Steve Hockensmith - Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Dawn of the Dreadfuls

“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said after another hug, “I feel as if I’m being sent to Lord Lumpley as some kind of . . . you know. . . .”

Elizabeth did know. The gist anyway, if not the exact word Jane couldn’t bring herself to say. Concubine would have been her first guess.

The phrase Elizabeth had settled on in her own mind was virgin sacrifice .

She led Jane to the bed, sat her down, and kissed her on the forehead. Then she turned to a large (and empty) chest surrounded by stacks of neatly folded clothes.

“You must simply think of yourself as a special sort of governess.” She picked up a riding habit and put it in the trunk. “And of Lord Lumpley as a particularly naughty child.”

“Oh, it’s not him that I worry about,” Jane said. “You know I don’t share your misgivings about the baron. He’s always been a perfect gentleman with me . No . . . it’s what people will say that pains me.”

Elizabeth shrugged even as she kept loading the trunk. “Could it be any worse than what they’re saying already? And if His Lordship is to be believed, they won’t be saying it long—because he’s going to change their minds about it all.”

“Do you believe that, Lizzy?”

“Well . . . the baron might be right. But I beg you to be wary of anything else the man says. And I don’t just say that because I dislike him. You know there have been rumors . . . about Lord Lumpley and certain girls. . . .”

Such a flush came to Jane’s face, for a moment it seemed to glow as bright as the candle, and she reached out and snagged Elizabeth by the hand.

“Oh, please say you’ll come to Netherfield tomorrow! I simply couldn’t bear going there without you by my side to give me strength.”

“Of course, I shall go with you. Though . . .” Elizabeth gave Jane’s hand a squeeze and then, overcome by the sudden urge to turn away, went back to packing. “I suppose I shall have to ask the Master for permission, as well.”

“Surely, he’d excuse even his favorite pupil for just this one morning,” Jane said. She was obviously struggling to lighten her tone, brighten the mood, turn playful, yet Elizabeth found she couldn’t play along, and instead she changed the subject.

“Well, I can think of one person, at least, who will be absolutely enchanted by the idea.”

“Oh, goodness, yes. No doubt Mamma will want you to visit me at Netherfield often, so that you might secure for yourself whichever gentleman there I don’t entrap. Why, she and Aunt Philips are probably already planning a double wedding!”

Elizabeth let loose a very unladylike snort, sparking in Jane a burst of barely stifled giggles.

Their mother had, at first, reacted to news of the arrangement with Lord Lumpley with shocked silence—silence from her being so shocking that no one else there could speak for a full half minute, and the whole family simply sat around the drawing room watching matriarch gawk at patriarch with her mouth hanging open.

“One of our daughters? A bodyguard ?” she finally said. “It’s outrageous. Disgraceful. Unheard of. We’ll be the laughingstock of all Hertfordshire.”

“As if we aren’t now,” Kitty grumbled.

“Actually, Mamma,” Mary said, nodding down at the thick book spread open in her lap, “according to this, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself served as personal guard to the Duke of York during the Black Country Campaign of 17—”

“ Sss sss sss ,” Mrs. Bennet hissed, silencing Mary with waggling fingers. As always, she found facts antithetical to good conversation. “We’re talking about Jane’s reputation. And ours!”

“Lord Lumpley would tell you he’s rescuing our reputation, gallant gentleman that he is,” Mr. Bennet said. “At any rate, there can hardly be anything untoward about the arrangement if it’s been endorsed by a captain of the king’s army—and when he and his junior officers will ever be on hand. Why, I wager Jane will end up spending as much time with young Lt. Tindall as with the baron.”

Mrs. Bennet pondered this for a long, long time—for her. Meaning all of two seconds passed before she turned to Jane and said, “Don’t forget to take that lovely muslin gown Mrs. Gardiner bought for you in London. And we simply must do something different with your hair. Hill! Hill ? Where is that infernal woman? She needs to run to town this instant if we’re to have a new bonnet before Mr. Ward closes shop. HILL!”

Soon she was hustling upstairs to go through Jane’s closet and dressers, with Kitty and Lydia skittering after her tittering. Jane remained behind, frozen in the armchair she’d been sitting in when she’d received the news.

Her father walked over to pat her on the back of the hand.

“I know, my dear. I am tossing you into the lion’s den. Please believe me, I wouldn’t do it if you weren’t more than a match for any wanton tom who sought to add you to his pride.”

“Papa!” Jane cried, horrified.

Mr. Bennet gave her another pat. “That’s the way, child, that’s the way. Just keep blushing like that—with your katana at the ready—and you’ll be all right. Now, I suppose I must go to the dojo and inform Master Hawksworth.”

“Are you sure he’ll approve?” Elizabeth asked.

She certainly didn’t, but there was little she could do about it. The Master, on the other hand . . .

“Our training has brought us so far so fast, but this?” she went on. “The Master might not think Jane’s ready.”

“I am beginning to wonder,” Mr. Bennet replied, one eyebrow arching high, “if our young master is truly the best judge of what my daughters are and are not ready for.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to blush. Her sisters’ teasing she could tolerate, but from her father it was something else entirely. Though, really, how could he have missed Master Hawksworth’s attentions? The Master was forever creating excuses for them to be alone to work on their pas de deux moves: At one point, every other Bennet in the dojo was accused of bad posture and sent off for a dozen laps around the estate. And he continued to give Elizabeth looks that lingered so long that Mary even asked him once if he were attempting some Oriental form of mesmerism. Yet it wasn’t yearning that Elizabeth saw in his gaze; it seemed more like a perpetually unquenched curiosity. What he was so curious about , though, she didn’t know, and even when they were together, just the two of them grappling and tussling and clasping hands, she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Mr. Bennet paused a moment, waiting to see what reply his daughter might make to his observation about the Master. Yet Elizabeth found herself, for once, at a loss for the right words, and her father simply grunted and left the room.

“Well, come along, Jane,” she said brightly, trying to cover with false cheer as she grabbed her sister by the arm and tugged her toward the door. “Knowing Mamma, we will find her stuffing a trunk with evening dresses, slippers, and gloves—and not so much as a butter knife for you to guard a body with!”

And so it had been, of course. Eventually, Mrs. Bennet moved on to other matters: Jane’s hair, the new bonnet, experimenting (over Kitty’s howls of protest) on Jane’s already perfect complexion with the French rouge Mrs. Hill had found hidden in the younger girl’s dresser. Which was all well and good, from Elizabeth’s perspective, for at last she could slip in and pack a few things that might actually be of some use.

And now, hours later, here she was doing it all over again.

“Do you really think there’s need for that?” Jane asked as Elizabeth picked up her sparring gown. “I can’t imagine I’ll be doing many dandbaithaks while at Netherfield Park.”