Run out to the tool shed and fetch along the biggest pair of shears you can.
Yes, Papa.
Mary started up the aisle.
Oh, and daughter? her father called after her, I mean as big as you can handle. Do you understand?
Mary was a rather pale, wan-looking thing, so one couldnt say she went white as a sheet: Shed already been so since birth. Now, however, she went nearly transparent. Yet she nodded and started off again at a smooth, steady pace.
Mr. Bennet smiled. Theres a good girl.
Y-y-you mean to have her? You would a-a-ask your own? Sir! Shes but a child!
Childhood is a luxury we can no longer afford, Mr. Bennet said. But fear not, Mr. Cummings. I dont expect young Mary there to do what need be done. He turned to Elizabeth. Not unless her sister fails.
Elizabeth gawked at her father. He was a man of keen wit, of jests and winks and sly asides. But he wasnt joking now. For some unfathomable reason, he wanted her to
It was too awful even to contemplate.
Papa . . . I cant.
Tut tut, child. You can. This one is newly born to darkness. Still weak. Those to come wont be nearly so easy to deal with.
Mr. Ford swatted at the vicar hard enough to rock his coffin, sliding it a little
closer to the edge of the bier. His rigor-stiffened muscles were relaxing, becoming more limber, gaining strength.
Elizabeth took a step back. Why me?
Her fathers gaze, usually so full of impish affection when pointed her way, hardened till it bore into her like an augur. Why not?
She could think of a dozen reasons, of course, first and foremost being that she was a young lady. Yet something in her fathers eyes gave his reply before she could even speak.
None of that matters. Not if the dreadfuls have returned.
At that moment, Mary came back inside carrying a huge pair of hedge clippers and, showing an initiative that put a smile on her fathers face, a scythe.
Capital! Well done, my child! Mr. Bennet called to her. Now, Mr. Cummings, dont faint just yet, if you please. I very much doubt you had the opportunity to administer last rites the first time Mr. Ford died. He leaned closer to the coffin and addressed himself to the moaning, slavering thing clawing at the empty air between them. Looks like youre both in luck.
When Mary reached the bier, Mr. Bennet had her hand the clippers to her sister.
CHAPTER 3
A moment later, there was a howl, and Mrs. Bennet howled.
Then there was a bellow and a squeal and a yelp and finally silence, and Mrs. Bennet bellowed and squealed and yelped buta stranger to silence all her daysdidnt stop there. Instead, she comforted herself (as was her way) with a caterwauled cataloging of the various and sundry misfortunes about to beset her and hers.
Jane and Kitty and Lydia huddled around their mother on the church steps, patting her and fanning her and cooing comfort. They were up to their twenty-third Everythings going to be all right when a grim-faced Mr. Bennet stalked from the church and swept right past the four of them.
Where are you going, Mr. Bennet? his wife called after him.
Home! he barked without looking back.
Surely youre not walking!
We walked here, we can walk back!
But that was before
At last, Mr. Bennet stopped. I will have no more of your buts! I have let them vex me too long! He looked past Mrs. Bennet at his daughters, including Elizabeth and Mary, who were now trudging slump-shouldered from the chapel. Fall in behind me, girls. We must quick-march to Longbourn. And if your mother cant keep up, he locked eyes with his wife, we leave her.
He spun on his heel and stomped off again.
Oh, Mr. Bennet, you cant, you cant ! Mrs. Bennet moaned, throwing the back of a hand to her forehead and going into a long, staggering swoon.
Hes not stopping, Mamma, Kitty told her.
Well, come along, then, come along, Mrs. Bennet said, setting off after her husband.
Elizabeth, Mary, and Jane had already done so without pause.
It was a sunny, unseasonably warm April daythe reason theyd decided to walk to the church rather than take the carriage. Yet there was no birdsong to be heard as the Bennets began the mile-long trek home, nor were there foals, calves, or lambs to watch frolicking in the fields. All creatures great and small and in between, it seemed, had been put to flight by the horrible keening screeches cutting through the Hertfordshire woodlands.
And it wasnt even zombies making all the noise.
Theyre back! Theyre back, after all these years! Mrs. Bennet wailed. The dreadfuls, right here in Meryton! And your father will be ripped to shreds and Longbourn will fall to that frightful cousin of his and hell surely throw us out to starve in the gutterif we should be so lucky before the unmentionables get usand why oh why are we walking home when we could be set upon at any moment by a horde of sorry stricken and torn limb from limb? That must be what happened to that poor, dear, lovely whats-her-name whos been missing these past two weeks.
Emily Ward, Jane said softly. Unlike her mother, she knew the name well: Emily Ward had been her friend.