CHAPTER FOUR
CHILL
Charlotte walked beside Georgiana, her heart cantering as they made their way through the familiar yet frighteningly foreign streets. She was glad of the company; this friendship that fortified her. However, she could not help but notice the curious glances thrown their way, the way people seemed to glance at her longer than usual. At first, she thought she might have been imagining it, but the stares only grew more frequent, some bordering on outright gawking.
Georgiana—GG, as she now preferred to be called—did not appear to notice or mind. She was as lively as ever, chatting animatedly about the day ahead, her sleek modern (Charlotte had to assume it was modern) ensemble entirely different from Charlotte's own attire, but GG carried them with such confidence that Charlotte almost felt silly for questioning them. After all, that was the emboldening essence of GG—always ahead of the times, always embracing the new.
'I'm so glad you're coming to visit, Charlotte,' GG said, casting a warm smile in her direction as she brushed her cheek against Charlotte's shoulder. 'It feels like an age. You've been busy, I know, but I've missed my best friend.'
Charlotte was not entirely sure what she had been busy with, but she did not argue, since her friend was right, it was good to be together again, so she nodded, smiling back with abundant affection. Her mind wandered as she took in the sights of the town, trying to focus on the recognisable architecture—the rows of terraced Georgian townhouses, with their elegant columns and creamy-yellow sandstone facades. And then, as they rounded the corner, there it was, a place she knew well. GG's house stood just as she remembered it. A beautiful Georgian townhouse, complete with tall windows and a symmetrical design, perfectly preserved, just the same as it was yesterday. A surge of relief washed over her. At least this had not altered. Thank goodness for that!
'Oh, it's just as lovely as ever!' Charlotte exclaimed, gazing up at the lovely house that sat in the centre of Sanditon's streets and society. 'I was worried it might have… changed, somehow.'
GG laughed softly. 'No, nothing has changed here, you don't need to worry, it's the same old casa. I haven't the dosh to modernise.'
Charlotte crinkled her nose and was about to ask what dosh meant, but on assuming it to mean money, she was led to wonder how Georgiana, with her vast fortune, could ill-afford to renovate her house.
At any rate, this thought quickly faded as they stepped into the hallway, and Charlotte's heart plummeted. The interior was nothing like the one etched in her memory. Gone were the gentle pastels and rich wooden panelling, the intricate wallpaper and heavy velvet drapes that once cocooned the space in warmth. In their place stood cold, minimalist furniture with sharp, angular designs, dressed in striking, almost garish colours. The familiar glow of brass sconces had vanished, replaced by unsettlingly sleek fixtures—strange glass orbs hanging from the ceiling, glowing with an unnatural, harsh white light that came from within, though no flame or candle was in sight. The air smelled faintly sterile, as though the scent of life itself had been scrubbed away, replaced by the strange, artificial cleanliness of this new world.
'GG… what is all this?' Charlotte asked. 'Where are the portraits? The furniture?'
GG waved a hand dismissively. 'Oh, you mean the old stuff? We did a renovation. It was all so last century. It was last-last century,' she snorted.
Charlotte swayed weakly, though her mind was struggling to grasp what she was seeing. She followed GG further into the house, feeling more and more displaced with each step.
'It wasn't really me. Some old stuff is cool, but it was all antique and totally impractical,' GG went on, taking her bag and coat and flinging them lazily on a chair. Charlotte glanced around in search of a footman or a maid, but none were to be found, they must have been otherwise occupied.
'Mum liked all that,' GG continued as she kicked her shoes off and wiggled her painted toes, 'but when the house was mine, I changed it all, brought it into the twenty-first century.'
Charlotte gaped. 'Twenty-first what?!'
However, she was never to know.
When they reached the drawing room, she stopped short. They were not alone. Esther and Clara were lounging on large, soft couches that bore no resemblance to the refined settees Charlotte remembered. At first, she would have supposed that seeing them would have brought her succour, however, it only added to her puzzlement. Esther, with her flaming red hair, and Clara, with her sunshine-blonde locks, still looked like themselves—yet, they too had changed. Esther wore a strange garment that seemed to stop halfway down her front, exposing her stomach which contained a sparking stud, and Clara was dressed in some kind of skin-tight trousers with zebra stripes on one leg and leopard spots on the other. Charlotte recognised them from one of her father's books about animals from Africa.
'Charlotte!' Esther exclaimed, smiling broadly. 'So good to see you!' she said, blowing her a kiss while she removed two tiny white buds from her ears, both of which made a low buzzing noise that sounded oddly like music, though, if it was, it was unlike anything she had ever heard before.
Charlotte blinked, attempting to return the smile, but her face remained tight with surprise, the curious surroundings leaving her unsettled. Behind her, Esther and Clara exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes meeting in silent communication. As Charlotte tried to compose herself, she was oblivious to the two quietly whispering to GG, who nodded in subtle understanding, her gaze darting back to Charlotte with a mix of amusement and sympathy.
'Why does she look so... odd?' Clara asked, her voice low, her eyes flicking towards Charlotte's attire with barely concealed bewilderment.
GG gave a small shrug, leaning in to whisper, 'She's just under a lot of stress lately. She's been so busy planning everything—it's themed, you know.'
Esther and Clara sighed an oval ah of understanding. 'Ohhh, themed. That explains it. She must be in character,' Esther murmured, relaxing back onto the couch.
'Come, Charlotte,' GG said, breaking the awkward moment. 'Why don't you sit down with us? You've had a long day, and I think you need to chill.'
Charlotte looked at her blankly. 'Chill?' The word felt strange on her tongue. Chilliness was surely not a good thing or something one ought to aspire to. It meant being cold.
GG laughed again, gesturing to the couch. 'Yes, sit down, relax. A glass of wine is what you need.'
Charlotte hesitated for a moment. It was only midday. They were not partaking of dinner and there was no party, so a drink seemed entirely unsuitable. However, she felt a rather desperate need for one washing over her. She was still feeling completely out of place, so she obliged, carefully lowering herself onto the modern, cushioned seat. It felt uncomfortably soft, almost as if she might sink into it and disappear.
GG handed her a glass of wine, the stemware as sleek as the rest of the house. Charlotte took a tentative sip, glancing around the room once more. Everything was different. The house, her friends, the world itself.
But for now, she thought, perhaps it was best to take GG's advice. She could discover what was happening later. For now, she would try to… chill.
A few minutes passed while the women sipped their drinks. Charlotte sat stiffly on the cushioned couch, her fingers nervously tapping against the unfamiliar fabric that was shiny and stuck to her skin that sweated in the heat. It occurred to her then that there was no fire crackling in the grate—no grate at all, in fact. Charlotte glanced around, her brow creasing.
'Where is the fireplace?' she asked, her voice faint with disbelief. 'How do you keep warm without it?'
Clara and Esther exchanged amused glances, and Esther gave an untroubled snigger. 'Fire? We don't use fires anymore, Charlotte. We've got central heating now, as well you know.'
'You had your new set installed last week at your place, all ready for the big day,' Clara reminded her casually, twirling a strand of her blonde hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
'Central... heating?' Charlotte repeated, her voice thin with disbelief. 'At my place?'
'Yes, it's all automatic,' Clara said with a grin, clearly indulging what she assumed was Charlotte's innocent ignorance. 'There's a system in the walls that heats the whole house. No need to chop wood or stoke a fire.'
Esther snickered, nudging Clara playfully. 'Can you imagine us trying to build a fire? We're not cavemen.'
The group broke into light laughter, but Charlotte could not join in. The thought of being unable to build a fire—relying instead on this mysterious, invisible heat—unnerved her deeply. The hearth had always been more than just warmth; it was the soul of the home, a place to gather and feel safe. Now, this shifting world, with its unseen contraptions and concealed comforts, threatened to take that away. It felt... wrong.
'And what did you mean by my place?' she questioned. She did not have a home of her own in Sanditon. She stayed with the Parkers, and as far as she knew, their house had not changed, or, at least, this morning, it was all as it should have been.
'Well, it will be your place soon,' GG winked. 'I've seen you moving boxes in.'
'And a toothbrush,' Esther smirked.
Charlotte had no notion of what they were alluding to. As the laughter ebbed around her, Charlotte tilted her head back and hastily downed the rest of her wine, the ruby liquid flooding her senses with warmth. For a fleeting moment, it soothed the disquiet that churned inside her, but the unease was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind, fretting away like the embers of an unattended fire.
Suddenly, a high-pitched cry broke through the air and pierced her anxious thoughts. Charlotte's head snapped around as Esther stood and moved to the corner of the room where a baby's wail filled the silence. Esther lifted a small bundle from a Moses basket that had been hidden in a nook and cooed the baby in her arms.
Charlotte watched with growing astonishment as Esther, instead of calling for a nurse or preparing to breastfeed, pulled a peculiar-looking bottle from her bag. It was not made of glass like the one's milk was usually kept in. This bottle seemed strange, almost soft, with a pliable texture. Esther unscrewed the cap, and to Charlotte's disbelief, she scooped a fine powder from a tin and tipped it into the bottle before adding water. With a few quick shakes, the mixture turned into a cloudy, milky solution. The baby latched onto the teat and began sucking with fervour as if this concoction were entirely ordinary.
Charlotte's eyes widened in shock. 'You… you are feeding him from a bottle?' she whispered, her voice barely audible, struggling to conceal her amazement.
Esther, her gaze fixed on her baby as he contentedly drank, chuckled softly. 'Yes, Charlotte,' she said, her tone breezy. 'It's so much easier with formula. And, as you well know, I cannot feed him myself.' The pointed emphasis on 'cannot' caused Charlotte to pause, sensing a subtle edge in Esther's words. She cannot feed him herself? Why ever not? Was it because she was a Lady? That must be it. Surely the upper classes found breastfeeding too intimate a task for their station. But no, that did not seem to be the reason Esther implied.
Before she could ask, Clara cut in with a tut of disapproval, her expression taut with judgment. 'Honestly, Charlotte! I can't believe you, of all people, would shame Esther for how she's feeding her baby.' Her eyes flashed with indignation. 'This isn't the 1950s. Feminism has happened, you know. It's about what's best for both the mother and the baby.'
Charlotte winced at the reprimand, heat rising to her cheeks. She had not intended to offend—far from it. It was simply the unfamiliarity that had caught her off guard.
'I was not, I did not—,' she began, but her voice faltered. She had not meant to judge, only to understand. The world seemed to have galloped ahead of her, leaving her to stumble in its wake, trying to make sense of things that once seemed so simple.
Charlotte swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her words press on her.
'I am sorry—' she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. 'I just…'
Esther waved a hand, smiling reassuringly. 'It's alright, C. I know you want to feed your own babies if you can. You will be the best mum in the world, we all know you will. But don't worry, this little man is quite happy and healthy,' she promised her, kissing her babe.
Charlotte nodded weakly, though her mind was still reeling. She glanced at the baby, who was blissfully sucking at the bottle, seemingly content with this new, efficient method of nourishment. It was yet another reminder of how much things had changed around her—how much she still needed to learn and understand. She had to admit that the world, with all its strange innovations, was moving forward at a pace she was not quite prepared for.
GG, noticing Charlotte's unease, slipped her arm around her and pulled her into a warm embrace. 'Isn't he a lovely baby?' she whispered, her tone soft and soothing. 'He looks so much like his father, don't you think?'
Charlotte's eyes lingered on the infant's delicate features—his mop of thick blonde curls and sharp, almost pointed nose. She hesitated, unable to agree. The child bore little resemblance to Lord Babington, whose dark hair and strong, square jaw were nothing like this infant's finer, more delicate face.
'He has your eyes,' Esther said quietly, glancing up at Clara with a soft, resigned smile. There was a flicker of affection in her gaze, tempered by the acceptance of something left unsaid.
Clara stepped closer, her expression softening as she studied the baby. A small smile tugged at her lips. Charlotte remained quiet, observing the tenderness between them. Yet, beneath the surface, a tension she couldn't quite place lingered—something far more complex than the simple admiration of a newborn.
'Well, I'm glad he looks a little like me,' Clara said, her manner nonchalant yet mingled with pride. 'After carrying him for nine months, it's the least I deserve, isn't it?' She reached out to touch the child's tiny hand, her fingers lingering gently over his smooth, soft skin, a trace of joy flickering in her eyes.
'He's yours?!' Charlotte cried.
'Emm, yes,' Esther replied, as if it was a well-known fact. 'Well, technically. Clara had him with my brother, Edward.'
Charlotte's heart thudded in her chest. 'Your brother?' she stammered. 'But… but Clara is not married. How is that even possible?'
Clara shifted slightly, a small growl playing on her lips. 'No, I'm not married. But Edward and I weren't together. We never were and never will be. It was just a fling. Besides, we weren't ready for a baby. So, Esther and her husband decided to take him in since they can't have any of their own,' she explained, aching out and rubbing Esther's arm comfortingly. 'It's all very harmonious. I still get to see him and will be like an aunt, but Esther will be his true mother, the one who raises him.'
Charlotte felt faint, the room spinning slightly as if the very air had grown heavy. Her mind struggled to grasp the situation, recoiling in confusion. How could a woman have a baby without the security of marriage? Was it even physically possible to have a child outside of wedlock? It was not that Charlotte was judgemental, it was all just so… shocking. She had always believed that one naturally followed the other, that marriage was a prerequisite for motherhood. The disconnect between her expectations and this reality left her disoriented, as though the very fabric of societal norms she had understood was unravelling before her eyes.
However, before Charlotte could even begin to form a response, the room was suddenly engulfed in music. It was a discordance unlike anything she had ever encountered—an intense, pulsating sound that seemed to come from every corner, blaring noises that defied description. Her gaze darted around the room, her alarm mounting as she searched in vain for a source.
Where was the piano with its familiar, comforting timbre? Where was the harp's delicate strumming? And where, in the name of all that was traditional, was the orchestra? Her heart trembled in her chest as the vibrant, synthetic melodies seemed to vibrate through her very bones. Panic seeped into her voice.
'Where is the music coming from?' she demanded, her tone clipped with confusion and distress. 'Nobody is playing! How is this possible?'
Her eyes continued to flit fretfully from one corner of the room to the next, as if expecting the missing musicians to materialise out of thin air. The music was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Clara and Esther exchanged a glance, chuckling. 'It's just Spotify,' Esther clarified. 'Music on demand.'
'Good grief!' snorted GG. 'Does anyone in Sanditon even know how to play an instrument?'
'Just Crowe and his burping alphabet,' Clara replied, rolling her eyes.
The three women laughed hysterically.
Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. This was too much. An illegitimate child, fed from a bottle, given to another to raise—music that came from masked sources, warmth that came from walls—it was all too much. She felt as though the ground beneath her was crumbling, and she no longer knew where she stood.
And then, there was a voice. A voice that appeared from nothingness, combining with the music in a ghostly blend. A woman, with a misty lilt whispered in the air, her words encircling Charlotte and drowning her in their slurred song:
'I'm losing my mind! It's only a matter of time before I lose it forever.'
Without a word, Charlotte shot up from the couch, her skirts rustling in her haste. Her heart pounded as she rushed towards the door.
Back in the drawing room, the three women stared after her, bewildered.
'What on earth was that about?' Clara mused, refilling her wine glass. 'Should we help her?'
GG sighed, opening a fresh bottle. 'Heatstroke,' she said significantly, sipping her wine. 'But it's fine. She'll probably go home now… he'll look after her. I don't know about you, but I've had enough Regency drama for one day.'
