Chapter 7

The undead opened the door and thrust her into her room. Elizabeth fell to the ground, but lithely jumped up and ran towards them. The undead snickered as they slammed the door in her face, locking it securely. She was caged, trapped in her own home.

She surveyed her bruised arms and knees. Minor scrapes, but no puncture wounds. She walked to one of the windows and gazed upward, choosing to ignore the assembly below. She could have killed him. She should have killed him. That was probably the only opportunity she would receive for next time he would not be so careless. Yet there was more she had to know of his plan. What were his intentions with all the undead? Were they merely a defense in case Fitzwilliam came charging in with the Black guard and remaining militia? Or was he going to lead them around Great Britain, turning those they encountered until no one was left except her family? And what would happen to the undead if he died? She knew he could control them, but how far was that bond tied? Would they all die as well? She had to figure out any boundaries to their connection.

Gray clouds had gathered in the sky and soon the heavens opened, soaking the undead. They were completely unfazed by the change in weather and continued mulling around the grounds, completely unaware. They must have been turned for some time for they lacked all reasoning skills, a sense of awareness, compassion- anything that made them human. Even from this high up she saw dirt and blood caked their bodies. Their clothes were tattered, some barely having enough cloth covering their bodies. Instead they stared blankly at the ground, sky, or undead in front of them, but they never ventured too far from the house.

Elizabeth guessed they had been ordered to surround the house for the meantime, provide an added barrier of protection, which meant even if she could scale the walls or manage to break out of the room with the help of her hair pins, she would not make it far.

She sat upon the mantel and leaned her head back, staring up at the sky once more. Releasing a sigh, she knew it was hopeless to try and escape. She already understood she wouldn't make it far and would have no idea where to go for she had been passed out for most of the journey. Besides, if she did manage to break free she only knew that Pemberley was located in the northern country, but in relation to Rosings, she had not a clue. No, it was better for her to stay put and hope that Fitzwilliam would figure out she was located at Pemberley. Her objective now is to stay put and attempt to get more information from Wickham if she was summoned and then possibly get word out to Fitzwilliam.

She saw the sun had begun its descent in the sky, casting shadows on the landscape below. She heard a commotion outside and her door was suddenly sprung open. The same servant girl from that morning entered, carrying a plate of tea and food.

Elizabeth peered out the doorway and saw the two undead guards still stood on either side of the door but did not enter or glance into the room. She got up and approached the girl as she placed the tray on the table.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said. The girl looked up and shared a cautious smile. Lowering her voice, Elizabeth clutched the girl's hand and said, "I am Mrs. Darcy. I need to get a message to Rosings Park, to Mr. Darcy, that I am being held captive here."

"I can try madam," the girl replied softly, "but there are undead guards watching our every move too."

"I could even write one if you get me a quill, ink and paper," she suggested.

The young girl opened her mouth to respond but an undead guard had entered the room. He eyed them before forcefully yanking the girl out into the hallway and slamming the door shut, locking it once more.

"On your way!" she could hear the undead growling at her. Her little feet echoed in the halls and then there was silence once more, apart from the horde below.

Elizabeth made her way back to her spot by the window and prayed silently that the girl would be successful. And that Wickham would not get wind of their brief encounter, for she would hate to risk the lives of the few living beings around her. She did not hear the undead leave, so she assumed her secret was safe, at least for now.

She eyed the horizon and admired the various trees and shrubberies on the grounds. Pemberley boasted spectacular gardens she realized and her anger rose once again at how everything in her life was being trampled on at present.

The zombies mulled around almost in a hypnotic way. Her eyes would follow one after another as they walked aimlessly about the parameter. Occasionally there would be some sort of upset causing a change in their character, such as a deer or other oblivious animal wandering too closely. The undead would then lurch in that direction, eager for any blood, brains, and intestines the targeted object could provide. Their teeth would bare and arms would reach towards the morsel, fingers clenching and unclenching, trying to grasp it for themselves.

Elizabeth was watching one such event now. A doe had wandered unknowingly towards the horde. The undead below chased after it, stretching and growling at the potential dinner option. One undead, who either had turned after the rest or had not consumed as much human blood, lead a few other undead behind the animal, allowing them to trap the doe within the horde. It was surrounded. Elizabeth glanced away.

She watched the sun finish its pattern in the sky as it dipped below the horizon, its last rays of light turning transforming pale blue into shades of pink and orange. Once the landscape turned navy blue she walked over to the tray that was left many hours before. She ate a few bites and walked back to the window, wishing she had a book or some other occupation to keep her mind from this incessant turning.

Her eyes landed on a tall tree past the horde, and though the sun had set she thought she saw movement in the diming light. Were more undead summoned to defend Pemberley? Was Wickham anticipating an offensive attack? As her warrior eyes adjusted, she saw three men on horseback taking shape. The Horsemen? They continued approaching the home and as they grew closer Elizabeth saw they did not boast The Horsemen's typical garb. Only one, in fact, was in regimentals and another a white shirt and dark overcoat. They ducked behind another tree and she realized the third was wearing the uniform of Aunt Catherine's Black Guard. Fitzwilliam had sent them! Elizabeth wished she had a candle or some way of signaling to them to turn around. She knew they could hear the horde, but she feared that if they continued hiding and making for the house, they would eventually encounter the undead, which were all but invisible in the now near darkness.

As if on cue, a horse began bucking about, catching the attention of the horde. They all turned in the direction of the three men and a large section of undead began chasing after them, snarling at the prospect of human brains.

That same horse, in its frightened state, sent its rider flying off before galloping away, abandoning the rider. Another rider turned his own horse around in an attempt to save the man but the horde had already descended, surrounding him. Elizabeth offered a silent prayer for his soul. The remaining two men rode swiftly out of sight, undead chasing after them. Although they had not seen her, she knew Fitzwilliam would make sense of it all.

The door burst open an hour later and Elizabeth turned, expecting her dinner tray. Instead a burly undead stormed in.

"Mr. Wickham wishes to see you," he said in a gruff voice.

Elizabeth raised her chin but went willingly, curious why he was summoning her so soon after their squabble that morning.

They escorted her to a different room this time. They wove their way through corridor after corridor before leading her to a grand room. Two elegant chandeliers hung from the ceiling and a large table that could seat everyone within her intimate acquaintance with ease sat in the middle of the space. Upon the table were four innate candelabras, all lit, and casting light in the vast space. On the walls hung pictures of Pemberley and, she supposed, other parts of the ground for she recognized the covered bridge they rode over when they first arrived. Wickham sat at the head of the table in one of the elaborate chairs. His elbows rested on the arms, his hands folded together in almost a pensive state.

Three others sat at the table, all to his right, and he motioned for her to take the unoccupied seat to his left. She eyed the others as she sat down and recognized the three remaining Horsemen for they still wore their golden masks, all eyes watching her through the narrow slots. The table was set for a dinner party and she couldn't help but admire the dinnerware, despite the circumstances, especially when she saw a carving knife easily within her grasp. She quickly darted her eyes away from the object and instead glanced at Wickham. He was watching her, humor dancing in his eyes.

"Feel free to use it," Wickham goaded, his mouth curving into a smile.

Elizabeth remained still and defiant, her glare focused on Wickham's smug face. Two undead stood a few paces behind her chair, so she wouldn't be able to make it far anyways.

"I thought it would be nice if you joined us for supper," Wickham stated. He snapped his fingers and the doors opened.

Servants poured from the wings with their pre-plated meals, and soon a male servant stood behind each of them. Wickham's was placed before him first and the rest of the servants followed suit. They all left single file through a door that she assumed lead to the kitchens. As the youngest male servant, left, he eyed her and offered a sympathetic smile. Maybe the young girl had gotten word out, Elizabeth thought hopefully.

"Please, enjoy," Wickham said before removing the covering from his plate.

Elizabeth lifted the metal cover and gulped. Before her was a severed head. The man's eyes stared blankly back at her, wide with fright. His mouth was open in a silent scream, and blood pooled around the bottom of the plate where his neck should have been. It looked like his head had been ripped from the rest of his body as opposed to being swiftly sliced with a katana. She would not give Wickham the satisfaction of slamming the cover back on. Instead Elizabeth placed it gently on the table and glanced calmly around the table at the other plates. She soon noticed they all also had body parts from the once living man in addition to a side of intestines. Wickham's plate held the heart and brains.

"Normally I only opt to consume animal brains," said Wickham, "but today I am making a special exception."

He lifted his fork and knife and cut into the brains, pushing some onto his fork. Lifting his utensil, he made sure to catch her eye before bringing it to his mouth and savoring the bite.

She glanced away and instead met the blank eyes of the Three Horsemen. They all reached up and removed their masks, placing them on the table. Elizabeth gasped in horror. The skin on their faces was completely removed, exposing the bones and nerves beneath. Their eyes sunk back into their heads, and parts of their faces were red as if they were permanently stained with blood. They were almost all skull with nothing human about them. They stared expressionlessly at her, their yellowish eyes glazed over.

One broke form and gave her an amusing smirk, the muscles and nerves pinching around his mouth. Another stared at the empty seat beside him with what looked like an angered expression. They all dug into their meals together, in the same civilized fashion as Wickham.

Elizabeth tried to think of anything other than what was happening around her. The poor man must have been dragged back to the house, where Wickham most likely tortured him given the state of his face. The only shining light was that one head was upon the table, meaning the other two managed to escape. There was also the fact that they were brought to Wickham instead of torn open by the undead outside; they were under direct orders not to feast upon any living.

She thought about the riders making their way back to Rosings. They would report to Fitzwilliam and he would soon learn her position and liberate her. But Wickham knew this she realized. He knew the riders would deliver the news to Darcy, and he would stage a counter offense. Her time to get information was limited.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a bite?" Wickham said, provoking her.

"I'll pass," responded Elizabeth dryly. Her stomach was starting to clench.

"He wont be able to save you," Wickham said directly towards her, moving more onto his fork.

"You should know me well enough to know I can save myself should I choose to," she spat back.

Wickham grinned before saying, "You're as brazen as ever, Miss Bennet."

He took another bite and then grasped his glass, downing the red liquid. When she sat down Elizabeth initially thought it was wine, but now she knew better. She looked at her own glass questioningly.

"There was something I wanted to mention before you cut our talk short this morning. I always give credit where credit is due, and I must say I was quite impressed that you managed to eliminate a substantial amount of my army in one swift blow after your wedding. Quite impressive."

Wickham raised his glass, gesturing it towards her, before taking another sip.

"But I have the advantage now," he added.

"So you believe," stated Elizabeth. "You have many tricks, sir. Concealing your identity, escaping The Canal, attacking us on our wedding day."

"And many more to come, I assure you."

She thought of her family. How worried her father must be. She wondered if he had slept or eaten since they were last together. Her mother's nerves would have taken over her body, leaving her bedridden. Jane. Sweet, gentle Jane, would feel guilty that she would not have been there fighting by her side during the battle as she had been doing their entire lives. And Fitzwilliam, her handsome husband, she could only imagine how distraught he was; His shame for his inability to keep her safe or killing Wickham when they had the chance. If he were here now she would take him in her arms and assure him that it was not his doing. That he could not have planned for such an outcome and remind him of all the things he had done for her: saving Lydia, risking his life for her family, reuniting Jane and Mr. Bingley, disregarding his family and following his heart.

At least he was safe. They all were safe. And to her now, that was all that mattered. That she was in the lion's den, not her parents, not her sisters, not her husband. She could survive this. She could handle what was to come. Unlike her sisters, she embraced the warrior side of her. It was a part of her. She was trained to think of even the most innate object as a potential weapon. But most of all, she was a fighter. And she would fight until her dying breath.

"Do what you wish to me!" said Elizabeth. "I do not care. All that matters to me is that you meet your Maker and that my family is safe. And there is no safer place than Rosings at present."

"Yes…" he agreed. "There is no safer place than Rosings." He smiled his devilish smile before proceeding. "That husband and family of yours had best prepare for within the safety of Rosings the end is about to begin."