nightmares troubling his rest. When he woke up, it was bright day, the sun filtering into the chamber through the muslin curtains, a faint smell of fresh bread tickling his nose. The swallows were flitting out and about under the roof, and the goat was bleating its usual atonal morning song.

The itch was gone, and so was the pain. In hindsight, that night – those moments of Mrs Starling tending him, nursing him back to his senses and life with such care, compassion and professionalism– seemed like an out-of-the-world experience. Were it not for the faint smell of her buttermilk poultices, he’d believe the night’s events had been a dream.

“Ah! Mr Parker! Back with us again?”

Sidney turned his head. He had not realised old Mr Starling was sitting in the armchair, watching him over the brim of a stoneware tea mug.

“Good morning, sir,” Sidney said, somewhat embarrassed, running his good hand through his hair and then trying to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Don’t move too quickly, my lad,” Mr Starling warned. “You’ve just jumped off the devil’s back, according to what I’ve heard.”

Sidney blushed. Surely, Charlotte Mrs Starling had not informed her grandfather about all the grisly details of the previous night? “I… I don’t seem to remember,” he claimed, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the vague memory of Mr Starling’s granddaughter wiping down his naked body.

The old farmer gave a hearty laugh, set down his tea mug and rang the little silver bell. “Nah, that’s nothing a strong and healthy gentleman like yourself would like to admit to, right? – Saved by a woman, yet again!”

“I… umm…”

“You’re to rest and relax and eat and rest a little more.” The old man patted Sidney’s bandaged hand, a kind light in his eyes now. “You’ve had a hard time, my friend. No need to play hero now and go chasing after that doctor fellow that nearly did you in.”

“I can actually neither ride nor run nor chase after anyone,” Sidney admitted, pointing at the splint.

“No, but you would if you could.”

Mr Starling really knew him well. The old man chuckled, turned to the window and drained his mug. A tiny grey paw appeared in the crack of the door, followed by a pink nose, yellow eyes and grey ears: the kitten stalked around the bed and, with some effort, jumped onto the mattress. It sniffed its way along Sidney’s legs up to his chin, rubbed its velvet kitten cheek against his scrubby skin, and curled up into a fluffy ball on its favourite resting place: Sidney’s chest. Sidney stroked the soft fur, smiling as his large hand nearly covered the tiny baby tiger. He smiled even more when the kitten started purring: a clear sign that he was being forgiven for turning into a stinking toad the day before. If only Charlotte Mrs Starling also forgave him for calling her a scribe.

Ham came to help him clean up, followed by Leah with a sumptuous breakfast tray. A little later, Mr Clement appeared in the doorframe, a shy smile on his kind face.

“I so enjoyed our reading yesterday, Mr Parker,” the vicar said. “You don’t mind us continuing today, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Sidney confirmed as the priest picked up The Mysteries of Sableville from the side table and pulled the armchair closer to the bed. He really didn’t mind; the priest’s chitter-chatter would only distract him from compulsively thinking about Mrs Starling. And though there was little positive to say about the Mysteries of Sableville, the silly novel was still more exciting than the endless articles about Brick Gothic in Mrs Starling’s architecture book.

“That doctor that came yesterday…” Mr Clement pulled a grimace, shuddering. “I heard he did more harm than good? – I never trusted him in the first place. If he is such a fine doctor, why does he not practice at his German home? Why bother us with his stinking ointments? – But Mrs Starling saved you, didn’t she?”

“Indeed she did,” Sidney confirmed. So much for being distracted from compulsively thinking about Mrs Starling.

The vicar nodded eagerly. “A very competent young lady. I say, Mr Parker, is our Lord not providing very generously for you? For all the strangers you could have fallen amongst, you fell amongst the kindest and best disposed to take care of you.”

Sidney had to admit that the priest had a point there, though he preferred to ascribe these fortunate circ*mstances to chance rather than divine provision. Yet it was remarkable that his misfortune in the thunderstorm had led him right into the arms realm of Charlotte Starling.

Mr Clement helped himself to a glass of water, opened The Mysteries of Sableville, and started reading. In this chapter, the dashing Melbourne and the lovely Lady Lotta indulged in some more clever sparring, and despite them being constantly at odds, there was an unmissable undertone that suggested there was something … something very different, unique and interesting between them.

Sidney found that Mrs Anthony’s way of spinning her yarn and Mr Clement’s enthusiastic way of reading the tale did indeed carry him away… although not very far. In his mind, the feisty Lady Lotta had Mrs Starling’s features and expressive brown eyes, while the reserved yet somewhat wild Melbourne looked too much like Sidney himself. It was all very frustrating, especially since Lady Lotta was not impressed at all by the strong, healthy Melbourne. How could Mrs Starling then be impressed by a wailing man on a sickbed? Sidney groaned in devastation.

The vicar looked up from his book. “Is anything ailing you, sir?” He pointed at Sidney’s leg. “I mean, apart from the obvious, of course?”

Before Sidney had made up an uncompromising answer, there was a short knock on the door, and who would appear but Charlotte Mrs Starling herself, dark shadows under her eyes after her nightshift, but otherwise all her sweet and lovely self.

She remained at the door, returning his gaze. “Good morning, Mr Parker. Do you feel well enough to receive…”

“O brother!” Mrs Starling was shoved aside by a lady in a yellow bonnet and a thick travelling cloak. “Sidney! We’d assumed we’d find you dead … we’ve been very ill, all the way from Tunbridge, but we could not… would not have forgiven ourselves if we’d found you’d gone from this world without us having a chance to wave you goodbye.”

The lady looked around but stopped abruptly when she saw the priest sitting beside the bed. “Oh my, is it really that hopeless? My poor brother … a priest to ease your passing…”

“This is our vicar, Mr Clement,” Mrs Starling said. “He’s kindly volunteered to read to your brother and keep him company during his recuperation. – Mr Clement, this is Mr Parker’s sister, Miss Diana Parker.”

Mr Clement beamed happily. “How do you do, Miss Parker? – Your dear brother and I are enjoying The Mysteries of Sableville together. A very satisfying novel that I can most heartily recommend should you look for a work that combines the best of the human spirit with masterful storytelling.”

“Oh,” Mrs Parker sighed. “I always fear that a novel’s drama and excitement is too much for my nerves.” She dabbed her eyes and turned to her brother. “I’m so glad that you are not dead, Sidney. - Arthur… where is Arthur?”

“I believe Mr Arthur took a detour to the kitchen when he smelled the fresh bread we were baking this morning,” Mrs Starling informed her.

“Oh very good… I’m glad he’s hungry again – he’s been a bit poorly these past weeks … - But nowhere as poorly as you, dearest Sidney,” Diana added, grabbing his good hand. “Tom said he meant to send you an excellent doctor.”

“Who was certainly excellent at nearly killing your brother.” Kind Mr Clement snorted in disgust. “But, thanks to our good Mrs Starling here, that devious plan did not succeed.”

Diana froze, staring at the vicar. “But this is terrible! Who would want to kill you, Sidney?”

“No one,” Sidney lied.

“It was just a fraudster who hoped to make quick money,” Mrs Starling added.

Diana once more squeezed her brother’s good hand. “I’m so sorry you have to go through all this,” she quietly said, tears running down her cheeks. Sidney returned the pressure of her finger. Beyond all the drama and the nerves, his only sister was a kind woman who cared deeply for her family. “We need you in Sanditon,” she said, not letting go of his hand. “Tom needs you.”

“I know,” he softly replied.

Yet their solemn moment was interrupted by Arthur Parker finally making an appearance, half a loaf of bread in one hand, a jar of honey in the other. “This is very good … this is easily the best bread I’ve ever tasted … and the honey … Sidney!” Arthur’s naturally happy smile turned into a giant beam. “How jolly good to see you alive and awake!”

“It’s good to see you too, Arthur.” – and it really was. Arthur was the baby of the family, very much nurtured under Diana’s protective wings after their mother’s early death. While her vigorous care and attention had left him over-anxious at times, he was generally a congenial young man with a great love for the good things in life – food being the best of them – and a keen eye for details others might overlook.

Mr Clement, not wishing to disturb a happy family reunion, took his leave, promising to return the next day to continue reading the excellent Mysteries of Sableville. Mrs Starling followed him out. The kitten stayed, one paw possessively stretched across Sidney’s stomach, eyeing the visitors with a mix of rigour and irritation.

“What a cute little bodyguard you have, Sidney,” Arthur beamed, offering the kitten his index finger to nibble on. “Simple, humble, country life. I like that.”

Sidney liked his little brother too much to explain that country life was often too hard and perilous to be judged through the lens of misguided romanticism only.

He quickly shifted the conversation to Sanditon and Tom’s recent plans: A luxurious midsummer ball, Arthur explained, to lure the great, the mighty, and the wealthy into town. More bathing machines. A fresh coat of colour for the buildings by the waterside. And, of course, the sensational flight of a hot air balloon.

“What?” Sidney gasped.

“A hot air balloon,” Arthur explained. “Apparently, it is an apparatus that, through some magical workings…”

“Physics,” Sidney barked. “It’s called the laws of physics. Fill a balloon with a gas lighter than air, and it will float.”

“Yes,” Arthur beamed. “That’s it exactly. Tom plans to volunteer for the trial flight but dear Mary is decidedly against it.”

“And rightly so!” Diana exclaimed. “Think of everything that might happen up there in the air!”

“Well, I expressly forbid it,” Sidney curtly said. “The whole balloon project. In fact, I clearly specified how Tom is authorised to use my funding, and it’s certainly not for blowing it all up in hot air.” How was he supposed to convalesce in peace if that was how things were going as soon as he turned his back on Sanditon?

“I told you not to mention it,” Diana promptly said to Arthur. “We must not upset our poor Sidney.”

“How is Lady Denham?” Sidney asked, trying to change the topic.

“Still ailing and bedridden.” Diana’s expression once more changed to sorrowful. “Her family have little hope of her survival.”

Sidney found that difficult to believe. Lady Denham’s personality might be challenging rather than amiable, yet her constitution had always been remarkable. It was hard to imagine her felled like a tree, life slowly oozing out of her. But then again, that was precisely what had also happened to him.

Diana had little to say on Georgiana, whom she had only met once for tea at Trafalgar House. Arthur, however, claimed that she was desperately unhappy, and very much hated her governess, Mrs Griffiths, her companions, the Misses Beaufort, the vicar, Mr Hankins, the English weather, and all people called Parker.

Sidney sighed. How were they ever to see eye to eye? His sigh turned into a groan as he remembered his messed-up attempt at dictating Charlotte Mrs Starling a letter to his ward.

“Oh, brother dear, are you unwell?” Diana immediately inched closer.

“I’m fine. I am… just dissatisfied with the general situation.”

“Of course you are! Poor Sidney! These Starling folks seem rather kind, but they are just peasants, aren’t they?”

“They are the best, kindest and wisest people I have met in a long time,” Sidney conceded.

“And they must be!” Arthur cried, now cradling the kitten in his large hand. “They are rearing our Sidney back to health, are they not? Putting up with all his dark moods, are you not, kitty?” He imitated the kitten’s purr. “They must have the souls of angels, Diana!”

“But you never know … with strangers … they might have their eyes on your money, Sidney.”

Sidney sighed, thinking he could offer Charlotte Starling his whole fortune, and yet it was not what would make her marry him.

“They are good people, Diana,” he said. “Trust me. I’ve caused them enough trouble to understand their goodness.”

But it was Arthur who convinced Diana. “That fresh bread was really the best I’ve ever tasted. - People baking such bread cannot be bad, can they, kitty cat?” he added, tickling the kitten.

As if to underline, Mrs Starling appeared to serve some tea and refreshments. Once she’d left, Diana and Arthur spent some more time chatting about this and that – this being their state of health, and that the quality of the cocoa served in Sanditon – until the farm rooster started his midday complaint, prompting Arthur to check his timepiece, and Diana to declare that they had to leave straightaway if they didn’t want to risk travelling in the dark.

With his siblings gone, Sidney leaned back to enjoy the stillness of the moment. There was only the soft flapping of the swallows returning to their nests under the roof and the kitten settling down on his chest again, lovingly licking his good hand.

There was a short knock on the door. Followed by her little chaperone Nellie, no other but Mrs Starling herself walked in, looking busy and sweet and delightful as ever. Sidney could not help but beam at her helplessly.

“While you were with your siblings, I have taken the liberty to write a letter, detailing Dr Fuchs’s actions,” she said. “I have asked your sister to deliver it to your eldest brother.”

“That was very thoughtful of you.” It was indeed – if the doctor tried his ointments on one of Tom’s beau monde guests, it could safely ruin Sanditon’s reputation - and them all. “I… umm… Mrs Starling….”

“You don’t have to thank me for last night, Mr Parker,” she said, pre-empting him. “I only did what any decent person would do have done.”

“We might disagree on that,” Sidney said with a little smile, and for the faintest split of a second, she mirrored that smile, her eyes aglow with a life he’d never seen before. Then she lowered her gaze, turned her back on him and busied herself with the flowers in the vase on the windowsill.

“We’ll have to renew these…”

“Mrs Starling – may I ask one more favour of you?”

“That certainly depends on the nature of the favour.”

“Well, I would like to continue where we left off yesterday … with the letter to my ward.”

Mrs Starling blushed; evidently, she was feeling embarrassed now about yesterday’s little quarrel. So did Sidney, but his wish to resolve the matter was more prevalent than his embarrassment.

“I wish to apologise for calling you a mere scribe. I … I … … it seems that whenever my ward comes into play, I lose my good senses. I should better make you understand my ward’s position. – Georgiana … Miss Lambe’s father owns a sugar plantation in Antigua. She’s an only child, and on her father’s death became heiress to a fortune worth 100,000 pounds.” He saw her suppress a gasp. Surely, this sum was even more fantastical for her than the 1,500 pounds he’d transferred to Tom’s account.

“Mr Lambe must have great faith and confidence in you for appointing you as his daughter’s guardian,” Mrs Starling said, her eyes resting thoughtfully on him. Sidney felt a little triumph – what irony if, of all people, it was Georgiana Lambe who made Mrs Starling improve her opinion of him.

“To be perfectly honest, I believe Mr Lambe did not have much of a choice,” he admitted. “The thing is … Georgiana … Miss Lambe’s mother was born a slave.”

“Oh.”

“Her parents’ connection would have caused quite a scandal in England, though not necessarily in Antigua where … social norms are … more relaxed … in some areas.” Now Sidney was blushing himself. It wasn’t that easy to explain to an intelligent yet somewhat innocent woman the cruel reality of masters seeking their pleasure with female slaves and the consequences – both emotionally and physically for the women involved. On the other hand, Mrs Starling had been married, so while she absolutely had an appearance of innocence and respectability, she might very well be familiar with men’s baser needs and desires. Sidney groaned: if only he understood more about her relationship with that tragically deceased husband –

“Is everything all right?” Mrs Starling, mistaking his groan for an expression of pain, leaned forward to feel his temperature. The swift touch of her fingers on his skin did little to improve Sidney’s situation.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just a moment of unease.”

“You were talking about your ward’s parents…”

“Yes. As I said, these … kinds of relationships are more accepted in Antigua than they would be here. Mr Lambe was very fond of his daughter and determined to give her the best life possible. Which ultimately meant writing his English sister and nephew out of his will and leaving everything to Georgiana.”

“Is that why you became her guardian? Because Mr Lambe didn’t trust his English family?”

“I think so. There’s a nephew who likes to gamble too much and certainly had an eye on his uncle’s estate. – The challenge with Georgiana is that with any man who courts her, there’ll be her fortune looming over them and the question of whether he courts her – or her money.”

“I see,” Mrs Starling said. “And I suppose the fact that she is a slave woman’s daughter only adds to the difficulties.”

“It does indeed. Georgiana is a clever girl; she does realise that the same people who smile and bow to her now would treat her with the utmost contempt were it not for the 100,000.”

“And how different Antigua must be from England,” Mrs Starling mused. “I gather there is forever sunshine, nothing to be compared to our forever grey. – She must be freezing all year through, poor thing.”

“Well, she hates England with all possible fervour. And she hates me too, of course.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She really was; Sidney saw it in her furrowed brow and the sorrowful expression in her beautiful eyes. She was too full of goodness to harbour such an ugly feeling as hate, he realised. Again, he felt something switch inside him, like a clockwork that was carefully corrected in its course.

“Mr Parker?”

“Yes. I apologise; I was absent-minded for a moment. I … I have meant to say … after our previous conversation about Georgiana, I understood that you were right …”

“I was right?”

“As you very well know, Mrs Starling,” he confirmed with a meek grin. “My approach of writing to Georgiana was that of a pompous fool. What she needed was the advice of an elder brother or the wisdom of an elder sister.”

“So, no more piano and embroidery when we continue that letter?”

“No more of that,” Sidney agreed, pleased to hear that she intended to continue their writing collaboration. “I… umm, I was actually going to ask you … if that is not too much … I was wondering whether … umm, you might be persuaded to act as that wise elder sister.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“That letter I have to write to Georgiana … I was thinking I might cover the part that relates to matters of business and the guardianship and then hand over to you, introducing you as someone who understands Georgiana’s cares on a level I never could.”

“You want me to correspond with your ward?”

“Yes,” Sidney said. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

Mrs Starling thought for a moment. Sidney bit his lip, watching her anxiously. If she managed to establish a bond with Georgiana (and he had little doubt she would), this would connect them to the time beyond his healing, to when he was back in London or Sanditon. It was essential to keep that connection, he felt. He didn’t want Mrs Starling to walk out of his life once he was standing on his feet again.

Mrs Starling had finished thinking. She nodded gravely. “Well then,” she said.

“Well then,” Sidney agreed.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Previously...

Sidney, recovering from Dr Fuchs’s treatment, receives a visit from Arthur and Diana who relay news from Sanditon: Lady Denham is still on her deathbed, and Tom is busy blowing up Sidney’s money in hot air (so actually no news, but business as usual).

Later Sidney explains his relationship with the Lambe family to Mrs Starling. He asks her to start a correspondence with Georgiana, receiving general praise from the readership for this clever move to stay in touch with her beyond his convalescence in Willingden.

🎩

Sidney was taking an afternoon nap – the most agreeable nap ever. In his dreams, he was crossing the dance floor under the grand chandelier of the Sanditon Assembly Rooms with none other but Mrs Starling herself in his arms. She was looking all lovely and radiant in a beautiful light blue silk gown, her eyes shining with happiness and affection whenever their gazes locked. And the dance required many moments of their gazes locking.

And not only their gazes locking: A gentle touch here to send her into a spin, a soft brush down her back to make sure she kept her back straight, a careful nudge to correct their positions, her hand trustingly folding into his … it was the sweetest and yet most rewarding torture and in any case the most beautiful dance of his life. He didn’t want it to end.

Something wet and furry was rubbed against his chin, followed by the happy purr of his little kitten friend.

Sidney sighed, realising he was no longer in the realm of his dreams but not quite ready to face reality either. As the kitten rolled into its favourite position, warming his chest, Sidney left the splendour of the Sanditon Assembly Rooms behind and returned to those real and happy moments he had spent with Mrs Starling composing the letter to Georgiana. He felt they’d worked well together and that the letter, in the end, contained all he wanted and needed to say to his troubled ward. Once it was sealed, young Timmy carried it to the vicarage for Mr Clement to post.

Mrs Starling. His mind lingered over something he had been thinking when telling her about Georgiana’s family: that she had been married. She was not a stranger to a man’s needs and desires, other than all those young ladies chaperoned by their mamas and kept as wide away from the reality of physical passion as possible. Somehow, the idea that Charlotte… Mrs Starling was no little Miss Innocence only increased his desire for her. – Or had hers been a sham marriage, cousins wed to solve their families’ problems, with no physical attraction whatsoever? There were no children, and beyond being “nice”, that poor dead husband of hers seemed to have possessed no discernible character traits.

The only way to find out was by seducing her. Given his present physical state, Sidney had to admit that was easier said than done. Seduction was also not quite in line with those odd feelings that overcame him whenever Mrs Starling wandered into his mind. He absolutely wanted to know what it would feel like to have her moaning with pleasure in his arms. But he also wanted to wake up in the morning and see her standing by the window, smelling the flowers in the vase, the sun filtering in through the muslin curtains, a ray of light caressing her freckles and illuminating her tumbling curls. He wanted her to turn and look at him and smile when she found him gazing at her.

If seduction wasn’t the solution, perhaps courtship was? But how to court (or seduce) a woman when one was bedridden and unable to hold a pen, let alone use a chamber pot without help? And would Charlotte Mrs Starling want to be courted? Or seduced, for that matter? Perhaps she was quite happy with her life as it was, organising the farm, taking care of her grandfather and her husband’s orphaned siblings, reading architecture books and learning everything about the fascinating topic of North European Brick Gothic.

Perhaps –

There was a soft knock on the door, and who would come in but the object of Sidney’s interest herself, Charlotte Starling, her presence charming him into a somewhat foolish grin.

“Mrs Starling…” He tried to prop himself up on his left elbow, sending the protesting kitten in a slide down his chest.

“Good afternoon, Mr Parker.” Her faithful chaperones, Timmy and Nellie, followed her, the boy carrying a wooden box. “You missed a visit from my father. He brought his chess set. – You play chess, do you not?”

“I do,” Sidney agreed - though for the lack of a partner maybe not as frequently as he used to in his days in Antigua with Mr Lambe. “And what about you?” he added, smiling at her in a way he believed might be flirtatious.

“Oh no.” Mrs Starling shook her head, unimpressed. “I’m hopeless when it comes to chess, I’m afraid. Papa always says I’m too kind; I try too much to protect my chess pieces rather than use or sacrifice them for the greater good.”

“Well, I’ll gladly teach you to play a bit bolder.” Sidney grinned, feeling quite bold himself.

Mrs Starling chuckled softly. “I don’t have much time for boardgames, I’m afraid. But I thought you might teach Timmy here.” She looked around for the boy who was busy tickling the kitten. “You’ll do something useful and occupy your mind.”

“Of course,” Sidney said, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Very good. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Timmy, it turned out, was an intelligent boy who learned the game’s rules quickly and with joy. Sidney used the opportunity to inquire about his education, which consisted mostly of what Mrs Starling was teaching him and his sister. It was definitely enough to read and write, do basic mathematics and understand a bit of history, geography and the rules of a chess game. Probably, that was all a boy needed who would take over the family farm one not-so-distant day. Yet Sidney could not help but feel that something was missing, that the boy deserved more than the predestined life on the farm, continuing what his family had been doing for decades, if not centuries. Sanditon: Sanditon and Tom’s schemes (failing as they often were) were all about improving oneself and the world. Sanditon was where young Timmy would find a better future and a much more exciting perspective than in Willingden. Sleepy little Willingden, where nothing ever happened, and where a stranger who broke his leg in a thunderstorm was the most exciting event in years.

🎩

Over the next few days, a certain routine developed: In the mornings, while the Starling family was busy tending to the farm, Sidney was mainly left to his own devices, reading, daydreaming , thinking, and composing angry letters to Tom he’d never ask Charlotte… Mrs Starling to write. Occasionally, the vicar Mr Clement would drive up in his curricle and share a bit of gossip and a new chapter of the increasingly dramatic Mysteries of Sableville . Some time after midday, young Timmy would enter Sidney’s chamber, Mr Heywood’s French chess set under his arm. He was usually followed by Nellie, carrying a fresh jug of water. The children settled down, Timmy by his bedside, Nellie a little further apart, playing with the kitten.

As Sidney explained moves and tactics, he could not help but touch on more subjects than chess. The boy was eager to learn, and as quickly he sucked in whatever Sidney had to tell him about chess, he was even more curious about Sidney’s travels, about Antigua and Madeira, about tall ships and giant sea serpents (to Timmy’s disappointment, Sidney never encountered any), about turtles, dolphins and crocodiles (“Never encountered any either,” Sidney had to admit).

Mrs Starling joined them in the afternoon. Sidney could tell her days were busy and tiring, even though she never complained. Her demeanour was kind and helpful towards everyone and full of motherly care towards the children. With Sidney, she was polite and attentive, always thinking a few steps ahead when it came to his healing. She continued to help him handle his correspondence, and these moments, he quietly had to admit to himself, were the best hours of the whole day: when she was sitting so close to him, fully concentrating on what he had to say, writing it all down in her neat and harmonious handwriting. Sidney wasn’t going to fool anyone: He relished these moments, quietly searching for ways to extend Mrs Starling’s stay by his side. One of them was to put more care and attention than ever before in his correspondence with Georgiana who in turn began to react more kindly to her guardian’s writings.

“We’ll have to do something to get you out of bed, Mr Parker,” Mrs Starling said one day when Mr Clement had just arrived for his visit. “You’ll get sore and lazy otherwise.”

Sidney fully agreed, yet there was still the fact that he had a broken leg and just one working hand at his disposition. As much as he wished to make himself useful and show Mrs Starling that he was anything but a spoiled boy, he did not see how he could do anything more sophisticated than teaching chess and cuddling the cat.

“We’ll think of something,” Mrs Sterling said, and Mrs Starling being who she was, Sidney had little doubt that she would.

“But until then, we’ll indulge ourselves in another chapter of The Mysteries of Sableville,” Mr Clement announced. “I think it is not a spoiler if I say that today’s instalment will deal with the overdue denouement of that vicious con artist, Gilderoy Heartlock.”

“Very good,” Sidney said. While the antics of the dashing Melbourne and his lovely Lady Lotta failed to impress him, he was somewhat invested in this particular storyline about a scoundrel trying to scam a wealthy young lady out of her fortune. Fantastical as Mrs Anthony’s writing usually was, this part of the plot rang eerily true to what he was experiencing with Georgiana.

As always, Mr Clement made a bit of a show when settling down in the armchair, straightening his collar, and opening the book on the correct page. Mrs Starling, meanwhile, took her usual care of arranging the muslin curtains and renewing the water in the flower vases, perhaps lingering by them a little longer than strictly necessary, perhaps because –

There was some unusual hustle and bustle outside, and before Sidney had guessed which illustrious member of his family might join them now, there was a quick knock on the door, followed by Mr Starling poking his head in. “There’s another one of these doctors, Mr Parker,” he said. “Says he’s been dispatched by your sister. Are you in a mood to receive them?”

Who needed a doctor when they had Mrs Starling? Sidney sighed, but seeing that this new doctor was Diana’s doing, he found no reason to object. In fact, it would have been unkind to turn down her kind interest in his wellbeing. “Thank you, Mr Starling, let him in,” he said, and into the room marched a relatively young man of medium height with a head of carefully coiffed brown curls and overlong sideburns. For a doctor, he looked surprisingly fashionable.

“Mr Parker,” he said, bowing deeply to everyone in the small space of the now quite cramped chamber. “May I present myself: Dr Mabuse of the Wiesbaden University.” The doctor spoke with a very pronounced German accent – an accent that made the kitten hiss, buckle and jump off the bed. “Your sister has apprised me fully of your condition, sir, and I feel confident to say that with my renowned expertise in healing any disease from measles to taptikliditis, I shall be able to relieve you of your pains.”

“Mr Parker has no fancy illness but a broken leg,” Mrs Starling remarked.

“Very good, madam, very good.” The doctor bowed even more and caressed his sideburns. “As a physician, I always favour a wholistic approach.”

Sidney shook his head; naturally, this self-important braggart, with his exaggerated speech and smug demeanour, had appealed to Diana and her many ailments. He didn’t appeal to him, though.

“Oh dear,” poor Mr Clement murmured, blanching considerably at the sight of the doctor’s leather case.

“May I inspect the limbs in question?” Dr Mabuse asked.

“As long as you don’t intend to apply more smelly ointments,” Sidney agreed, removing the blanket. Under the wary eye of Mrs Starling, the doctor unceremoniously peeled off the bandages she had so carefully applied, dropping them to the ground.

“I see.” Dr Mabuse stroked his sideburns, nodding at the sight of Sidney’s broken leg. “I see. What a work of art this is …” He touched a bruise beneath the knee that had turned lilac over the healing process, leaving Sidney (and poor emphatic Mr Clement) wincing with pain. “A pattern of all colours of a painter’s palette …”

“Did you say Wiesbaden?” Mrs Starling interrupted his thoughtful stare at Sidney’s wounds.

“Excuse me?”

“Wiesbaden,” Mrs Starling repeated. “That is where you studied?”

“Indeed, I did. Under the renowned physician Dr Justinus Jung, an expert in healing all mortal ailments.” Dr Mabuse continued fondling his sideburns.

“Well, I think Mr Parker’s leg is more a case for a skilled surgeon,” Mrs Starling said. “But Wiesbaden… That beautiful Brick Gothic cathedral!”

“Excuse me?”

“The cathedral?” Mrs Starling repeated. “The greatest masterpiece of the German Brick Gothic.” She sighed dreamily. “I have been so longing to see it with my own eyes. How I envy you.”

“Yes.” The doctor stopped stroking his sideburns. “Yes. Surely a fascinating subject if one is into architecture. Now I am, of course, more of an expert in the architecture of the human body…”

“Of course,” Mrs Starling said.

“And I suggest that for the continuation of the consultation, you better leave the room, madam. This might not be a sight for ladies.”

“Mrs Starling has looked after me expertly,” Sidney said. “I want her to stay.”

“I don’t think…,” the doctor began.

“But I do,” Sidney insisted. “So, what is your verdict, doctor, and how do you intend to help me?”

“I… umm.” Dr Mabuse fondled his sideburns again, yet apparently not so much for pleasure but for mental support. “As I said, I favour a wholistic healing approach. Your leg might be tended to, but we must also focus on the internal juices draining from your wounds, thereby soiling, weakening and poisoning your body, sir.”

“Ugh,” Mr Clement looked very uncomfortable, holding tight to The Mysteries of Sableville. “That sounds very grim.”

“Not if we act swiftly and hinder the dispersion of such evil fluids.” The doctor opened his leather case and took out a small kidney-shaped basin, a tiny knife and some more sinister-looking instruments.

“Oh dear.” Mr Clement blanched. “I’m fainting already.”

“Relieving you of some of your weakened blood will ultimately speed up the healing process, Mr Parker,” Dr Mabuse told Sidney.

“Is that really necessary?” Mr Starling asked, frowning heavily. “I’ve seen many a broken limb in my time, and Mr Parker’s leg has been healing well so far.”

“Do you doubt my expertise?” Dr Mabuse’s tone was sharp as he cast an angry glance at the old farmer, the German accent quite gone from his voice.

“Of course not, but …”

“I do.” Mrs Starling stepped forward, hands on her hips, her plush lips an angry line, her eyes burning with a fire Sidney found both exhilarating and frightening. “I doubt everything about you, sir, including your studies, your expertise and your accent.”

“You are very forward in your judgment, Miss …”

“ Mrs Starling. And you are very fantastical in your storytelling.” Wedging her slender body between Sidney and the doctor, she added, “There is no Brick Gothic cathedral in Wiesbaden. You would know that if you’d studied there. I suggest you remove your ugly instruments and your deceitful self from our premises before we inform the justice of the peace of your doings.”

Now, the doctor blanched.

“Did you not hear my granddaughter?” Mr Starling barked. “Do I have to add that she knows how to handle a shotgun?”

“I… I…”

“Shotgun,” the old farmer repeated. “And she’s not afraid to use it.”

Casting quick glances around and finding only angry eyes staring at him, the man packed up his leather bag and rushed from the room, followed by a livid Mr Starling: “I’ll make sure he doesn’t steal the children’s christening cups.”

“I say,” Mr Clement mumbled into the ensuing silence, “that man was just like a villain from the Mysteries of Sableville. Mrs Anthony could not have written him any better.”

Sidney stared at Mrs Starling, who smoothed down her apron and breathed out, releasing her tension. “Thank you,” he softly said.

She gave him a kind little smile. “You are leading a very dangerous life, Mr Parker. Doctors lining up to torture you while you’re helpless and bedridden – I wonder what they might do to stop you if you were fit and out and about.”

“Fact is, I never had to see a doctor until I came to Willingden,” Sidney said, but whatever Mrs Starling wanted to reply was muted by the goat bleating angrily, mingled with a cacophony of shouts and cries.

“What is that?” Mr Clement asked.

Mrs Starling hurried by the window and drew back the curtain. “Oh dear,” she laughed (the laughter illuminating her face in a way that made Sidney feel all warm and fuzzy). “Grandfather has let loose the goat, and it’s chasing that horrible man across the yard … oh.” A particularly upset cry followed. “Now he’s landed in the dung heap.”

“That’s right where he belongs, if you may forgive me such unchristian sentiments,” Mr Clement decided.

“There’s nothing unchristian about a villain getting what he deserves,” Mrs Starling decreed.

Sidney agreed, yet he could not help but wonder whether the fake doctor’s visit was just a coincidence … or part of a bigger plan he did not yet understand.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Previously ...

Mrs Starling engages Sidney in teaching Timmy chess. Another physician, Dr Mabuse, shows up in Willingden, sent by Diana to take care of her brother. However, Mrs Starling quickly discovers that his healing methods are as fake as his accent. Is there some sinister plan at work to get rid of Sidney?

🎩

They were walking, walking into the orange haze of the setting sun, the mudflats aglow with warm and golden light, the sea a distant silver beam. Sidney was holding his hat by the brim, glad to have something to hold on to as the soft breeze caught in his curls and Charlotte Starling cast him the swiftest of all glances, a tiny smile hidden in the corners of her mouth.

They had easily fallen into step. Now, she walked beside him, and he could not have been happier. Occasionally (and with the excitement of someone who’d never been to the sea before), she bent down to pick up a whitewashed shell or a polished pebble and pocketed the treasure in her reticule. They’d adorn her windowsill in Trafalgar House and, in days to come, would serve as reminders of those precious, carefree moments by the sea.

A giant herring gull landed in a saltwater puddle right in front of them and made a bit of a show about spreading its silver wings and rubbing its yellow beacon in its plumage.

“What a handsome little fellow,” Charlotte said, smiling sweetly at the bird that only got more agitated. Sidney felt a pang of jealousy. - Wait, wait, wait, wait … jealousy? For a silly bird? What was wrong with him? What … was …

Sidney sat up, wide awake now. He was not in Sanditon or crossing the mudflats with Charlotte Starling by his side. The only handsome little fellow close by was the grey and white kitten sitting on his stomach, eagerly licking its tiny pink paws.

Outside, the goat started its daily serenade of bleating. Sidney put the pillow over his head and groaned in desperation. Would he ever return to his normal life? – And, more importantly, did he want to return to the life he’d led before? A life of always buzzing around, here, there and everywhere, yet at home: nowhere. A life of superficial acquaintances and friendships that never went beyond drinking, gambling and boxing. A family that took him for granted – and always took more from him than they returned. An existence in mental solitude and loneliness, devoid of a partner, an equal he could open up to without being judged, without being valued only for the advantages he might deliver.

And now there was Mrs Starling, Charlotte, this lovely ray of sunshine who listened to him, argued with him, defended him, worked with him, cared for him – without ever asking anything in return. Who made him happy through her sheer presence - and didn’t seem to realise that either.

Sidney sighed, reaching for the architecture book. Oh, the powerful distraction the secret of a vaulted ceiling in a Brick Gothic church could deliver! He tried to memorise all the details, hoping to impress Mrs Starling with his new knowledge at some later stage.

Leah came, serving him his breakfast. The maid always spoke little but told him that everyone was very busy today, preparing for the haymaking that would start in two or three days, weather permitting. Once more, Sidney groaned in frustration. How he wished he could support the Starling family in this hard but essential task … Yet here he was, still unable to stand on his own feet without help or simply write a letter without a scribe lovely Mrs Starling holding the pen for him.

Outside, the goat continued its atonal morning song, the swallows flitted in and out of their nests under the roof, and the summer sun sent friendly beams through the window. The smell of freshly baked bread oozed through the old farmhouse, echoes of a distant conversation reached up to him, and ancient floorboards creaked under … Sidney listened up. There was no mistaking; it was the clatter of urgent feet coming closer. Not another miracle doctor, please, he thought, grunting at the memory of Dr Mabuse’s attempt to bleed him.

It was no doctor but old Mr Starling who knocked on the door, somewhat out of breath. “Forgive me the intrusion, sir,” he said, handing Sidney two visiting cards. “Do you happen to know these gentlemen?”

Sidney took the cards with his good hand. Lord Babington, the first one read, and the second: Mr Francis Crowe. “Yes,” he confirmed, somewhat surprised. “They are my London friends.”

“What a relief.” Mr Starling wiped his brow. “For they are currently held at gunpoint by my granddaughter, and she swears she will not let anyone come near you who cannot identify themselves as family or friend.”

“That is … very considerate,” was the best Sidney could utter, the image of Mrs Starling angrily wielding a gun at Babington and Crowe taking his breath away.

“Well,” Mr Starling said, “I’ll let the gentlemen come up and see you if you wish to see them, that is.”

“I do,” Sidney confirmed, “I absolutely do.”

A few moments later, there was more noise in the corridor, and the door was opened again. Francis Crowe and Babs Babington marched in – the former grinning broadly, the latter looking concerned, both filling the small room with their presence. “Parker!” Crowe exclaimed. “I say! What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Good to see you,” Sidney said, and it really was - such a flashback to normality in his upturned life!

“I’m so glad you’re alive, Parker!” Babington exclaimed, wiping a tear from his eyes and grabbing Sidney’s free hand. “After the reports we received, we presumed you dead … or at least close to it.”

“And you certainly look the part,” Crowe confirmed, frowning at Sidney’s bandages. “But more to the point: What is this place? And who is that woman who guards you with a shotgun? You haven’t been naughty, have you?”

“He’s hardly in the state of being naughty,” Babington said, always the more sensible of the two. “A broken leg… broken fingers… thank the Lord it’s not a broken neck.”

Sidney gave a short account of how he’d ended up in Willingden, misdirected by Tom’s mix-up of the two places of the same name, how …

“Oh, look! Who’s that?” Babington was getting all sweet and giddy as the kitten popped its head out from under Sidney’s blanket to inspect the newcomers.

“Kitten,” Sidney said. “Meet Crowe and Babington.”

“Miaow.” The kitten climbed up Sidney’s chest and lovingly licked his stubbly chin.

Crowe raised his eyebrows. “You’ve gained quite the followership, Parker. – That spunky young lady with the gun … this four-pawed charmer …”

“And what a charmer it is!” Babington tickled the kitten, smiling as it purred and rubbed its head against his hand.

Sidney grimaced at the sight. Was he actually feeling jealous because a baby kitten switched its sympathies too quickly? Nonsense. He harrumphed. Shooting both Babington and the kitten an angry glance, he asked, “Shall we play, or shall we talk?”

“Talk.” Crowe was helping himself to a generous swig from his hip flask. “Don’t play with anything that has claws, Babbers, however tiny.”

Satisfied, Sidney continued to explain how his horse had shied in the thunderstorm (he shortened this part of the tale, leaving out his general frustration at everything in his life), how the shepherd had found him and Mrs Starling kindly taken care of his injuries – and, basically, his life.

“Mrs Starling!” Crowe exclaimed, saluting her in absence with his flask. “She’s married, then? I bet she’s as fiery in…”

“Stop it, Crowe,” Sidney sharply said. “Don’t even think about it.” The kitten hissed.

Crowe raised his hands. “All right. No reason to get all shirty about it, Parker. I was just wondering whether she might be amenable to some private… conversation.”

“Only if you want to be held at gunpoint again,” Sidney said, clenching his fists.

“This is an excellent place to recuperate,” Babington announced, checking the view, sniffing at the flowers on the windowsill, and even testing the bedlinen between his fingers. “Are they feeding you well, Sidney?”

“No complaints,” Sidney said. And, hoping to move the conversation away from him and his hosts, “Have you been to Sanditon now? How was it?”

“Oh!” Crowe gave the rather dramatic impression of a fainting fit. “Sanditon! Must be the most overrated place in the world. I can’t wait to get back to civilisation. No company to speak of, no one to carouse with, no fun, no entertainment, nowhere to drink but in that dingy bar. Yet still, Babbers here managed to fall in love.”

Someone giggled. It wasn’t Sidney, and it wasn’t one of his friends either. As the giggling grew louder, Sidney pointed at the door which stood ajar, and with one quick movement, Crowe produced first Timmy, then Nellie Starling, the latter clutching her cricket bat. “More followers, Parker?”

Sidney incredulously stared at the children. “Are you eavesdropping?”.

Timmy vigorously shook his head. “Not strictly, sir. We were making sure these gentlemen would not try to poison you. Or stab you. Or bleed you to death. Also, Grandfather said one of them was a lordship. We’ve never seen a lordship before, so we thought we might catch a glimpse. – It is a bit of a letdown, though. We expected someone wearing a stuffy wig and wielding a sword.”

“Oh, better don’t give Babbers a sword,” Crowe howled. “He would only fall on it.”

“Please don’t mention this to Charlotte, Mr Parker,” Timmy pleaded, large eyes begging Sidney. “She would be very disappointed in us.”

“And rightly so,” Sidney confirmed.

“Charlotte,” Babington beamed. “What a lovely name. Is she your sister?”

“We are cousins, my lord,” Timmy said, more confident now. “But she’s also our sister-in-law.”

“You need a chart to understand the family relations,” Sidney told his friends. “However. Timmy, Nellie, I expect you to leave me alone with my guests now.”

“Aye, Mr Parker. And please, sir, we do apologise.”

“Nice young fellow,” Crowe said after the children had firmly closed the door behind them. “Charlotte, eh?” He blinked at Sidney.

“Mrs Starling,” Sidney stoically repeated. “Now, Babington, what is it about you falling in love in Sanditon?”

Falling in love in Sanditon wasn’t that surprising, though – after all, Sidney had managed to fall in love while confined to a bed chamber on a farmstead. A seaside resort with cliff-top walks, sandy beaches and a resplendent ballroom offered far more opportunity.

Babington blushed but grinned happily. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

“No, because other than that woman, most ladies of your acquaintance tend to react to your flirting or at least behave civilly,” Crowe mumbled, searching for his hip flask again.

Babington smiled the knowing smile of a true connoisseur. “Ah, she’s just deliciously disdainful.”

“Who?” Sidney was genuinely curious now.

“Miss Denham,” Babington said, looking quite befuddled.

Sidney tried to keep his expression under control: haughty Esther Denham, Lady D’s niece, one of the three fighting over her ladyship’s fortune… and as far as he knew, her brother, Sir Edward, was immensely protective of her.

Sidney didn’t want his friend to get mixed up in the poisonous pitfall that the Denham clan was. “Her family has quite a reputation,” he warned.

“I know,” Babington said. “Yet I have every reason to believe that her disdain only masks a much more sensitive nature.”

Crowe rolled his eyes, but Sidney remembered something else. “Is Lady Denham no longer on the deathbed then? Tom gave me a rather dramatic account of her state.”

“They still fear for her life,” Babington conceded. Crowe huffed.

“Bah, if you ask me, the old crow is just pretending. She’s secretly watching as her heirs incriminate each other and just waiting for the moment to disinherit them all and leave her money to a donkey sanctuary.”

“As my wife, Miss Denham will not need her aunt’s money,” Babington said.

“Wife!” Crowe cried. “You cannot even make the woman greet you civilly, yet we’re talking about wives?”

“Sometimes, arrogance is only a defence mechanism to mask great tenderness,” Babington insisted.

“Ugh.” Crowe shook his curly head. “Who are you, and what happened to dear old Babbers?”

“Gentlemen.” Sidney did not want to dive deeper into Babington’s romantic antics – not with his own romantic ambitions so entirely and hopelessly unresolved. “I need your honest feedback. How is my brother’s mood? He doesn’t handle pressure well…”

“Mr Tom Parker?” Crowe said. “Oh, excellent. Splendid, I should say. Bursting with ideas…”

“He plans to bring a militia regiment to Sanditon,” Babington eagerly supplied. “That will bring life and revenue to the town, he believes.”

Sidney groaned, tempted to bang his head against the bed’s headboard. A militia regiment! Would Tom ever learn? Vain officers in dashing red coats, breaking hearts wherever they went, leaving unpaid bills with the local tradesmen in their wake – and gambling debts with even smaller hope of settlement.

“You don’t like the idea?” Babington asked. “I thought it’s a rather ingenious plan to blow life into the town.”

“It’s a rather ingenious way to ruin us all,” Sidney mumbled. But then again, this wild venture of Tom’s gave him just another perfect pretence for engaging Mrs Starling as his scribe. Eloquent as ever, she would find the right words to put his overzealous brother into place …

Crowe and Babington stayed a little longer, exchanging some chit-chat and banter about the latest gossip from London – the never-ending saga of the former Prince Regent – now King – trying to divorce his wife, the usual little scandals and affairs that spiced up society life, Mrs Campion’s latest admirer…

“She has an admirer?” Sidney asked, feeling relief wash through him. The memory of their last awkward encounter at Vauxhall’s was still fresh in his mind, with Mrs C falling into his arms again and again during their dance – and always against the dance’s requirements.

“Oh yes, some artsy fellow,” Crowe said. “Can’t remember his name – much younger than her. Sniffing out the money if you ask me.”

“Hm.” This information didn’t sit well with Sidney. He didn’t want to engage with Mrs C – but he didn’t want her fleeced by some fortune hunter either. Then again, she was a grown-up woman and largely independent, thanks to the money her husband had left her. So, if she wanted to be seduced by a younger man, that was a destiny very much of her own making. He, for one, would concentrate on courting Charlotte Starling – a far more pleasant task.

Soon after his friends had said their goodbyes, the lady herself appeared, carrying her portable writing desk, and as always, followed by Nellie, her faithful chaperone.

“Mr Crowe told me you had another letter to dictate,” she said as the little girl settled down to play with the kitten.

“Yes. It’s to my brother Tom - very urgent.” Sidney tried not to grin too stupidly as she opened her desk. He felt nothing but delight with her close.

“Oh dear.” Mrs Starling sharpened her pen. “What has he done now?”

“He’s planning to bring a militia regiment to Sanditon.”

“And that is a bad thing?”

“At first sight, no. It will boost the economy and improve society.”

“And at second sight?” Of course, no one had ever considered bringing a militia regiment to Willingden. It was a new idea, and Sidney understood that she loved novelties.

“Unsettled debts and hastily arranged marriages.”

“I see.” She thought about this for a moment. “So, like most desperate people, your brother only plans in the short term.”

“Yes,” Sidney agreed, watching her lining the writing paper. “I must owe you a fortune in ink and writing materials,” he realised.

“You do,” Mrs Starling confirmed. “But then again, it’s interesting to help with a correspondence about business rather than family banter.”

Yet I must reimburse her, Sidney thought. And I will. Then, he dictated his letter to Tom, expressly forbidding the regiment’s arrival and reminding him how his latest loan was supposed to be used. Mrs Starling wrote it all down, here and there suggesting a different wording to increase the urgency of the matter. Sidney could not help but wonder what it would be like to share his businesses with her, to make her the soul of the ventures that, so far, were guided mainly by his calculating mind.

He realised that she had stopped writing and was watching him instead, her eyes shining with curiosity. “What is it?” he asked.

“I was only wondering… is Sanditon really the great place your brother describes? The freshest of sea breezes?”

“It has its charms,” Sidney conceded, trying to judge his hometown from an outsider’s viewpoint. “The beach is certainly a marvel, but the town itself … well, in most parts, it’s more a fishing village than a town – and not necessarily a very picturesque fishing village. Tom’s main activity is to tear down the old structures to make space for new terraces for his desired clientele.”

“A place in a state of transformation, then?” Mrs Starling suggested.

“Yes. But as with all transformation, we have to find out whether it’s really for the better, and we have to overcome those opposed to our endeavours.”

“The famous Lady Denham?”

“She’s actually Tom’s main investor, but she keeps threatening him with withdrawing her funds.” Sidney sighed, thinking of the intricate web that tied his brother to her capricious ladyship. “Now, if she dies and the money reverts to her nephew, Sir Edward, there’s a real danger the investment will be withdrawn. He’s… not exactly known as a long-term thinker.” Or any thinker at all, Sidney added for himself.

Mrs Starling furrowed her beautiful brow. “They don’t sound like a very pleasant family.”

“They are not. A greedy lot of people, but with Lady Denham being the great lady of the neighbourhood, difficult to ignore.”

She thought about this for a moment until she finally asked, “So, has your family been settling in Sanditon for long?” “

Sidney could barely hide his smile. “They’ve been holding landed property at Sanditon for four or three generations. One of my forefathers built a fine house outside the village, where my siblings and I were born and bred, and Tom and his family lived until Trafalgar House was finished.”

“I see,” Mrs Starling said, quietly returning to her writing task.

Sidney would have liked to add more, but he could see that what he had divulged about his family had left her thinking, and he didn’t want to irritate her. When she’d finished the letter, she asked whether he’d allow her to add a page for Miss Lambe, and he more than happily did. Georgiana, he felt, could have no better confidante than Mrs Starling.

“Very well,” she said. “When I’ve written to Miss Lambe, I’ll have Timmy carry the letter over to the vicarage.”

“Thank you, Mrs Starling.” There were quite a few more things he longed to say: how much he valued the time they spent writing letters, how much he enjoyed her quiet yet so very pleasant company, how he longed to touch her hand, how he loved to lose himself in the depth of her warm gaze … but knowing that none of it was appropriate, he kept quiet, playing through the conversation only in his mind.

Mrs Starling, busy collecting her writing tools, didn’t seem to notice. “Do you look forward to the haymaking then?” she said, closing the lid of her portable writing desk. “You’ll finally come out of this chamber.”

“I don’t see how I could be useful to you there. I can neither walk nor use my hands.”

“But you can blink into the sunlight and breathe our fresh air.” Mrs Starling, all sunlight herself, smiled. “Even though you might find our Willingden air not half as fine as your Sanditon sea breeze.”

I’ll gladly breathe any air, madam, Sidney thought, as long as we breathe it together. – But that was just another daydream. For the moment, all his hopes rested on the haymaking. It couldn’t start soon enough.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Previously…

Even being held at gunpoint by Mrs Starling doesn’t deter Babington and Crowe from seeing their friend Sidney. They deliver important news: Tom plans to invite a militia regiment to lure in more visitors and investors. Sidney, however, is strictly opposed to this new scheme and seizes another opportunity to employ Mrs Starling as an assistant for his correspondence.

Meanwhile, the Starling family faces the challenges of the annual haymaking.

🎩

As the weather remained dry but not too hot with no signs of rain, haymaking began two days after Babington and Crowe visited. Shortly after sunrise, the kind and strong but somewhat smelly farmhand, Ham, appeared to help Sidney get up and dress in a fresh linen shirt and old-fashioned breeches on loan from Mr Starling. A little later, Mrs Starling arrived, accompanied by a dark-haired lad of sixteen or seventeen years whom she introduced as Daniel Heywood, her brother, come to help with the haymaking – and with getting Sidney downstairs. This was quite a manoeuvre, as he had been bedridden for so long and still couldn’t put any strain on the broken leg. However, several expletives (Sidney) and some encouragement (Mrs Starling) later, they had him downstairs and loaded on the back seat of the hay wagon, ready to accompany the Starling family, their farmhands and some more helpful Heywood children to the farm’s hayfield.

Timmy, Nellie, the younger Heywood children and several baskets with provisions joined Sidney on the wagon as a team of oxen pulled the vehicle away and down a rough road towards the farm’s hay meadow. Mrs Starling followed them with her grandfather, the farmhands and the elder Heywood children. The women were carrying rakes, and the men scythes, the sharp halfmoon-shaped blades glistening in the early sun. Everyone was chatting about today’s task: Would the weather hold? And the work tools? Would they finish cutting the whole field in one morning?

Sidney listened to their banter and to the sounds of the awakening fields around them. He blinked into the yellow morning haze and watched the blue and red carpet of cornflowers and poppies by the field sway gently in the breeze. A busy lark sang its early song, accompanied by a flock of sheep in the distance.

At the hay meadow, the wagon dropped Sidney by a little stream under the canopy of a mighty chestnut tree. The baskets full of food were unloaded, bottles placed in the cold water of the small stream, and a blanket spread on the ground to make Sidney sit comfortably against the tree trunk.

“I feel so useless,” he grumbled when Mrs Starling handed him a battered straw hat to protect him from the sun. “Everyone’s working hard…”

“Everyone has healthy limbs and two feet they can stand on,” Mrs Starling firmly replied, looking for the breadbasket. “You can return next summer and do your share.”

He ruefully bit his lip, not telling her that he absolutely intended to spend the following summer with her, preferably somewhere far away from both Sanditon and Willingden, holding her, kissing her, making love to her, making her-

“Oh, look at that! What a saucy little fellow!” Mrs Starling, hands on her hips, was trying to hide her laughter while sending a stern look at the kitten that came climbing out of one of the food baskets as if that was its proper home. She scooped the tiny fluffball up and tickled it under the chin. “Can you not stay away from your Mr Parker for one little day?”

“Miaow,” the kitten said, freed itself from Mrs Starling’s grip and marched over to Sidney to lick his hand and rub its grey and white head against his good ankle.

Mrs Starling shook her head. “I can see you’re in fine company then.”

“Me? Or the kitten?” Sidney inquired, managing a very innocent smile. Mrs Starling laughed and walked away to join the other haymakers.

The wagon was parked in the middle of the field now, and Mr Starling, standing on the platform, was giving instructions. The men would cut the grass, and the women and children would follow, turning the grass over and raking it together to make it dry in the sun.

There was indeed nothing to do for Sidney but to stroke the kitten and read the architecture book he had brought along. In the field, he saw Mrs Starling showing Nellie how to hold the rake. She had taken off her light wool spencer and her bonnet, and the sun, that treacherous ally, played hide and seek in the folds of her simple white dress as she moved about.

Sidney sighed, trying hard to distract himself with another fascinating chapter of the architecture book, this one dealing with the painted houses of the Swiss Canton of the Grisons.

The morning continued. The echoes of the scythes mowing through the grass resounded across the field and through the valley, accompanied by the voices of women and children, singing as they raked. Sidney closed the architecture book; nothing could hold his fascination as much as the sight of Charlotte Starling gracefully moving across the field, sharing a laugh over her shoulder, patting the youngest children in encouragement, putting an arm around her grandfather as the old man whetted the blade of his scythe. She had a kind word for everyone, and no matter how hard the work was or the sun burnt down on them, she kept smiling and laughing, evidently enjoying the exertion, the company and the nature around her.

Sidney shook his head, imagining Mrs Campion in this field. She’d never get as far as holding a rake, let alone encourage others: she’d sneeze at the sight of a cornflower and excuse herself with hay fever from any exertion.

Thinking of Mrs Campion killed the mood, of course. Sidney sighed and fanned himself with the straw hat. He only hoped he’d never meet that woman again. They’d move in very different circles once he’d married Charlotte Starling … now that was very presumptuous thinking, of course.

The kitten complained against his sudden movements and walked down to the stream, holding a paw into the water as if to test it. Sidney looked around, searching for something – anything – to do, and under a hedgerow behind the chestnut, detected something small and red. He checked twice: wild strawberries, just ripe. Leaving the comfort zone of the blanket, he crawled over, tasted one, found it deliciously sweet and sour, and picked them all, collecting them in the straw hat.

“There,” he told the kitten that was eyeing him curiously when he crawled back. “Very chivalrous, right? Do you think she’ll grant me a smile for such a gift?” The kitten turned away and started miaowing at a bird in the tree above them.

Sidney laid back, exhausted from the task, resting his head on the architecture book. Listening to the sounds of the stream and the

meadow with closed eyes, he slowly drifted into a light and dreamless sleep.

🎩

The sun was high in the sky when he woke up, signalling midday. The kitten had left him, playing with Nellie, who was sitting a few feet away by the stream, weaving a flower crown. When the quiet girl noticed Sidney was awake, she gave him a shy little glance, giggled, and ran away, leaving the flower crown where she had sat. Sidney leaned forward to pick it up, inhaling the sweet scent of the summer fields. Shading his eyes, he watched the silhouettes of the haymakers in the field against the sun – it was easy to make out old and sturdy Mr Starling, lean Daniel Heywood, young Timmy … and Charlotte, of course. As if she’d sensed his eyes on her, she turned around, looked in his direction, bowed down to speak to one of the children around her, and then walked down the slope towards him, dragging the rake behind her.

When she was close enough for him to see her smile, he could not help but smile back. Gone was the woman who always looked so orderly, so well put together with her pinned-up hair, the mobcap, the grey apron and the linen fichu: This Charlotte Starling, leaning on the rake, had strands of hair pulled loose from her chignon, framing her sweet face. She was wearing a simple white gown with patches of sweat and grass here and there, and her whole face was glowing with the exertion of working in a sunlit field.

Sidney realised that this version of Charlotte was as close to the Miss Heywood she’d once been he’d ever get.

“We always pick the hottest day of the year for the haymaking,” she said, wiping her brow with a red cloth wrapped around her hand.

“Now I’m feeling even worse for idling here about,” Sidney admitted.

“Oh, don’t.” She smiled, then stopped, hesitated as she looked at him, and turned away to hide her grin.

“What is it?” Sidney asked, irritated by what she was seeing, but he was not.

She gave him another smile. Was that a trace of mischief gleaming in her eyes? “Mr Parker, you have flowers in your hair.”

“What?” Sidney’s hand went to his head, and sure enough, he produced a blue cornflower, and a white one, and another white one, stuck in his thick curls.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she reassured him. “Though the flower crown looks more like Nellie’s work.”

“It is. She must have taken advantage of me while I was asleep.”

“She likes you,” Mrs Starling said, leaning forward to retrieve a water bottle from its cooling place in the stream and offering Sidney an unexpected view of her cleavage in the motion. Silky, white and soft: Sidney groaned, tightening his grip on the cornflowers as he imagined his lips exploring that promising sweetness.

“Is everything alright?” Mrs Starling asked, uncorking the bottle and gulping down the cold water, a tiny rivulet trickling down her chin.

“Fine,” Sidney assured her. “Couldn’t be better.”

Mrs Starling settled down on the edge of his blanket, her legs folded underneath her. Unfortunately – and unnoticed by her - the seam of her dress curled up, providing Sidney with an excellent opportunity to peruse a very shapely ankle.

“Umm, your family,” he said, desperately searching for a harmless topic of conversation, “have they been farming this land for long?”

“Oh, forever.” She wiped an unruly strand of hair from her face. “I believe even William the Conqueror bumped into an Anglo-Saxon Starling, defending his land and livestock with a battleaxe.”

Sidney smiled, imagining a belligerent Charlotte with a helmet and a battleaxe, telling conquering Billy to go mind his own business. “It must feel very special to be so deeply rooted in a place.”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “There is safety in being part of a close-knit community. But… I… my papa never goes further than five miles away from Willingden unless to collect his dividends in London. Listening to him, one might assume that terra incognita lies beyond our hills, populated by hungry lions and angry dragons. I so envy you for your travels to Antigua.”

“Don’t,” Sidney said, feeling the island’s dark shadow even on this hot summer day in a field far, far away.

“Why would you say that?”

“I… I didn’t go voluntarily.” He hesitated, wondering whether it was a good idea to bare himself like that to her. But then, again, he didn’t want to hide any secrets from her. He wanted her to know who he had been – and who he was now. “I … umm, I was in a rather bad state.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Worse than when we found you?”

“Different.” Sidney played with a few leaves of grass, unable to meet her eyes as he looked back at that youth from ten years ago. “I had … umm, spent quite a lot of time and money gambling, carousing and drinking myself senseless. I was probably on a perfect path of getting myself killed in some drunken brawl when my brother … Tom … picked me up and dropped me on the next boat to Antigua.”

“Why would you indulge in such behaviour? You don’t strike me as an irresponsible man regarding your family and your finances. Quite on the contrary.”

Despite the frustrating topic, Sidney had to hide a smug grin. So she’d been musing about him, his family and his financial prowess? And come to the conclusion that he was a reliable family man? Was there any better recommendation for a potential husband? – However, she was still waiting for an explanation.

“A lady broke my heart. She … shook my beliefs to their very core, and I … I couldn’t see a path forward without her in my life.”

Charlotte gazed at him thoughtfully. At first, Sidney feared he might have overwhelmed her with such openness, but when he saw her nodding slowly, he knew he had not.

“I’m sorry that such should have been your experiences,” she said. “Your affections must have been very strong and deep.”

“Maybe a bit too strong,” he conceded. “As it turned out, her affection was quickly transferred from my strength and depth to another man’s shallow fortune.”

“Then … maybe you had a lucky escape there.”

“Maybe I did.” It only took me ten years to find out, Sidney thought. Ten years and that unpleasant meeting in Vauxhall Gardens, the night before he set off to find Tom’s doctor in Willingden: Mrs Campion, her large porcelain eyes, the way she kept whispering “Sidney”, as if it was some secret incantation, how she’d kept drooping against his chest … - No. No happy memories there, only awkwardness and reluctance. He preferred to look at the present rather than the past, and the present was Charlotte Starling in her white dress, sitting right across from him on the wool blanket under the chestnut tree, more and more soft curls escaping her chignon and framing her sweet face. Were there freckles on her nose? And a beauty spot on her shoulder? He chuckled, then remembered his earlier endeavours and reached for the sunhat holding the strawberries, offering them to Charlotte.

“I thought they were all gone,” she said, her large eyes full of surprise.

“I found them in the hedgerow. You have to look hard.”

Blinking, she reached into the hat and chose one of the small red fruits. Sidney watched her; she hesitated before putting it into her mouth, her usually so open expression suddenly muted by sadness.

“What is it?” Sidney asked. “Have I…”

“No … no.” She gazed down at the tiny fruit in her hand. “My husband used to do that. Bring me wild strawberries from his days out on the farm.”

“Oh.” Sidney felt like an intruder now, an intruder into something very tender and precious. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, they were glazed over by tears.

“He … he never told me where he’d found them, and … after he was gone … I believed … so were the strawberries.”

Sidney didn’t know what to say. The only words sitting on the tip of his tongue were passionate affirmations of his love and affection, and heartfelt as they were, he doubted they’d be welcome right now.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, looking down. “I … I forgot myself for a moment.”

“No.” Sidney felt nearly strangled by the heavy beating of his heart. “There’s no reason to apologise for a happy memory.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte softly said. “He was my cousin, you know.” Sidney did know, of course, but he didn’t let it show. “I’ve known him all my life.”

Sidney nodded quietly, hoping to encourage her to go on without breaking her fragile trust. The kitten returned from its excursion to the waterside, asking for attention.

“He was my husband,” she said, stroking the kitten’s back. “And my friend, my childhood companion. He was … meant to live, farm this land, and become another Starling to raise the next generation here. He wasn’t meant to die because of a stupid, stupid accident.”

“What happened?” Sidney softly asked, even though Mr Clement had given him a vague idea. The kitten climbed on Charlotte’s leg, purring softly as she continued her tale.

“It was in winter, two years ago come Christmas. He went out to cut a tree for the Yule log. I wanted to come with him, but he insisted he wanted to go alone. The previous years, Grandfather had gone for the log, but felling a tree wasn’t getting easier for him, and Ralphie … my husband wanted to show him that he could take care of the household and all duties and that the farm would be in good hands once it came down to him.”

“And you let him go on his own because you understood how important it was for your husband to prove that to your grandfather,” Sidney concluded. Charlotte nodded.

“Yes. So he went out on a cold morning a few days before Christmas. I didn’t worry when he wasn’t back for lunch – I knew it would take some time to find the right tree, and fell it, and tie it to the horse to drag it back to the farm. But then it started snowing, and he still didn’t come back, and … I kept telling myself that he’d searched for shelter in the village or on my father’s estate, but … I knew I was lying to myself. The horse returned without him, and we went out searching … and … and we found him in the valley, close to where we found you. There was the snow … and the light of our torches … but the snow was red, all red.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sidney whispered, realising what would come. She looked openly at him now; her grief laid bare in her beautiful eyes.

“He looked as if he was sleeping … he’d been bleeding from a wound in his upper thigh. The next day, my father’s men found hoofprints of a boar, and a week later, a beast with giant tusks was shot by a man in Battle. I only wish I could have shot that monster myself.”

Sidney was at a loss for words. In his world, people were not killed by wild animals. They died in drunken brawls, or were knifed by evil thugs, or received one hit too many against the head in a boxing match… but usually, they died peacefully in their beds and not in an unequal duel with nature.

Poor Charlotte Mrs Starling. She was quietly wiping another tear away, obviously lost in memories of her husband. Sidney sighed. How petty, how trivial his own sad tale was compared to Mrs Starling’s experience! He had simply been fooled by Eliza’s character, not seeing how they judged the value of love very differently. All his grief about losing her was also, to some extent, grief about his own error in judgment.

Mrs Starling, however, was mourning the loss of a man who had been her friend and companion all her life. And even if their marriage was one of convenience and practicality, there clearly had been affection between them. Perhaps no outpours of passion and wild declarations of undying love, but enough for Ralph Starling to bring strawberries home to his wife and for his widow to be crying over the memory of this lovely gesture.

Sidney felt like an intruder, invading someone else’s marriage. Awkwardly, he tried to move away, hoping she wouldn’t see his embarrassment. Yet, to his surprise, she opened her hand, the strawberry she’d chosen earlier still on her palm. Carefully, she tried it, her dear face slowly lightening up as she chewed.

“I had forgotten how sweet they taste,” she said, smiling at Sidney.

“I … have more,” Sidney said, offering the hat with his pickings. “I … I’ll gladly share.”

“Thank you, Mr Parker,” Mrs Starling said.

He beamed back, hoping he did not look too silly. Four weeks ago, he would have turned up his nose if someone had told him he would ever have any feelings about watching a woman eat strawberries. Now, with the woman in front of him, he wanted to scoop her up in his arms, hold her tight, breathe her in, caress her face, and press his lips on hers. He wanted to –

“Charlotte! Charlotte! You must come!” Timmy was breaking into his dream, sprinting down the slope towards them. “Grandfather has fainted!”

“What?” Mrs Starling was already on her feet, the strawberries all forgotten, running up the slope to meet the haymakers.

🎩

It was nothing, Mr Starling claimed a little while later. The haymakers had finished the day’s labour, and on the way back to the house, the old farmer was placed next to Sidney on the hay wagon. Nothing but too much sun and too little water, and really not worth the fuss everyone (and especially his granddaughter) was making. “I can perfectly walk on my feet,” Mr Starling said, indignation written across his wrinkled face. “In all the seventy-three years of my life, I’ve never had to be driven back from the fields. This is very embarrassing. Charlotte should not have insisted.”

“She’s very concerned about your well-being, sir,” Sidney quietly said, not wishing to hurt the old man’s pride even more.

“Ah, it was just a little dizziness. You city gents might wilt when labouring under the sun, but us country folks are used to it.”

Again, Sidney nodded. It would certainly not help to explain that he knew hard labour under the even more unforgiving sun of Antigua. “I believe that your granddaughter’s great concern for you only shows her deep love and affection,” he said. “I can’t find any fault in that.”

Mr Starling was taken aback for a moment. “No … no, of course not. You are right, sir.”

They rode silently for a while, listening to the prattle of the children walking behind the wagon, watching the butterflies dance in the flowers along the dusty road, blinking into the sinking sun.

“But pray, sir, tell me,” Mr Starling said when the farmhouse was already in view, “why do you have a cornflower in your hair?”

“What?”

The old man pointed at Sidney’s left ear. “Right there.”

Sidney raised his hand and found a forgotten blue flower hiding in his curls. It had been there all the time, witnessing his conversation with Charlotte Starling. And she had never mentioned it.

Circling the delicate flower between his fingers, he smiled to himself: the happy smile of a loving man who dared to hope as he had never hoped before.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Previously …

At the haymaking, Sidney learns more about Charlotte’s marriage and her affection for her late husband. A careful exchange of truths and strawberries, garnished with the occasional cornflower, is interrupted by old Mr Starling fainting in the sun.

🎩

They were in a rowing boat. Sidney did not understand how they had gotten there, but he didn’t care much either. The most important fact was: They were together, in a boat, on a lake, in the sunshine, birds singing in the distance. Sidney was holding the oars, and sat across from him was Charlotte Starling, wearing a sweet smile, a simple white dress and not much else, no spencer, no gloves, no bonnet, her brown curls framing her dear face. Was there any lovelier sight? Certainly not.

Looking down at himself, Sidney realised that, for once, he was not dressed in his preferred dark colours but in a green waistcoat, beige pantaloons and tight black boots. How peculiar.

“Thank you for balancing my boat,” Sidney said.

Charlotte slightly turned her head, exposing the cutest little beauty spot on her right shoulder. Her fingers touched the water. “A man can never step into the same river twice,” she said, her gaze following the trail of her fingertips on the surface.

“For it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man,” Sidney completed.

She looked up. “You’ve been reading my father’s books.”

Sidney shrugged. “I have plenty of time these days. – Now. It’s your turn.” And before his courage plummeted again: “Give me your hands.” She did, and with a mischievous little smile, he placed them on the oars, covering them with his.

Now, that was done: her hands fastened to his, bound together for as long as they were in this boat. He raised the oars and pushed them towards her, showing her how to move to make the rowing easier. “Roll your hands.” He adjusted his thumbs, not loosening his grip on her fingers. The blades hit the water, propelling them forward. “Good. That’s it.”

They rowed on, her movements mirroring his, falling into the same rhythm, back and forth, their hands tightly clasped together, their eyes locked now, following the tune of their bodies.

This was heaven, Sidney realised. This was peace: Charlotte with him, trusting him, moving with him, breathing with him, rowing their lives in the same dire –

“Mr Parker!”

Sidney sat up. He wasn’t in a rowing boat, he wasn’t on a lake, and he most certainly wasn’t with Charlotte Starling. He was in the farm’s four poster bed, having fallen asleep after lunch, Mr Heywood’s “Fragments of Heracl*tus” open on his chest, a pale blue cornflower pressed between its pages. Timmy stood by the foot of the bed, clutching the chessboard and watching him curiously. Hopefully, he hadn’t talked in his sleep -

“Hello, Timmy.”

“Good afternoon, Mr Parker,” the boy replied. “Charlotte said I might challenge you to a game of chess. It’s a beastly weather today, and I’m not needed on the farm.”

“Very good,” Sidney said, leaning forward to look out the window. Raindrops were blurring the view, and the outside world was rather grey. They’d finished cutting, drying and bringing in the hay not one day too early; today, the grass would rot on the fields.

Timmy prepared the chessboard. The kitten appeared, rubbing its head against Sidney’s hip and asking for its due caresses.

To his own surprise, Sidney rather enjoyed playing chess with Timmy. The boy might be a bit too impulsive and thinking in the short term (but then he was only a ten-year-old kid), but he was also a quick learner with a good portion of ambition. Teaching and seeing him improve his game gave Sidney more satisfaction than expected.

They were nearing the end of their second game when the sun appeared in the form of Charlotte Starling, serving them a snack of cider and oatmeal biscuits. Not for the first time, Sidney thought that back in London, he would miss the farm’s fresh, undiluted food (though he would miss Charlotte’s calming presence even more).

“Who’s winning?” Charlotte asked, leaning over Timmy’s shoulder to check the board.

“Mr Parker is,” the boy conceded. “For now.”

“Thank you for being such a good teacher,” Charlotte said, shooting Sidney a smile that made him feel all warm and fuzzy. It was absolutely worth taking a risk, he decided.

“I might teach you as well, Mrs Starling,” he suggested, returning her gaze.

She laughed. “Oh no, I’m a hopeless case when it comes to chess. Even Papa gave up on me. He said in a chess game, one has to think like a ruthless leader, and I tend to think like a Samaritan.”

“You don’t know my teaching methods yet, madam,” Sidney said, thinking of how he had very effectively taught her how to row. Well, it had only been in a dream. But still –

A sharp knock on the door propelled them all back to reality. Mr Starling stuck in his head. “Mr Parker, forgive me for interrupting … are you in the mood for a visi…”

“Sidney!”

The old farmer was unceremoniously shoved aside, and in the chamber marched a petite lady in a cream-coloured silk pelisse and a matching hat with a wobbly ostrich feather.

Porcelain blue eyes, well-coiffed blonde hair and a pouting mouth: Eliza Campion herself.

🎩

(Right. This is a fine moment for a cliffhanger, don’t you think?

No?

Ah, come on.

I’ll just get a cup of tea and some biscuits and scroll through some social media … read the news … message a friend … perhaps hang up the laundry … add some silly emojis … 🐊🐘🎈🦖🦄🦅)

🎩

Lost for words, Sidney stared from his former fiancée to Charlotte, desperately trying to match the two worlds that were colliding in the Starling’s cosy bed chamber right now.

“Mrs Campion,” he choked as the woman made two decisive steps to his bedside and covered his fingers with hers.

“Sidney!” Eliza Campion cried.

Her grip was iron-tight. He was well aware of Mr Starling, Charlotte, Timmy and even the kitten staring at the newcomer as if she was some magic apparition that might vanish as suddenly as she’d arrived. If only she did.

The kitten was the first to react: it buckled, hissed, and stretched its tiny body across Sidney’s lap as if to say, “Mine”.

“Sidney,” Mrs Campion repeated, her voice beseeching, her gaze possessive, her grip on his hand tight. “I feared I might never set eyes upon you again.”

“Umm, Mrs Campion,” Sidney managed to say, his eyes flickering around, trying to find an escape from the situation. His dreams had been so realistic these past weeks at the Starling farm; surely, this was just another dream – or rather: a nightmare?

“I fear we are invading a rather private reunion,” Mr Starling mumbled, nodding to Charlotte and Timmy. “Let’s leave Mr Parker and his … umm, friend, alone, children.”

“No!” Mr Parker cried. “Mrs Campion is an old acquaintance of mine …”

“An old acquaintance of mine!” Mrs Campion echoed, holding on to his hand. “Sidney, this is not what you said last time we met.”

Sidney wondered what he had said the last time they’d met – that last time before he set off for Willingden, when they had danced at Vauxhall’s, and she’d kept falling against his chest even though the dance’s steps required some distance between them. He wished she’d stop calling him by his first name: it was an intimate privilege to which she had lost any right ten years ago.

“May I introduce my hosts?” he suggested, hoping good manners would save him. But Mrs Campion, her iron claw tight around his arm, did not care for manners. Or his hosts, for that matter.

“I feared you dead! I thought I’d never see you again!”

“Yes, umm, I’m not, thanks to these good people.” He tried a boyish grin in Charlotte’s direction. Charlotte, it has to be said, looked at the scene with an expression as if she’d found a co*ckroach crawling from her crisp, clean linen sheets.

“Sidney!” With her free hand, Mrs Campion kept a tear falling from her left eye. “I’ve hurried here, without delay, as soon as I learned you are alive! My only thoughts were for you, your wellbeing!”

“Yes,” Sidney said, feeling increasingly embarrassed. “That is very kind of you, Mrs Campion, and I appreciate your concern for me.”

“Concern?” Mrs Campion drew back. “Concern? Do you actually think I act out of concern for you?”

“You don’t?” Sidney was confused now. Why else would she leave elegant London behind and travel all the way to Willingden in the mud of a rainy summer day?

“Sidney!” Mrs Campion cried. “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Vauxhall! The pledge you made!”

“I remember us … dancing at Vauxhall’s,” he said, feeling he was walking out on the thinnest of ice.

“Dancing!” Mrs Campion huffed, her porcelain blue eyes dark with indignation. “You went down on your knees, Sidney Parker! You asked for my hand in marriage!”

🎩

(Just remembered I absolutely need to do some ironing.

Quite a lot of ironing, actually.

You don’t mind dangling off the cliff for a little while, don’t you?)

🎩

Sidney stared at the woman in front of him, the mix of self-righteousness and smugness in her expression, the wobbly ostrich feather on top of her hat. She was a spoilt child, he realised. Not a grown-up woman. Why in the world would he -?

“I asked for … what?”

“Sidney!” The iron grip tightened again, the blue eyes never leaving his face. “We both wanted it! Pick up where we had to let go ten years ago. Build our future together. You said you had only one task to complete for your brother, and once you returned to London, you’d put up the notice in the news…”

Sidney didn’t know much, but he knew for sure that he had never asked Mrs Campion for her hand in marriage. In fact, marriage had not been much on his mind, not until he met Charlotte Starling. She made him think about a home, a shared future, and children … she made him long for what even his undeserving brother Tom had achieved.

As to Mrs C … They’d danced. She’d flirted. He’d been angry … actually, she was one of the reasons why he was so angry on his way to Willingden, riding the poor horse into the storm. Initially, when first meeting her again in London, her constant double-entendres and attempts at flirting had quite pleased Sidney – and his vanity – but somehow, that first thrill of their re-encounter had worn off rather quickly.

“Ahem,” Mr Starling said to his granddaughter. “This is a private matter, my dear. We better ought to be going now.”

But Charlotte didn’t move from the foot of the bed, from where she had a good view of both Sidney and Mrs Campion.

“You must have suffered a terrible head injury, Sidney,” Mrs Campion now concluded, her ostrich feather bobbing up and down, catching the kitten’s attention. “Otherwise, you would remember. The fireworks? The wilderness walk?”

Oh no, not the wilderness. This dark walk in the pleasure garden was notorious for amorous adventures. To be found there in a young lady’s company by an eager mama or an attentive brother was a safe recipe for disaster – that is, either forced marriage or a duel with an angry male relative.

Head injury or not, Sidney knew that he was heading straight into a problem. He did not drink too much that night at Vauxhall’s – having had to ride to Willingden the next day – and had certainly kept his distance from any dark alley.

Yet if he denied any knowledge of a pledge to Mrs Campion, basically branding her a liar, he would be in severe trouble with her circle. Some angry cousin, or even just a friend of her dead husband, might feel tempted to restore the lady’s honour in a duel. Mrs C certainly enjoyed a bit of drama, even if it was not a duel but a long and arduous court case about a broken promise of marriage in which only their words stood against each other.

Either way, Mrs Campion’s actions would imperil Sidney’s golden future with Charlotte Starling. Mrs C was not a woman to take a no in a courtship for an answer. Furthermore, Mr Starling and the Heywood family would not want to see their Charlotte embroiled in scandal. He could not court her with Mrs C reinforcing her claims.

Sidney groaned in exasperation. Whatever he did, behind his back, he’d always hear Tom complaining about all the bad publicity for Sanditon and the Parker family that such uproar would produce.

Once again, Sidney was losing; once again, he was being tricked by Eliza Campion. Once again, he felt his whole life and future being stolen from him because of that woman’s selfish actions. What was wrong with her? How could she believe in happiness when any affection between them was forced and fake?

He glared at the woman still gripping his arm, unable to hide how much he despised her.

“Speaking of head injuries,” Charlotte calmly said into their staring contest, “I best compile a list for you, Mrs Campion.”

“Excuse me?” Mrs Campion looked at the younger woman as if noticing her for the first time now. Which she probably did, given that Mrs Campion didn’t expect people below her social station to be capable of speaking. Or daring to address her.

“And who are you?” Mrs Campion asked. “The farm’s maid?”

“I’m Charlotte Starling,” Charlotte said, her chin held high. “My family owns this place.”

Mrs Campion looked her up and down. “Do they?”

“A list, madam,” Charlotte offered, undeterred. “I assume you’re here to pick up Mr Parker and have him convalescence in your home, which is very kind of you. Only with his disposition being as it is, some hints might be helpful to ensure your swift adjustment.”

“Disposition?” Mrs Campion repeated. “Adjustment?”

“Of course.” Charlotte nodded eagerly. “Life with an invalid under your roof requires adjustment and transformation.”

“Invalid?” Mrs Campion seemed to suffer from selective hearing.

Again, Mrs Starling nodded. “I best advise you about a dietary plan that helps support the healing process and improves the patient’s mood. – It all starts, of course, with a highly regulated daily routine. An hour of basic exercise in the morning before breakfast, another in the afternoon, and one in the evening. But I suppose you have enough staff to care for Mr Parker’s needs?”

“Enough staff?”

“Well,” Charlotte explained, “here, it’s my grandfather, the maid, the farmhand, me, and the children, of course. Yet I must say Mr Parker keeps us all very busy with his special needs. But I believe in a large home such as yours, it will be no great matter to arrange for three or four extra staff to look after your patient.”

“Certainly not,” Mrs Campion huffed. Charlotte nodded again.

“Now, along with the exercise, we must, of course, discuss the hours of rest. There’s a short nap before lunch to recover from the morning exertions, though this should not be timed for more than fifteen minutes. Then there’s the afternoon rest – two hours in a darkened room between two and four in the afternoon. Bedtime is at nine at the latest, but Mr Parker usually falls asleep much earlier. To keep him in spirits – and his brain occupied – he appreciates a chess game. I think he has also discovered his love of architecture, especially the Brick Gothic and the painted houses of the Canton of the Grisons. If you find any books and articles on these, they would make for marvellous topics of conversation.”

“Brick Gothic?” Mrs Campion repeated. “Painted houses of … where?”

“The Canton of the Grisons,” Charlotte helpfully supplied. “In the southeastern corner of Switzerland.”

Sidney added, “Brick Gothic is a specific style of Gothic architecture common in Northeast and Central Europe. Especially in the regions in and around the Baltic Sea, which do not have resources of standing rock. Brick Gothic is characterised by the lack of figurative architectural sculpture, widespread in other styles of Gothic …”

“Sidney!” Mrs Campion cried, her blue porcelain eyes overly large. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

“What do you mean? Ever since coming to Willingden, I feel I have become my best self, my truest…”

“You are not the same man!”

“It’s not the same river either,” Sidney said, smiling happily.

Mrs Campion shook her head, making the ostrich feather bob up and down. She turned away from him for a moment, staring out the window. Down in the yard, the goat, hit by her gaze, bleated out the angriest complaint ever. Shuddering, Mrs Campion faced Sidney again. “Your injuries seem to be of a much graver nature than I initially realised, Mr Parker.”

“I nearly died,” he confirmed.

“Yes, and it shows.” She sniffed, the ostrich feather now dangling sadly from her headgear. “It grieves me much to say this, Mr Parker, but our interests seem to have evolved in entirely different directions. You are not the man I pledged my life and future to.”

“Oh, but where there’s love, there’s always hope,” Mr Starling suggested. “Who would give up so easily?”

Mrs Campion gave a sigh that was worthy of a theatre actress (or of the tragic heroine of one of Mrs Anthony’s novels. Only that our good Mrs Anthony would never cast such a shallow character as Mrs C as her heroine). “I never enter a race unless I’m sure to win.” Mrs Campion’s glance went to the man in the bed. “But in this case, I doubt the price is worth the effort.” She turned to the old farmer. “I will rely on your discretion about this entire sad affair.”

“Mum’s the word,” Mr Starling solemnly promised. “We’ve neither seen you here nor heard you speak. In fact, I think I’ve already forgotten your name, Mrs …. umm. – Let me see you out, madam.” – and before the lady could utter a single word more, he had taken her by the elbow and shoved her out of the chamber, leaving Sidney alone with Timmy and Mrs Starling.

Timmy covered his mouth with his hand, obviously trying to hide a giggle. Mrs Starling kept a straight face until no more footfall echoed back from the stairs. Once that was the case, she put her hands on her hips and addressed Sidney. “Oh my, Mr Parker, how dull our lives will be again without your entertaining guests.”

“I’m sorry,” Sidney said. “I apologise for Mrs Campion’s behaviour. We indeed met at Vauxhall’s prior to my ride to Willingden, but I never …”

“And even if you had,” Mrs Starling said. “You don’t have to explain yourself to us.”

But I do! Sidney felt like crying. I have to make you understand that I would not want to marry this woman, under no circ*mstances and if the happiness of my family depended on it! For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this?

But Mrs Starling turned away, quietly arranging the muslin curtains and collecting the wilted flowers from the clay vases, diligent as ever, yet in some regards still a conundrum – and a conundrum he found impossible to solve.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Previously…

Sidney enjoys another sweet dream involving Charlotte Starling, this time about a rowing session. Reality makes an unwelcome appearance when Mrs Campion shows up, claiming Sidney made her a promise of marriage prior to his accident. However, quick-witted Charlotte once more saves the day, decreasing the widow’s interest in our man by painting him a helpless invalid.

🎩

After seeing Mrs Campion out, Mr Starling returned to Sidney’s chamber. Wiping his brow, the old farmer sank into the armchair. “Now, Mr Parker,” he said, catching his breath, “how about you provide us with a list?”

“A list, sir?”

“Yes, a list,” Mr Starling repeated, a twinkle in his eyes. “With the names, status, and potential issues of all your illustrious relatives, acquaintances, and business partners who might pop up here to see you. It would be helpful for us to know whether we are dealing with friend or foe, wouldn’t it, my dear?” he said to his granddaughter, who was standing by the window, arranging the muslin curtain. Turning back to Sidney, he added, “I trust I won’t find any unsatisfied creditors of yours on my doorstep, though?”

“I’m financially safe and independent,” Sidney said for Mr Starling’s ears as much as his granddaughter’s. She better knew that her future husband would offer her an equally safe, independent life.

Mr Starling chuckled. “So the lady was after your fortune?”

Sidney shook his head. “I fear she was more after something she declined ten years ago, not realising that people and priorities change.”

“They do indeed,” the old farmer agreed. Then, addressing his granddaughter again, “Are you quite done fixing the flowers and the curtains, my dear?”

Charlotte turned around. “I am, Grandfather.”

“May I enlist Mrs Starling’s help again with writing my letters?” Sidney inquired.

“You don’t have to ask me,” Mr Starling said, moving towards the door and nodding at Timmy to join him. “My granddaughter is her own woman.”

“I’ll fetch my writing materials,” Charlotte said. She returned quickly with her portable writing desk and little Nellie in tow. As always, the little girl engaged with the kitten while Mrs Starling set up her desk and lined the paper. Sidney followed her with his eyes, smiling to himself when he realised how much he enjoyed watching her, how accustomed he had grown to have her around him, how well he knew her little mannerisms and gestures by now … how she bit the tip of her tongue when concentrating on drawing parallel lines, how that cheeky little curl kept coming loose from her carefully arranged chignon, falling into her eyes –

“Mr Parker?” Her lovely voice propelled him back to reality. “You looked as if you were a million miles away.”

“I was quite in the present,” he reassured her with a smile.

“Good. May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“That lady … Mrs Campion …” Charlotte looked as if she were suppressing a shudder. Was she the lady who broke your heart? Who shook your beliefs to their foundations and made you blind to the path forward in your life?”

Sidney stared at his hands and thought of Mrs Campion – the ostrich feather, the pouting mouth, the selfish drama she had created, never once really caring about his state or showing gratitude to the family who so selflessly had taken him in. How he had ever felt any passion for the woman was a mystery to him now. But then, maybe it was not only the man but also the woman who could not step into the same river twice – either because it wasn’t the same river or because she wasn’t the same woman.

Realising that Charlotte was still waiting for an answer, he gave her a rueful smile. “Yes, she is that lady.”

“How?”

“I was very young … twenty-one and had just come into the inheritance a kind uncle from my mother’s side had left me.” Sidney felt his mouth twitch, thinking of that arrogant, young whippersnapper. “I was, umm… well, I certainly wasn’t the best catch of the beau monde, but I had a reasonable enough fortune to be eyed with interest by some eager mamas.”

“For a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,” Charlotte nodded knowingly.

“Must he?” Sidney raised an eyebrow.

She chuckled. “That is an ironic quote from a great masterpiece of a novel, Mr Parker. I’ll ask the vicar to continue your literary education once you finish The Mysteries of Sableville .”

“Oh, please don’t! I’m not sure I can stomach more elephants and hot air balloon debacles!”

“I guarantee you, Mr Parker,” Charlotte replied, “the story about the single man in possession of a good fortune is free of any cheap plot devices. Quite on the contrary, it’s witty and clever from the first to the final word.”

“I’d rather tell you my story, Mrs Starling,” Sidney said.

“Yes, of course.” She was very generous with smiles today, making Sidney smile in return.

“As I said, I was young and financially independent, and as anyone of my age and disposition, I believed London society had only been waiting for me. My late father’s good name and Tom’s zealousness opened several doors, and before I even understood what was going on, I was surrounded by mamas arranging meetings with their daughters.” He did not add that his good looks – even as a youth – might have added to the ladies’ enthusiasm and made them overlook that even though financially well-endowed, he was only the second son of the second family of some second-hand fishing village.

“But I had already made my choice. Eliza. The eldest Miss Matthews. I cannot say when and how, or even why. She was a very humble gentleman’s daughter but witty and a great beauty – at least to my eyes – but no heiress, so whatever fortune I had, it would elevate her.” He paused, searching for Charlotte’s reaction, but she only nodded, prompting him to continue.

“Towards the end of the season, I finally summoned the courage to speak to her. I found my feelings requited, and my proposal of marriage accepted. – But … she asked me to keep it a secret, for the time being, and to speak to her family only when a certain aunt had arrived, and once the lady was there, to delay the announcement until a special ball – only to fall ill on the day of the ball, and suggest we wait until Michaelmas …”

“Oh dear,” Charlotte said. Of course, she clearly saw what a befuddled youth had not seen.

“Then Michaelmas came, and with it the notification in the papers that the lovely Miss Matthews was engaged to Mr Campion, a widower twice her age with probably twenty times my fortune. – I …” Sidney stopped, trying to channel the emotions from that black moment: the sudden numbness, the feeling of tumbling and falling, falling into the deepest, blackest void, without any hope of salvation. Then he remembered: Mrs Starling had lost a husband – a beloved husband who was her friend, childhood companion, and cousin. She knew how bereavement felt – true bereavement. Who was he to bore her with his silly love story?

“What is it?” she asked, evidently waiting for him to continue.

“I was …, I was just thinking …” He rubbed his forehead with his good hand, shoving some curls aside. “Mrs Starling, you have lost your young husband under the most tragic circ*mstances. I doubt my sad tale of a naïve boy’s disappointed love will come anywhere close to what you have been through.”

“Yet it is your experience and has obviously shaped you into the man you are today. So I would like to hear it,” Charlotte said. Her calm resolve to face the worst of his past ignited a warm and comforting fire inside him, once more making him smile. She would listen but not judge; she merely wanted to understand, not condemn him.

“Well then. I tumbled down a wild path of recklessness. Drinking my way down dissolution row, gambling my money away, seeking … pleasure wherever I’d find it – anything to cauterise my heart against what Eliza … Miss Matthews had done to me. Eventually, back in Sanditon, my father learned about my antics. He was already suffering from the illness that would later claim his life, so he could not take care of me himself … but he sent my elder brother after me. Tom found me in a boarding… in a dark place and promptly dispatched me on the next ship to Antigua. Once I came to my senses, we were past Ireland. In my pocket, I found a letter from Tom to an old business partner of our family, a Mr George Lambe, begging the man to make me work as hard as a slave so I would be too exhausted to drink and gamble and pine after the new Mrs Campion.”

A frown appeared on Mrs Starling’s forehead. “But did that work?”

“In a way, yes. Only … that the reality in Antigua was even more painful to bear than the fact that Eliza had betrayed me.”

“What reality?” Charlotte asked.

Sidney closed his eyes, trying to shut out the images that always came unasked for. Despite her widow status, Charlotte now more than ever resembled a girl from the village, clever yet completely innocent when confronted with the evil mankind could produce.

“Slavery. The reality of what people are capable of doing to each other when given power – and a whip.” Sidney stopped. It was bad enough that he was tormented by the scenes he had witnessed, by the sound of the foreman’s leather whip hitting bare skin, by the smell of burnt flesh from the iron marking men, women and children as Mr Lambe’s property. He didn’t want to frighten Charlotte away with all the dark places he’d seen and been to. After all, he still intended to court her.

“So instead of mending your heart, Antigua only broke it further?” she suggested.

“In a way.” Once again, Sidney marvelled at her insight. “You see, Antigua is actually not the best of all places to mend your heart if you have a conscience.” As with all Tom’s plans, there was a flaw, and this was the one in the Antigua scheme: to survive the island’s inhumanity, Sidney needed to jade his heart rather than heal it. “I believe my family’s plan was to set me up with my own plantation.”

“But you didn’t do that.”

“No. My family might believe I was better off making a life in a distant country, reminding them only in irregular letters of my existence, but I wanted to make an honest life. – That was impossible in Antigua. Not in a sugar plantation. Not in a society that set so little by a man’s life because they didn’t deem all humans as human.”

She didn’t urge him to continue. But she looked at him quietly, her expression very calm and controlled, her eyes soft and warm with compassion. She understood. She understood without being told that Antigua had broken that boy from a second-hand fishing village. She understood it was the confrontation with Antigua’s twofold face of beauty and cruelty that had turned Eliza’s idealistic lover into a brooding man with a jaded heart. She understood him, without words, just by locking her eyes with his and following him to the bottom of his tortured soul.

This, Sidney felt, was –

Out in the yard, there was a loud bang, and the goat started a bleating concert like never before.

“Charlotte!” Timmy called. “Come quick, Grandfather’s taken a fall!”

🎩

“Ah, such a fuss,” Mr Starling complained half an hour later, sitting in the armchair by Sidney’s bed, fingering the bandage his granddaughter had used to dress the wound on his forehead. He’d hit the cobblestoned yard with his head, and while he was otherwise unharmed, seeing blood stream down their grandfather’s face had quite shocked the children. Nellie was sitting by his side, holding his hand, whereas Timmy, trying to be a brave boy, kept his distance, lounging by the door. “It’s nothing, Nellie-dear,” the old man said, patting the girl’s head. “I’m only sitting down because Charlotte insisted.”

“And she’s perfectly right to insist,” Sidney said, thinking about the incident at the haymaking. It was the second time within just a few days that the old farmer had slipped. “Honestly, sir, I believe your granddaughter is greatly worried about your well-being.”

“I’m fine. Firmly rooted into our Willingden soil, like the oak out in the yard.”

“Yes. But unlike the oak, you will not last a thousand years, sir.”

“Harumph.” The old man finished the conversation by turning his head away.

Sidney wished he could ease everyone’s mind, reassuring them that he would take care of Charlotte, Nellie and Timmy and that they would want for nothing. As his wife, Charlotte would lead the life befitting a gentleman’s daughter, and the children would receive the education they needed to make their way in the world.

But it was too early. Sidney felt that without Charlotte’s consent, it was not propery to speak to her grandfather about courtship and marriage. It would only leave them in a terribly awkward situation. So he remained silent.

Outside, the goat replied to his silence with another disharmonious song.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

Previously…

After Mrs Campion is gone (for good, hopefully), Sidney opens up to Charlotte about his time in Antigua and how his experiences there shaped him. A moment of mutual soul gazing is interrupted by old Mr Starling taking another fall, strengthening Sidney’s determination to look after Charlotte and the children.

🎩

The kitten was very cuddly that night, pressing its head against Sidney’s cheek, rubbing its wet nose against his temple, and purring softly. Sidney smiled in his sleep, cradling his furry little friend in his large hand.

Only that there was quite a lot to cradle. The kitten seemed to have grown considerably since nightfall. It also did not smell of kitten but of lavender and a sunny summer day. In fact, it very much smelled like –

He froze.

This had to be a fantasy.

And yet, there she was, in his good arm, her body fitting perfectly against his, her lips gently exploring the landscape of his face, loose strands of her hair tickling his skin.

“Charlotte,” he whispered, but she put a finger on his lips as if any words between them would destroy their magic bubble.

So he didn’t speak but held her tight as she continued her tender explorations, her finger now tracing his jawline down to the seam of his shirt, lingering over his collarbone for a moment, then moving up again, brushing against the stubble of his beard, coming to rest in the thicket of his outgrown curls.

Sidney felt he could not go a second longer without touching her as well. Here he was, on his back, his broken leg still keeping him from any actual exertion, but with the loveliest woman in his arm, and he felt that with her tenderness now once tasted, he would never want to go without it. But before he could whisper her name again, his lips were captured by the sweetest force imaginable. Whatever was supposed to be reality turned into a blur as he found himself floating, all pain forgotten, all heaviness gone: just him and Charlotte Starling, lips exploring, caressing, their hands roaming, carefully discovering each other, sinking deeper into their very own universe with every tender gesture.

Her forehead leaning against his, Sidney felt all his senses filled with her, with his Charlotte: her gentle touch, her scent of lavender and sunshine, the honey taste of her lips on his, her sweet, warm body under his hands, her little sighs and moans when his grip around her tightened.

He was happy. Never in his life had he been happier. Never in his life had he felt as much at home as here, with –

“Miaow!”

Sidney sat up, his heart racing. Gone was lovely Charlotte, and present was the kitten, protesting angrily as Sidney’s sudden movement sent it sliding down his chest.

Again, she’d been nothing but an illusion, the most beautiful dream.

He sighed heavily. Enough! Come morrow, he would speak to her, offer her his heart and hand in marriage: that was the only remedy he could think of. They could be wed within a month; surely, the vicar, Mr Clement, would be happy to seal their bond, true romantic that he was. A month … or perhaps three weeks only if the bans were read swiftly … Sidney clenched his fist. Yes, he could do that. Wait another three weeks. By then, he’d be able to walk again and return his true heart’s love caresses with all the fervour and passion she deserved.

Three weeks … a short span in the grand scheme of life. That’s what he kept telling himself until the sun rose over Willingden for another beautiful summer day, and the rooster and the goat started a new competition for the most ear-splitting morning song.

Before Ham came to see to his needs, Sidney spent the first hour of the morning happily daydreaming about life with his future wife: how he would introduce her to Sanditon, and to Trafalgar House. Mary would love her; he had no doubt about that, and so would the children. Tom … well, Tom was a different matter.

Charlotte would not have forgotten the callous way how his brother had dumped him on the Starling family. But Tom was his nut to crack, not hers. And amongst all the anger about his brother’s Tom-ness, there’d be the joy to have Charlotte by his side. Walk up to the clifftops with her, her hair flying in the wind, her eyes shining from the exertion, her lovely face glowing with amazement at the view that would be even more beautiful with her by his side. Show her the cove, his secret hideaway for hours spent on the sun-spoilt beach. Teach her how to swim out here in the sea, in her chemise only (or even less), skipping the heavy bathing costumes required on the main beach.

They’d be so happy; he could see it more clearly than he’d ever seen it with Eliza: her quick wit, her hunger for knowledge, her intellect matching his, their minds travelling on different paths yet always in the same direction. Her kind, caring nature and deep love for her family, her curiosity and courage, and those precious, too-short moments when they’d shared a joke and a laugh, and everything was just light and easy.

He could see their future together, and it made him grin and smile with happiness.

Ham came to help him shave and make him presentable, and Leah followed with the breakfast tray. Chewing on his porridge, Sidney grew more and more restless. Not that Charlotte had some urgent farm business to see to today, something that would keep her from hovering by his bedside and making him smile … He looked at the muslin curtains flowing in the morning breeze and the wildflowers in the clay vases. The flowers definitely needed refreshing, and that was Charlotte’s… Mrs Starling’s domain.

When she finally came, later in the morning, and as always accompanied by Nellie, she was carrying a parcel of letters delivered for him from Sanditon: Tom’s usual ramblings and illusions, kind, encouraging words from Mary, and a letter from Georgiana containing another one explicitly addressed “To Charlotte.” Sidney bit his lips to hide his satisfied smile. His little scheme to initiate a friendship between these two headstrong young ladies was obviously paying off.

The last letter was from the children. “Dearest Uncle Sidney,” Alicia had written in her best handwriting, “We hope you are getting better every day. Mama says your leg is hurt and broken, and you need much rest and good food. We miss you very much.

Yesterday, we went to the beach. We built a sandcastle. Papa and Uncle Arthur practised for the Cricket match. Our castle was very magnificent. When it was finished, Papa and one of the builders started shouting at each other. Papa stumbled backwards and fell into our castle. It was very funny, but Papa said it wasn’t and walked away.

Please come back soon, Uncle Sidney. We love you very much.

Your nieces

Alicia Parker and Jenny Parker

Your nephews

Henry Parker and James Parker

PS I also sign for Henry and James. They miss you too but they cannot sign their names yet.

PPS Henry says he is a big boy and can sign his name, so here it is:

H EN Я Y”

Sidney’s eyes watered. He had little positive to say about his elder brother right now, but it was a fact that despite his many faults, Tom had married sensibly and fathered four beautiful children. Though as to why he was caught up in a shouting match with one of the builders… surely Tom had used Sidney’s loan to pay the workmen? Sidney realised Charlotte was watching him and looked up. “Sorry. Letter from my brother’s children.”

“Oh, that’s lovely.” She smiled. He knew she loved children, and Tom’s offspring’s affection would only recommend him to her. “Do you spend a lot of time with them?”

“Never enough, if you ask them.”

Charlotte chuckled, addressing her young cousin. “It must be exciting to have an uncle who has travelled the world and seen so many foreign places, don’t you think, Nellie?” The little girl eagerly nodded.

“I think it’s mostly exciting to have an uncle you can always prevail on for presents and piggyback rides,” Sidney grinned.

“Ah.” Charlotte tousled Nellie’s hair. “So, at least we now understand what we are nursing you back for. Not for conducting important business, or saving your brother’s even more important schemes, or for being able to run away from ladies of the ton, but for providing piggyback rides to loving nieces and nephews. That’s a fine thing to know.”

And it’s an even finer thing to be having this conversation with you, madam, Sidney thought, hoping for the day they would not be discussing nieces, nephews and cousins but their own children.

As Nellie settled down to play with the kitten, Charlotte opened her writing case. Sidney had a lot to say; to Tom (nothing kind, trying to find out what the conflict with the builder was about), to Georgiana (kinder, but leaving the bulk of the conversation to Charlotte), and to the children (very kind). Charlotte wrote it all down, as always suggesting a different wording here, an additional phrase there. Did she sit a little closer to him than usual? Sidney couldn’t tell, but he could tell that her eyes quickly found his whenever he looked up. He found it increasingly difficult to keep his various limbs in check and under control: his hand longed to inch closer to where she was leaning her elbow on the bed, his fingertips were itching to touch the bare skin on her arm, his lips …oh well, his lips. They were an entirely different matter.

There was a light knock on the door, followed by Mr Clement sticking in his head. “Forgive me, I’m a little early today … only, I have such exciting news, I had to jump in my curricle and share it with you.”

“Please come in, vicar,” Charlotte invited him. “We are nearly finished, are we not, Mr Parker?”

Quite on the contrary, my dear, Sidney thought, clenching his teeth. We are only just beginning.

But as always, the vicar was too likeable a guest to be denied entrance. His friendly face beaming with excitement, he walked into the bed chamber. “But maybe you have read the news yourselves?”

Sidney, Charlotte, Nellie, and even the kitten shook their heads.“You want to tell us,” Charlotte said, “and we have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, you must know: Mrs Anthony has a new novel out. It will be in the London bookshops on Monday, and I shall gladly procure my own copy next week.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, and after a moment, added, “What’s it called?”

Mr Clement solemnly folded his hands and beamed at her. “The Wedding. – A very promising title, don’t you think, Mrs Starling? We shall be able to continue our reading once we have finished discovering The Mysteries of Sableville, Mr Parker.”

“Wonderful,” Sidney said, thinking that the title, whatever the novel’s contents, indeed was promising.

“I’m so happy Mrs Anthony continues to regale us with her delightful tales,” the vicar sighed. “I consider sending this excellent lady a thank-you letter for her incomparable contribution to the world of literature.”

“I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to hear from her readers,” Charlotte said. And we best quickly finish your correspondence, Mr Parker. I believe Mr Clement is eager to share another chapter of Sableville with you.”

Sidney didn’t necessarily agree about finishing his correspondence (and letting her go), but Mr Clement did. “Oh, I cannot wait to start today’s chapter! I understand it’s the final turning point that will throw all our protagonists in entirely new and unexpected directions … I, for one, cannot wait to see Melbourne and Lady Lotta united in the perfect happiness they deserve.”

“Neither can I,” Sidney declared.

“It is such a happiness when good people get together,” Charlotte smiled. “And they always do,” she added, taking up her pen again. “So, Mr Parker, we better work quick here to ensure we don’t miss the happy couple’s reunion.”

Sidney couldn’t agree more.

Mr Clement joined Nellie in cuddling and playing with the kitten. Sidney and Charlotte concluded another letter to Georgiana. The wayward ward still struggled with everyday life in Sanditon and the awful English summer. While the general tone of her letters had changed, it was still evident that she felt very much like an outlier in a society that only accepted her because of her wealth but never based on her heritage or her character.

👒Suddenly, their attention was drawn to the door by the sound of urgent feet. The door was thrown open, and a heavily sweating Mr Starling entered, followed by another visitor.

It was Lady Denham, the great lady of the Sanditon neighbourhood, last presumed on her deathbed.

She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Sidney’s salutation than a slight inclination of her head, and stood by the end of his bed, leaning on her cane, not saying a word. After staring first at him, then at Charlotte for a moment in silence, she said very stiffly, “So you are still an invalid, Mr Sidney.”

“I am indeed, my lady.”

“And that lady, I suppose, is your nurse.”

“That lady,” Sidney said, overcoming his bafflement, “is Mrs Charlotte Starling, who has been nursing and caring for me in the most exemplary manner. – Mrs Starling, allow me to introduce Lady Denham.” Charlotte greeted her ladyship with a curtsey. So did little Nellie, and Mr Clement bowed -though it has to be said that his bow was somewhat disrupted by the kitten that tried to climb up his coat to his shoulder, probably for the better view it had from that vantage point. Mr Starling offered her ladyship a seat in the armchair, which she wilfully ignored.

“This is a very small chamber,” she remarked after a short silence. “It must be a most inconvenient room in the morning, in summer. The windows are full east.”

“I am happy to have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in,” Sidney said. “And I’m glad to see you fully recovered, my lady. I was led to believe you were in an even worse state than I.”

“It was only a head cold,” Lady Denham retorted. “Whatever reports have reached you have been vastly exaggerated. “Her gaze went from Sidney to Charlotte. “So you are a gentleman’s daughter, I understand?”

“I am indeed,” Charlotte answered with a little frown. Lady Denham nodded, then returned her attention to Sidney.

“Now. You can be at no loss, Mr Parker, to understand the reason for my journey here. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

Sidney looked at her with astonishment. His heart and his conscience had been talking steadily to him these last few days, though never about anything involving Lady D. In fact, since all that conscience talk was about romance, love and affection, Lady D was about the very last person involved in his musings.

“Indeed, you are mistaken, madam. I cannot account for the reason for seeing you here,” he said.

“Mr Parker,” her ladyship replied in an angry tone, “you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you choose to be, you shall not find me so. I like to speak my mind frankly and openly, and in a moment like this, I most certainly will. A report of the most alarming nature has reached me.”

“Oh dear,” Mr Clement mumbled, looking as frightened as when faced with a physician.

“This is a private matter,” Mr Starling whispered to his granddaughters. “We better leave.”

“You stay!” her ladyship ordered, annoyed by the distraction. “A report of the most alarming nature,” she repeated, glaring at Sidney. “I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“Your sentiments about what, Madam?” Sidney asked, baffled and unable to follow her.

“I believed it to be a scandalous falsehood,” Lady Denham thundered. “Until I came here and now see it with my own excellent eyes.”

“You see what?” Sidney wondered, for all he saw, apart from an upset grand lady, was an old man, a young girl, a priest with a kitten sitting on his shoulder, and the lovely, sweet ray of sunshine that was Charlotte Starling. Neither of them was scandalous nor false. As if to confirm this observation, the goat started bleating outside.

“You!” Lady Denham pointed at Sidney with the tip of her cane. “And her.” The tip of the cane moved on to point at Charlotte.

Sidney opened his mouth and closed it. This was impossible. How could Lady Denham, lying on her deathbed in Sanditon, know about his feelings for Charlotte Starling? The only living being he’d ever confided in was the kitten, and that little fellow was still sitting on Mr Clement’s shoulder, watching on as stupefied as everyone else.

Everyone else except Charlotte, of course. “Your ladyship must be mistaken,” she said calmly, yet her heaving chest betraying her emotions. Lady Denham measured her with a look of dissatisfaction.

“It would not be the first time,” she replied. “A pretty girl catches a rich man’s eye and casts her spell on him. That’s the way the world works!”

“How dare you speak about me!” Charlotte cried, finally waking Sidney from his bafflement. “You don’t know me all!”

“I speak as propriety demands it,” Lady Denham retorted. “You may deny it, but you cannot deceive me. I know women such as you only too well.”

Sidney tried reason. “Lady Denham,” he said. “This is terribly wrong. I am highly indebted to Mrs Starling and her family for the way they have taken care of me, but I would never take advantage of… in fact, I am highly incapacitated. I cannot walk; I can hardly stand on my feet. I require assistance with the most basic activities.”

“And yet you engaged in enough action to have word travel all the way to Sanditon about the outrageous relationship you’ve entered with a common man’s widow.” Lady Denham accusingly pointed the tip of her cane at old Mr Starling. “Under your roof!”

“What?” the old man cried, gripping his chest.

“Grandfather,” Charlotte cried, taking his hand. “This is not true. Her ladyship must have been most thoroughly misled …”

“I’m never wrong when it comes to matters of illicit passion!” Lady Denham thundered. “You might as well admit to it!”

“There is nothing to admit!” Charlotte crossed her arms in front of her. “Nothing wrong ever occurred between Mr Parker and me!”

Not in your mind, Sidney sighed. But then again, was it really wrong to feel so very passionately about Charlotte? Was it wrong to love?

“Oh, this is right, like a scene out of Mrs Anthony’s novels,” Mr Clement mumbled.

“Obstinate, headstrong girl!” Lady Denham cried. “I am ashamed of you. But for Sanditon’s reputation, I trust you’ll put this wrong right, Mr Parker.”

Sidney stared at her in disbelief. What did Sanditon have to do with the false report her ladyship had received? Who had an interest in putting out such reports in the first place? And how was he supposed to right a wrong he’d never committed?

“I don’t understand.” Mr Starling, horror written all over his wrinkled face, turned to his granddaughter. “Charlotte, whatever is her ladyship talking about?”

“Her ladyship seems to have been led to believe that there is a secret liaison between Mr Parker and me,” Charlotte said, taking her grandfather’s hand.

“But Charlotte! You would never …”

“Of course not, Grandfather.”

“I assure you, sir,” Sidney started, turning to Mr Starling. “I have the highest respect for your granddaughter. I would never take advantage of Mrs Starling’s kindness towards me.”

“And you’re hardly in a state to do so anyway,” the old farmer noted.

But Lady Denham did not care. “An affair that right now is sullying the reputation of Sanditon,” she puffed. “Thereby endangering my investment in your brother’s project, Mr Parker.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait…” Mr Starling wiped his brow. “If such rumours were true, what would they have to do with Mr Tom Parker’s business schemes?”

“But they are not true, Grandfather!” Charlotte insisted, her cheeks mightily blushed now.

“Of course they are not, my dear.” He gently patted her hand.

“Everything,” Lady Denham replied to the old farmer’s question. “I will not lend the good name of my husband’s family to a project tainted by immoral, negligent behaviour. I will not stand for it. I expect Mr Sidney to marry the woman he’s been dallying with.”

Sidney blinked. Was this anywhere near real? Was Lady Denham actually demanding that he offer Charlotte his hand in marriage?

Was the old dragon of Sanditon House for once being helpful ?

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Previously…

Sidney’s sweet dreams of his sweet Charlotte are interrupted by another visitor: Lady Denham, risen from the deathbed, claims to have been informed about an illicit relationship between Sidney and his nurse. To save Sanditon’s reputation, she poses an outrageous demand …

🎩

“I will not lend the good name of my husband’s family to a project tainted by immoral, negligent behaviour,” Lady Denham thundered. “I will not stand for it. I expect Mr Sidney to marry the woman he’s been dallying with.”

Sidney blinked. Was this anywhere near real? Was Lady Denham actually demanding that he offer Charlotte his hand in marriage? Was the old dragon of Sanditon House for once being helpful?

“Lovely.” Mr Clement, hands folded, kitten still on his shoulder, looked from Sidney to Charlotte, beaming with joy. “Didn’t we just discuss how it is such happiness when good people get together? – I feel as if I’d dived into one of Mrs Anthony’s delightful novels.”

“This is all a misunderstanding, Mr Clement,” Charlotte quickly remarked, not meeting Sidney’s eyes but searching her grandfather’s gaze as she took little Nellie’s hand. “Her ladyship has fallen victim to a false report. I suggest we’d all better be cautious with the information we receive lest we share unwarranted gossip.”

Sidney saw her dilemma: If she agreed to Lady Denham’s demands, her reputation would forever be tainted by the rumours of illicit behaviour during his recovery. She’d be marked a social climber. A woman who’d ensnared a helpless, wealthy man. A man whose gratitude offered her an easy escape from a farmer’s wife’s hardships to a much more comfortable lifestyle.

Lady Denham was not being helpful. She was just her usual insensitive, meddling self, and her accusations only made Charlotte reject her demands more fervently. And it was not getting better.

“May I enquire as to how such a damaging report would have reached you ladyship’s ears?” Mr Starling asked, showing remarkable courage in facing the dragon.

Her ladyship gave the old farmer a look that would have felled a weaker man. “I don’t need to justify myself in front of you. I have received a written report about the shenanigans going on in this house. A report written in fine, gentlemanly handwriting: that is enough for me to trust its reliability.”

“Written by whom?” Charlotte insisted. “If a gentleman is sullying my name, I’m entitled to know who he is!”

Lady Denham waved her objection away. “You!” she cried, pointing the tip of her cane at Sidney. “This woman is a gentleman’s daughter, and you are a gentleman’s son. So far, you are equal, and you will do your duty by your brother and your family and rectify this embarrassing situation.”

“There is nothing to rectify,” Sidney said. “In fact, I’ve been doing nothing but my duty by my family,” he added somewhat bitterly. “One might even claim that’s the very reason why I ended up here in Mr Starling’s house in the first place.”

Her ladyship scoffed. “Doing your duty by dallying around the countryside? If you’d been doing your duty, how would you explain the disarray of your brother’s schemes?”

“Disarray?”

“Disarray and confusion. Do you even receive news from Sanditon? - I am here to save my investment, Mr Parker – an interest I believe we share.”

“I don’t understand,” Sidney said, and he really didn’t. Unless … an unpleasant suspicion came to his mind. “I believe my brother’s financial challenges have all been resolved with my latest credit.”

“Have they?” Lady Denham scoffed once more. “Your infusion has certainly led to Mrs Parker parading around town with a new string of pearls around her neck, but it has not stopped the workmen from revolting after the old man’s fatal fall.”

“What?” What old man’s fatal fall? Sidney felt like taking a fall himself, realising he was missing a large part of the plot.

“The foreman’s father,” Lady D said.

“Stringer? Old Stringer?”

Her ladyship gave a shrug. Who was she to remember a builder’s name? “Are you not being informed on Sanditon events? It’s the talk of the town. An old stone mason, overworked, forced to climb on a scaffold even though that wasn’t his profession. He broke his leg, caught an infection, and died. Your brother’s builders have stopped work in protest.”

“What?” Sidney didn’t trust his ears – and so, he realised, did the Starlings, the kitten and the vicar, dismay written all over their faces – even little Nellie’s.

“And to add insult to injury, you and your countryside affairs now ruin Sanditon’s reputation forever,” Lady Denham concluded.

Sidney was too shocked to listen closely. Stringer … old Stringer … dead, leaving the workers in uproar, the construction site abandoned. Tom, reckless once again, unable to focus and prioritise, and in the end forced to wriggle his way through a labyrinth of lies. A new necklace for Mary when the builders went hungry!

He groaned in exasperation. He knew exactly how he’d failed to see all this. Befuddled by Charlotte Starling’s lovely presence, he’d ignored the warning signs and made no effort whatsoever to hasten his return to Sanditon. Babington and Crowe had mentioned Tom’s plan to invite a militia regiment – an action he had swiftly stopped via letter. But ink on paper in Charlotte’s pretty handwriting was, of course, not enough to stop Tom Parker from dragging Sanditon, his family and himself into the abyss.

Lady Denham impatiently tapped her cane. “Now, Mr Parker. Are you finally prepared to accept responsibility and do your share to salvage our investments?”

“I’m absolutely prepared to return to Sanditon as quickly as it can be arranged and see what I can do to clean up my brother’s affairs.”

But that was not what Lady D wanted to hear. “And save your own reputation by offering your hand to this woman?” she demanded, pointing her cane at an increasingly contemptuous-looking Charlotte.

“Again, madam, I assure you that there is not the slightest basis for such a presumption,” Sidney said, feeling his heart break as he tried to defend Charlotte’s honour, hoping against reason that she would announce her wish to become his wife. But he knew she wouldn’t do it. Regardless of her possible feelings for him, she would not want to marry under the shadow of scandal and disgrace – especially since she’d never acted scandalously or disgracefully in the first place.

“And you?” Her ladyship turned to Charlotte. “What say you on all this? Will you do your duty and marry your patient for the sake of Sanditon’s reputation?”

“I am sorry to hear about Mr Parker’s difficulties,” Charlotte calmly said. “But I’m not part of the solution and am certainly under no moral obligation to marry him. This must be rectified within his family.”

Lady D graced Charlotte with a murderous glance. A less courageous woman would have been convinced to marry Sidney on the spot. But not so Charlotte Starling, crossing her arms in front of her, rejecting all demands with as much calm as determination. Her ladyship exhaled audibly, leaning heavily on her cane.

👒“Mrs Starling, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable woman. But do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will ever recede. I shall not go away until you have given me the consent I require.”

Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “And I certainly shall never give it. Your ladyship has been thoroughly misled by what I can only assume are anonymous reports to sully Mr Parker’s good name. I will not validate them by yielding to your demands and thereby smear my own character. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject.”

“Not so hasty, if you please.” Lady D dangerously wielded her cane. “I am by no means done. I am no stranger to how the world runs; I know everything. It’s wealth and status the less fortunate are all after. In fact, I have found my own niece and nephew conspiring to swindle themselves into my inheritance while presuming me on my deathbed. You, Mrs Starling, fit into the same mould.”

“You can have nothing further to say,” Charlotte resentfully answered. “You have insulted me in every possible way, madam. I must ask you to leave my family’s house.”

Her ladyship was highly incensed. “You have no regard, then, for the honour and credit of Sanditon! For the great project of your beau’s family, for our investment! Unfeeling, selfish girl!”

“I can hardly be asked to care for a place I don’t know and have no connection to,” Charlotte very calmly replied.

Lady D angrily shook her head, addressing Sidney again. “Mr Parker, we are done here. I expect you to return to Sanditon promptly.” Already at the door, she turned to Charlotte. “I take no leave of you, Mrs Starling. I send no compliments to your family. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”

Charlotte gave no answer. Mr Starling, heavily sweating, followed her ladyship outside to make sure that she was actually leaving.

In the ensuing silence, Sidney was tempted to close his eyes like when he was a little boy, believing the whole unpleasant world would vanish if only he didn’t see it.

His better adult self prevailed. Charlotte had turned her back on him, taking some wilted flowers out of the vase on the windowsill, but Nellie, the vicar and even the kitten were staring at him, expecting him to take charge. So be it.

“Mr Clement,” he said. “You own a curricle, don’t you?”

“Indeed I do, sir,” the vicar confirmed. “A daringly fast one, if I may be so bold.”

“May I prevail on you and ask you to drive me to Sanditon tomorrow morning?”

“But is that wise, sir? Your leg …”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to pad it. I’ll also ask you to dodge any potholes. But it is essential that I speak to my brother in person; the sooner, the better.”

“Of course,” the vicar said, nodding thoughtfully. “It will be an honour to help a friend in need.”

Sidney cleared his throat. The easy part was over. Next was the real challenge. “Mrs Starling,” he said, drawing her attention from the flower vase. May I ask for the privilege of a private conversation, please?” Before Charlotte could say yes or no, the vicar had grabbed the kitten, ushered Nellie out of the room, and promised to return the next morning at eight o’clock sharpish with his curricle.

They were alone. Finally alone: All Sidney’s dreams come true yet under the worst possible circ*mstances. Charlotte remained by the foot of his bed, not meeting his eyes, still holding the wilted flowers, the tiny quiver of her lip betraying how upset she was after Lady Denham’s performance.

As much as Sidney longed to take her in his arms and tell her how ardently he admired and loved her, he knew this was not the path to tread. He could only guess how deeply Lady D’s suspicions had hurt her, how embarrassed she was to hear her ladyship call her out for lewdness in front of her family and the vicar. A woman who’d never set a foot wrong, who’d never appeared by his side without a chaperone – except for that one night when Dr Mabuse’s ointment had left him in hell. But that night didn’t count. It was an emergency; she had to act swiftly. Looking back, he knew that in those moments, she’d only ever seen the patient in him, never the man.

“Mrs Starling,” he said, searching her gaze, his voice deep and urgent. “Please tell me what I can say to apologise and make you forget Lady Denham’s words.”

“It’s not your fault,” she softly said, turning her head to look out of the window again. “And it’s not in Lady Denham’s nature to apologise, I assume.” Outside, the goat bleated in agreement.

“No. But what she said …”

“Please, Mr Parker. I don’t wish to hear those insults again.” Her voice was filled with a quiet sadness as she gazed out of the window once more, twisting the dead flowers in her hand.

“You cannot think highly of my family … or me right at the moment,” Sidney remarked after a while.

“Your brother’s affairs are none of my business,” she told the muslin curtains.

“But they are if you are tainted by association.”

“I doubt your brother’s beau monde cares very much about what I do.”

“But I care!” Sidney cried, unable to hold back now. “Mrs Starling … I cannot remain silent any longer. Lady Denham’s words …”

“Mr Parker, please …” Now she turned to look at him, her eyes shiny, her sweet and usually so calm face so sad it stung Sidney’s heart.

“Mrs Starling … Charlotte … Lady Denham is just a vile, lonely woman living in her very own world. No one who knows you would believe any of her accusations. I know you, and I …” Suddenly, it all came out. “I never wanted to put myself under anyone’s power again. But in fact, Charlotte … these past weeks, I have found myself completely under someone’s power. And it’s the best place I have ever been in.” Sidney paused, catching his breath and trying to fathom Charlotte’s reaction. She was studying the limp flowers in her hands. “I know I have done little to recommend myself to you,” he softly conceded. “And yet … Mrs Starling … Charlotte… you must allow me to speak … “

She finally met his gaze. “Mr Parker, please, don’t continue.”

“But …”

“Whatever you might say would only induce me to hope and wish for a connection that cannot be.”

“But …,” Sidney began, his heart pounding at the word hope. “If our hopes and wishes are so much the same, why not connect them? Charlotte… why not… search together what we cannot find alone?”

Charlotte firmly shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Because of what Lady Denham said?” Sidney asked, and spurred by the word hope, continued, “I assure you, Mrs Starling … no one who knows you—really gets to know you, as I did—would believe her baseless accusations. Your strength and demeanour command nothing but respect and admiration.” He held out his hand to her. “If you allow me to…”

“No. Pray, don’t continue, Mr Parker.” Charlotte ignored the hand he was offering. “What Lady Denham said was hurtful and would certainly taint any immediate connection between us. Yet some reasons are much more significant to me than the gossip spread by people I never met.”

“Your family,” Sidney realised. She nodded. “But I’d be honoured to care for them,” he offered. “Your cousins will want for nothing; I’d make sure to give them a good education, to introduce them to the world…”

“Which world? A world where they would always be seen as outliers? Where a Lady Denham or a Mrs Campions would always be justified in denying them their respect? They are a farmer’s children. Timmy’s life has been predestined since the day his brother died. One hopefully distant day, he will inherit this house and the land, and he’ll farm it, as my husband was supposed to do and as all the Starlings before him did.”

“But what if his wishes are different?” Sidney suggested, thinking of the boy’s eagerness during their chess lessons. “If he wanted to… forge a new path for himself?”

Charlotte firmly shook her head. “There is no new path to forge if you are born into doing something. You either do it, or you bring great pain to your family. My grandfather has given his life to this land. He’s buried his wife here, his son and his grandson. When it is his time to go, I want him to have a peaceful mind. I don’t want him thinking that his efforts were in vain and that he was the last Starling to work these fields.”

“And you cannot leave them now,” Sidney said, seeing the crux of the matter. “You can’t get out.” Mr Starling’s frailness would become more and more of an issue for the family. Without Charlotte’s skills, sense and support, Timmy, Nellie and their grandfather would be lost. That was why she’d been so careful, so guarded about any connection to Sidney. That was why she’d brought the children as chaperones whenever she tended to him. He remembered how she’d slowly opened up to him at the haymaking, how she’d listened to his sad Antigua tale, showing him the understanding he’d always longed for. That was why he had thought of her as a conundrum he found impossible to solve: whenever she’d allowed herself to come closer to him, her grandfather’s state of health had reminded her of the priorities in her life. She’d been married not only to Ralphie Starling but to his whole family, and her responsibility for them had only increased with her husband’s demise.

“Look, Charlotte…”

She averted her gaze, but not quick enough for him to miss the tears falling from her eyes. Whatever he said would only torment her further, and that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to hold her, soothe her, kiss those tears away. Tell her how much she’d changed him, how she’d given his life a new perspective, a meaning. How much she was loved. But he understood that whatever he said would only deepen her heartbreak about the sacrifice she had to make for her family.

Just as he had to make a sacrifice to keep his own family out of trouble.

Love, Sidney learned in the most bitter lesson of his life, was very much about holding tight but even more about letting go.

🎩

“In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over; and looking up, I saw it was a starling hung in a little cage.—“I can’t get out—I can’t get out,” said the starling.

I stood looking at the bird: and to every person who came through the passage it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approach’d it, with the same lamentation of its captivity.—“I can’t get out,” said the starling .”

Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey (quoted in Mansfield Park)

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Previously...

Lady Denham continues to demand Sidney offer Charlotte his hand in marriage. She leaves in anger when Charlotte refuses to comply with her commands.

Sidney understands that Tom has been misusing his funds and that he needs to return to Sanditon asap. However, before leaving he has a substantial conversation with Charlotte, learning that she feels duty-bound to her family and will not leave the Starlings, who depend on her support.

🎩

The very next morning, at eight o’clock sharpish, Mr Clement arrived in his surprisingly stylish curricle (given that he was a humble clergyman in a tiny village), ready to transport Sidney back to Sanditon.

Lifting Sidney inside the vehicle and providing his leg with the necessary padding and protection turned into an operation that only succeeded after much swearing (Sidney), a few prayers (Mr Clement) and some practical advice (Charlotte). Finally, he was installed next to the vicar and ready to leave the Starling’s farm.

Mr Starling heartily shook his former guest’s hand, as did young Timmy, both claiming how dull and boring their lives would be without Mr Parker’s exciting guests. Nellie wiped several tears from her eyes, which Sidney found very touching, given that the quiet little girl had never spoken a single word with him. Ham and Leah, the maid and the farmhand, bowed and curtseyed and said thank you for the shiny coins Sidney had generously honoured their services with.

The kitten remained invisible, probably taking the departure of its favourite cuddle pillow as a personal insult. In a moment when everyone else, including Mr Clement, was busy binding their shoelaces, or wiping their nose, or discussing the favourable weather for the journey, Charlotte stepped closer to the carriage, her face a little paler than usual, her eyes large and expressive as ever.

“Goodbye, Mr Parker,” she said, handing over a hamper with provisions.

Accepting the gift, he caught her hand, covering it from both sides with his. How small it was, hidden between his large palms.

“Thank you, Mrs Starling. From the bottom of my heart and for everything you did for me,” he said, his gaze firmly trained on her.

She tried a little smile, but it came out crooked and never reached her eyes. “I wish you every happiness, Mr Parker.”

How will I ever find that? he wondered, closing his eyes for a second to relish the sweet touch of her skin on his. She withdrew her hand, and the moment was over.

“Ready to go?” Mr Clement asked. “Yeeaa!” – and off the curricle went, followed by the goat’s heartfelt goodbye song, down the dusty road leading away from the Starling family’s farm, towards the Willingden bridge and the main road to the coast.

The vicar, Mr Clement, was the kindest and most attentive companion one could wish for, especially when travelling with a broken leg and an even more severely broken heart. Never bringing his flashy vehicle up to full speed, Mr Clement managed to bypass most of the potholes on the road, making the journey slower and more agreeable for his passenger’s injuries.

As to the broken heart, the vicar never addressed it. Yet he made so much light and easy small talk about how excited he was to come and see Sanditon with his own good eyes that Sidney found himself quite distracted from his mental pain. “It is a well-known literary secret,” Mr Clement told Sidney, “that Mrs Anthony based her fictional Sableville on the geography and surroundings of Sanditon. That is very exciting, don’t you think? Just imagine, within just a few hours, I might be walking on the very same beach where this beacon of writing has tread and found her inspiration!”

“I only hope you will not be disappointed,” Sidney warned. “Sanditon is not the most exciting of places.”

“Well, if it was inspiring for Mrs Anthony, it will be exciting enough for me,” the vicar said, directing the horses around another pothole.

They made swift progress, and soon enough, towards midday, Sidney felt a difference in the air: they were nearing the spectacular clifftops road and the sea beyond.

“There it is!” Mr Clement cried, stopping the curricle as the fine blue carpet that was the English Channel on a sunny day rolled out in front of them, gulls circling high above the surface. “The sea!”

“Have you never been to the sea before?” Sidney asked.

“Indeed not! And I’m eager to see everything. - Oh, what a majestic house,” his travel companion added, pointing at a grey structure in an extensive park nestled in the valley below them.

“That’s Sanditon House, Lady Denham’s home,” Sidney explained.

“Oh, Lady Denham. – Well, let’s look at the sea,” the vicar quickly said, apparently not eager to awaken memories of her ladyship’s visit.

So they looked at the sea and the gulls, and Sidney explained how, on clear days, the shadow of the French coast was just visible above the horizon and how the waterline below the cliff was dotted with secret coves and tiny beaches. He prattled on, trying to keep the image away of walking up to the clifftop arm in arm with Charlotte. How she’d love the view, how the wind would play in her hair, loosening strands, how he would enjoy shoving those single strands back …-

“Do you think I might get a chance at sea bathing?” Mr Clement interrupted his daydreaming. “Mrs Anthony writes so eloquently about it, and then there is, of course, this stunning scene in which Lady Lotta chances upon Melbourne as he takes a plunge in the sea… I would feel so close to Mrs A’s characters if I shared their experiences.”

“I suppose the least thing we can do for you after helping me so generously is to arrange a round of sea bathing,” Sidney said.

“Oh, excellent. Very good! You know, Mr Parker, our lives in Willingden were so quiet and unassuming until you came to shake us all up…” The curricle left the clifftop road and entered the town, past some simple yet picturesque cottages and gardens that quickly gave way to a modern building site. This was Waterloo Terrace, the future apartments where most of Lady D’s and Sidney’s investment was tied up. And it was eerily quiet for a weekday, the craftsmen’s workshops abandoned, the scaffolding empty, the half-finished apartment buildings lurking windowless along a deserted street.

Not a good sign, Sidney thought, for once distracted from thinking of Charlotte. Something was very wrong here.

“This is exciting!” Mr Clement called out as he turned the carriage past Mrs Griffiths’s school (Georgiana … just another problem, Sidney realised with a sigh) and into the High Street. The library, the bakery, the shoe shop, the Crown Hotel: nothing really grand to Sidney’s eyes but most exhilarating to his companion.

“Trafalgar House is at the end of the street on the right,” Sidney pointed out, and Mr Clement, torn between directing the horses and admiring the shopfronts, brought the curricle to a stumbling halt in front of the modern sandstone building.

“This is elegant,” the vicar said, marvelling at the façade. “A truly sophisticated home!”

And costly, Sidney added silently. Eating up whatever Tom had inherited from their father.

The front door was opened upon their arrival: alerted by the carriage noise, Wickens stepped out, the family’s trusted factotum.

“Good to see you, Wickens,” Sidney said, and the old man fell into a deep bow.

“Master Sidney, sir… we didn’t expect you… Mr Tom never said…”

“I come home unannounced,” Sidney said. “And I might require some help to climb out of this carriage in the first place.”

“Of course. – But sir, we understood you were …”

“Well, I’m here now.” Sidney didn’t want to make a fuss before the servants and Mr Clement. The front door opened again, and out came Mary, a shiny string of pearls around her neck and three children on her heels.

“Sidney!”

“It’s Uncle Sidney!”

“Uncle Sidney!”

“I saw him first!”

“No, I did!”

“I did!”

“Uncle Sidney, did you bring us a present?”

“Children!” Mary called, stepping to the curricle where the vicar and Wickens were still trying to figure out how to make him climb down. “Don’t mug your uncle. He’s here for all of us. – Sidney,” she said, looking at him on the carriage box. “Why didn’t you inform us you’re coming home?”

“It was very short notice,” he said. “Allow me to introduce Mr Clement, the vicar of Willingden, who’s been kind enough to accompany me here in his carriage. Vicar, this is my sister-in-law, Mary – Mrs Parker.”

“Oh, very delighted,” Mr Clement beamed. “I’ve heard so much about Mr Parker’s illustrious family…” He stopped, maybe remembering that most of what he’d heard about Mr Parker’s illustrious family was not exactly flattering. Mary nodded graciously.

“Well, I’d say come in …but… can you move, Sidney? You still look very much incapacitated.”

“I am,” Sidney confirmed. Without Charlotte’s calm advice, getting him off the curricle and safely inside the house turned into a nearly insufferable operation. God, how he was missing her already! Her common sense, her encouraging smile, her steadiness … her small hand and soft touch, always the best medication to soothe his pain.

Somehow, with the help of Wickens and Mr. Clement, he ended up inside the house and on the sofa in the drawing room. Mary called for refreshments for their guests, and the children beleaguered their uncle, asking for hugs, presents, and piggyback rides.

“No piggyback rides for another month, I’m afraid,” he said, and “Children, Uncle Sidney was very ill; the best gift is that he is with us again,” their mother added, clutching her pearls.

“Where’s Tom?” Sidney asked.

“Oh, he’s gone to Brinshore, exploring a new business opportunity,” Mary blushed slightly, knowing as much as Sidney that “a new business opportunity” with Tom might lead within moments to tragedy as much as comedy – in any case, to emotional outbursts.

“Very well,” Sidney said, trying to keep his calm in front of the vicar. He’d have to wait until his brother returned, so he might as well take advantage of Tom’s absence. “I urgently need to talk to the foreman, James Stringer. Mary, can you send a man to fetch him? And someone to inform Mrs Griffiths and Miss Lambe about my return.”

“Certainly.”

As Mary left the room, a little uproar between the children broke out in the hallway.

“Oh, look …”

“Awww, so cute!”

“Can I hold it?”

“Look at that cute pink nose!”

“Mine! I want to hold it!”

Sidney exchanged a curious glance with Mr Clement.

Moments later, all three little Parkers stepped inside the drawing room: “Uncle Sidney, did you bring us a kitten?”

“Did I bring you … what?” Sidney asked, staring at the grey and white kitten that was nestling in Alicia’s arms, purring under her caresses and looking at Sidney as if it wanted to say: There you go. I’ve found another Parker to make me happy.

“Our darling kitten!” Mr Clement cried out. “Ah, children, this little fellow firmly belongs to your Uncle Sidney. – You sweet rogue,” he smiled, wiggling his finger before the perfectly innocent-looking baby tiger. “Travelling as a blind passenger in my curricle!”

“But can we play with it, Uncle Sidney?” Alicia asked, handing her new friend over to her uncle.

The kitten stretched and sniffed before settling down in his lap, licking Sidney’s fingers.

“I’ll let Mrs Starling know that her youngest charge is in the best hands,” Mr Clement said with a friendly beam.

Sidney made no reply but closed his eyes, for a moment transported back to the small bed chamber, the muslin curtains flowing in the summer breeze as Mrs Starling stood by the window, arranging the flowers. I wish you every happiness…

Oh, Charlotte.

Mary returned with Wickens and a tea tray, and as refreshments were handed out, Sidney caught up with family news and town gossip. Arthur and Diana had arrived for a concert Tom was organising but were out on a walk now. Mrs Griffiths suffered under Miss Lambe’s moods and the Misses Beaufort’s silliness. Dr Fuchs had fled Sanditon by night after word made the round that his dubious concoctions had nearly killed Mr Sidney Parker. In a somewhat scandalous twist, Lady Denham, recovered from her near-death experience, had disinherited her nephew, Sir Edward, and her scheming niece, Miss Brereton, and banned them both from Sanditon House. Not all details were known about what had led to this drastic decision, but it was widely accepted that her ladyship ordering a new drawing room floor had something to do with it.

Sidney felt his mouth twitch; so that was why the old dragon had insisted on assuming the worst between Charlotte and him. She’d seen lecherous, calculating behaviour within her own family and could not distinguish between a pair of scheming, money-hunting grifters and two people genuinely falling in love with each other.

Mary kindly inquired after Mr Clement’s connection to Sidney, and after learning about his enthusiasm for The Mysteries of Sableville, admitted to having a weakness for this superb novel herself.

Thus, the conversation flowed easily, allowing Sidney to sit back, sip his tea, pet the kitten, and think about Charlotte. I wish you every happiness… - How, he wondered, how was he to find happiness now that he had encountered perfection? Deep down, he knew that if he ever settled down now, it would be for a second choice, for a woman he would like and respect – but it would never be as it could have been with Charlotte.

There was a knock on the front door, and moments later, Wickens announced the arrival of Mr Stringer and Mr Robinson. Sidney sighed; matters had to be serious if Stringer was bringing his fiery second in command. “Mary, vicar, would you mind leaving me alone for this conversation?”

“Oh no, of course not,” the vicar said, and “Let me show you your room, sir,” Mary suggested. The kitten climbed off Sidney’s lap and started licking its paws.

James Stringer walked in, a tall, handsome young man with a sweep of unruly blond hair and the strong build of a workman who used his muscles every day. Fred Robinson was shorter and sturdier. His green eyes gleaming with anger, his lips a thin line, he reminded Sidney of a boxer about to attack.

“Gentlemen,” Sidney said, trying to keep the kitten from climbing on his shoulder. This was, after all, a serious business conversation. “Thank you for joining me at such short notice.”

“Not much else we have to do now,” Fred said, folding his arms in front of him.

“And that’s exactly why I wanted to have this conversation,” Sidney nodded. “Every hour Waterloo Terrace is not under construction costs us dearly.”

“You,” Fred corrected. “It costs you dearly, Mr Parker, you and your brother, and your noble investors.”

Sidney felt his mouth twitch. They’d been off to a bad start. “Mr Stringer,” he addressed the foreman. “First and foremost, let me express my condolences about the loss of your father. I know this is a difficult time for you.” Of course, he knew; he remembered only too well the sorrow he’d felt when word about his own father’s demise reached Antigua.

“Thank you, sir,” Stringer said, keeping his expression neutral. Next to him, Robinson clenched his fists.

“I understand there has been an accident on the building site that injured your father?” Sidney asked.

“Old man broke his leg,” Robinson replied in Stringer’s place. “After climbing a scaffold he wasn’t supposed to climb on. But your noble brother makes one man work two jobs in order to cut costs. Old Stringer didn’t want to make his son’s life on the site even more difficult than it already was, so he complied.”

“I see,” Sidney said. “But the fall wasn’t fatal, I believe.”

“Nah,” Robinson shook his head. “His leg was badly broken, and with the doctor gone, there was no one to fix it. Nearly bled to death, the old man, and then caught the bad blood. – He was less lucky than you, sir,” the builder added, pointing at Sidney’s leg. “You can afford a fine doctor to save your life, a warm bed, and good food to nourish you back.”

“Well,” Sidney didn’t want to describe in detail how his leg was saved and by whom.

“Fact of the matter is,” Robinson said, arms crossed, chin up, “James’s old man died because of your brother’s neglect. And we’ll not get back on that scaffold as long as we must fear for our lives.”

“But you have been paid,” Sidney said.

“Have we?” Robinson scoffed. “Three months later, for work we did in spring. But has the building site been secured? No. Have new workmen arrived? No. Have we been told to work after sunset? Yes. Have we seen Mrs P parading about in a new necklace when, for weeks, we didn’t know how to feed our families? Yes. Is there enough money for Mr Parker to organise a concert and invite half of London? Yes. – So, Mr Sidney, excuse me, but we will not return to work, not as long as you and your ilk don’t understand that you are nothing without our labour, and you’ll treat us accordingly.”

“I do understand your worries, Mr Robinson,” Sidney said. Of course, he did; he’d been taught that lesson in Antigua. “And from now on, you will be paid regularly. I will give you my word on that. – As to the working conditions, I’d very much prefer to do a thorough site inspection myself, but I can’t, so I have to ask you, Mr Stringer, to tell me what needs to be done to make the site safe for you and your men. – I’ll get my agent to find more workers. Still, until we do, I suggest you review the work that needs to be done, Mr Stringer, and prioritise what can be covered with your men now. Could you live with that? Would that make you and your men return to the work?”

Stringer and Robinson exchanged a quick glance. “Regular pay, you say?” Stringer asked.

“I give you my word,” Sidney confirmed.

“That’s what your brother said. He never kept it,” Robinson jeered.

“My brother is my brother,” Sidney said, suppressing the urge to strangle that very same brother slowly and painfully. “I’m not accountable for his promises, but I’m honour-bound by mine.”

“Mr Sidney has always been the more sensible brother,” Stringer reminded his friend. “You’ll get my report on the safety issues by tonight, sir, as well as a plan on how to continue.”

“Thank you, Mr Stringer,” Sidney said, offering his hand. The builder shook it, followed by Robinson, who nearly squeezed it, giving him a slight idea of what to expect in case of disappointment.

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Previously ...

Accompanied by Mr Clement, Sidney returns to Sanditon. He’s welcomed warmly by Mary and the children and the kitten that has secretly followed its favourite cuddle pillow. Sidney meets with the builder to reassure them that their complaints about pay and safety will be taken care of. The building work can resume.

The great projector, however, is yet to return and meet his brother ....

🎩

As Stringer and Robinson left, they nearly bumped into a whirlwind dressed in a saffron-coloured coat and a straw bonnet: Georgiana Lambe, ward, heiress, and force to be reckoned with. She remained in the doorway, staring at Sidney.

“So, for once, that silly gorgon did not misunderstand,” she said. “You are back.”

“Yes, and I’m happy to see you too, Georgiana,” Sidney replied with a forced smile. His ward scoffed.

“I’m not happy to see you. Life was fine without you sniffing around.” She tilted her head to look at the fluffy ball curling in his lap. “What’s that?”

“It’s a kitten. A companion from Willingden, curious to see Sanditon.”

Georgiana was not impressed. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“Excuse me?”

“Charlotte,” Georgiana repeated. “Mrs Starling. The lady you asked to write letters to me so you wouldn’t have to bother. Where is she?”

“She’s at her family’s farm in Willingden, of course,” Sidney said, feeling a strange mix of indignation (had his motives in establishing this correspondence been so obvious?) and longing for Charlotte.

Georgiana furrowed her brows. “But will she be joining you later? For the concert next week, perhaps?”

“I doubt it.” Rather than meeting his ward’s eye, Sidney looked at the window. A large herring gull was sitting on the sill outside, peeping in. “Mrs Starling has a large family to look after.”

“I don’t understand.” Now Georgiana was clearly irritated. “I believed you were going to marry her.”

“What?”

“Well, why else would you wish to establish a correspondence between us?”

Yes, why indeed?

“Well, I… umm, I wanted you to have someone you feel you could confide in… someone more of your age, who would understand your unique situation and counsel you from a better perspective than I could.”

“Are you meaning to say … you… actually care about me?”

“I’m your guardian, Georgiana,” Sidney reminded her. “It’s my duty to care about you.”

“Wrong.” Fiery Miss Lambe was back, the one who was anything but a lamb but would passionately speak up against being seen as a pawn in the marriage game. “You used to say it was your duty to fulfil my father’s wishes and prepare me for the role I was to take in society.”

“Yeah …” Sidney’s gaze returned to the window and the curious gull. The kitten buckled at the bird, hissing and pretending to be a lion rather than a baby kitten. “Well, I might have experienced a change of heart.”

“Wait! It was her influence! Charlotte! She made you change your mind about me.” Georgiana shook her head in wonder. “She must be the most sensible person on this entire chilly island.”

“She… umm, look, Georgiana, Mrs Starling is a very kind and clever young lady. I value her opinion and …”

“You do want to marry her!” Georgiana triumphed. “You are in love with her!”

“That is not the point of this conversation,” Sidney insisted. His ward was having none of it.

“You want to marry her, but she turned you down!”

“Sometimes, these matters are slightly more complicated.”

“Are they? You ask someone to marry you, and they say yes or no.”

“And how would you know about that?” Sidney said, feeling on edge. What if she’d been asked by Otis Molyneaux, that soulful young London merchant who loved and gambled equally excessively?

“Then what is the complication?” Georgiana said. Sidney noted that she didn’t answer his question.

“As I said, Mrs Starling has a family to look after.”

“But without that family, she would have said yes?” Georgiana insisted.

Would she?

I wish you every happiness. The shy glances she’d given him, the quiet tears she’d cried. Always foreseeing his needs. How she’d come to him that night after Dr Fuchs’s visit as if she’d sensed something was wrong, that he needed her. Holding Babbington and Crowe at gunpoint in case they were not friends but foes.

Georgiana didn’t wait for an answer that wouldn’t come anyway. “That doesn’t make sense to me. You want to marry Charlotte, she wants to marry you, but then you both prefer to be separate and miserable.”

“I never said I was miserable. - Ouch!” The kitten showed its claws. Outside, the herring gull started flapping its wings against the window. And his ward knew best, of course.

“But you look miserable. - If I had a chance at happiness, I would snatch it,” Georgiana declared. Sidney sighed. Educating young ladies wasn’t his preferred pastime.

“Well, Miss Lambe, I fear part of growing up is to learn that you will not find happiness if it comes at the price of hurting other people.”

“Nonsense. Selfishness is in the very nature of love. Hurting other people is the risk you’ll have to take if you want to find happiness.”

Sidney groaned, realising that there was still a long way to go in the education of Georgiana Lambe and that the wisdom and influence of one Charlotte Starling would be greatly appreciated in it.

Shortly after Georgiana had left for her rooms at Mrs Griffiths’, Arthur and Diana came back from their walk, thrilled to see their brother returned, even more thrilled to see him recovered so well, and overjoyed to renew their acquaintance with Mr Clement. Arthur kindly offered to take the vicar sea bathing in the afternoon (an offer happily accepted), and Diana addressed the one great matter on her mind that had cost her sleep and made her lose her appetite: the fact that she’d sent horrible Dr Mabuse to Willingden, the faux doctor who’d proposed to bleed Sidney. “I’m feeling so bad about it!” Diana kept exclaiming. “We met him at the Arches Inn in Guildford, and he made such a favourable impression on us.”

“Even shared his sparkling wine and canapés!” Arthur added.

“There’s no need to worry, Diana,” Sidney assured her. “He certainly has more regrets about the whole affair than I do,” he added, remembering how the ever-bleating goat had sent the odious man right into the dung heap. “If there’s one lesson to be learned from the story, it’s never to trust people who invite you to share their sparkling wine and canapés. Especially in Guildford, I daresay.”

Tea was served, and more news exchanged. Everyone was happy to hear that the building work would resume soon. Mr Clement was very excited about the prospect of sea bathing with Arthur, and Mary was looking forward to the concert her husband had arranged for Saturday next week. A famous singer had been invited, and the event would mark Sanditon as a hub for cultivated entertainment.

Later in the afternoon, when Arthur and Mr Clement had set off for their sea bathing expedition, and Diana gone to take a rest after the day’s excitement, Sidney went through his correspondence. Babington indicated he and Crowe might be back for the concert, his lordship hoping to take another chance with Miss Denham.

And finally, in the early evening hours, the great projector himself returned home, bursting with enterprise and enthusiasm, a wide grin plastered on his face as he walked into the drawing-room, ready to embrace his dearest wife and share the news of his successful business meeting in Brinshore … only to stand rooted to the spot when detecting his middle brother and a baby kitten on the settee.

“Sidney! How did you get here?”

“By curricle,” Sidney suggested. “Willingden’s vicar was kind enough to take me.”

“Very obliging of him, and we are delighted to see you, are we not, Mary?” Tom Parker turned around to his wife. Mary nodded eagerly. Her husband wasn’t finished yet: “An excellent surprise! – Only … I believed … you were … very much incapacitated?” The great projector pointed his cane at Sidney’s leg.

“I am very much incapacitated,” Sidney confirmed. “What do you think would make me hurry back to Sanditon, Tom?”

Tom stared at him, confused for a moment. “The concert?” he suggested. “Surely, you must have heard about the splendid concert we are putting on Saturday next week? I have arranged for a most renowned soprano to delight us with works of the greatest composers.”

“No.” Sidney shook his head, clenching his fists to keep them from punching his brother in front of Mary. “That is not what brought me here.”

“Hm.” Tom looked at his wife for help, and seeing she was not going to assist, suggested, “Or is it the sea breeze? I doubt you’ll find the air at Wilmington as invigorating…”

“It’s Willingden, and no, I didn’t come for the sea breeze. – Maybe you want to leave us alone, Mary,” Sidney suggested, and with a sorrowful glance towards her husband, she did.

Tom watched his wife leave. “I’m at a loss. Clearly, Sidney, as much as it’s a pleasure to see you, you should not have taken the trouble of journeying on our rough country roads. Better look after your poor leg and enjoy the delights of simple country life in Wilmingden.”

“I would have gladly stayed in Willingden for the rest of the summer, Tom, had I not received a most disconcerting visit from your main investor.”

“Lady Denham?” Tom’s eyes doubled in size. “Oh, what might she have to say? All the world knows that she’s very frail these days, hardly recovered from her near-deathly illness, having to deal now with the extra blow of Sir Edward’s moral defection.”

“Well,” Sidney said, feeling his mouth twitch, “her ladyship was definitely healthy enough to accuse me of illicit affairs …”

“Sidney! I’m aghast! Don’t soil Sanditon’s good name and reputation with your dallying!”

“… and to notice that all building works had stopped due to safety concerns and irregular pay.”

Tom quickly shook his head, lifting his hands in defence. “Oh, that is a very dark colour to paint our project. With a venture such as Sanditon, it is only natural to reach a financial bottleneck here and then. But our luck changes quickly; just now, in Brinshore, I have met the most engaging potential investor …”

“Luck?” Sidney repeated. “This is business, Tom, not gambling. The Sanditon venture requires reliability, not luck. – So what is this about the builders laying down work due to safety concerns?”

“Nothing.” His brother shrugged his shoulders. “They are allowing themselves a holiday, believing they can afford it after receiving their pay.”

Sidney’s fist came down on the cushion next to him, startling the kitten. “What world are you living in, Tom? The foreman’s father died because he felt obliged to do work he wasn’t fit for. With my last credit, I gave you strict instructions on how to use the money. Yet instead of increasing the workforce, you organise concerts and buy shiny new necklaces for your wife!”

Tom shook his head. “Mary is my strength, my inspiration. I owe her some acknowledgement, do I not? She’s the second lady of the town; I can’t have her go out in last year’s jewellery. After all, we are the Parkers – and so are you, Sidney.”

Slowly, Sidney shook his head. If anything, he wished he was a Starling right now, working the land of his forefathers, bleating goats and haymaking inclusive, but without having to deal with investments and profits. “I didn’t ask for any of this. The name has no practical value. The business is broken. There are holes in the funding, the builders are revolting, and you, brother, are a dangerous fantasist.”

“Now… that is a very harsh judgment, Sidney.” Tom sniffed, seemingly insulted. “After your terrible accident, I was beset by worries …”

“Yes. You were so terribly beset by worries that without thinking twice, you left your own brother in the care of complete strangers.”

Any form of irony, however, was lost on Tom Parker. “That Sterling family seemed to be fairly decent people.”

“Starling family, and they are decent, fortunately for me, even though I don’t understand how you, of all people, would be able to judge on the matter of decency. Be honest, Tom: you were glad to have me neutralised and out of the way because it left you free to follow your own agenda.” That was something Sidney saw very clearly now: His accident had left Tom unchecked – an invaluable gift for someone whose relationship with reality was severely twisted.

“But brother …”

“Don’t but brother me.” Brothers didn’t lie to each other; brothers didn’t cheat. Brothers gave support and affection, even in the most hopeless situations. “Here’s what’s going to happen if you want to keep my investment, Tom: You’ll cede all financial control to me. You can be master of the revels, play the jester to your beau monde, be the front and face of Sanditon, but you’ll keep away from my funds … or Lady Denham’s, for that matter.”

“But I told you… I’ve just returned from meeting a most promising investor in Brinshore …”

“And pray, what are this gentleman’s credentials?”

“Oh, he was driving a grand carriage. A connoisseur of silk, judging by his elegant cravat…. And his handwriting … such a fine, gentlemanly script …”

Sidney listened up, remembering Lady Denham using the same words when defending the anonymous informer’s reliability.

“And does that silk-loving gentleman with the grand carriage have a name?”

“He prefers his anonymity for the moment, as he’s expecting a substantial heritage to be his very soon… hence the meeting in Brinshore rather than Sanditon, of course,” Tom explained, nodding to underline his point.

“Of course,” Sidney repeated, knowing that, again, his irony would remain undetected by his brother. “I hate to repeat myself, Tom, but you are a dangerous fantasist. I laid down my conditions; you may choose whether you wish to trust Mr Anonymous Silk or me.”

“Well, you know I’m a family man … I’ll always choose you over anyone else, Sidney.” Sidney’s mouth twitched; that good statement indeed only held true as long as money was involved. “But tell me,” Tom continued, “these rumours one has been hearing … about you and Mrs Stirling forming a tender attachment … you don’t want to debase yourself by marrying a farmer’s widow, do you?”

“Her name is Mrs Starling, and she’s a gentleman’s daughter, just as we are a gentleman’s sons,” Sidney said, clenching his fists to keep them from flying right in his brother’s silly face. “And as her father is landed, I might even assume that in the intricate workings of your beau monde, she’s ranking above you and me. – However. Is it your friend in the silk cravat that alerted you to the connection?”

“You don’t deny it then?” Tom was Mr Self-Righteousness himself now.

“I certainly won’t deny admiring the woman who saved my life.”

“But Sidney! You could do much better! A baronet’s daughter … an heiress…”

“As you don’t see me planning a wedding, I don’t understand what this conversation is about.”

“But you are considering …”

“I am considering withdrawing all my funds immediately unless we change the topic.”

Tom sighed deeply, shaking his head. “You are a conundrum, Sidney.”

Better a conundrum than a walking disaster, Sidney thought.

There was some commotion by the door with Arthur and Mr Clement returning from their sea bathing expedition, both in high spirits after their shared adventure. “Madness!” Arthur repeated, settling by the fire and signalling Wickens to bring some mulled wine. The vicar, Mr Clement, was all in awe about the beauty of the coastline, the width of the golden beach, the invigorating freshness of the sea, the unique experience of plunging into the waves … plus the added bonus of walking where Mrs Anthony might have set foot…

“Ha!” Tom Parker exclaimed. “That is the enthusiasm I’m looking for! No gloomy assumptions, but unbridled positivity! – Sir, can I interest you in one of our luxury departments? First row, sea view …”

“You can definitely interest me,” Mr Clement laughed. “But that is all. I could not afford such a place. He is a wise man who doeth not live beyond his means.”

“Amen to that,” Sidney said – although he was anything but a religious man.

🎩

The following morning, Mr Clement and his curricle left to return to Willingden. Along with a well-filled lunch hamper and the warmest wishes of the Parker family, he carried two letters: one from Georgiana to her very dear pen pal, Mrs Starling, the content of which remained a secret between the two young ladies, and another from Mr Sidney Parker, addressed to Mr Ephraim Starling. Mr Parker’s letter contained his warmest and heartfelt thanks to the Starling family for their kindness and generosity towards him. Along with his good wishes for the Starling farm, Sidney asked his former host to contact him without hesitation should they ever find themselves in a position that required the assistance, connection or even the monetary support of a true friend – not that he expected to see them in any kind of trouble. However, he did want to keep all communication lines open, hoping they would lead him back to the one person that mattered most to him: Charlotte. His Charlotte.

Even the kitten, hissing at the curious herring gull again, agreed.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

Previously …

Back in Sanditon, Georgiana is severely disappointed by the absence of Charlotte, believing Sidney was going to marry her.

Sidney confronts Tom about his business antics, but as usual, the great projector shows little remorse about his actions but much enthusiasm for taking advantage of other people.

Mr Clement returns to Willingden. The kitten stays in Sanditon.

🎩

During his first days back in Sanditon, Sidney was busy wading through his brother’s business affairs. The fact that he was still very much immobile didn’t make matters easier: he keenly felt the absence of Charlotte, his trusted scribe, clear-minded conscience, and capable nurse. With her gone, he had to regain use of his right hand and write his letters himself (truth be told, he’d been cheating a bit about the state of his hand, enjoying Charlotte’s presence and competent help with his correspondence far too much – so going back to writing his own letters wasn’t as much of a fuss as he pretended it to be).

Every day, he met with James Stringer, a remarkably sensible and capable young fellow. The foreman was quite impressed with Sidney’s architectural knowledge, especially when discussing roof forms. Sidney smiled and nodded and thought of Mrs Starling and the architecture book that had kept him company for so many hours during his convalescence. Slowly but surely, he gained the builder’s trust and confidence, and the building works finally made substantial progress.

Tom was, of course, unwilling and reluctant to share all the details of his exact financial situation. However, it didn’t take Sidney too long to find out that said situation was grave, very grave indeed: amongst other neglections, his brother had not paid the premium for his venture’s fire insurance, exposing them all to the danger of ruin and the threat of the debtor’s prison if a spark was lit in the wrong place. The wooden scaffolding meant the building site was a particularly sensitive spot. Sidney made sure to pay that premium immediately.

Equally frightful news came from Sanditon House: Her ladyship had exerted herself too much with dallying around the country and accusing people she didn’t even know of illicit affairs. She was now back on her sickbed, nursing what was suspected to be a severe case of taptikliditis. Since a cure for that mysterious ailment had yet to be found (and still hasn’t been found two hundred years later), her recovery was very much in doubt.

The kitten kept Sidney faithful company, but dear and devoted as his little friend was, there was no denying that he missed Charlotte – her calming presence, her common sense, her scent of sunshine and lavender, her reluctant smiles, and all those little gestures and peculiarities he’d become so fond of. Occasionally, he caught himself staring at the heavy velvet drapes or the presumptuous floral displays of Trafalgar House and longed for those peaceful moments when he’d watched Charlotte trimming the light muslin curtains and arranging new wildflowers in the clay vases on the windowsill, Nellie quietly playing by her side, the goat bleating in the yard. Long gone seemed those happy days, the kitten licking his fingers being the only proof that they’d been more than a dream.

Georgiana continued to be in a strange mood, spending many hours wandering the beach with her painting materials or composing long missives to her particular friend, Mrs Charlotte Starling. This correspondence being very much in Sidney’s interest, he never interfered and did his very, very best to rein in his curiosity when Georgiana received a reply from Mrs Starling, enclosed in a letter from Mr Clement to Sidney.

The vicar wished to let his dear friend and reading companion know that he had returned safely to Willingden. He’d duly informed the Starling family about the darling kitten’s absconding to Sanditon’s golden shores—or rather, the comforts of Trafalgar House. This news had been accepted with an equal measure of astonishment and amusem*nt by Mr Starling and his grandchildren, and they were all sending their warmest wishes and regards to both Sidney and his faithful four-pawed companion.

Mr Clement included some tittle-tattle about the uproar Lady D’s performance had caused in the quiet parish of Willingden and how everyone was looking forward to the barn dance Mr Heywood was organising one of these Saturday nights (this final piece of information made Sidney groan and regret that he was still not able to stand on his feet, let alone dance, even at a barn dance).

One sunny Wednesday afternoon, Sidney was sitting in the drawing room, chatting with Mary over a cup of tea. He’d always been very fond of his sister-in-law, whose only fault was the generosity with which she so quickly forgave her husband’s follies. Tom was out pestering the inhabitants of Sanditon House about Lady D’s state of health, and the children were in the care of that invisible helping hand, the governess.

In the quiet of the afternoon and without Tom interfering, it was easy to discuss such matters as Georgiana’s future (knowing how unhappy she was at Mrs Griffiths, Sidney hoped to place her under the more motherly care of Mary) or his experiences at the Starling’s farm. Mary had a good laugh about the goat that had so often interrupted Sidney’s rest and a warm smile for the kitten that even now insisted on curling up on his lap, purring happily. “I’m glad you found a …” she was saying when the noise of hooves cluttering outside distracted her. It was very much the sound of a vehicle pulling to a stop in front of Trafalgar House.

“What sort of carriage is this?” Mary wondered, gazing out the window.

Of course, Sidney had no answer to that question since he was seated too far away from the window and unable to stand up alone. Mary, however, had already found an answer.

“Sidney, I believe it might be – yes, it is! It’s your friend from Willingden, the vicar … yet who’s the lady with him?”

(Yes, who indeed? How about a little cliffhanger? A tiny little baby cliffhanger? Just long enough for me to get a nice cup of tea.

I don’t know about the rest of the world, but we are having a ghastly icy spell these days, far too chilly for mid-April ❄️☃️. I had to do some zigzagging across the country yesterday and saw snow-capped hills! – Speaking about zigzagging across the country, let’s return to our darling couple.

The weather in Sanditon is perfect, by the way, a lovely, sunny summer day with just the lightest of sea breezes.)

“Lady?” Groaning with pain – and ultimately unsuccessfully – Sidney tried to hoist himself up again. The kitten protested angrily.

“Oh, Sidney, dear, you’re not supposed to exert yourself like that … sit down again, sit down,” Mary ordered. Moments later, the children rushed in. “Mama, mama, Mr Clement has come back,” Alicia claimed.

“And he’s brought a pretty lady,” Jenny added.

Sidney felt his heartbeat accelerate to an unhealthy rate. Sure enough, now Wickens appeared, announcing: “The vicar, Mr Clement, and Mrs Starling.” – and even before Sidney had made sure his hair was combed and his waistcoat buttoned, the vicar walked in, accompanied by loveliness herself, wearing a mustard coloured coat and a straw bonnet, her cheeks reddened from the wind, the fresh air and the sun, some of her curls come loose: Charlotte Starling, the very real Charlotte Starling, the darling object of Sidney’s unwavering affection. If this was another of his dreams, he didn’t intend to wake up anytime soon.

“Now that is a pleasant surprise!” Mary cried, making the dream very real. “We didn’t expect to see you again so soon, vicar. – And Mrs Starling! What a pleasure to meet you in person. We are so very grateful for everything you did for our Sidney.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, foregoing all courtesy—in fact, not even looking at Sidney—“Is Miss Lambe here? We are greatly concerned about her.”

“She’s out on the beach with her drawing materials,” Mary explained.

“Why are you worried?” Sidney asked, also skipping all rules of courtesy and politeness. Whenever he’d imagined seeing Charlotte again, it had involved shy glances and embarrassed blushing, not panic creeping up inside him and eating up all the joy.

As always in crises, Charlotte was no-nonsense and straightforward.

“In the letter I received this morning, she wrote about a man she’d been meeting by chance a couple of times during her walks … apparently, he’d suggested an encounter this afternoon to… to intensify their acquaintance. – From what she let on, I fear his intentions might not be honest, especially since you mentioned her being an heiress with a substantial fortune at her disposition …”

“And you came here to warn me … us?” Sidney asked. Charlotte quietly nodded.

“I offered my curricle,” Mr Clement eagerly explained, “To have Mrs Starling apprise you personally of the urgency of the situation. – And here we are. It is quite like a scene out of a novel, is it not?” he added, winking at Mary.

Mary winked back. Ignoring these two conspirators, Sidney turned to Charlotte again. “That man. Did Miss Lambe say anything about him?”

“That he is charming … a sensitive soul … and very understanding of her difficult situation. – Do you know him, Mr Parker?”

“I think he might be someone … well.” There were more urgent matters than whether Otis Molyneaux had managed to sneak back into Georgiana’s heart.

“You have to go and find her immediately,” Mary mandated, leaving the identity of “you” open to interpretation. “He may have lured poor Miss Lambe to a remote spot on the beach.” Or worse, Sidney thought, images of a wrestling Georgiana and carriages with darkened windows running through his mind.

“You can take my curricle,” Mr Clement suggested. “That way, you will be faster … and even be able to engage in a pursuit, should that rogue have taken advantage of his lead.”

“I’ll take the reins,” Charlotte declared, and before he knew what was going on, Sidney was carried outside into the sunshine by Wickens and the priest, wrapped in his coat, bundled up on the curricle’s seat next to the love of his life, and handed his top hat by his sister-in-law.

“I hope you’ll find them!” Mary said, showing her crossed fingers, and “Thoughts and prayers!” Mr Clement added, as Charlotte indeed took the reins.

“Yeeeaaa!” The curricle staggered off, leaving Sidney to grip the handrail tightly. “Where can we access the beach?” Charlotte asked.

“This way.” Sidney directed her to a path through the dunes that was wide and safe enough for the curricle. Carriage races were regularly run on the beach, so driving there wouldn’t be an issue. Glancing sideways, he took in Charlotte’s profile (somewhat rigid as she was concentrating on the sandy path), struggling to understand how they had arrived here. How fifteen minutes ago, he’d been longing for her, and now she was here, next to him, very real and very determined to protect Georgiana. And how, rather than swooning, sighing and crying like the star-crossed lovers they were, they were riding a curricle together towards the Sanditon beach, searching for his ward. He reached out his hand -

With a jolt, the curricle arrived on the beach, nearly sending Sidny off the seat. Groaning, he reached for the handrail again.

“Keep your…,” eyes on the path, he wanted to advise, but realising how belittling that sounded, reverted to, “… back straight.”

Not much better.

“Thank you. I know what I’m doing.” Charlotte didn’t look at him, but at the ground she was navigating, biting her lower lip in concentration.

“You’ll have to be careful, or we might get stuck in a drift.”

“Yes, thank you. I know exactly what I’m doing. Now please, I’m concentrating, and you’re putting me off.”

Silenced, Sidney scanned the beach: Tom’s pride, the burgundy-coloured bathing machines further down to the right, the vast expanse of the mudflats to the left. That was where they had to look for Georgiana, where her beau might be hiding. Splashing up seaweed and mud, the curricle gained speed as it chased across the watery field. And Sidney laughed, for the simple joy of it and despite his worries about his ward: That Charlotte had come, without hesitation, without any awkwardness or drama, to help him save Georgiana from a major foolishness. That she was sitting next to him now, close enough to catch her scent of sunshine and lavender. It made him hope as he had never dared to hope before.

“There!” Reining the horses, Charlotte pointed at a lone figure crouching by the dunes. “Might that be Miss Lambe?”

“I think so.”

“Well, then at least she is still waiting for her rendezvous,” Charlotte said, leaving Sidney to realise that one of the aspects he really liked about her was her ability to see the positive in any situation, however desperate it was.

As they approached the lone figure, he saw that it was indeed Georgiana. She was sitting in the sand, gnawing on a sketching pen, her drawing board on her knees. A giant herring gull was perched on the dune behind her, watching her.

When Georgiana noticed the carriage coming closer, she hoisted herself up, welcoming them with the usual defiance in her expression.

“Georgiana!” Sidney called out.

Georgiana ignored her guardian. “You must be Mrs Starling,” she said as Charlotte climbed down from the curricle. “I’m so glad to meet you,” she added, kissing her correspondent’s cheeks.

“Georgiana, what is going on here?” Sidney asked from the height of his seat. “We were under the impression that … umm, we expected to find you in company.”

“Did you?” His ward’s eyes glinted with mischief as she turned to her pen pal. “Oh, Mrs Starling, did you betray my secret and tell my guardian about my mysterious admirer?”

Charlotte blushed. “You implied quite clearly in your last letter that you were going to meet a man whose credentials and intentions would appear questionable to the outsider.” To Sidney’s anything-but-impartial perception, she appeared flustered for the very first time in their acquaintance.

“I may have implied that,” Georgiana said, all innocence. “And maybe, I even intended meeting said gentleman. However, upon reflection, I may have asked myself: What would Charlotte Starling do? - And I may have realised that Charlotte Starling would have marvelled at the coincidence of bumping thrice into the same gentleman on a lonely beach walk, and at that gentleman’s miraculous ability of always saying exactly what I might want to hear. – You would not have fallen for such a ruse, would you, Mrs Starling?”

“I hope not,” Charlotte replied, frowning. “But then, I’m not in the habit of bumping into gentlemen.”

“I didn’t think so. You seem very bor… sensible, just like my guardian.” Georgiana sighed. “Anyway, I remembered what you wrote to me, Mrs Starling: not to listen to a gentleman’s boasting, but to look out for quiet signs of affection, like a blush or a secret smile. Finding none of them, I declined that gentleman’s kind offer of taking me for a coach ride.”

“Ahem.” Among the many questions Sidney had, one was most pressing. “Then I understand it’s not Otis Molyneaux you expected to meet here?”

“Otis? – Oh, no. That is another thing I learned from Mrs Starling: don’t trust a man who shows more love for your soul than for yourself.” She took Charlotte’s hand. “I’m so glad we have finally met. And that you hurried to rescue me from the claws of a fortune hunter – I never had a real friend before in my life, but I believe such concern is a sign of true friendship.”

Charlotte quietly squeezed Georgiana’s hand. She’s good for us, Sidney realised—not only for me but also for Georgiana, probably even for the children and Mary, and maybe even Tom.

“The name,” he then inquired, returning to reality. “Your suitor’s name, Georgiana.”

Georgiana let go of Charlotte’s hand and pointed at his leg, which was still in a splint. “Why? Are you going to challenge him to a duel?”

“I will, if that’s what’s necessary to protect you,” Sidney claimed.

Georgiana raised her eyebrows. “When did you start caring for me?”

“I’ve always cared for you, Georgiana. I know I have not been very good at showing it, and I have neglected my duties as your guardian more than once, but still…”

“Please,” his ward interrupted. “Don’t get too sentimental. - His name is Lockhart. He’s staying at the Duke’s Inn in Brinshore. He’s an artist – or at least he claims to be.”

“Lockhart!” Sidney’s mouth twitched uncontrollably.

“Do you know him?” Georgiana and Charlotte asked simultaneously.

He admitted, “I have never met him in person, yet I can tell you that your instincts to mistrust him were right, Georgiana. He’s your cousin, actually.”

“My … cousin? I have family in this mis… in England? But why did I never know?”

Sidney sighed. His relatives were complicated enough – he wasn’t keen on getting entangled in another family web. “Your father thought it better not to deepen the connection. His younger sister eloped with a Mr Lockhart. The Lambe family disapproved of the match, and it ended tragically when your aunt died in her first childbed. There was no love lost between her widower and your father. However, upon reading about Mr Lambe’s death and the fact that you were named his heiress, young Mr Lockhart remembered the connection. He has sent letter after letter to my solicitor, claiming that your wealth is his because you had no right to inherit your father’s fortune.”

“And you don’t even need to tell me the reason.” There was a distinct bitterness in Georgiana’s tone that made Sidney want to punch Lockhart’s face. Young ladies were supposed to be carefree and happy, not bitter. “He’s calling my legitimacy into question, isn’t he?”

Sidney nodded. “He is, but he may yet sink to even more sinister tactics. Your father was free to leave his fortune to whoever suited him best. I was afraid, though, that Mr Lockhart would argue that while you are Mr Lambe’s daughter, technically … legally, you were his property and therefore not fit to inherit. I wanted to spare you such humiliation. However, it seems now he has stooped to the even lower strategy of seduction to fleece your funds.”

“But why did you never tell me?” Georgiana asked, frowning. “You should have. You cannot mollycoddle me like a baby all the time.”

“As you may have noticed, Georgiana, these past weeks, I haven’t been my best self. – Also, would you have believed me?”

Georgiana paused. “Probably not.”

“Look, Georgiana...” Sidney sighed. I know we haven’t been the best of friends during most of our acquaintance…”

“But I’m great friends with your friend Mrs Starling,” Georgiana smiled, taking Charlotte’s hands again. “That will make up for lack of trust between you and me, don’t you think?”

Charlotte and Sidney blushed violently, staring in opposite directions.

“We, umm, better return to Trafalgar House,” Sidney declared.

They were faced with a bit of a conundrum now, as there were only two seats in the curricle. Charlotte offered to leave her seat to Georgiana, provided Mr Parker was fit enough to hold the reins.

Of course, Mr Parker was fit enough. Yet, he would have very much preferred to ride back with Charlotte by his side. Then again, he understood her need for space—his emotions were in turmoil, and certainly so were hers.

So Georgiana climbed on the seat next to her guardian. Driving at walking pace, Sidney directed the curricle back to the town, his eyes very much not on the path but on the slender figure of Charlotte Starling, who walked a few yards away from them on the beach, the wind catching in her coat and playing with the curls that had escaped her bonnet. Now and then, she bent down to pick up a shell or a stone or to hold up a shiny piece of glass, catching the sunlight. She combed the beach with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d never been to the sea before. Seeing her so relaxed and happy made Sidney feel oddly warm and happy as well. He smiled to himself, meditating on the very greatpleasure which the silhouette of a pretty woman can bestow.

“Now,” Georgiana said next to him, “did I do well?”

“In rejecting your unsuitable suitor? Very well, Georgiana.”

“Nah. In luring Charlotte to Sanditon.”

“You really did all this on purpose?”

“Of course. I figured that with her around, you wouldn’t be such an insufferable ogre, and my life would be much easier.”

Sidney sighed deeply. Georgiana was gifting him a second chance. He better didn’t mess it up.

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

Previously…

Sidney lives through the most pleasant surprise of his life when, out of the blue, Mr Clement and Mrs Starling show up in Sanditon. They have been alerted by Georgiana’s letters in which she mentions a most unsuitable suitor, her estranged cousin, Mr Lockhart. Sidney and Charlotte hurry to the beach, ready to save Georgiana from abduction or elopement. The heiress, however, has not fallen for Lockhart’s schemes but schemed herself to lure Charlotte to Sanditon … and back into Sidney’s life.

🎩

Upon their return to Trafalgar House, the party was welcomed triumphantly. “You did it!” Mr Clement cried. “You snatched the young heiress from the villain’s grip of doom!”

“It was actually the heiress who outsmarted the villain,”Sidney said, trying to look dignified while being lifted down the curricle and carried into the drawing room.

“Whatever happened, we are glad to have you all back,”Mary declared, kissing Georgiana and signalling Wickens to bring refreshments to the drawing room. Then she took Charlotte’s hands and guided her towards the settee. “You must be exhausted after these adventures, my dear.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs Parker,”Charlotte assured her host while the kitten climbed on her lap, purring and rubbing its head against her hand.

“Such a joy to welcome you to our home, Mrs Starling,”Arthur added with his sweetest beam. “Now, you must stay with us for a while, of course.”

“I’m very much looking forward to introducing you to the many miracles of Sanditon,”Tom declared, all in great-projector mode.

“Oh,”Charlotte said, stroking the kitten and glancing at Mr Clement, “we have to …”

“I insist,”Tom said. “Surely, you cannot wish to leave for Wilmington without having sampled the many pleasures of Sanditon yourself?”

“Please, Mrs Starling,”Mary interjected. “Let us show you our gratitude for what you have done for our Sidney.”– And kindly ignoring Charlotte’s blushing, she continued, “Please stay at least until Sunday so that you may enjoy the concert on Saturday night.”

“And you have to go sea bathing with me,”Georgiana reminded her, looping her arm through Charlotte’s. “You promised me in one of your letters that if you ever came to Sanditon, you’d go sea bathing with me. - And here you are.”

“Really… you are too kind but … I wouldn’t even know what to wear for a concert…”

“Allow me sort that out for you,”Mary offered.

“And my father has a barn dance planned for Saturday night…”

Sidney felt it was his chivalrous duty to free Charlotte from her embarrassment and tell his family to stop bullying her into staying. On the other hand, that was exactly what his heart most ardently told him to do: to find a way to make her stay.

Fortunately, there was one more voice of reason.

“Mrs Starling,”Mr Clement declared. “As your vicar and spiritual guide, may I express my belief that a few days in a delightful place such as Sanditon will improve your spiritual and physical well-being to a degree that a dance at the Heywood barn never could?”

“Bravo!”Arthur cried, clapping his hands but frightening the kitten with his sudden action. Being ordered to stay by her spiritual guide himself, Charlotte could not do much but calm the kitten and accept.

“Splendid!”Tom called, and Arthur added, “We will have such fun, Mrs Starling. Are you fond of toast?”

Sidney remained silent, quietly smiling to himself. That concert was only two days away, and he better practised standing on his own feet if he wanted to leave any impression on Charlotte at all.

“But what about the villain,”that very same Charlotte now said, still very much in their recent adventure and not allowing the Parker fun crowd to distract her from her agenda. “Will Mr Lockhart desist so easily from ensnaring Georgiana? Or will he resort to even more sinister tactics?”

“I think I’ve proven quite consistently that I will not get ensnared by him,”Georgiana said, rightfully proud of her sensible actions.

“Yes,”Sidney said. “But Cha… Mrs Starling is right. Lockhart doesn’t strike me as a man who’ll give up that quickly. – You cannot go out on your own anymore, Georgiana. You might be in danger, and I’m hardly in a position to protect you right now.”

“You cannot cage me like a bird!”Georgiana protested, followed by an embarrassed silence. Finally, Charlotte spoke up.

“But what if … if we were to take advantage of Mr Lockhart’s eagerness to see Miss Lambe?”

Everyone was staring at her cluelessly (or, in Sidney’s case, cluelessly in love). Charlotte went on to explain.

“Well, as Mr Lockhart seems to avoid direct confrontation with you, Mr Parker,”(a very quick glance in his direction), “I believe that is what we should force him into. If we can gain leverage over him, he might be compelled to abandon his plans against Georgiana. – Are you listening, Mr Parker?”– Sidney was, despite being momentarily distracted by her use of we . Did she really think they were in this together? That was … that was …

“Excellent,”Tom said. “Splendid plan, my dear.”

“I feel very much as if I’d plunged head-first into a novel by Mrs Anthony,”Mr Clement commented. “Such intrigue … mystery … excitement … an evil villain, a cunning plan to bring him down…”

“But not without risks,”Mary said. “Sidney, this man seems to be very dangerous.”

Sidney looked up, realising he’d been so happily dreaming away in his Charlotte world that he’d missed her explanation of how they were going to outwit the villain.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t… umm, you were saying, Mrs Starling?”

And Mrs Starling, gracing him with the sweetest mix of a smile both affectionate and mischievous, laid down her ingenious plan.

👒

To Mr Lockhart, Esquire, The Duke’s Inn, Brinshore

Dear Sir,

I am writing you to express my regret about having turned down your kind invitation to a substantial conversation on the beach. I believed it was my duty to act thus, knowing that my guardian would disapprove of such an encounter.

However, this odious man has now returned to Sanditon and, more than ever before, makes my existence a living hell with his scowling manner and outrageous demands.

Would it be too presumptuous to prevail upon you, dear Sir, and ask for a second chance? Mr Tom Parker has encouraged me to inspect his bathing machines before considering taking a plunge myself, and I shall do so privately this Friday after tea.

Yours etc.

Georgiana Lambe

👒

In the late afternoon hours of the next day, Sidney found himself squeezed inside one of the bathing machines parked on the beach, knee to knee with his brother Tom.

The day had been overcast and cloudy but brightened towards the evening, leaving only a few walkers on the beach. They had little interest in the bathing machines, though, for nature created such a beautiful spectacle: reflected in the pools of the mud flats, the sinking sun created a near-magical light, colouring the beach in all shades of orange.

Sidney peeped through a crack in the wood panelling of the machine’s cabin: a little further in the distance, Mr Clement was driving circles and eights with his curricle. Closer to the dunes, Arthur, Diana, Mary, and the children were indulging in a game of Bowls. Further out on the mudflats, some of the builders from the Waterloo Terrace site were ending a long workday by stretching their muscles with some practice in batting and bowling.

Very close to Tom and Sidney yet separated by a wooden wall, Georgiana was sitting on the bathing machine’s stairs, a sketchbook on her knees, watching a rather large herring gull swim in the surf. A few steps away, Georgiana’s maid was seeking shells and inspecting flotsam, her face hidden behind the wide brim of a simple straw bonnet.

It was all very idyllic and innocent. Yet Sidney could not help but dig his nails into his palms: too much depended on their charade. Would Lockhart take the bait? Would they be able to confront him and end his shenanigans? Would Georgiana be safe in the future?

“This Mrs Starling is a very fine-looking young lady,”Tom remarked.

“Huh,”Sidney mumbled noncommittally, concentrating on the crack in the panelling, keeping an eye on the long stretch of the beach. Outside, Georgiana had opened her sketchbook now, and her maid, turning her back on them, held a brown glass shard into the orange sunlight.

“I do wonder,”Tom said, “why she hasn’t remarried. One season at Sanditon, and she could easily find a husband far beyond her station.”

“Umhmm,”Sidney mumbled, clenching his fist now so it didn’t land in his brother’s face. Sharing the confines of a bathing machine’s cabin had been a risk. Yet it had to be taken if his suspicion was correct and Tom’s anonymous silk-cravats-loving investor was identical to Georgiana’s mysterious suitor.

“It’s a shame,”Tom concluded. “An intelligent, good-looking woman such as Mrs Starling, spending her life on a farm in the middle of nowhere. – Do you think she might be interested in taking a position as a paid companion? For Miss Lambe, perhaps? They seem to get along well.”

“Shut up, Tom,”Sidney said, and for more than one reason: a gentleman in a flamboyant red coat, top hat in his hand, was approaching the bathing machine now across the sands, his step confident, his overlong brown curls and sideburns a game for the wind. Sidney suppressed a groan; he’d seen those sideburns before: last time they’d met, this man had called himself Dr Mabuse and suggested bleeding him.

Georgiana stopped her sketching and rose from the machine’s stairs. Her maid, dutiful girl that she was, turned her back on her mistress’s antics and concentrated on her findings by the shoreline.

“That’s him! My silent investor!”Jumping up with excitement, Tom hit his head on the wooden roof. “Ouch!”

“Shut up,”Sidney repeated. Given Tom’s behaviour, they might as well raise a flag announcing their presence.

However, the man in the flamboyant coat was too busy hunting down his prey to notice. “Miss Lambe!”he called out, opening his arms and bowing.

Georgiana, very much the heiress, held out her hand for a kiss. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr Lockhart.”

“How could I not answer the call of a young lady in distress?”

Sidney felt a deep urge to wipe the oily smile off the man’s face. With his fist. Before Willingden, Lockhart wouldn’t have been a match for him - he was relatively short and slim in appearance.

The man now had discovered the figure by the shoreline. “Who’s that?”

“Crockett,”Georgiana curtly said. “Just my maid. I trust her with my life. We grew up together.”

“I see.” Mr Lockhart rubbed his hands. “A friend in need is a friend indeed. - So I understand your guardian has returned to his home shores?”

“He has,”Georgiana confirmed, wrinkling her nose in displeasure.

“And still not very amenable to your wishes?”

“Not at all.”

“I hear he’s considering marriage.”Lockhart nodded to emphasise the importance of his words. “It is all the talk in London.”

“Oh?”Georgiana said, and so did Tom inside the bathing machine.

“What was that?”Lockhart asked. Georgiana pointed at the gull stepping out of the surf now, proudly presenting its snow-white chest.

“The bird. It’s been acting strangely ever since I arrived.”

Lockhart bent down, wiggling his index finger in front of the gull. “Birdie, birdie, birdie, be good. Don’t annoy our sweet Miss Lambe.”

The gull darted forward and snapped at his finger.

“Ouch! This is a dangerous bird! Tom Parker better makes sure to get rid of them if he wishes this place to succeed!”

“You know Mr Tom?”Georgiana innocently asked, offering her handkerchief for the tiny wound.

“Anyone does,”Lockhart said, wrapping the cloth around his fingertip. “The great projector of the South Coast? – Rather, the great laughingstock, I should say.”

“Whoa!”Inside the bathing machine, Tom hit his head on the ceiling again.

“What was that?”Lockhart asked, looking around as Georgiana’s maid started sneezing rather dramatically.

“Poor girl,”Georgiana commented. “She catches cold so easily in this vile climate. – You were saying?”

“Tom Parker,”Lockhart clarified. It’s common knowledge between here and London that he’s teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. No doubt he’d be in debtors’ prison already were it not for your guardian to bail him out again and again. I say, Miss Lambe, this might be very harmful to your reputation. I am vastly afeared those Parker brothers might do anything to get hold of your fortune and pump it into their desperate venture.”

“Anything?”

“They are shameless,”Lockhart confirmed. “I have it on good authority that once your guardian is married, he’ll make sure you are taken off his hands while your funds remain safely within his reach.”

“Idon’t understand.”

“It’s a cunning plan,”he nodded knowingly.

“It must be, for how can he get legally hold of what is mine?”Georgiana asked.

Lockhart looked around to ensure no one would eavesdrop. Then he leaned forward and mouthed, “Marriage.”

Georgiana flinched. “Are you saying Sidney Parker intends to marry me?”

“Oh no. That misfortune will befall another lady, according to what I hear.”Inside the bathing machine, Sidney clenched his fist again. That evil little man… “No, no,”Lockhart continued. “But I understand there is another brother in the Parker family…”

“Mr Arthur! You cannot be serious!”Georgiana cried.

“But I am! Mr Arthur has no influence on the family’s projects, I understand, but I doubt he would deny his brothers access to your funds. Mr Arthur is a buffoon with a will too weak to desist two bullies.”

“This is rather shocking …”

“Of course it is.”Lockhart touchedher hand.“I feel your distress, my dear Miss Lambe.But don’t be afraid. I am here, as your friend, determined to protect you from such atrocious schemes.”

“That is very kind of you, sir.”Georgiana wiped her eyes.

“Miss Lambe.”He now took her by her elbow, guiding her back to the bathing machine and sitting her down on the stairs. “I understand how hurtful these revelations must be for you. To be so cruelly betrayed by your guardian! The very person your dear late father installed to guide and protect you! – Miss Lambe!”Rather dramatically, Lockhart kneeled in the sand before her, pressing his free hand to his heart. “I know this may sound impulsive … even irrational, perhaps, but … ever since we’ve met, guided by providence’s sharp eye, I have felt … a connection … a bond so special and delicate… Miss Lambe! I believe you are feeling the same!”

“Mr Lockhart!”Georgiana managed to look confused. “I don’t know what to say …”

“Say yes! Say yes, yes, Charles, I want to join you on the adventure that our lives will be; I want to share what is mine with you, and I long to explore the distant country that …”– the rest of his speech was lost in the wild cackling of the gull that suddenly landed in the sand next to Georgiana, cawing and wildly flapping its silver wings.

“This gull is clearly deranged,”Lockhart said, dropping his mask for a moment, then, remembering he was supposed to do sweet talk: “Miss Lambe! Georgiana! Will you be bold enough to forge a new path and follow me?”

“Follow you where?”

“Scotland! My carriage is parked behind the Crowne Hotel. We can make it to the border in three or four days, and once we’re there, you’ll be freed from your guardian’s merciless grip.”

“How so?”

“Why, by marrying me, of course.”Lockhart grabbed her hand. “Marriage will set you free, dearest Georgiana. Marriage will give you the freedom you’ve always longed for.”

“Enough,”Sidney muttered inside the bathing machine. Even Tom looked doubtful. Outside, the maid had stopped shell-seeking and moved closer to her mistress.

Georgiana freed her hand from Lockhart’s grip and shook her head. “Surrendering myself and my fortune to you, Sir? I cannot see how that would set me free.”

Lockhart stared at her for a second and then dropped the act entirely. “You witch! Don’t you understand? You have no right in this! You are being caught in my web, and your fortune will be mine, one way or another!”

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will!”Georgiana thundered back, lashing out as Lockhart tried to catch her arms.

“Let go of her!”Sidney shouted, pushing open the bathing machine’s door. Now several things happened at the same time: Tom stormed outside to separate the villain from the precious heiress. The maid turned around and, with the voice of Charlotte Starling, cried, “Leave her alone!”kicking and boxing at Lockhart. And somehow, the gull ended up in the melee as well, flapping its wings and hacking its yellow bill here, there, everywhere – and very much at Lockhart himself.

Two bleeding noses later, the villain was lying on his back in the sand like a helpless beetle, held in check by Charlotte Starling with Tom’s cane. Georgiana, was sitting on the stairs, catching her breath, and Tom, groaning loudly, was trying to hoist himself up on all fours. Sidney himself was leaning on the bathing machine’s railing for support, panting heavily from anger and exertion. “Dr Mabuse,”he said, eyeing the man in the sand. “Quite a change of profession. Not very successful though, if I may say so.”

“Ha!”Lockhart spat out some blood and a tooth or two. Maybe even three. “Sidney Parker,”he hissed, hatred darkening his features. “Is there nothing I can do to get rid of you?”

“Apparently not. But I’ll give you an honourable mention for your efforts at trying.”

A shadow fell over the man on the ground. “Mr Parker, sir,”Mr Stringer asked, cricket bat over his shoulder, “can we be of any assistance here?”Next to him, Fred Robinson crossed his arms with a grim expression.

“Very observant of you, Mr Stringer,”Sidney replied. “Maybe you could be kind enough to accompany Mr Lockhart here into town? It seems his carriage is parked behind the Crowne Hotel, and he’s very eager to leave Sanditon as soon as possible.”

“The law will be on my side!”Lockhart spat again.

“I don’t see how,”Sidney shrugged. “Not with three honourable witnesses overhearing your proposal of elopement to my underage ward. Or, considering the fact that you posed as an investor in front of my brother when you don’t have a penny to your name. And do I have to remind you of our meeting in Willingden when you introduced yourself as Doctor Mabuse and proposed to bleed me? – I’m not a lawyer, Sir, but I doubt a judge will look kindly on your actions.”

“That doesn’t sound good,”Robinson remarked, his grim expression deepening. “You better get off our beautiful beach and back to your carriage, sir.”Stringer was kind enough to lend a hand, and taking Lockhart between them, the two builders marched the villain away.

Everyone else was inspecting their damages. Georgiana was rubbing some bruises caused by Lockhart’s vile grip on her arm. Charlotte had lost her bonnet —that is, Crockett’s—revealing her tumbling tresses. The gull had lost some feathers but looked altogether very content with the outcome of the little clash. Sidney, leaning against the bathing machine’s door frame, was unscathed, but Tom was suffering badly, blood streaming from his nose.

“I believe it’s broken,”Tom moaned. “I’ll be disfigured.”

Charlotte sat him down on the wooden stairs, made him lean back his head, and carefully dabbed at the blood with her handkerchief. “Better being disfigured than seeing Georgiana in the hands of a ruthless rogue, don’t you think, Mr Parker?”

That was a fact even Tom Parker could not dispute.

Mr Clement arrived in his curricle, splashing up some mud. “Whoa! It appears I missed all the fun! The villain is caught, bound, and gone?”

“Gone, and good riddance,”Sidney confirmed. And added for good measure, “Mrs Starling, I wish to thank you for your continued support and clear-sightedness in this matter. We are very highly indebted to you. May I ask you to be my family’s guest of honour at the concert tomorrow?”

“Oh,”Charlotte stopped cleaning Tom’s nose, blushing. “I… we…”

“… are not expected back in Willingden until Monday,”Mr Clement completed. “As I said before, Mrs Starling, I believe a few days in a delightful place such as Sanditon will improve your spiritual and physical well-being to a most surprising level.”

Sidney couldn’t agree more. At least he was determined to do all in his power to contribute to said improvement.

“But Mr Parker,”she whispered in a quiet moment a little later, when Tom was busy describing his personal contribution to the confrontation with Lockhart to the vicar, and Georgiana sketched the gull that had happily returned to sea bathing, “my family situation is unchanged. It will only hurt you and me if we indulge in dreams that can never come real.”

“I’m anything but a dreamer, Mrs Starling,”Sidney said, never letting go of her eyes. “And I’m well aware that if you truly wished to leave Sanditon, you’d hold Mr Clement at gunpoint to make sure he takes you home.”

Charlotte looked down, shaking her head. “You are quite impossible, Mr Parker.”

“And very real,”Sidney replied, barely hiding his smile.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

Previously …

Mary and Mr Clement conspire to ensure Charlotte stays a few more days in Sanditon—at least until the concert in the assembly rooms.

Georgiana, Sidney and Charlotte provoke a showdown on the beach and expose Lockhart for the fraud he is.

🎩

The day after the beachshowdown was the day of the long-awaited concert. By breakfast on Saturday morning, the shocking encounter with the villainous Lockhart had been entirely forgotten – at least by Tom Parker, whose talk to his family and houseguests now was all about the musical event in the Assembly Rooms, the noble guests he expected, and, of course, the famous Italian soprano who would delight them all with some beautiful arias.

“But do we notbetter cancel?” Mary asked, “Out of respect, considering that Lady Denham is still so very ill?” Her husband vigorously shook his head.

“Cancel? Oh, no, my dear Mary, that cannot be an option. Cancellation is for the fainthearted. I’m absolutely convinced Lady D would approve of us going forward for the sake of Sanditon.”

“Mrs Starling,”Sidney boldly addressed their houseguest, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction. “It’s a fine fresh day, so I assume you’ll keep your promise to go sea bathing with my ward?”

“I will, absolutely,”Charlotte confirmed, looking very determined and even a little bold.

“Excellent!”Tom cried out. “I would value your opinion on our bathing machines, my dear. They are, I believe, much more comfortable than the ramshackle cabins they provide at Brinshore Beach.”

“It is such a pity Sidney cannot walk.”Mary stared into her tea. “He used to go sea bathing,”she told the cup. “At his very own secret cove. Such a lovely little nook … I’m sure you would be enraptured, my dear,”she added, smiling at Charlotte.

What a sly lady his sister-in-law was! As poor Charlotte choked on her toast, Mary very innocently offered to refill her cup.

“I enjoyed my turn at sea bathing very much,”Mr Clement reminisced. “Never had such an invigorating experience before! I truly believe you will feel reborn and a new woman once you emerge from the waves, Mrs Starling.”

Sidney felt his chivalrous duty was to save his beloved from the double-entendres and winking he’d accidentally exposed her to. “I expect Lord Babington and Mr Crowe to arrive today, Tom.”

“That is excellent news. Lord Babington will most definitely add a certain noblesse to the concert’s guest list.”

“Has Miss Denham finally accepted his courtship?”Mary asked. Sidney shook his head.

“I doubt it, but Babington doesn’t give up hope.”

“It would be very advantageous for us if there was a match between them,”Tom said, back in the world of projects and funds. “With Lord Babington as an ally, the Denham investment will be safe for us.”

Sidney felt his mouth twitch. As much as he wanted to remind Tom that he’d ceded all financial control over the venture, he also wanted him to stick to a subject that had nothing to do with Charlotte Starling. So he allowed Tom to drone on about all aspects of the Babington-Denham connection while Charlotte quietly chewed her toast and drank her tea, looking very pensive—and very beautiful, of course.

Later in the morning, Mary took Charlotte to Mrs Griffiths’ school to meet Georgiana and go for their sea bathing adventure. The invisible presence that was the Parker governess took Alicia, Jenny and Henry to the beach as well, and Arthur came from his lodgings to check on Sidney and suggested that Tom and the vicar accompany him for a salty plunge. Mr Clement happily agreed, but Tom declined, citing the pressing need to visit the Assembly Rooms prior to the concert and make sure the chairs were arranged properly and the lighting was perfect for the musicians to actually see the notes they were supposed to play.

With only the kitten for company, Sidney lifted his faithful friend off his lap. “I’m sorry, precious, but you understand that if I want to leave any impression on our Charlotte at all, I will have to be able to stand on my feet tonight and maybe even walk a step or two.”

The kitten, wrinkling its pink nose, agreed and settled on the windowsill, enjoying the view of Sanditon’s busy high street. Occasionally, it gave a cute little baby hiss, but not at Sidney’s attempts at limping from one chair to another, but at the giant herring gull sitting outside and peeping in.

Babington and Crowe arrived just when the ladies returned from their dip, dripping wet, red-cheeked and in high spirits: the ladies, that is. The two gentlemen were of mixed mood: Babington, the man of conscience, torn between worry for Lady Denham and hopes of seeing Miss Denham again; Crowe, on the other hand, very red-cheeked, definitely under the influence of some spirits, though primarily liquid. There was a big hello when Arthur and Mr Clement joined the company, and hot toast, tea and mulled wine were served to warm up the swimmers.

Charlotte, Sidney noticed, tried to remain in the background, quietly staying by Georgiana’s side. He couldn’t tell whether the Parker crowd intimidated her or the splendour of Trafalgar House. In any case, it was very unusual for the Charlotte Starling he knew to be overawed by status and riches. And if that was not the case, could her silence be attributed to –

“Charlotte, my dear,”Mary said. “Will you join me? It’s time for your dress fitting for tonight.”And Charlotte, taking Mary’s hand, willingly obliged.

“Well done,”Crowe whispered to Sidney as the ladies approached the door.

“Well done what?”Sidney tried (and failed) to tear his eyes off Charlotte’s lovely figure.

“Mrs Starling.”Crowe blinked wildly. “She certainly has a bit of a spunk about her.”

“And how would you know?”Sidney asked, feeling somewhat dismayed. His friend just laughed.

“How would you not know, Parker?”

All day, Tom Parker was a bundle of nerves, popping up left, right and centre with a new concern about the concert. Would the musicians arrive on time? Would the assembly rooms offer the acoustics required for the grand soprano’s voice to unfold? Would the audience enjoy the programme? Would there be an audience at all? - Towards the afternoon, rumour had it that some high-standing English nobility would attend: “The Duke of Halstead, my dearest!”Tom told his wife, gripping his forehead and shaking his head. “If we gain His Grace’s endorsem*nt … if the duke were to spread the word of Sanditon … our worries would be over.”

“With that being the case, Tom,”his dutiful wife replied, “I suggest you leave for the assembly rooms now to make sure His Grace will have the best seat, view of the stage, and all refreshments he might wish for.”

“You are quite invaluable … and absolutely right, of course. I’m off to the venue this instant to ensure all His Grace’s wishes are fulfilled.”

With Tom gone, Trafalgar House was considerably more quiet. Sidney rang for Wickens to help him get groomed for the event: a shave, an extended encounter between his curls and a combe, a freshly ironed linen shirt, a gentleman’s crisp white handkerchief, black silk breeches and stockings, a buckled slipper on his left foot and an extra layer of stockings on his right. He knew he would not manage more than an undignified hobble, but at least he wanted to show some effort, even in his choice of waistcoat: Mary had whispered to him that Charlotte would be wearing her light blue silk gown from last year, so he made sure to be dressed in a simple yet elegant cream coloured satin waistcoat that would perfectly match her style.

Checking himself in the mirror as Wickens brushed some dust off his arm, Sidney could not help but grin at himself: he sensed an excitement he’d last known as a very young man courting the then Miss Eliza Matthews.

However, what he’d felt as a youth—passionate, severe, and profound—merely resembled puppy love from today’s perspective. Still, Sidney chuckled. If one was perfectly honest, his behaviour around Charlotte was not much different; it was still very much that of a lovesick boy. It was the object of his affections that had improved considerably.

In the evening, the Parker company, consisting of Mary, Sidney, and their houseguests, Mrs Starling and Mr Clement, departed Trafalgar House in the family coach. It was a short ride but exciting enough for Sidney because, in the confines of the carriage, he had ample opportunity to admire Charlotte’s hairstyle (much more sophisticated than her usual bun) and complexion (which had greatly benefitted from the sea bathing).

Charlotte’s eyes widened when the carriage pulled up in front of the assembly rooms. For once, Sidney was grateful for his brother’s tendency to boast and overdo: orange trees flanked the doors, and torches illuminated the entrance, providing dramatic light against the soft blue of the night, giving the setting a certain Mediterranean flair. Tom welcomed the new arrivals, all sleeky hair and large pupils. “No sign of the duke yet,”he said, shaking Sidney’s hand. “I’m somewhat worried.”

“I believe your concert might do very well without a duke, sir,”Charlotte told him. “Much better, actually, than without the soprano.”

Tom stopped short and laughed. “Aren’t you a clever one, Mrs Starling? Of course, the soprano. We would be lost without her. You wouldn’t want to hear my cawing … Sidney here has a very agreeable baritone, though …”

“And still, you wouldn’t want to hear me performing Italian opera arias,”Sidney quickly said. A footman in a golden-red livery arrived to take care of their coats and cloaks. Mr Clement admired the elegance of the vestibule, and Sidney admired the elegance of Charlotte Starling. Mary had chosen well for her; the simple yet beautifully cut blue dress accentuated her lovely figure – even revealing a beauty spot on her right shoulder - and the intricately pinned up hair with a side parting and a cheeky curl falling into her forehead turned her into the young and carefree girl she was supposed to be. Her jewellery was simple, a pearl cross with matching earrings – probably a family gift for her wedding to young Mr Starling four years ago.

“Sidney!”Diana, always the worried chicken mother, came flying towards them. “Do you need a chair? Don’t overexert yourself. The footmen can carry you in…”

“I’m most certainly going to walk,”Sidney scoffed, offering Charlotte his arm to guide her inside the assembly rooms. – Or maybe it was her guiding him, at least supporting him: never had the walk from the vestibule to the main room seemed that long and arduous to Sidney, even with one hand on his cane and the other on a lovely woman’s arm.

“We need to find you a chair,”Charlotte determined.

“Don’t make me feel like an invalid.”

“I’m not making you feel like an invalid, Mr Parker. I want you to be comfortable …”(Ah! Sidney thought, an image coming up of himself, white-haired and in old age, settled comfortably in a wing chair in front of a fireplace, with his loving wife providing slippers and a blanket -) “… and I want to make sure you don’t put too much strain on that foot. It could cause severe damage and leave you with a limp for the rest of your life.”

“And we don’t want that,”Sidney said, still basking in her concern for him.

“No, we don’t want that,”Charlotte firmly said, directing him to the next seat.

The main room, usually centre stage for the Sanditon balls, had been transformed into a concert hall with rows of chairs and a small orchestra at the far end. Groups of elegant people were filing in now, even though Tom’s duke still seemed to be missing.

Mrs Griffiths and her charges arrived: Georgiana and the incredibly silly Beaufort sisters who never managed to utter a coherent thought or sentence. Georgiana graced her guardian with a knowing grin and her dearest Charlotte with a warm embrace. “You look very lovely,”his ward whispered to her friend, and Sidney couldn’t agree more.

Mrs Griffiths and her group moved on, eagerly welcomed by Arthur and Mary. Sidney watched Charlotte admire the elegantly draped layers of silk panels around the windows and the sparkling light of the chandeliers reflected in large, gilded mirrors. More ladies in elaborate gowns and sophisticated headdresses glided past them, accompanied by gentlemen in formal evening attire. A pleasing scent of orange blossoms and beeswax candles filled the room, adding to the Mediterranean theme.

“I’m most certain I don’t belong in this company,”Charlotte whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Yet Sidney had heard her.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Mrs Starling,”he quietly said. “You’re more than equal to any woman here.”

“You are very kind, Mr Parker. It’s only … tonight is our barn dance in Willingden, and I know I’d feel much more comfortable there.”

Sidney turned to take her fully in, the little dimple in her chin, the anything but classic yet very cute nose covered with freckles. The high forehead, her cheeks, blushed from the heat in the room. Her beautiful, expressive eyes, filled with a mix of sadness and insecurity that cut into his heart.

“But isn’t that exactly what setting the little starling free is all about? That we dare to leave behind what is safe and comfortable, forge a new path, and seek adventures in places we never dreamed of going to? I had to fall off a horse in Willingden to learn that much, and maybe … maybe you had to come to Sanditon for …”

“Parker! Not dead?”A shadow fell over them. Sidney had heard that arrogant voice often enough.

“Sir Edward,”he said, gripping the top of his cane to ensure he didn’t use it against the baronet for interrupting his attempts at a substantial conversation. “Forgive me for not standing up.”

“Granted. – And this is your …”

“… honorary guest, Mrs Starling. – Mrs Starling, allow me to present Sir Edward Denham.”

“How do you do, Sir Edward,”Charlotte said with a pretty bow and a cold glance. Indeed, she’d heard enough of the baronet’s antics to be quite immune to his limited charms.

“Enchanted, Mrs Starling.”

“Lady Denham is recovering then, I gather?”Sidney remarked. The baronet shrugged his shoulders.

“Is she? Not that I know of. I came here tonight in the hope of meeting Lord Babington.”

“A friendly encounter, I hope?”

“I’m all about love and friendship these days,”Sir Edward grinned and excused himself with another bow.

“Not a friend of yours,”Charlotte concluded.

“No, I’m afraid not. He tried to court Georgiana earlier this summer, and it was a bit too evident that what he liked most about her was her father’s money.”

“I’m sure Georgiana gave him a hard time.”

“Absolutely. That courtship only lasted for one incredibly awkward luncheon. – And his sudden approval of Babington’s suit of his sister probably means that all rumours are true and Lady D has disinherited him.”

“Family can be a very complicated matter,”Charlotte said, and Sidney couldn’t agree more. Part of the complicated matter appeared before them: Tom, flitting about here, there, and everywhere, accommodating his beau monde guests.

“Sidney! Mrs Starling! What are you doing here, invisible in the back row? I must have you moved to the front. We are the Parkers; we must show unity. Hiding away here will only lead to talk and gossip. Ah! Lord Babington! Mr Crowe! Splendid!”

“The brothers Parker!”Crowe greeted them, a glass of champagne in each hand. “And who is this spellbinding creature? Might it be Mrs Starling?”

Charlotte gently rolled her eyes. “I think you know me well enough, Mr Crowe.”

“Oh, but does one ever truly know a woman?”

“Let’s move,”Sidney decided, accepting Charlotte’s hand as she helped him up, and leaning a bit heavier on her arm than strictly necessary when they followed Tom’s directions towards chairs in the front row.

The musicians were tuning their instruments as the last guests took their seats. Tom darted from the stage to the front row and back. “The duke has let us down,”he told Sidney. “What a disappointment.”

“Maybe he’s incognito,”Sidney suggested, but Tom didn’t hear him, already back on his way to the stage. Charlotte, however, quietly laughed, making Sidney smile.

“You’ve learnt some of my philosophy, Mr Parker.”

“Really? Have I?”

“Never lose hope. Look at everything from a positive perspective?”

“If I did, it’s only because I had an excellent teacher.”– and substantial as the conversation was about to become, it was interrupted by Tom Parker climbing on stage, looking a bit sweaty and rather excited.

“My lords, ladies and gentlemen,”he said, “esteemed friends of Sanditon and its many pleasures, it is my honour to welcome you to the first Sanditon summer concert.”This was followed by some polite applause and Charlotte whispering, “I have never been to a grand concert like this before.”

Sidney was very much tempted to cover her hand with his. But such an intimate gesture was highly inappropriate in public – it would be perceived as public confirmation of an engagement. And forcing Charlotte into an acknowledgement she was not yet ready to give would not be helpful.

On stage, Tom continued his speech. “Straight away from the stage of the Royal Opera House, we have engaged a most renowned soprano to delight us with her arias and celebrate with us the one beautiful emotion that unites us all, irrespective of our background or status: love.”

“Oh, Tom,”Mary whispered, wiping her eyes as Sidney stared at his brother, wondering whether, for once in his life, Tom Parker had uttered something wise and true.

“Ladies and gentlemen,”Tom continued, “I give you the wonderful and unique prima donna of Sanditon, Signora Giovanna Piuma di Pietra.”

Under the audience’s enthusiastic applause, a beautifully coiffed, middle-aged lady walked on stage, carrying herself with regal elegance and natural sophistication. Granting Tom, the conductor and the audience a kind nod each, she took her posture. The conductor gave the cue: the violins were first, wooing softly, followed by melancholic clarinets and the merrier flutes. Signora Piuma di Pietra closed her eyes, her body swaying gently as she seemed to absorb each single note. Her eyes still closed, her hands started moving in accordance with the melody. Only when entirely in tune with the music did she allow her velvety voice to fill the Sanditon assembly rooms with her magic.

Sidney had never considered himself much of a music connoisseur – he recognised Crowe’s singing as terrible (which was no remarkable feat). Other than that, the few times he’d visited the opera house, he’d been there to be seen by the right people and establish his standing in society. He’d been bored to death when on stage, people loved, longed and suffered in a language he didn’t understand. However, listening to Signora Piuma di Pietra’s warm and full voice and seeing the great lady dive deep and passionately into every single aria, he suddenly felt he might have missed something essential in his ignorant prejudice.

Charlotte by his side was caught up entirely in the prima donna’s performance, following her every move wide-eyed and in awe, her lips slightly parted, her eyes shining with admiration. Sidney smiled to himself; once more, she allowed herself to let her guard down, to leave behind the reticent widow, Mrs Starling, and become Charlotte Heywood again, a brave young lady longing to explore the distant country that her destiny was.

“I did not know such beauty existed,”she whispered between songs, and again, it took all Sidney’s willpower to keep himself from taking her hand in public and never let it go again.

Towards the end of her performance, the prima donna walked to the edge of the stage, bowing her head. “Signore e signori, ” she said, her speaking voice as warm and pleasant as her soprano, “grazie. Grazie per il vostro apprezzamento della mia arte. – I have been asked by Signor Parker here to focus tonight’s choice of music on the topic of love. L’amore, come noi Italiani diciamo. L’amour pour nos amis français; o el amor, como dicen los españoles. Liefde is for the Dutch what kærlighed is for the Danish and kärlek for the Swedes. Lyubov, a source of warmth even in the coldest Russian winter night, and Liebe, a rather soft word in the coarse German language. Libe in Yiddish, habun in Arab, and gràdh, I have been told, in the remote landscapes of Scotland. – But whichever word we choose, the feeling it describes is the same wherever we go. It’s sweet, it’s all-consuming, it’s exhilarating, it’s confusing, it is soft and warm and safe, and then again, it’s a pain deeper than the worst cut and yearning that defies description. That feeling transcends the boundaries of languages, countries, age, faith and politics, and sometimes it even defies time and logic.”

“Bravo!”That was Babington, the old romantic, applauding wildly.

Signora Piuma di Pietro gave him a graceful nod and continued, “To conclude tonight’s programme, I wish to sing to you in English una canzone d’amore, un chanson d’amour, ein Liebeslied, the lovesong of a desperate young man trying to understand this new feeling inside of him.”

Sidney gave Charlotte the slightest side glance. She was leaning forward in her chair now, completely focused on the soprano. Her mouth was slightly opened, and her eyes were larger and more luminous than ever, mirroring all the emotions Sidney longed to share with her.

Again, Signora Piuma di Pietro closed her eyes, waiting for the music to take hold of her. And then, her eyes still closed, as if addressing someone only she could see, she began to sing:

“You who have tasted love’s mystic spell?

What is this sorrow naught can dispel?

What is this sorrow naught can dispel? ”

The prima donna opened her eyes, looking directly at Charlotte.

“Fair dame or maiden, none else may know,

my heart o’erladen, why is this so?”

Charlotte quietly shook her head, biting her lip.

“What is this yearning, these trembling fears,

rapturous burning, melting in tears?

While thus I languish, wild beats my heart,

Yet, from my anguish, I would not part,

I seek a treasure fate still denies …”

Sidney groaned, feeling only too familiar with this very particular fickleness of fate.

“I’m ever sighing, I know not why,

Near unto dying, when none are by,

My heart is riven night, morn and eve …”

Turning his head, Sidney found a tear escaping Charlotte’s eye, rolling down her lovely cheek. He reached inside his coat, retrieving a fine, fresh silk handkerchief from the pocket. Without a word, he passed it on to Charlotte. When she accepted his gift, their fingers touched, and brushed, and intertwined for the briefest of precious moments. A heat shot through his body as if hit by lightning.

Charlotte dabbed at her cheek with the handkerchief. Then she folded it neatly and made it vanish inside the long sleeves of her silk glove, leaving Sidney ready to outsing Signora Piuma di Pietra with joy.

The prima donna finished her aria and accepted the audience’s ovations. Always ready to take a share in somebody else’s reward, Tom returned to the stage and bowed effusively to the singer and the audience.

“Excellent … splendid performance, Signora. A night to remember, a night that will live on in the memory of Sanditon. We cannot thank you enough for honouring us with your visit.”The prima donna graciously accepted his thanks and offered an encore, which was even more graciously received by her enraptured audience.

Yet Sidney didn’t care anymore for the music or the singer: He cared for Charlotte only, for how they would meet once they’d manage to be alone together - for how his dearest starling would finally set itself free.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Previously

Tensions rise at the Sanditon concert. Accompanying Sidney, Mrs Starling seems deeply moved by the love arias performed. But will she be able to acknowledge her feelings for our hero? Or have we gone all this way to relive the experience of a broken fairy tale?

🎩

After the concert, the Parker party returned to Trafalgar House in high spirits. That is, Tom Parker did, repeating all the highlights of the evening, praising the beautiful voice of the soprano, her wise choice of arias and, of course, his own ingeniousness of having the idea and arranging the concert in the first place. Mary was very quiet, and so was Mr Clement, for once not chatting happily about the many mysteries of Sableville.

Sidney found himself in a strange state: overtired from the day’s exertions yet wide awake with all his senses focused on Charlotte Starling.

Charlotte appeared to be in a sombre mood, seemingly oblivious to Tom’s outbursts of “Excellent!” and “Splendid!”, quite withdrawn into her own distant world, her eyes wandering blindly, her brow furrowed with thoughts and cares. And yet, yet it was this very same Charlotte who had accepted Sidney’s handkerchief and hidden it inside the sleeve of her glove – her left glove, close to her heart. It must mean something; it did mean something, Sidney was sure of it. It all came together now; come Sunday, they would have a substantial conversation before she left for Willingden on Monday.

Back at Trafalgar House, the children were already asleep, seen to bed by their diligent governess. The ladies retired to their rooms, as did Mr Clement, but Tom, still too excited about the success of the evening and too full of praise for himself, suggested that Sidney share a glass of Madeira with him in his study.

Sidney could do well with the Madeira, yet less so with Tom’s company. Settled in the armchair in front of the empty fireplace, his brother lit a candle and filled their glasses, then stretched his long legs and gave a sight of satisfaction. “The concert was a triumph, a night to remember, even without that duke’s attendance.” Tom glanced at the model of his second wife – the paper model of Sanditon, that is. “It’s all making sense now, don’t you think, Sidney?”

“Yes.”Sidney slowly sipped his wine, his mind entering an entirely different country.

“And not only for Sanditon, I venture to say.”Tom winked exceedingly, toasting his brother with his glass.

Sidney mumbled something unintelligible. The last person on earth he wished to discuss Mrs Starling with was his elder brother. Apart from his younger brother, his sister, and Mrs Campion. And Mr Hankins, of course.

“I have been worried,”Tom said, the candlelight and the wine adding to an atmosphere of intimate confidentiality. “Worried about your happiness, Sidney.”

The door creaked open, and the kitten strutted in, wrinkling its tiny nose at the master of the house and meowing at Sidney. “Well past your bedtime, precious,”Sidney said, inviting his faithful companion to sit on his lap.

However, a cute and affectionate kitten was not enough to distract Tom Parker from his brotherly feelings. “I was so worried about your happiness that, in fact, I tipped off Mrs Campion about your being detained at Wilmington. – I… umm, believed you might appreciate her company?”

“It’s Willingden, and no, I did not appreciate her company. It seems we have very little in common these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that … I didn’t mean to cause unnecessary trouble.”

“You did not, apart from the lady claiming I had proposed to her the night before the accident.”Sidney was grateful for the kitten’s calming presence as Tom pretended to be shocked.

“Oh… I’m sorry, Sidney… I only wanted to help.”

“Then I’d ask you to refrain from helping in the future,”Sidney said.

“Of course.”His brother resumed winking. “And I can see now why you would have lost interest in Mrs Campion.”

Sidney didn’t reply but took another sip of Madeira. There was certainly not enough Madeira in the world to make a conversation with Tom bearable.

“I didn’t think much of Mrs Starling when I first met her in Wilmin… lingden,”Tom said pensively. “But I have to admit that she is rather pretty upon closer acquaintance.”

Sidney exhaled, closing his eyes. “It is many weeks since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”– Did he really say that? He must, for a very pleased smile appeared on Tom’s face.

“I’m so glad for you, Sidney! Does that mean… is there a… an understanding between you and Mrs Starling?”

Sidney’s mouth twitched. “There is an understanding on my side that her family very much depends on her and that she will not let them down.”

“How very unfortunate! – I feel for you, brother. If I had been prevented from marrying my Mary… God knows what would have become of me. A wife can make or break a man, and I daresay Mrs Starling is one of the makers.”

“Yes,”Sidney said. “Thank you for pointing that out to me.”

“Don’t despair,”Tom decreed, standing up and patting his brother’s shoulder. “It will all turn out well; I can’t see how it will not. Just look at our wonderful Sanditon! Fragile and volatile from the start, its success has been anything but secure for the longest time, but now, like Phoenix, it is evolving with unparalleled grace and beauty.”

“Yes,”Sidney said, even though he did not quite see what a town built of stone had to do with a heart close to the melting point. Also, didn’t Phoenix rise from the ashes after an all-consuming fire? Surely, a fire was the very last thing anyone could wish for Sanditon.

Tom yawned. “I’ll call it a day. Good night, brother, sweet dreams. Do you want me to send Wickens down when he’s done helping me?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Tom.”Left alone with only the kitten for company, Sidney refilled his wine glass and stared at the shadows created by the candlelight. They looked like Charlotte, they moved like Charlotte, they smiled like … no. Shadows didn’t smile.

“Meow,”the kitten reminded him, trying out its tiny claws on his fine silk breeches.

“Not good, precious,”Sidney said, yet the kitten, being a kitten, didn’t care but stood on all fours, buckled, jumped off his lap and onto the windowsill, giving excited little hisses at the shadow of a gull outside.

Sidney leaned back, sipping his wine, living through the concert once more: Charlotte’s lovely appearance in that blue dress, her shy smile and sweet countenance. How she’d stayed so close to him all evening, sharing her thoughts and impressions with him, trusting him to navigate her through her first social occasion of this kind. How deeply moved she’d been by the music, by Signora Piuma di Pietra’s beautiful voice. The tears she’d shed when listening to that final aria of love and confused feelings. How she’d accepted his handkerchief, even kept it as close to her heart as decently possible.

Hers were not the manoeuvres of an indifferent (or even calculating) woman, his brain and his heart told him. Instead, hers were the actions of a woman who had yet to come to terms with the depth of her feelings.

Sidney closed his eyes, now more comfortable in the chair, imagining the two of them not at a concert but at a ball. Once he’d be able to dance again, he’d take her to a ball. He’d dance with her all evening, rejoicing in the intimacy of their touches and the sweetness of her smile. Her smile, shining down on him so benignly, so tenderly.

The study door creaked. Sidney gave a sigh. He could have happily stayed dancing with Charlotte for a good while longer. “That was quick, Wickens.”

“It’s not Wickens.”

His head flew around. “Charlotte!”

“Mr Parker.”She stood at the door, still wearing that charming blue dress, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders now. “I… I wish to thank you, Mr Parker, for the wonderful evening. I’ve never been in such elegant company before or listened to such beautiful music.”

“I have to thank you for being my guest,”Sidney said. “It made the evening all the more enjoyable.”

She blushed, and bit her lip, and looked at her feet. “I do realise I’m… I’m a country girl who has learned much but has been nowhere. Your life … and your world here at Sanditon is still very different from mine, Mr Parker. Yet I believe … despite all our differences, and for whatever it’s worth, I believe I am my best self, my truest self when I’m with you.”

Time stood still, freezing Sidney and the kitten (and even the gull outside on the windowsill). He’d heard her speak and understood the meaning of her words, yet found it impossible to form a reply.

All his heart’s desires, condensed in just a few words: I am my truest self when I’m with you. All his dreams…----

“Ouch! Mary! Ow! Ow!”

Sidney sat up, wide awake, spilling the rest of the Madeira over the protesting kitten. A dream, again, another of his silly dreams: no sweet Charlotte in the study, but a wildly yelling Tom above.

“Mary! Owww! Who left a wooden sword in our bed?”

There were hurried footsteps on the corridor and calls for water and clean sheets. Above Tom’s howling, Sidney could hear Charlotte ask for ice from the cellar and the strongest whiskey in the house to calm Mr Parker. Sidney gulped down the rest of the Madeira in one go, ready to emasculate Tom right now – unless Henry’s toy sword had done the job already.

🎩

The next day was Sunday, another fine, fresh day. The night, though, had been troubling, with Tom constantly calling for attention and Sidney tossing in his bed, his head full of his latest dream about Charlotte.

Would they ever get to have a substantial conversation? And if so, would that conversation be crowned by perfect happiness … or utter desperation?

Despite the injury sustained through Henry’s misplaced sword, Tom insisted on joining the ladies for church in the morning. They were the Parkers, after all, the second family of the town, and it certainly would look curious if he didn’t show up for church the day after the triumph of the concert. Mr Clement was very excited about the service, having heard much about his colleague’s, Mr Hankins, unique style of preaching. Charlotte quietly put on her bonnet and picked up her reticule, then set down the reticule to add her gloves and fiddle with the bonnet’s bow as she warned Mr Tom not to overexert himself. Sidney’s meaningful glances she managed to ignore – or escape.

Sidney excused himself from joining the churchgoing party, claiming his leg was poorly again after the evening’s excitements. Truth be told, he’d never been much of a churchgoer, even when standing safely on both legs. Mr Hankins’s sermons, famous as they were, were also rather tedious – unless one was fond of botanical metaphors. Any excuse to skip them was welcome. And was there any better excuse for staying at home than having to prepare the speech with which one intended to woe the love of one’s life after lunch? – Also, there was the very slight hope that …

A knock on the main door shook Sidney from his musings. He listened to Wickens answering the door … undistinguishable voices in the hallway, but neither of them was Charlotte’s. Sidney sighed; somehow, he’d hoped she would find a pretence to return to Trafalgar House earlier and join him for their substantial conversation.

Wickens came into the drawing room, bowing, his face unreadable. Not for the first time Sidney wondered what the old footman must be thinking about his masters. “Mr Starling and Mr Heywood here to see you, sir.”

“What?”Sidney tried to hoist himself up from his chair, only to be pre-empted by Mr Starling walking in and shaking his white head, hat in his hand.

“No need to trouble yourself for me, my boy,”the old farmer said. “Good to see you, though, and even better to see you standing on two feet.”

“Mr Starling,”Sidney said, his heart racing as he shook Charlotte’s grandfather’s hand – and racing even more when he turned to the second man: a country gentleman in his mid-fifties in a much worn and slightly outdated coat, his hair and beard neatly trimmed yet framing a careworn face lined with many worries.

“Mr Parker,”Mr Starling said, “I believe you never met my son-in-law during your stay with us. This is Mr John Heywood, my dear Charlotte’s papa.”

“Mr Heywood.”Sidney felt his mouth go dry as he bowed to the older man.

“Mr Parker,”Mr Heywood said with a stiff nod that didn’t exactly invoke confidence in Sidney.

“Ah, and there’s our young maverick,”Mr Starling wiggled his finger at the kitten. “What did you think, running away from the Willingden mice to catch bigger fish in Sanditon?”

“Wickens, please bring refreshments for my guests,”Sidney asked, realising that the two men must have left home at dawn and travelled in great haste to get to Sanditon before noon. There had to be an essential reason for their journey, and he could think only too well what – or who – that reason was.

“Please,”he asked, gesturing at the chairs. “I hope your family is in good health? Nellie? Timmy? Ham and Leah?”

“Everyone’s fine, even though we are missing the suspense of your surprise visitors.”The old farmer had an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes.

The two men sat down, Mr Heywood inspecting his surroundings before he did so. Old Mr Starling, however, seemed very much at ease in Tom Parker’s stylish drawing room, which was so very different from his own home. The kitten, for a moment torn between masters, rubbed its head against Mr Starling’s leg before settling on Sidney’s lap.

“Well, Mr Parker, you might remember that yesterday was the long-expected night of our summer barn dance,”Charlotte’s grandfather said.

“I do. Mrs Starling and Mr Clement mentioned the event.”

“Very good. It is the highlight of the Willingden social season, one might say,”Mr Starling chuckled. “Also the only event of the Willingden social season, one must admit,”he added, winking at Mr Heywood.

Sidney nodded.

“So the absence of both my granddaughter and the vicar was duly noted. – And you know how small places such as Willingden work; gossip is ripe at the tiniest opportunity.”

Sidney blushed. “I hope my family’s insistence that Mrs Starling and Mr Clement stay in Sanditon did not …”

“Oh, of course it did. In fact, there was some unpleasantness about our dear Charlotte presumably having eloped with the vicar …”

“I’m so sorry …”

“You will be even more sorry, I fear.”The continued twinkle in Mr Starling’s eyes somehow belied that ominous statement. “Some busybody remembering Lady Denham’s visit to Willingden claimed Mr Clement had, in fact, assisted our Charlotte in an elopement with you .”

Sidney jumped up, sending the hissing kitten flying off his lap. Pain shot into his leg. “Sir, I …”

“No need to defend yourself, Mr Parker,”Mr Starling said, glancing quickly at his son-in-law whose gaze was much less kind. “I was there; I remember how Charlotte formidably fought her corner against that lady’s unwarranted assumptions. I can vouch that as long as you were recuperating under my roof, I never witnessed the slightest hint of indecency between the two of you. – However, as you may understand, Charlotte’s papa was rather upset to learn such rumours about his child.”

Sidney glanced at Mr Heywood, who looked aggrieved indeed, his mouth twitching, his brow furrowed. “Mr Heywood,”he addressed him as the kitten crawled back on his lap. “I can only apologise for my presence in Willingden turning your daughter into the object of such speculation.”

“I assume you understand that if Charlotte’s reputation is tainted, it will reflect badly on her siblings as well,” Mr Heywood gravely said.

“That would be very poor payment for the kindness your family has afforded me,”Sidney agreed.

“It would be indeed,”old Mr Starling said. “Though we do not expect payment for our hospitality. However, Mr Parker, as I was discussing this matter with my son-in-law last night, I could not help but venture onto a different train of thought, one that would put both Charlotte’s and your conduct into a very particular perspective.”

“I’m not sure I can follow you, sir,”Sidney said with an unease that was obviously shared by the kitten.

“Well,”Mr Starling said, “I’m an old man whose eyesight is not as sharp as it used to be, but I could not fail to notice that once combed and cleaned up, you’re a handsome young man, Mr Parker, with a good brain, a certain experience in the world, a fortunate financial independence, and a keen sense of obligation, as seen in your dealings with your elder brother. – In other words, you are just the gentleman a young lady might form an attachment to, especially a young lady with a clever brain and a great curiosity about the world.”

Sidney opened his mouth and closed it again, completely lost at what to say.

“Likewise,”Mr Starling continued, “I believe you never failed to notice that our Charlotte is not only competent and caring and devoted to her family but also very fine to look at.”

“It would have been impossible to ignore any of Mrs Starling’s many qualities,”Sidney admitted, blushing wildly.

“Well,”Mr Starling continued. “Then I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr Parker, that I asked my old self: What if there was indeed a fondness between these two young people? What if love had touched them with her magic wand? – And what if, out of duty and obligation, they’d felt the need to deny themselves happiness and continue their lives in a constant state of emotional solitude?”

“Mr Starling,”Sidney said, blushing even deeper and feeling very ill at ease, “with all due respect, I… I do doubt your granddaughter would want you to speculate about her actions and feelings.”

“And there you have it, John.”With a satisfied smile, Mr Starling turned to his son-in-law. “Always protecting our Charlotte, always speaking about her with the highest marks of respect. Could you be in any doubt about the seriousness of his feelings and intentions?”

“Meow!”the kitten said, affectionately rubbing its head against Sidney’s chest.

“Yes, kitty.”Mr Starling leaned forward, petting the little runaway. “We know Mr Parker is a good man. Your attachment to him is the very best character witness.”

Sidney opened his mouth and closed it, feeling he was turning the same shade of deep red as Tom’s bathing machines on the beach.

Whatever he -or anyone else – intended to say next was interrupted by a short knock on the door, and walking in was not Wickens with a refreshment tray but Charlotte Starling herself, looking all flushed and flustered.

“Mr Parker,”she said. “I seem to have forgotten my retic… oh.”She paused. “Grandfather… Papa.”

“Charlotte, my very dear.”The twinkle in Mr Starling’s eyes never shone brighter. He and her father stood to welcome and kiss her while Sidney tried to fathom that she had indeed found a pretence to leave the church party and return to him. “We were just discussing you,”Mr Starling said.

“Me? But why are you here? Is everything alright with Nellie and Timmy…”

“Nellie and Timmy are doing fine, mingling with their Heywood cousins.”Her grandfather gently patted her arm. “No, my dearest girl, your Papa and I came here to discuss a matter of utmost importance with you and Mr Parker.”

“With… us?”

“Yes. Sit down with us, Charlotte.”

She did, her gaze flying from Sidney to her father and grandfather and back, her cheeks now also showing the same deep red as the bathing machines.

“Charlotte, my dear,”her grandfather said. “You know, I believe you are a very clever young lady, albeit occasionally a bit too headstrong and so focused on the well-being of others that you forget to care for yourself. - So let us get straight to the point: Right when you were coming in, we were discussing the possibility of a tender attachment between you and young Mr Parker here.”

“Grandfather!”

“Let’s face it, my dear, the idea is not half as shocking as you would like to pretend. And what if influenced by your natural sense of duty and obligation, you felt compelled to reject Mr Parker’s courtship?”

Sidney cleared his throat. “Mr Starling, please. I believe this is a conversation that your granddaughter and I should have in private.”

“I would agree,”Mr Starling said, “if I didn’t have the suspicion that you’ve had this conversation already before you left Willingden and with an outcome that was not exactly satisfying for you, sir. I would not wish for such disappointment to occur again. Forgive me my meddling, Mr Parker, but I’m an old man. My place in the Willingden churchyard is booked and confirmed, and I wish to see certain matters settled before I lie down for my eternal rest. – So, Charlotte, my dear: did you reject Mr Parker’s courtship because your conscience dictated you to stay with Nellie, Timmy, your frail old grandpapa and the memory of our Ralphie on the family farm?”

Sidney felt his heart thump heavily as he stared at his beloved, who was seeking the right words. “Yes,”she finally said, looking up. And after a moment, “But you’re not frail, grandfather.”

Mr Starling laughed. “Headstrong as ever, that’s my girl. - Well, I’m certainly not as green and quick as I was half a century ago, my dear.”The old man laughed but immediately got serious again. “Now, Charlotte,”he said, leaning forward and touching his granddaughter’s hands, “my dear clever girl. Do you really think I’m such a selfish old man that I would deny you your happy romance with Mr P?”

“N…no, of course not, grandfather.”She took the hand he offered, wiping her eyes with the other. “But can there be happiness for me when the price for it is leaving you all alone and the future of the Starling farm anything but secure?”

Old Mr Starling shook his white head, then looked at Charlotte’s little hand clasped with his calloused fingers.

“You’re a good girl, Charlotte, and certainly much more learned than your old grandpapa. And yet, it’s often the clever ones that make matters more complicated than they are.”He blew a kiss on her fingers and let go of her hand. “Of course, I’m proud of how deeply rooted we are in our land. Of course, I wanted my son to succeed me on the farm, and after him, our Ralphie, and when that was no longer an option, young Timmy. – Yet this very same land, Charlotte, has taken a lot from you and me. A son, a grandson, a husband, a friend … a lover.”

“But that’s what life on the farm has been like for centuries, grandfather.”

“Yes. Yet times are changing, Charlotte. Our land was farmed before the Starlings came and will be farmed when we are gone. Tradition is a fine thing, but you, Nellie and Timmy, you’ll have something very new: a real choice. Your world will be much larger than mine was at your age. Your Mr Parker will ensure it, will you not, sir?”

“Of course,”Sidney said, his voice – in fact, his entire body – trembling with emotion. Mr Starling nodded.

“There you have it, Charlotte. We know Mr Parker to be a man who keeps his promises.”

“I’ve been very happy living with you, Grandfather,”Charlotte quietly said.

“Yes. That is good to know, and I’m very grateful for your time with us. I also know that you were very fond of our Ralphie and brought much light and love to his life. - And you marrying him took a great weight off your papa’s mind,”her grandfather said, looking at his son-in-law, who nodded his assent. “But we don’t want you to sacrifice yourself again for your family,”Mr Starling continued. “A beautiful bird with clipped wings, kept in captivity, is a sight to break an old man’s heart. I want you to be free, Charlotte. I want my beloved Starling to fly free, and see the world, and explore what lies beyond our valley of Willingden. - And all the little experience I’ve gained in my life tells me Mr Parker is just the man to take you on that journey.”

He leaned forward, and before Sidney realised what was going on, Mr Starling took his hand and joined it with Charlotte’s.

“There,”the old farmer said, smiling down on them benignly. “That is a sight to delight your grandpapa’s heart.”

Sidney and Charlotte just stared at their clasped hands, too embarrassed to look at each other. The kitten, however, adding its own interpretation of the events, eagerly licked their fingers in approval.

A flapping noise from the window made them all look up, just to find a giant herring gull peeping in on them.

“What funny birds you have here in Sanditon, Mr Parker,”Mr Starling said, then added, speaking to his son-in-law, “How about a turn about town, John? I believe that fine sea breeze will do miracles to my rusty bones.”

Mr Heywood stood, giving his daughter a very fatherly nod. Once the two men had left the drawing room, Sidney dared raise his head and look at Charlotte. She met his gaze, equally befuddled as he was yet also full of affection and with a hint of a new-found confidence. She was his; he knew it. He need not worry and fear any longer: she was his, in heart and in soul.

“Charlotte…”

One quick move and she was in his arms. Finally: all soft and warm and Charlotte. His face was buried in her hair, his arms clasped around her, and he muttered her name, inhaling her scent of lavender and sunshine and moving her head so their lips came close. “Charlotte,”he breathed once more, and with a barely audible “Yes?”she yielded towards him.

Their kiss was sweet and shy, carefully confirming what had been concealed in their hearts for so long. When it ended, they remained close, their foreheads touching, Sidney gently cupping Charlotte’s cheek with one hand, catching a tear, his fingertips touching her temple.

He felt emotion ripple through her as she moved even closer to him, breaking the connection of their foreheads but allowing him to drown in the warmth of her gaze. There were many versions of what he needed to say now. He chose the simplest one: everything else had been said already.

“Will you marry me, Charlotte Starling?”

Her reply was slightly more verbose: “Yes,”she said firmly. “Yes. I will marry you, Sidney Parker. Happily and proudly.”

And as no more words were necessary to endorse their perfect happiness, they kissed again, hungrier and more passionately and a bit messy now.

The kitten purred.

The gull cawed.

The sea breeze blew.

All was well in Sanditon.

🎩👒