pride And prejudice And zombies: dawn of the dreadfuls

Chapter 30

ELIZABETH AND MR. BENNET spoke not a word to each other until they were almost back to Longbourn. The parting with Jane had been painful for each of them, Elizabeth knew, yet she couldn't bring herself to console her father in any way. Leaving her sister at Netherfield for the night was no better than abandoning her in a nest of vipers, and if he felt guilty about that, well, that was the least he could do after the fact. So they'd stalked toward home side by side, each scanning the opposite side of the lane, hand on hilt, saying nothing.

It was Elizabeth who finally broke the silence.

"Zombie droppings?" she asked, jutting her chin out at a glistening red mound of pulp beside a low stone wall just off the road.

Mr. Bennet crossed over to kneel down beside it.

"Zombie droppings," he said.

"Fresh?"

"Fresh."

Mr. Bennet stood up and swiftly carried on toward Longbourn. Yet as he did so, he finally defended himself against the rebuke his daughter had never put into words—because she didn't have to.

"The stakes we play for are the highest, and if I must put up my own flesh and blood as collateral, I will do so."

"You have done so," Elizabeth said.

"Yes. And you, my favorite, I would gladly sell into a sultan's harem if it gave the living even the slightest advantage over the dead."

They walked a little farther without speaking or looking at each other.

"Of course," Mr. Bennet eventually said, "I would fully expect to find you on my doorstep the next morning with the sultan's head on a pike."

Elizabeth glanced over at her father and found him watching her with a sheepish smile. She didn't quite smile back, but she did allow the tight, hard line of her mouth to loosen just a bit.

"Is that what you expect to find when you awake tomorrow?" she said.

"I hope not. Not tomorrow, at any rate." Mr. Bennet looked away again. "If Jane could stay her hand at least a day, it would suit my plans better."

"And which plans are those, exactly?"

"Ah," Mr. Bennet said, nodding ahead. "It appears someone has been anxiously awaiting our return."

By the pink-gold glow of twilight, Elizabeth could see a lone figure standing to the side of the lane just where it curved past Longbourn's front lawn.

A big, brawny figure that put a flutter in her stomach.

Master Hawksworth was watching their approach silently, motionless. All the same, he somehow projected an air of nervous anticipation. It reminded Elizabeth of a chained dog, of all things—a pet sensing its owner's approach yet unable to dart up for the pat on the head it yearned for.

Which made no sense. It was supposed to be she who craved his approval. Who was the Master here, after all?

Elizabeth assumed it was the presence of her father that held Hawksworth back, and indeed he addressed himself only to Mr. Bennet as they approached.

"It is good you chose to return before nightfall, Oscar Bennet," the Master said. He'd relaxed as they drew near, spreading his legs and clasping his hands behind his back and studiously composing his features until they were so immutably cool they could have been chipped from a block of ice. "Today we encountered The Enemy again not two hundred paces from this very spot."

"Did you, now? Where were you going?"

There was a pause before Master Hawksworth answered.

"To the west along the lane. The dreadfuls seem drawn to that stretch of road, and I thought it time to take the young ones out of the dojo, into the field. Their performance was . . . not bad."