Darcy set off, his stride determined, head high and proud, though I'd seen the worry in his eyes. My husband did not often worry and the tailing ends of his parting statement resounded within my ears. A deafening toll to waken dormant memories.

Divine assistance...

A chorus of voices pulled me from my thoughts, and I pushed through the door to re-join the gathering of ladies in the room. Jane stood at the front of the room, waving her arms as she tried to speak above them, to calm and soothe fragile and frayed nerves. I had to remind myself that while most of the wealthy elite had sent their children off to the remote Far East to learn the beautiful and deadly martial arts—Japan being all the fashion—very few had actually given serious thought to their training.

In rare instances, like this moment, I often said a quick prayer of Thanks to my father's infallible decision to ship myself and my sisters to the oldest temple of Shaolin monks in the stunning province of Henan.

Almost a decade spent from winter to spring, training alongside Master Lao had carved deep beneath my skin to shed my body of weakness. I'd learned how to tolerate inexorable amounts of pain, to disappear within myself like a shadow, to draw upon instinct and years of focus instead of fear and emotion.

But fear and emotion swelled in the room around me, pouring off the dozen female bodies that trembled in apprehension. The weight of it rose up the walls, towering over our heads like a wave about to crash down and bury us all.

I couldn't let that happen.

Clearing my throat, I clapped my hands loudly in a command of attention. Silence fell in a sudden stark drop of sound that roared in my ears.

"Ladies, it is with sincerest regret that I must inform you unfortunately we must desist immediately. A Horde descends upon us and I fear we have naught but moments to prepare. Lydia, darling," I flickered my gaze to my youngest sister who stood closest to my side. "Take Kitty with you to the armoury and fetch swords for our guests."

"But...I can't fight a Horde in this." Lydia spread her arms, eyes rounded and aghast as she whispered, "This dress came all the way from Paris."

The urge to roll my eyes was immeasurable but I knew to show any degree of frustration would only heighten Lydia's desire to dance upon the frayed edges of my last nerve—as always. And so I pulled my lips into a soft smile meant to coax and placate. "Alas a Horde has no taste for fashion. Only brains. So if you plan on wearing others, darling, you will take Kitty to the armoury and fetch the swords. Now. Please."

A sulk pulled at her lips, frustrated tears gleamed in her eyes but Kitty saved Lydia from any further show of tantrum but looping an arm through hers and tugging her off to see to the task I had assigned.

"As for the rest of you," I said, clapping my hands once more to silence the fresh chorus of outcries. "How many of you are skilled in hand to hand." Only a couple hands inched above their hands. "And with a sword? Blade? Weapon of any kind?"

Three...no, four more. Out of a dozen. I swallowed the groan building in my throat, and the curse with it. You'd think after near thirty years of being mired in a Zombie plague our English society would be a formidable class of elite warriors...

"Seeing as most of you are ingenues in the way of martial arts, I must insist that we rid you all of as much encumbrance as possible. Your gowns, ladies. Off."

"Surely you jest." Her Ladyship, the Countess of Cheshire fluttered a hand over her heaving breasts.

"Free range of movement is essential and could very well save your lives." I smiled sweetly, but I was sure malice shone in my eyes at her simpering stupidity. Mercifully, Lydia and Kitty's return, arms laden with sheathed blades, saved me from further confrontation. I then left my youngest sisters with the task of arming each noble woman as well as offering rudimentary instruction on how to use a blade. For all of Lydia's faults, her prowess with a sword could not be called into question.

Of all of us, she was a berserker in battle. A pint-sized fury that would have brought a tear of pride to the eyes of any warrior as she ran him through.

"What else, Lizzie," Jane said, rushing to my side, concern etched in her lovely features. Concern not only for the life she carried, but for the lives of those we had sworn to protect. The lives that depended upon us to see them through to the Deliverance as promised by the arrival of French troops to ride our lands of the pestilence of the Stricken.

God, how I wished to be free of the tiresome burden. But I would not give Jane further cause for alarm, knowing full well that the life inside of her was the most precious and the only life I cared to protect.

I'd faced death and loss many times. Tis impossible to grow up in a world such as this and not have endured the wrenching heartache a hundred times over, but I could not bear the thought of what might happen to Jane...to the baby. I would not bear that grief and so I silently vowed to do all that I must, even lay down my own life it needs be, to ensure her survival and trusted that Darcy would do the same.

And once more, Darcy's parting words of Divine Assistance echoed in my ears, this time touching on a distant tendril that sparked a flicker of hope.

I stroked a hand down Jane's arm, knowing I had to think of something to keep her thoughts occupied and out of harm's way.

"Darcy assures me that the gate won't hold indefinitely," I said softly while attention was diverted to Libby and Kitty's twirling demonstration of basic combat manoeuvres. "But the Stricken are growing sluggish—as they further decompose their bodies have rotted near to bone. They're much easier to kill than their fresher counterparts and that gives us a small measure of hope. Once they break through the gates, the corridors down here will further nullify their numbers. They can't swarm upon us as they could in an open field. I want this room barricaded, Jane. Use whatever we have. The bookcases, tables—everything. You remember where the panel is?"

Jane nodded. All of London's oldest homes had their secrets. Hidden pathways behind walls, staircases that spiralled to unknown rooms, and—for dire emergencies—a secret door for escape. When first settling into Pemberley, I'd made sure to share all of the estate's secrets with Jane, trusting her confidence and discretion.

She had not proven me false and I knew she would further excel in this task. Never one to stand idle, so long as she had a reason to be of use, I knew she would not do something foolish—like join in the ensuing carnage. Though I would greatly miss her sword at my side as we had few enough skilled with a blade.

"Good. Tell no one where it is until the time comes. Understand? I can't have frantic and terrified women of high society tearing out through a secret doorway that leads beyond our gates and might alert our enemies, speeding their infiltration onto our grounds. Now I must go. Barricade the door behind me. If I must return, I will do so through the panel."

Jane nodded swiftly, golden wisps around her face floating around her rounded cheeks. "And what are you going to do?"

"To speak to Master Lao." Gathering Jane in my arms, I hugged her fiercely. "Be safe, dear sister."

***What does Lizzie have up her sleeve, I wonder? Besides throwing stars? ***