Oh, Martin, my precious Martin! Mrs. Ford sobbed, and Mr. Elliot had to hold tight to keep her from squeezing her husband to her heaving bosom. To think we almost buried you alive!
Her precious Martin merely turned his vacant gaze her way for a moment before returning to the task at hand: trying to heft his trunk up out of the casket. He would have met with immediate success had he simply loosened his pants, thus freeing himself of the literal deadweight of his amputated legs, but this was beyond his now nonexistent powers of reasoning.
My dear Mrs. Ford, Mr. Bennet said, Im afraid the only thing premature about this particular burial is that it was almost conducted with your husbands head still attached.
IT WAS A CRY THAT HADNT BEEN HEARD IN HERTFORDSHIRE FOR YEARS.
No! Mrs. Ford cried. He was just sleeping! Unconscious! Cataleptic! Hes better now!
Drawn by the sound of the womans distress, the creature in the coffin began making lazy swipes at her with its long, stiff arms.
Urrrrrrrrrrrr, it said.
See! He recognizes me! Mrs. Ford exclaimed. Yes, darling, its me! Your Sarah!
Oh, for heavens sake, Mr. Bennet sighed. All he recognizes is an easy meal. He turned to Mr. Elliot. Might it not be best if you were to remove the lady?
Yes . . . yes, certainly, Mr. Elliot muttered with a quick nod. He was obviously anxious to remove himself, first and foremost, yet he managed to tug his sister along as he made his eager escape up the aisle.
Maaaaarrrrrrrrtiiiiiiiinnnnnnnn! howled Mrs. Ford as she was dragged away.
Urrrrrrrahrrrurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! replied
what was left of her husband.
How can she not see the obvious? Mary asked. The bifurcated neighbor sitting up in his coffin had made a strong impression, yes, yet she seemed almost more disgusted by Mrs. Ford.
Dont judge too harshly, for once, my dear, Mr. Bennet told her. Wishful thinking is a sin all England stands guilty of today, your fool of a father included. We told ourselves our long nightmare was over, that a new day had dawned. Alas, that was the real dream. But, goodnessjust listen to me chattering away when theres work to be done! He turned back to the casket and began tapping a finger against his upper lip. How . . . to . . . kill it?
Elizabeth gave a little start. She wasnt sure, though, what it was that really shocked her. Was it hearing her dear Papa talk about killing an it, when it was a man shed known all her young life? Or was it his cool, nonchalant tone as he did so?
B-but, s-sir, Mr. Cummings said, are you absolutely sh-sh-sure hes a . . . a . . . a . . .?
Mr. Bennet finished the vicars thought for him.
A dreadful? There can be no doubt. Our Dr. Long is no Hippocrates, to be certain, but even hes not so incompetent as to misdiagnose death when a mans been cut in half.
The vicar acknowledged the logic of it with a jittery nod. I s-suppose youre right. All the same, must you . . . dispose of him here? P-p-practically on the altar? As you say, poor Mr. Ford has no legs . . . a-t-t-t-tached, I mean. Surely, he p-poses no danger in such a state.
Mr. Cummings, I have seen nothing more than a head, a neck, and a pair of shoulders devour a highland warrior, kilt and all.
Elizabeth noticed her fathers gaze flick, for just an instant, to her. If he was looking for any sign of surprise, he surely saw it, for Elizabeth was unaware that hed ever laid eyes on an unmentionable at all.
Yes, Mr. Bennet went on, eyes on the vicar again. Its dangerous. Once it gets out of that box, itll be slithering across your stone floors quick as a snake. It must be dealt with posthaste.
Mr. Ford chose that moment (and a fine one it was) to jerk toward Mr. Cummings simultaneously roaring and snapping his teeth. In doing so, he managed to bite off most of his own tongue. It fell, gray and flaccid as an old kipper, into his lap, where it remained until he noticed it, snatched it up, and greedily gobbled it down, moaning happily as he feasted upon his own rancid flesh.
Mr. Cummings cleared his throat. All right, then. I shall b-b-b-bow to your superior experience in these matters. B-but, he dropped his voice and nodded at Elizabeth and Mary, surely they neednt b-be present.
On the contrary, Mr. Bennet said, surely they should. Now, tell me, Sir: You have a shed around back, do you not? Where the groundskeepers and gravediggers keep their equipage?
Yes.
Is it locked?
It shouldnt b-be. Not at the moment. Haines and Rainey are waiting just outside to b-b-b-bury Mr. Ford.
Excellent. Mary
She didnt hear him, nor did Elizabeth. They were both totally absorbed by the sight of Mr. Ford gnawing uncertainly on his own left hand. The taste of death seemed to displease him, for hed quickly spat up his half-masticated tongue, and his fingers went down with no more relish.
He looked up then, fixing upon Elizabeths face with the dark, blank eyes of a mounted animal, and growled.
Mary , Mr. Bennet said again.
Yes, Papa?