pride and prejudice and zombies:: dreadfull ever after

Part 19

CHAPTER 19

Mary let all of half a minute pass after her father and sisters rode off in the MacFarquhars' landau. Then she joined them on the streets of London.

Not the same streets, though. Not for long. She had her own destination in mind.

She wasn't just leaving the house. She was walking away from the role she'd been assigned both as a woman and a Bennet. Second fiddle. Nursemaid. Lady in waiting who was never supposed to do anything but wait.

Well, she wasn't waiting any longer. She'd come all the way from Hertfordshire to help, and help she would.

The nearest shop was a small bookseller's around the corner, and Mary marched in and asked the way to Bethlem Royal Hospital.

"That's two questions you're really asking, Miss," the man behind the counter said. He was a roly-poly fellow with spectacles sliding so far down the bridge of his nose they seemed in imminent danger of falling into his mouth. "Could I tell you the way? Why, it's but a twenty minute walk from here down to the grounds of the Foundling Hospital, where they moved old Bedlam after the Siege of '97. So that's a yes for you, young miss. Yes, indeed. But will I tell you? Can I, in good conscience? Noooooooo. No, indeed."

"Why not?"

"Because, Miss, Bethlem Royal Hospital is in Section Twelve Central, and if I were to send you there I would be as guilty of murder as whichever footpads or unmentionables got hold of you first."

The shopkeeper leaned over the counter and popped his eyes wide on the word "murder," saying it as one would "Boo!" to a small child.

"And what if I were to tell you," Mary replied coolly, "that the footpads and unmentionables have more to fear from me than I do from them?"

The man scratched the lowermost of his several chins. "Then I do believe I would laugh, Miss, very much like this." He cleared his throat. "Ho ho ho!"

Mary had never snapped a living man's neck, but this was a day for new experiences, and she was momentarily tempted to give it a try.

"Will your scruples allow you to sell me a guidebook to London?" she said instead.

"Oh, yes. Yes, indeed. What a lady does with a guidebook is no business of mine, once it has been paid for."

"Then I will take one."

"I recommend this." The shopkeeper reached under the counter and produced a slender volume. "London: Being a Complete Guide to the British Capital; Containing, a Full and Accurate Account of its Buildings, Commerce, Curiosities—"

"I will take it."

"—Exhibitions, Amusements, Religious and Charitable Foundations, Literary Establishments, Learned and Scientific Institutions: Including a Sketch of the—"

"I will take it."

"—Surrounding Country, with Full Directions to Strangers on Their First Arrival."

"I said I will take it."

"By John Wallis."

"Yes, yes. I will take it."

"I have not yet quoted you a price."

Mary found herself gritting her teeth in a way she hadn't done since her sister Lydia left home.

"How much is it?"

"One shilling and sixpence."

"I will take it."

"There's no need to be snippy, Miss," the shopkeeper said, but at last he held out a pudgy hand, palm up.

Mary reached into her reticule, careful to avoid the pistol inside lest she be tempted to make use of it.