pride And prejudice And zombies: dawn of the dreadfuls

chapter 21

THERE HAD BEEN NO MORE late-night prowlings through the Bennet house since the girls had mistaken their mother for an unmentionable more than a week before. Whatever Mrs. Bennet had been after in Mr. Bennet's room—and Elizabeth had worked very, very hard to convince herself she didn't know what that was—she'd apparently given up hope of procuring it. So when Elizabeth once again heard shuffling steps and the creak of a floorboard outside her bedroom door, she stuffed her hand under her pillow and wrapped it around the hilt of a dirk.

It was the dead of night, yet her sleep had been light. Exhausted as her body was from another day of training, her mind remained restless, returning again and again to the same troubling thoughts. And feelings.

There was a light rap on her door, and it began to swing slowly open.

"Don't shoot, Lizzy. It's me."

Elizabeth pushed herself up and smiled sleepily. "Oh, I wasn't going to shoot you, Jane. I was about to stab you."

Candlelight spread out into the room, and as Jane stepped in after it, Elizabeth could see her sister's eyes glistening moistly in the dim flicker.

"I need help packing for Netherfield," Jane said.

Elizabeth stood and started toward her. "But we finished that hours ago."

"I know. And I finished again at midnight." Jane's lips trembled, and a single tear trickled down her right cheek. "I just can't stop unpacking."

"Dear, sweet Jane . . ."

Elizabeth wrapped her arms gingerly around her sister—careful not to brush against the candle—and held her for a moment. Then she hurried her across the hall to her room and quickly closed the door. (Lydia had grown altogether too fond of her throwing stars of late, and anyone or anything that startled or provoked her ran the risk of quick, painful perforation.)

"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."