pride and prejudice and zombies:: dreadfull ever after

Part 40

CHAPTER 40

"It simply isn't done."

Mrs. Bennet had used that phrase more than once in her time. She'd heard it often enough as well (or at least had it said to her, which isn't necessarily the same thing). Yet as common as it was, Mrs. Bennet couldn't imagine it meaning anything much longer. Not when so much that supposedly wasn't done was being done right before her eyes.

"THE TWO OF THEM HACKED AND SLASHED AT THE UNDEAD TOGETHER, HUSBAND AND WIFE FIGHTING SIDE BY SIDE."

It started with a letter from Lizzy. She was sending a pair of young friends to Longbourn, and Mrs. Bennet was to look after them until the Darcys, God willing, could collect them. The "God willing" might have seemed ominous had Mrs. Bennet paused to reflect upon it. Pausing and reflecting weren't her strong suits, however, and anyway she had mysterious guests to prepare for—an aristocratic couple of the highest quality, most likely. For who else would such as the Darcys be friendly with? The good silver and china would have to be put out and the linens changed and fresh flowers arranged and the grounds swept for dreadfuls. (Nothing made a worse impression than unmentionables pawing at the windows with their filthy worm-nibbled fingers.)

What Mrs. Bennet hadn't anticipated was how very young her visitors would be ... and how very, very foreign. She'd been shocked when they stepped off the stagecoach from London, but it made sense when she discovered they were orphans. Mr. Darcy always did have a taste for exotic servants. Why Lizzy would describe her newest scullery maid and stable boy as "friends" Mrs. Bennet didn't know, but (once she was past her initial surprise and disappointment) she was happy to help them prepare for their new duties. Soon they were busy dusting and mopping and mucking out horse stalls.

When Mrs. Bennet received word from Lizzy to bring the children to Pemberley—where, it seemed, nearly all the family would be gathering to "recuperate"—she assumed things would soon be back to normal. (Again, there was no pausing or reflecting on what, say, anyone needed to recuperate from.) She would ferry the orphans to the Darcys' estate, they would be hustled off to their new lives below stairs, and that would be that.

Only that wasn't that. That, in fact, turned out to be something very different, indeed.

The children, it was quickly made plain, weren't to be servants at all. They were guests. And that wasn't the only or even the greatest shock in store for Mrs. Bennet.

For one thing, Lizzy was going out "on patrol" with Mr. Darcy every day. And in that horrible, drab old battle gown of hers—with a sword belt wrapped around it!

Well, what could Mrs. Bennet say to her daughter but "It simply isn't done." And "It's just not done." And "It is not done." And "The wives of gentlemen don't do such things." And many another variation. Yet day after day, Lizzy strapped on her "katuna" (or whatever it was called) and rode off with her husband, the two of them looking so giddy you'd have thought they were children again. Which also wasn't done! Respectable married couples weren't supposed to look so happy. It wasn't dignified—and it made things so much more awkward for everyone else.

As if that weren't bad enough, Kitty had fallen into the habit of taking lengthy country walks with an aloof little Asiatic named Nezu. When Mrs. Bennet complained about their long strolls and frequent unchaperoned "sparring sessions," Georgiana Darcy volunteered to keep them company—along with the young ninja she seemed to have grown close to during her recent tour of Scotland. It was scandalous!

Normally, of course, Mrs. Bennet could have counted on Mary to join her in self-righteous censure, but she was too busy nursing her box. The homunculus inside had been injured during some sort of kerfuffle at Rosings (the details were sketchy), and Mary had appointed herself as his caretaker. Each day, she pushed him out onto the lawn and sat with him and his two scruffy mongrels, reading aloud to them or feeding grapes one by one through the narrow slot in the man's crate. More than once, Mary had hinted that she and her "Mr. Quayle" had something to tell everyone, once his strength had returned. Mrs. Bennet could guess what the news would be. They already had one invalid in the family in Lydia's husband, the charming Mr. Wickham, so what was one more? At least a cripple was better than a ninja.