I will be walking that way, Mrs. Bennet. He jerked his head at Mr. Ford, who was struggling to haul himself out of his casket. If you choose to join me, so be it.
Mrs. Bennet let go and, after carefully checking to make sure Jane was still behind her, swooned backward into her eldest daughters arms.
Get her out of here, Mr. Bennet told Jane. Lydia and Kitty, as well.
He turned his attention then to the next two girls down the pew: Elizabeth and Mary. The latter was deep in conversation with her younger sisters.
The dreadfuls have returned! Kitty screamed.
Calm yourself, sister, Mary said, her voice dead. She was either keeping a cool head or had retreated into catatonia, it was hard to tell which. We should not be hasty in our judgments.
Hasty? Hasty ? Lydia pointed at the very un dead Mr. Ford. Hes sitting up in his coffin!
Mary stared back at her blankly. We dont know hes a dreadful, though.
But Elizabeth did know. Mr. Bennet could see it in her eyesbecause now she was staring at him .
She didnt grasp the whole truth of it. How could she, when hed been forced to keep it from her for so long? Yet this much would be obvious to a clear-thinking, level-headed girl like her: The dreadfuls had returned, and there was more to be done about it than scream. More her father intended to do.
What she couldnt have guessedcouldnt have possibly dreamedwas that she herself would be part of the doing.
Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet said. Mary. If you would come with me, please.
And he turned away and started toward the altar.
Toward the zombie .
CHAPTER 2
With her mother aswoon at one end of the pew and Kitty and Lydia shrieking hysterically at the other, both paths to the aisle were blocked. Elizabeth and Jane couldnt induce them to any movement more gainful than mere flailing, and eventually Mary resorted to a sobering slap across Kittys cheek. The gambit actually paid off to this extent: Kitty stopped screaming and tried to slap her back.
A moan from the front of the church broke up the tussle. It started low, almost literally so, as if bubbling up from the depths of the earth, a distant wail from Hell itself. Then it built to a high, piercing howl that rattled glass and emptied bladders all through the chapel. It was a cry that hadnt been heard in Hertfordshire for years, yet nearly everyone there knew what it was.
The zombie wail.
The mourners shot for the doors like a great black arrow, and with miraculous speed Mrs. Bennet regained her footing and found the strength to join them in flight. Jane went with her, but not before pausing for a doleful glance back at Elizabeth and
Mary, who were holding their ground in the aisle even as Kitty and Lydia and a host of other parishioners poured around them.
Elizabeth could go after her father now. But would she? Should she, when reason surely said to flee, and fast?
The debate raged for all of a second.
Run! said Fear.
Obey , said Duty.
And then a third voice chimed in, one Elizabeth didnt even recognize at first, so well trained were proper young ladies in ignoring it. The voice of Self.
Oh, go on , it said. You know youve always wondered . . . .
Elizabeth turned toward the front of the church, facing the throng rushing at and past her, and began walking against the flow. Each face flying by looked more terror stricken than the last. Yet when Elizabeth felt their panic worming its way inside her, threatening to infect her, she simply willed herself to stop seeing them. Everyone and everything merged into a great, dark blur, so much so that she didnt even notice when her Aunt Philips flashed past, crying, Lizzy, what are you doing? This way! This way !
Elizabeth didnt let herself truly see again until she was almost at the end of the aisle. She looked back, wondering if Mary had come, too, and found her younger sister right behind her, so close that her steps brushed the hem of Elizabeths skirts.
Elizabeth felt such relief she actually smiled. It was a compliment Mary wasnt willing to accept.
I was simply following you, she said.
When Elizabeth looked ahead again, she saw her father watching them from beside the bier. He wasnt smiling, though there was a curl to his lip and a gleam in his eye that suggested droll satisfaction, as when he and she shared a private joke at her mothers expense. Only three other people had dared gather with him near (but not too near) the casket: Mrs. Ford; her brother, Mr. Elliot; and the Reverend Mr. Cummings.
Of course, Mr. Ford was there, as well, but he didnt count as other people anymore.
Come closer, girls. He wont bite, Mr. Bennet said. Not so long as you stay out of range.
With slow, uncertain steps, Elizabeth and Mary joined their father. Mr. Ford turned toward them as they approached, watching with empty eyes. It comforted Elizabeth somewhat that the expression seemed so familiar: Mr. Ford never had been the friendliest of her neighbors, hoarding his small store of cheer for those more likely to bring him business.
Hed been the village apothecary all Elizabeths life, building up a reputation thereabouts for both humorless competence and a heavy thumb upon the scales. Two days before, hed bent down to retrieve a stray hapenny from the road and was promptly run over by a joy-riding Lord Lumpley, whod been momentarily blinded by a smiling milkmaid. All might have been well if His Lordship hadnt circled his cabriolet to see what hed hit (and get another look at the girl), compounding Mr. Fords minor scrapes and bruises with a most un minor severing of the legs.