pride and prejudice and zombies:: dreadfull ever after

Part 24

CHAPTER 24

Time and again, as the night crawled with agonizing slowness toward morning, Elizabeth thought of the one thing that might soothe her enough to sleep: Jane Bingley's hair. Elizabeth felt anxious, frustrated, angry, guilty, and, despite the sisters and father slumbering soundly in the rooms around hers, alone. She longed to steal up the hall and slip into one of the other bedchambers and whisper, "Jane? Are you awake?" And whether she had been or not, Jane would sit up and say, "Yes." And they would talk and talk as they had those many nights when they were girls brushing each other's hair before bed, untangling—or trying to—the mysteries of life and love.

Only Jane was at far-off Fernworthy recovering from the birth of yet another child, and thinking of her only reminded Elizabeth of one more thing she had to worry about ... and regret. If she hadn't been so honest with Darcy about how her young nieces made her feel—if she hadn't had those feelings to begin with—perhaps she wouldn't be lying here now in a strange bed in a strange house in such a strange, strange predicament.

The outing with the MacFarquhars had been a disaster. The way Elizabeth and her father had thrown the blame on poor Kitty afterward had been shameful. And Elizabeth couldn't even brood properly at first, for when they entered the house Mary was nowhere to be found. Only after an hour wasted on anxious pacing did her sister return, smug and (for once) mute on the subject of her own whereabouts.

It was almost a relief not to sleep after such a day, for what would that have brought but nightmares?

At long last, the black of night gave way to the dull gray glow of dawn. Elizabeth rose from bed and dressed herself and went downstairs ... only to discover that she wasn't the first of her family to awaken. Nezu stood in the hallway, head bent over a slip of paper. He held it out for her without a word. When she had it in hand, he walked out the front door.

Elizabeth read.

Independence, Mary Wollstonecraft tells us, is the basis of every virtue. If this is correct—and I believe little that comes to us from Mrs. Wollstonecraft is not—then I, who have so long fancied myself a peerless judge of personal quality, have, in fact, none of my own. On scruples I could lecture all day, while of initiative I have known nothing. No more. I am a Shaolin warrior, and I should act—act!—accordingly. "The beginning is always today," Mrs. Wollstonecraft wrote. For me, it was yesterday. Today, it continues.

M.B.

"Oh, Mary," Elizabeth groaned.

Why did her sister have to be so sanctimonious?

Why did she have to be so mulish?

And why did she have to be so right?

Elizabeth walked out to the portico and saw Nezu looking up and down the street. He wasn't at it long before he headed back toward the house.

"We will soon know where she has gone," he said as he and Elizabeth went inside again.

"Oh? How?"

Nezu closed the door and turned to Elizabeth, speaking as if her question hadn't been asked.

"Whatever your sister has set herself to doing, we are unable to stop it now. Fortunately, she does not strike me as a reckless or capricious girl ... unlike some. I think, therefore, that we may continue with our current course of action."

"You mean, we should simply wait here for one of the MacFarquhars to come calling or, at most, connive to put ourselves again in their path."

"Yes."

Elizabeth shook her head. "That is the course of inaction, and we can't afford to take it another day."

"There is no need for undue haste, Mrs. Darcy. Her Ladyship assures me that your husband has grown no worse, and if we force the issue—"