It is a truth universally acknowledged, that if you see a woman clad in black leather and in the possession of two large firearms, you must run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. In times such as these, when bombs and guns are the new toys of the kingdom, to be a top assassin is very important indeed. Not only are you paid a large sum for merely getting blood on your hands, but it is also a delight to revel in that glorious feeling of a new kill.
"My dear Mr Bennet," said his lady to him one day "have you heard that Netherfield Park is occupied again?"
Mr Bennet replied that he had not, and continued to polish his handgun, of which was a very superior model. He found that although a katana or dagger was far more a satisfactory weapon, a gun got the job done far more quickly and easily- lots of money for a minimum effort.
"But it is," returned she, "For Scarlett Sakaki has just informed me of the news."
Mr Bennet made no answer, but began to whistle loudly, as if he was trying to block out the hideous whines of a lone beast in pain.
"Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently, her high pitched screams reverberating throughout the entire house. Windows shook in their frames and Mr Bennet's desk wobbled precariously.
"Woman, please. You know how I feel about Scarlett Sakaki- she is the most undeveloped assassin I ever saw. Her skill with bo-staff is incredibly poor and I feel that she could be given any weapon to fight me with and I'd still beat her with my bare hands. Anything that that darned woman says is an utter travesty. If you insist on prattling in such a foolish manner, I suggest you go elsewhere."
This was invitation enough.
"Why my dear, Scarlett Sakaki says that Netherfield is taken by a young man with a large fortune from the North of England! He came down from Manchester in a beautiful carriage with six white horses- six! Imagine!- and I heard that he has a wonderful skill with a scythe!"
"The scythe? That weapon has never been my forte. I must say I'm impressed. What is his name?"
"Bingley. A nice young man with a lovely fortune! How wonderful a prospect for our girls!"
"How so? Will he train them in the way of the blade? Will he teach them how to never miss a target using only a single bullet?"
"My dear Mr Bennet!" cried his wife, "you can be so tiresome! You know very well of my design!"
"And, pray, what design would that be?"
"That the new Mr Bingley will take a shine to one of our precious daughters, fall in love then proceed to marry her! Besides, in answer to your previous comment-"
"Let me assure you, no answer is required."
"-then no, Mr Bingley will not be sharing his mastery of the weapons. He is rather more special than that. He's… He's…"
Despite feigning disinterest, curiosity had sparked inside Mr Bennet, and he was suddenly eager to hear about the reputed abilities of this young man. "Speak, wench!"
"He's a man of magic- one who has studied and still lectures at the Academy of Abracadabra."
"He's a wizard?"
"That is so. Imagine if he does decide to marry one of our girls! How lucky we will be as a family! Rich, charming and magical too!"
"I see," Mr Bennet buried his face back to his paper, a sure symbol that the conversation was over. Mrs Bennet however, although not quick with tongue, made up for it with perseverance and volume. If she wished that her husband paid a visit to such a man in the company of their five daughters- and therefore five prospective wives- then she would not cease with her speech until Mr Bennet was fully persuaded to pay a call to his home.
"I see? Mr Bennet do you not wish to speak a word more? You must visit Mr Bingley as soon as he comes and take our daughters with you! It's a complete necessity!"
"I see no occasion for that. And besides, what if we perceive him to be not as skilled in the deadly arts as he's been spoken of? In the name of honour I'd have to challenge him to an duel, and if my daughters were to see me shed blood in front of their faces, they may not be too pleased. Moreover, the blood may leak onto on to one of their dresses- a shame to waste such fine muslin."
"Mr Bennet! What do you talk of? Consider your daughters!"
"Consider my daughters! I am doing nothing but saving them from a fate that is worse than death! Marriage? Children? It's all so old fashioned! Women are so preoccupied with the home that they forget the beauty of an axe splitting a skull, or a katana slicing through flesh! Too many times I see one of my daughters lounging around the house, mooning over some foolish youth! With the exception of Lizzy of course- she has the skills of a true shuriken master."
"Such nonsense you speak Mr Bennet! Lizzy isn't at all better than any of the others! Think of your daughters! Jane has far more skill than any other with the dagger, and Lydia is positively excellent with the Chinese fan!"
"Ah, but neither of them practise as much as my little Lizzy, who in skill and talent far exceeds them all. When I earn enough money to send Lizzy to the Academy of Abracadabra, I shall. I am confident that she will excel and be the best assassin with magical power that this country will ever have seen."
"Why do you speak of sending Lizzy and no one else? Mr Bennet that is the harshest, most unfair…"
"Silence! The others shall go too, and soon. It's just that my aspirations for Lizzy surpass those of the other four. Whilst they foolishly conjure new dresses and the finest make up, stir up love spells to capture their Prince, Lizzy will use her magic for her flexibility, her strength, her deadly aim. If she had been male I could not have been prouder of her."
"Mr Bennet, how can abuse your own children in such a way? You delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves."
"You mistake me my dear, I have high respect for your nerves. Nothing apart from the mere mention of them can make me yawn in such a fashion, and no other thing can so effectively persuade me to step outside and plunge a dagger into my heart. Just the mention of such nerves make me violently sick, which is what has made my figure keep so trim for the past few years. I congratulate your nerves, I have much to thank them for."
Mr Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve and self discipline, as well as commendable skill both at sorcery and the art of instant death, that three and twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a foolish woman with no skill of the martial arts, and her magic was so poor that she rather pretend she had no ability rather than the poor fare she had to offer. Unlike Mr Bennet who thrived on his foes (more about them later) Mrs Bennet continued to be terrified, and kept herself in the house, in which she was determined all women belonged. When discontented she fancied herself nervous, and when nervous- a constant state- verbal diarrhoea dribbled from her mouth in the same way as dung from a cow's backside.
Mr Bennet believed in power, strength, discipline and a life where one strove to be the best and top of their game. Mrs Bennet believed in covering her daughters in lace and shoving them up an aisle.