Chapter 4

"I don't understand how Wickham and all those hundreds of undead escaped from the depths of The Canal," voiced Darcy thoughtfully. He leaned over a mahogany table covered in maps of England, London, and Pemberley. A silver candelabrum sat to his right on the table, the flames offering a warm glow over the charts. His shoulders were tense as he tried to determine how best to proceed. Frustrated, he rose up and ran a hand through his hair. He began pacing absentmindedly about his aunt's throne room, which now served as their provisional base of operations.

"What have your soldiers discovered?" inquired his aunt at the opposite end of the table.

"Very little," Darcy responded, eyeing her. "My men are surveying The Canal now and they have yet to return with a report."

"And what of Lizzy?" inquired Jane quietly from where she stood beside Charles.

"Yes!" bellowed Mr. Bennet. "We have to save her now before they reach Pemberley otherwise she may not stand a chance."

"It's about a day's ride to Pemberley from Rosings," said Darcy calmly. He had already talked himself out of mounting his horse and making after Lizzy so many times since returning, but he knew it was exactly what Wickham was hoping for. They needed a plan. A solid plan.

"They most likely have already reached the grounds by now, so immediate aid is unfortunately not an option" he continued. An overwhelming ache consumed him. Pushing it aside, he continued, focusing on the task at hand. "My home, like Rosings Park, is a fortress, sir." He reached for the map of Pemberley and spread it out over the table. Pointing to the outer wall, he said, "The brick walls are fifteen feet high with iron wheeled spikes. Outside that stands a barricade of wooden spokes. Both were designed to keep out the undead or any opposing threat. The house sits upon a hilltop surrounded by abandoned countryside, allowing one to see any threat advancing from all directions for miles. Cannons are atop the roof, pointing in every direction, and lookout towers have been erected to serve as additional protection. I have sent three riders to examine the grounds and report back about Wickham's whereabouts and Elizabeth's condition if they indeed made their way there."

"Militia riders?" asked Mr. Bennet, who stood to his right.

"Not all of them," said Darcy shaking his head. He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and looked at his father-in-law. "One is a leftenant who fought with me on The Great Barrier, another is a member of my aunt's Black Guard, and the third worked for me at Pemberley, so he is familiar with the grounds."

"How long until they return?" asked Jane.

"Hopefully within the next two days time," Darcy said. "We have to await confirmation. I will be nothing but prepared this time. Especially with Elizabeth's life at stake."

"Did any undead flee with him?" asked Mr. Bennet.

"When I saw him, he was with the Four Horsemen alone, however I managed to send one to meet our Maker," Darcy offered. "What about the undead upon the field?"

"All were slain," said Bingley. "I did not see a single one escape. You mentioned running into several upon the road though?"

"Yes," Darcy verified. "I encountered at least a dozen, maybe more, and then another at the fork by Meryton. Many I managed to strike down."

"So that means," said Jane hopefully, "that he only has those three Horsemen and a few undead at his disposal if they mange to regroup with him. For the ones that attacked us on the field are all destroyed, and the remaining undead are trapped within The Canal."

Darcy considered this for a few moments. Could Wickham only have the three Horsemen and a handful of undead remaining by his side? All other roaming undead slain by their hands? It is possible. However, Wickham would never leave himself in such a vulnerable state. Besides, Darcy knew him to be more resourceful than that. He would never take that risk.

"No," disputed Darcy after thinking quietly for several moments. "He has to have more undead at his beckoning. Most likely they have already gathered at Pemberley. Regardless, he could still find a way to release those within The Canal and call upon them to fight on his behalf. He managed to evade it somehow already. So no, Jane, unfortunately I do not believe it will be that easy. I think it was more strategic… He placed the undead along the road to block my way knowing I would follow after Lizzy. He wanted to thwart my attempt. Meanwhile, the other zombies were on the field to distract the remaining warriors. He has resources. We just need to determine what they are."

"I agree," said his Aunt Catherine. She turned her stern gaze on him. "But until we hear back from the riders and the militia at The Canal, no planning can be done." Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but his aunt raised a firm hand, silencing him. "We cannot foil his plans with minimal information. I recommend we all retire, and reconvene in the morning afresh."

Bingley spoke then, agreeing with Aunt Catherine that rest would help clear their minds. Taking Jane's hand in his, they bid their good nights, and retreated to their room. A pang of jealously shot through Darcy that he and Elizabeth, unlike their friend and sister, would be separated on their wedding night.

His aunt nodded as she passed, pausing to inform him that she would speak with the other parties in the parlor to provide them with the latest updates. He nodded in thanks, grateful he would not be forced to endure the prattling of Parson Collins or any more probing questions. He sighed and met his father-in-law's gaze. Walking over, he said, "You are welcome to the library if you wish to find refuge. Despite what my aunt says, I know I shall not sleep knowing Lizzy is within Wickham's grasp, and I imagine your fate shall be the same."

"Indeed. Thank you, son," Mr. Bennet said, grasping Darcy's shoulder tightly in response.

"I shall notify you should I receive any news," said Darcy. The gruff man offered him a smile before quitting the room and heading in the direction of the quiet library.

Darcy walked out of the throne room and through the threshold of his bedroom, ridding himself of his overcoat, vest, and cravat. Grabbing the hilt of his katana, he left his room and made his way to the main floor of Rosings. Once the staircase lowered, he escaped the confinement of the house and turned up the gravel pathway and into the garden. Closing his eyes, Darcy took several deep breaths, drinking in the cool, night air. He rolled his shoulders and began swinging his sword lithely through the air.

Mentally considering their numbers, he knew he could call upon the militia and his aunt's Black Guard in addition to the Bennet sisters and Bingley. Georgiana would insist on fighting, however he would propose she stay behind in the secure confines of Rosings. But would that be enough? Darcy advanced upon an unsuspecting topiary, promptly slicing off the top before rounding upon another bush.

Staring at the rounded shrub upon the ground, he imagined Wickham's head in its place, blood oozing from the opening. He knew leaving would be reckless, but the guilt consumed him. Elizabeth should be safe in his arms, not within the clutches of an undead madman. He felt so vulnerable. Helpless. He was supposed to protect her; his headstrong, beautiful wife, but he had fallen short. The thought brought tears to his eyes. He continued cutting his blade aggressively through the dark air, letting the tears fall down his cheeks.

When he could see no more, he stabbed the tip of the blade into the gravel suddenly needing some form of support. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his hands clutching the hilt to his forehead. Taking in gasping breaths, he allowed his emotions to devour him. Anger. Fear. Sorrow. Regret. Without her he was inadequate. He wasn't strong enough. He stared up at the sky, tears streaming down his cheeks. I'm sorry, he whispered into the cold night air.

When nothing remained, he used his blade to help his weary body rise. He stood for some time trying to regain composure. Running his fingers through his hair, he collected himself and focused on his wife. How she challenged him at every available moment, saved him from Wickham's grasp, and chose to fight beside him for the rest of her life. He worried that time would be cut short, but quickly brushed the thought away, focusing instead on what he could control. Hearing the gravel shift behind him, he turned, his blade slicing through the air and stopping just short of piercing the pale neck of Ashton Trafford.

The young gentleman still wore his attire from the wedding that morning. Even in the moonlight Darcy could see that dry blood caked his white linen shirt and light gray overcoat. His cravat hung loosely about his neck and his light blonde hair was disheveled. His left hand lay comfortably on the hilt of his katana, which hung from his weapons belt around his hips.

"Colonel Darcy," Ashton said in greeting without a flicker of distress passing over his calm face, despite the susceptible position he currently found himself in.

Darcy lowered his sword. "Mr. Trafford," he said, offering a polite nod of his head.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Ashton continued, "but I wanted to see how you were faring."

Mr. Trafford was the youngest son of the heir to Thornton Hall, a stately manor close to Rosings. Darcy had often sparred with his two older brothers during his many visits but alas both were killed about year ago on a rainy day in April. The brothers were traveling home on an abandoned road when they happened upon a swarm of undead. They tried to fend the zombies off, but undead hands sprung from the damp earth, fixing them in place, and the zombies were soon upon them. There was not much left by the time Ashton happened upon the gruesome sight. Unfortunately his parents had also met an untimely end thanks to the undead, leaving Ashton the last living member of his family. Although he was closer in age to his sister, Darcy viewed Ashton as a valuable ally and confidant, particularly due to his skill with a blade. Apart from his aunt, Ashton was the fiercest warrior in the county, when Darcy was not present, and despite his young age his killing ledger was quite impressive. Darcy recalled seeing his expert maneuvers on the field that morning alongside the militia, the Bennet sisters, Bingley, and a few townsfolk.

"As well as can be expected," Darcy responded glumly.

"I am sorry about Elizabeth," Ashton offered sincerely. Darcy nodded his thanks and wondered with embarrassment if the man had witnessed his moment of weakness only moments ago.

"I fear for her," Darcy admitted, turning to look at the man.

"From the short time I've spent with Elizabeth," said Ashton with a smile, "I gather it is Wickham who should be fearing for his life. Not her."

Darcy chuckled despite himself. He made his way to a planter and leaned against the stone encasement. He dipped the end of his katana into the gravel and leaned the hilt against his leg before folding his arms across his chest. Trafford followed his lead and rested his own body against the planter before speaking again.

"Your aunt has kindly offered me a room so I do not have to make the journey back to Thornton Hall tonight," said Ashton.

"Yes, she has been quite accommodating."

"She said we are awaiting word on the situation at The Canal and confirmation of Elizabeth's whereabouts," said Ashton without looking at him. "Do you really believe she is at Pemberley?"

"I do," Darcy responded, gazing out across the garden.

"When do you expect to hear some news?"

"Hopefully soon," responded Darcy. "The riders I sent to The Canal were dispatched hours ago and so long as the militia there have a solid count already, we could expect an update at any moment." Absentmindedly, he stole a glance at the road leading to Rosings. "The Pemberley riders will unfortunately take longer. I do not expect to see them until the day after next, permitting they do not encounter any unforeseeable circumstances."

"Hopefully we can consolidate a plan in the meantime," Ashton said, determination spreading over his boyish face.

"This is not your burden," said Darcy quietly.

"Any occurrence involving undead is the burden of the living," Ashton responded calmly. "I am at your service."

Darcy turned and looked at the lad before saying, "I will not ask you to risk so much."

"I have nothing left to lose," Ashton responded quietly, staring at his feet.

"You have a great deal to lose, son," said Darcy, turning to look at him. "But I am grateful for your altruism, and if what I suspect is true, I shall have great need of your sword in the near future."

Ashton nodded at him, and the gentlemen fell into a comfortable silence.

"You will save her," Ashton said after some time. "I am certain of it."

Darcy smiled at the man for his kind words, but did not endeavor to believe them. For getting his hopes up at such a time would only result in pure anguish and utter abandon should the worst come to pass.

"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana called quietly as she approached them. Her small feet shuffled along the gravel path, and both gentlemen turned in her direction. She had changed from her soiled gown and now wore a modest dress. Her dark brown hair was pinned loosely atop her head by two thin knives he had gifted her on her last birthday. Ashton instinctively ran hid hands through his unruly hair, trying to make himself more presentable even in the darkness. Darcy glanced down at his own appearance. His linen shirt and boots were still coated in blood and his dark breeches now contained rips and snags from his earlier encounters with the undead.

Darcy pushed off the wall and smiled at his sister, for he should have known she would check on him given her kind and overly protective disposition. Ashton offered a low bow when Georgiana reached them.

"Mr. Trafford," she said with a curtsey. "I am sorry to interrupt. Fitzwilliam, I was hoping I would find you out here." He suppressed a smile, knowing it was her way of discretely chastising him for not being in bed or, at the very least, resting inside the house.

"I shall leave you to it then," offered Ashton. "Good night." Giving a polite bow, he made for the house, despite Georgiana's protests.

The siblings watched the man's form fade into the darkness before Darcy spoke. "How are you coping?"

"I was about to ask the same of you," responded his sister. "I asked for a bath to be drawn for you and a plate to be brought to your room, but the servants said you had fled the house."

"I did not wish to be confined," he responded.

"Maybe so, but you ought to at least change your clothes."

He glanced down. How could he explain to her that he did not wish to remove his wedding attire; the one thing still linking him with his wife. He felt close to her despite the rips and undead blood.

"Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana, moving her hand to his cheek and raising his head to meet her understanding gaze, "Elizabeth would want you to change and rest. Get your strength back."

Sighing, he knew she was right, but it didn't make him want to all the same.

"Come along," she insisted, pulling his hand in the direction of the house.

They followed several paces behind Ashton. Setting a slow pace, Darcy wrapped a protective arm around his sister's shoulders. His other hand held his blade. They turned up the path leading towards the stairs, which had already descended for Ashton but moments ago. Glancing up, Darcy saw the guards on either side were fidgeting from side to side and his friend was nearing the top of the steps. He suddenly heard Ashton shout from above. He heard the word more clearly the second time.

"Rider!"

He and Georgiana turned and ran towards the road, meeting the red-coated man on his horse.

"Colonel Darcy," the rider said nodding in subservience before brandishing a letter. "From The Canal."

Ashton reached them as Darcy grasped the letter and ripped the wax seal, hastily making towards the house to read the elegant script. It was short and straightforward, as he hoped it would be, however it confirmed his fears.

"There are still undead trapped within The Canal," he paraphrased as he read it, "but not as many as they originally calculated. Initially numbers were in the tens of thousands and over the past weeks they have subsequently dropped to mere hundreds."

"He's assembled an army…" voiced Ashton quietly.

"Yes," Darcy confirmed. "And in a few days I anticipate confirmation that they are gathered at Pemberley with Elizabeth."