Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: Dawn of the Dreadfuls papaz-1

by Steve Hockensmith

  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.”

  “Perhaps we might do some sword work together during one of my many visits,” Elizabeth replied. “It would be wise, I think, to remind the baron what you’re capable of with a katana . . . though I will admit, I would be happier packing a chastity belt.”

  “Lizzy!”

  “For Lord Lumpley, of course,” Elizabeth said. “I suspect the man already wears a truss. A chastity belt would require but the tiniest bit of extra—”

  “Elizabeth Bennet, you should be ashamed of yourself,” Jane said. But she was grinning as she said it. “You say the most awful things!”

  Elizabeth smiled back, pleased to see she’d lifted her sister’s spirits. Yet it would take a lot more than naughty quips, she knew, to actually keep Jane safe.

  She put a pair of tekko brass knuckles in the trunk. Then an ivory-handled push dagger. Then her sister’s nunchucks. Then her flintlock pistol and powder horn. Then a bag of shot. Then a retractable bo staff and ninja hand claws and a battle-axe and . . . and . . . and . .

  CHAPTER 22

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, the Bennets lined up outside the house to bid Jane adieu.

  “I’m sure you will acquit yourself well,” said Mary.

  “Just you with a baron and a hundred soldiers—I’m so jealous!” said Kitty.

  “I should be so lucky when I’m your age!” said Lydia.

  “Be careful, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But not too careful.” And she gave Jane a broad wink.

  Master Hawksworth watched all the proceedings from the doorway of the dojo. The only farewell he offered to Jane was a solemn bow. Yet this, in its own way, seemed as heartfelt as anything the Bennets had to say.

  As Jane returned the bow, the Master’s eyes flicked, for just an instant, to Elizabeth and her father.

  Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth noticed, was watching the younger man with a look of dry disdain. When the Master noticed it as well, he abruptly spun on his heel and stalked back into the dojo.

  Something had shifted between her father and Master Hawksworth—something, Elizabeth feared, that had to do with her. Just that morning, when she’d asked if she might accompany Jane to Nether-field, Mr. Bennet had said, “That’s a splendid idea. I’ll tell Hawksworth you shall be gone for the day.”

  Not “ask the Master.” “Tell Hawksworth.”

  Whatever it meant, she had no chance to ask about it, however slyly she might have gone about it, for when they left Longbourn, her father suddenly began acting like her mother. He’d decided that they should walk (an armed servant in a dogcart having been dispatched with Jane’s trunk at first light), and all the way to Netherfield Park he kept up a stream of nervous chatter. Fortunately, it wasn’t the need for an heir or rich sons-in-law or the certainty of his own encroaching doom that occupied him: He was reviewing fighting techniques, tossing out bits of zombie lore (“Have I mentioned their fondness for cabbage patches?”), and reminding Jane, not once but twice, of the efficaciousness of the Fulcrum of Doom and its sundry variations.

  It was as if all their father had learned through months of study in the Orient and years battling the unmentionables might be imparted to his daughters in one fifty-minute walk, provided he talked quickly enough. He barely paused for so much as a breath until he spotted something by the side of the road that, for a moment, seemed to take it away entirely.

  “Well, well, well . . . and I was just about to get to this, too,” he muttered, and he slowly approached a small mound of what looked like mincemeat or the contents of a particularly lumpy haggis. “It appears Fate has taken an interest in your education.”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Zombie droppings.”

  “Zombie . . . droppings?”

  “Oh, my,” Jane said. “I didn’t think unmentionables would need to, um, you know. . . .”

  “They don’t. Not the way the living do, at least.” Mr. Bennet pulled out a dagger, knelt down beside the gloppy mess, and began sifting through it with the tip of the blade. “It moves through their bodies without being digested and then eventually just . . . falls out. That’s how you can tell it’s from a dreadful.”

  He stabbed something, brought it up to his nose, and gave it a sniff.

  It was a finger. A wedding band was still attached just above the exposed knuckle bone.

  “Fresh. We must be doubly wary,” Mr. Bennet said. Then he flicked the finger into the brush, stood up, and started off again up the lane. “Now where was I? Oh, yes! Eyes! Always a nice, soft, vulnerable target in a human foe, but don’t bother with them when you’re up against a dreadful. They seem to see without the things, somehow. . . .”

  He carried on along this line for only another minute or so, for soon the lane curved around to the baron’s estate and a shrill voice squeaked out, “Who goe
s there?”

  About fifty feet ahead, a young solider stood in the middle of the road, his wobbling Brown Bess pointed at the Bennets.

  “Friends, lad!” Mr. Bennet called out. “Living, breathing friends, as you can tell from the fact that I’m answering you at all! I commend you on your caution—keep it up, by all means—but if you could stand down for now, it would be appreciated!”

  The soldier lowered his musket.

  “You may pass,” he squawked.

  He did his best to look stout and manly as Mr. Bennet and the girls passed him by, but with his splotchy skin and baggy uniform he appeared more boy than man.

  “Are foot soldiers always so young?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not for long,” her father replied.

  Before Elizabeth could ask what that meant, he was waving at a stiff figure on the other side of the estate’s lush front lawn.

  “LieutenantTindall! Good morning! Where might the captain be?”

  The lieutenant was watching a small squad of soldiers drill with muskets on their shoulders—watching and not approving, to judge by the scowl Elizabeth could see even from so far away.

  When he turned to face the Bennets, the scowl deepened.

  He started toward them with quick, crisp steps, his back still perfectly straight, as though he wished to demonstrate how a real English soldier marches.

  “Mr. Bennet,” he said as he drew near, and he gave the girls a brusque nod of greeting. “Ladies.”

  His gaze didn’t linger on Jane, as it had back at Longbourn. Quite the opposite: It was clear he was taking pains not to look at her at all.

  “Captain Cannon is awaiting your arrival with Lord Lumpley,” he said to Mr. Bennet. “It is the captain’s wish that His Lordship and his new . . .” It was hard to believe the man’s upper lip could curl any further, yet he managed it. “. . . escort should set off for Meryton immediately. There is a vicar who needs talking to, I gather.”

  “Capital!” Mr. Bennet enthused. “I’m glad to find we’re wasting no time this morning—enough has been squandered already. If you would show the way?”

  Lt. Tindall bowed stiffly, then marched off again with a strained “Follow me.”

  Elizabeth peeped over at her sister as the Bennets followed. Jane looked pale and pinch-cheeked, and her wide eyes were pointed at the grass. Humility had always been her natural state, but this was humiliation.

  Elizabeth took her by the arm.

  “Don’t be anxious, Jane. You do what you must for king and country, and you will do it with honor. Surely, anyone with even the slightest sense will appreciate that. As for those who disapprove, well, I would say let the unmentionables have them, but they’re so narrow-minded there’s probably not enough in their heads to tempt even the most peckish dreadful.”

  The lieutenant marred his perfect marching with a clumsy stumble step.

  “Thank you, Elizabeth,” Jane said, attempting (and not quite succeeding at) a smile. “I only wish I had your confidence.”

  “Pish tosh, you have nothing to worry about,” Mr. Bennet said. “You will be marvelous, my dear, and no one will be able to deny it.”

  Yet though he reached over to give Jane a pat on the back, it seemed to Elizabeth he was as anxious as the lieutenant to avoid her eyes. His reassuring words, she suspected, were as much for himself as his daughter.

  A moment later, they were joining Lord Lumpley and Capt. Cannon in front of the house. With them were the captain’s Limbs, of course, as well as a groom behind the reins of a stylish phaeton.

  “Ahhhh, my bodyguard! I feel safer already!” Lord Lumpley crowed as the Bennets walked up. He swept Lt. Tindall aside and bowed before Jane, then popped back up grinning. “I would have one of the maids show you to your room so you might get settled, but the captain is anxious to get his new plow horse—me—in harness. So it’s off to Meryton to twist the vicar’s arm, I’m afraid.”

  The baron slipped between Mr. Bennet and Jane, hooked the girl by the arm, and pulled her toward the waiting carriage.

  “Captain!” Lt. Tindall blurted out. “Request permission to accompany the party to Meryton, Sir!”

  Jane turned back to look at him, and the lieutenant met her gaze at last. The young man’s handsome face went red, and he let his mouth hang slightly open, as if the words he was on the verge of speaking had somehow become stuck upon his tongue.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Capt. Cannon said. “I’d like Mr. Bennet to go, the better to impress upon this Reverend Mr. Cummings the vital importance of what we propose to do. And he can bring Ensign Pratt and his men along to add further weight.”

  “Begging your pardon, Sir, but—” the lieutenant began.

  The captain simply looked over at Mr. Bennet and went on talking.

  “I’ve left a small garrison in Meryton, quartered at the Sow’s Head Inn. You can collect them upon your arrival. I’m sending the proper equipment for them with the assumption that Mr. Cummings will see reason.”

  “A dangerous assumption to make of any man, particularly a vicar,” Mr. Bennet said. “You’re not coming along?”

  “No. My first order of business is a thorough reconnoiter of the area. We don’t want any unpleasant surprises, do we?”

  “If you encounter dreadfuls, it shan’t be pleasant, but it should come as no surprise,” Mr. Bennet said softly, and he leaned in closely to tell the captain of the zombie scat they’d found by the road.

  If he was trying not to panic Lord Lumpley, he needn’t have bothered. The baron was far too busy trying to interest Jane in the glories of his estate—and, by extension, the glories of him—to pay any attention to the men.

  “And there was but one dropping?” Capt. Cannon said when he was done.

  “There was but one that I saw.”

  The captain nodded gravely.

  “Well . . . off to Meryton.” Mr. Bennet turned to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry to abandon you like this, but obviously plans have changed. I leave it to you to decide how best to use your time until we return. Perhaps the lieutenant might have one of his men instruct you in the use of a Brown Bess. We have entirely neglected the musket in our training, and I can’t imagine a better opportunity to correct that.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “There’s a good girl.”

  Mr. Bennet stepped up into the phaeton and inserted himself between Lord Lumpley and Jane. It looked to be an uncomfortably snug fit.

  “Good-bye, Lizzy!” Jane called as the carriage rolled off. She had to lean around Mr. Bennet and Lord Lumpley to wave at her sister and, Lord Lumpley being Lord Lumpley, that called for quite a bit of leaning indeed. All Elizabeth could see of Jane’s face were her eyes, as big and round as a pair of blue buttons.

  The shyest, gentlest of the Bennet girls was on her way to a town filled with disapproving prudes, a lecherous nobleman on one side, a sword on the other.

  Elizabeth found herself worrying far less about the unmentionables lurking along the road than the possibility that her sister might very soon die of embarrassment.

  CHAPTER 23

  “I MUST TAKE MY LEAVE as well, Miss Bennet,” Capt. Cannon said as the baron’s carriage rolled off up the drive. “But I find your father’s suggestion an excellent one, and I leave it to the lieutenant here to arrange for musketry instruction, if you so choose. Limbs! Bow to the lady!”

  The Limbs did as they were told, then whisked the captain away as he barked out “Hut two, hut two—on the double now!”

  Elizabeth and Lt. Tindall stood silently for a moment in the shadow of the great house.

  “Well,” the lieutenant said.

  “Well,” said Elizabeth.

  Another moment passed.

  “Miss Bennet?”

  “Lieutenant?”

  “Would you be offended if I were to speak frankly?”

  “That depends on what you might say.”

  “I see.”

  Another long pause followed.

  E
ventually, Lt. Tindall drew in a deep breath, as if gathering his strength for some powerful exertion. Which he was.

  With an effort so apparent Elizabeth thought at first he was about to sneeze, the young soldier forced himself to speak.

  “I apologize for my earlier coldness, which was not intended as a slight, only I find myself, in all honesty, distressed, having discovered your sister to be, in the brief time I had to become acquainted with her, a young lady of exceptional qualities, none of them having anything to do with fighting and killing, and it pains me quite deeply to see her forced into a role so alien not just to her whole sex but to her tender spirit in particular, and it is, in addition, galling to find that your father’s obsession with the unmentionables and the savageries of the East should result in your sister’s most intimate connection with a man of such patently low morals as the grotesque satyr who owns this estate, and furthermore . . . have I said something amusing?”

  Elizabeth, to her own surprise, was smiling. For the first time, she found herself almost liking the man.

  “No, nothing amusing,” she said. “Gratifying. Perhaps you could show me the way to the gunnery or whatever you call it, and we might talk further.”

  The lieutenant nodded and stretched out an arm toward a row of tents lining one side of the lawn. “This way.”

  They walked away from the house side by side.

  “I appreciate your candor, Lieutenant,” Elizabeth said. “Actually, I find myself in accord with your sentiments in one or two respects. Yet I must trust in my father, as you must trust your captain. They lived through the worst of The Troubles. Whatever they think necessary, I am inclined to do, and I know Jane feels likewise.”

  “That would seem sensible,” the lieutenant said, looking straight ahead.