Jane nodded. “It has been the same for me, Sir.”
Lt. Tindall just gaped at her a moment, obviously overcome with admiration. Without trying to—she never did—St. Jane had converted another worshipper.
The spell was broken by the tromp of heavy footsteps in the hall, and Master Hawksworth came bursting in. He scanned the room with a single jerk of the head, not lingering for so much as a second on the stranger in red. When he saw Elizabeth, he sucked in a gulp of air, close to but not quite a gasp, and took a step toward her.
“You are well then, Elizabeth Bennet?”
“You weren’t told?”
Elizabeth glanced at her sisters, confused.
Lydia shrugged. “We couldn’t find him.”
“I became separated from the others during the search,” Master Hawksworth said. “Where were you? What happened?”
“I fell in the forest, Master.”
Elizabeth wasn’t looking at Lt. Tindall, so she couldn’t see his eyebrows arch at her “Master.” Though she fancied she could feel the little breeze they stirred as they flew up his forehead.
“While attempting a Leaping Leopard,” she went on. “And there was a dreadful.”
Master Hawksworth had been breathing hard, as if out of breath. Now he froze.
“You slew it?”
“I fought it, but . . . no. It got the better of me. Fortunately, there was someone else there. He was armed with a pistol, and—”
“Him?”
The Master jerked his head at Lt. Tindall without bothering to look his way.
“No, Master. Another man. A doctor by the name of Keckilpenny.”
Master Hawksworth almost seemed to shrivel. His head hung a little lower, and his shoulders sagged. But then he quickly drew himself up to his full height and assumed what Elizabeth had come to think of as the Master Stance: chin up, arms crossed, legs spread wide.
“Fetch your katana and daggers and bring them to the dojo immediately, Elizabeth Bennet. You are obviously in need of special tutoring.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I killed a dreadful, Master!” Lydia crowed as Elizabeth rose to go.
“I helped!” Kitty protested.
“Oh, a little. But it was my idea.”
“All you said was ‘Let’s behead it.’ I’m the one who suggested ‘Satan’s Scissors’!”
“Oh, girls, girls, hush, please! I can’t stand to hear another word!” Mrs. Bennet wailed, fanning herself with a fresh hankie.
Everyone else ignored them.
“Don’t tell me you actually approve of all this?” Lt. Tindall said to Master Hawksworth. “Young ladies going about fighting with these strange, barbaric weapons?”
“I’ll tell you what I don’t approve of,” the Master grated out. “Failure.” He spun on his heel and started for the door, speaking over his shoulder to Elizabeth again. “Now come. After you’ve finished your dand-baithaks—a hundred should suffice—we will identify where you erred and ensure it never happens again.”
Elizabeth followed wearily, still aching from her fall and the fights with the dreadfuls and the walk to Meryton and back again. Yet despite it all, it was such sweet relief to escape the drawing room—and her mother and Lt. Tindall—she almost pitied her sisters.
CHAPTER 18
MR. BENNET’S LIBRARY—his private sanctuary, his refuge from foolishness and chatter and, in short, Everyone Else—had never felt more crowded. The captain’s Limbs were, by necessity, big, burly men, being beasts of a very peculiar burden (and one which weighed no less than fifteen stone). Standing at attention bracketing the captain, they blocked off an entire bookcase.
It was somewhat unsettling to find so many soldiers facing him across the top of his desk: It made Mr. Bennet feel a little like he was facing a firing squad. Yet the one thing that would have perturbed almost any other gentleman—the fact that the guest seated directly across from him had nary a (lowercase l) limb left—was, for Mr. Bennet, a much-welcome comfort. There was no need to ask the captain whether he’d served during The Troubles. Lydia and Kitty had described how the other soldiers broke ranks and ran from a single charging dreadful, but their commander was obviously a man of experience—hard, hellish experience. And that was precisely the kind all England needed to call on now.
Mr. Bennet told the captain all that had happened since he’d sent word of the dreadfuls’ return to the War Office in London. Some of it, he learned, Elizabeth had already passed along. There was much his daughter didn’t know, however, perceptive though she was. Much Mr. Bennet had been holding back for just this moment, when there would be no questions, no gasps. Just much-needed action.
“As I’m sure you noticed when you marched past St. Chad’s,” he said, “we haven’t taken the necessary measures at the cemetery. Until now, I’ve lacked both the manpower and the standing for such a step. I thought I might have an ally: a peer with an estate near here. Unfortunately—and unsurprisingly—he proved unreliable. In fact, I don’t think he’s so much as set foot outside his manor house since catching sight of his first unmentionable. And without his influence. . . .” Mr. Bennet shook his head and sighed. “People have forgotten what once was necessary. That’s especially true in a quiet little hamlet like this that never saw the worst of it even when half the Midlands was feasting on the other half’s brains. Of course, there are strategic advantages to such naiveté. I’m sure you remember well the danger posed by panic en masse. But now that you and the rest of your regiment are here, I think we can safely—”
“There is no regiment,” Capt. Cannon said.
Mr. Bennet cocked an ear, as if he’d simply misheard what the man had said as opposed to disbelieving it.
“Pardon?”
“My company is attached to no regiment,” the captain said. “We are here alone. One hundred men, all told.”
“But . . . surely you must realize . . . if it’s all beginning again . . . beginning here in Hertfordshire, this time. . . .”
Capt. Cannon simply stared back at his host with an air of imperturbable composure Mr. Bennet found both admirable and infuriating.
“Damn it, man, the Burial Act’s been repealed five years now!” he snapped. “Five years we’ve been letting people bury their dead with their heads on their necks! Which means this very moment there’s probably a pack of zombies tunneling around under St. Chad’s cemetery like so many moles! Have you any idea how many men—well-trained, disciplined men—it will take to deal with that? And how many more will be needed to secure the roads and patrol the countryside?”
“The War Office felt a company of a hundred would be sufficient for the task at hand here,” the captain said coolly.
“The only thing a company of a hundred will be sufficient for, Captain, is hors d’oeuvres! It’s been weeks since the first unmentionable sat up in his coffin. You know what could be coming next. A thousand men would be hard pressed to do what needs done in time!”
“Nevertheless,” Capt. Cannon said, “we have one hundred.”
“Why, by God? No more could be spared?”
“No more are being made available,” the captain said, and his expression finally changed. No longer was it simply impassive. Now it was a wall of cold stone.
This far and no further, the look said.
Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair and blew out a long breath. First the Order let him down by sending such a young master—and one, he was discovering, who was prone to diversion. Now his old comrades in the War Office had disappointed him, as well. More than disappointed him. Thrown him and his family to the undead wolves.
“You know, Captain,” he sighed, “the only reason I hadn’t lost hope entirely was because the army was on its way. Now, however . . .”
“I would take it as a great favor, Mr. Bennet, if you didn’t panic quite yet.”