Chapter Eleven A Practical Guide to Staking One’s Neighbours #5
“You will never be alone with him. I shall remain near you, Hurst will control the doors and grounds, Bingley will remain near your sister, and Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst will watch the ballroom and withdrawing rooms. Fletcher will place trusted servants throughout the house. Collins will remain close enough to interfere through sheer persistence.”
Charlotte’s mouth moved despite the danger. “But Mr Collins does not know that he has been included in a plan to trap a vampire!”
“He knows that Wickham is dangerous and that he must protect Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Hurst supplied. “Further knowledge might encourage him to acquire a sword. Or holy water.”
“What prevents Wickham from harming someone else?” Elizabeth asked. “There will be hundreds of people in this house, half the officers in the county, and six vampires loose among them.”
“Loose is an unkind description,” Mr Hurst objected. “Five of us are properly housed.”
Charlotte ignored him. “Can you guarantee that no guest will be compelled, bitten, or carried into the grounds while you wait for Mr Wickham to act?”
Mr Darcy turned to her. “No guest will be harmed, on my honour.”
Mr Bingley left the fire. “I give you mine as well. Miss Bennet, her family, and every guest who enters this house will be protected.”
Mr Hurst inclined his head. “Wickham will not pass through a door I control, and he will not feed here.”
Mrs Hurst rose from the sofa, her pale figure appearing too delicate for the promise in her voice. “Do not mistake the appearance of the women of our kind for frailty. If Wickham approaches the ladies’ rooms or attempts to harm a guest, I shall stop him.”
Miss Bingley joined her sister. “No one will be attacked in my ballroom.”
“Your brother’s ballroom,” Mr Hurst corrected.
“I arranged it. Ownership is a mere formality.”
Elizabeth surveyed the five of them. “You cannot watch everyone at once.”
“We do not need to.” Mr Darcy was still near her, though he did not attempt to reduce the distance she had chosen. “Wickham wants you. His vanity will not permit him to abandon that advantage for ordinary hunger.”
“That is not a flattering assurance.”
“It was not intended as one.”
Miss Bingley studied Elizabeth and Charlotte in turn. “Are you afraid of us?”
The directness of the question surprised Elizabeth. Miss Bingley’s composure was immaculate, but uncertainty lay beneath it. For all her pride, she understood that the next answer might change every future meeting between them.
Elizabeth considered the days she had spent at Netherfield.
She had slept there, walked alone through its passages, and sat beside Mr Darcy while Jane’s pulse filled the room.
Mr Bingley had hovered near Jane without touching her.
Mrs Hurst had carried human refreshments she could not consume rather than expose herself through refusal.
Mr Hurst had complained, Miss Bingley had insulted her, and Mr Darcy had behaved intolerably, but none had harmed them.
“I suppose I am not,” Elizabeth said with a sigh. “If you intended to eat me, you had several excellent opportunities while I was under your roof. Jane and I might have served as dinner on consecutive evenings.”
Mr Bingley recoiled. “I would never consider Miss Bennet dinner.”
Mr Hurst glanced at him. “That is the portion of her statement you found objectionable?”
“It was a terrible suggestion!”
“It was her sister’s suggestion.”
“That does not improve it, Hurst.”
Charlotte regarded Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley. “I am not afraid of you either. I confess to some envy of your complexions, although the absence of mirrors seems a severe price.”
Miss Bingley’s shoulders relaxed. “At last, a rational response.”
A metallic impact sounded beyond the door.
Every vampire turned. Something struck the wood again, followed by a scraping movement near the threshold. The handle rotated slowly without any visible hand, the latch withdrew, and the door opened several inches. The silver punch bowl rolled into the drawing room.
Mr Hurst closed his eyes briefly. “It has learned doors. We are finished.”
The bowl rolled onto the carpet in a determined curve, avoided the sunlight, and accelerated when it found Elizabeth. It struck the hem of her gown, rocked backwards, and then pressed itself against her skirts.
Elizabeth stared down at it. “You have caused a lot of trouble.”
The bowl tilted its rim to her.
“That is not an apology.”
It nudged her again.
Elizabeth bent and lifted it. The silver was cool but not lifeless, and the bowl settled into her arms with a contented weight which no household object had any right to possess. Its rim rested against her shoulder, and she could have sworn the curved surface brightened.
Miss Bingley stared at it. “It has never greeted me in that manner.”
The bowl rotated slightly away from her.
“Nor has it insulted me so deliberately,” Miss Bingley complained.
“That may be because you continue to call it an object,” Elizabeth suggested.
“But it is!”
The bowl gave a sharp metallic shudder.