Zombie Abbey

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  He knew Fanny’d said for him to be careful not to get caught, particularly by Mr. Wright. But what was he supposed to do, just sit up here all day and night, until Fanny or possibly Lizzy—although he couldn’t quite see how that could happen—came for him and told him he was needed?

  He’d decided to go out. He wanted to check on the horses. Someone had to; he doubted anyone else would think of them at a time like this—unless it was Lady Kate, but then she’d only think about riding one, not the work of actually taking care of it—and if he didn’t, who would? The horses couldn’t feed themselves.

  The trick would be not being seen, which would require stealth and luck.

  Both had been working in his favor in terms of his exit.

  After leaving his room, he’d tiptoed to the top of the servants’ staircase, waiting until any footsteps echoed into the distance before scooting down. Instead of going all the way to the bottom, which he knew would leave him in the kitchen where there would likely be activity going on, he’d stepped through a side door on one of the landings. There, he’d found himself in more luxurious surroundings with rooms that led to grander staircases. He wasn’t sure quite where he was—there’d been no time yet to ask Fanny for a tour, although that would have been a good idea; perhaps tomorrow?—but by stopping and listening repeatedly before proceeding forward, he managed to make his way through the warren of rooms, going ever downward when he saw a staircase, while always avoiding the grand staircase.

  At last, he found himself in an empty parlor somewhere at the back of the house. Back here, some of the rooms had long doors leading outward, and it was easy enough to slip out of one. It wasn’t locked on either side, and it occurred to Will that while they no doubt barred the front door at times, anyone could get in and out back here if they thought about it.

  Once outside, Will made for the stables.

  He knew he should be worried about possible threats, but the misty fog from the morning had cleared by then, and he could see all around him as he crossed the great lawn. Besides, he’d witnessed Dr. Webb attack Mr. Young, so now he knew what such an attack looked like. Dr. Webb had moved relatively slowly, lurching in his gait. The trick was to not let them get too close to you, not to let them surprise you. But Will would be vigilant, and he was confident that if he spotted anyone who looked or smelled like Dr. Webb had, he could outrun that person. Or thing. Whatever you would call it.

  Not to mention, Will had thought to bring his pistol with him before exiting his new room.

  At the stables, Will had been relieved to find the horses were all well, particularly that Wyndgate was, as Wyndgate was his favorite. He knew the horse was Lady Kate’s favorite, too, which served to make him feel warm inside: the idea that, no matter what they might not share, could never share despite the way she somehow haunted him, at least they had their love of this animal in common.

  Will wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find: that the horses had been slaughtered by some malevolent force? The horses with gaping wounds or human bite marks all over them?

  Whatever he’d imagined he might find, thankfully, that was not the case.

  So, maybe whatever these new creatures were, dead humans come back to life with a desire to devour others, perhaps their violent impulses didn’t extend to animals? Or at least not in terms of attacking them with their teeth?

  Will certainly hoped so. It was awful enough being a human trying to sort out this awful mess. He didn’t see how a beast could understand it, however smart might be that beast, like Wyndgate.

  The horses taken care of, Will had set off to return to the main house and his room in it. And he almost made it, he almost did. But where stealth and luck had held for him earlier, this time only stealth did, for upon finally wending his way back through trial and error to the posh side of the door that led to the servants’ staircase, no sooner did he push through it to the other side than the luck part failed him.

  On the other side, he encountered two of the servants—Jonathan and Becky, he thought they were—coming downward.

  They’d been laughing together when he first spotted them, but spying him, they immediately stopped.

  Now the jig was surely up.

  It was a phrase he’d encountered for the first time that day. It had been in the book Fanny had given him, a detective story, and when he’d read it he hadn’t understood what it meant, no doubt because his mind was not fully engaged by the words on the page before him; there was too much else to think about.

  Well, he certainly knew what the words meant now, he thought, as his eyes met those of Jonathan and Becky in turn to find them staring back at him.

  Instantly, he felt embarrassment at the disparity between his stable garb and their pristine house clothes. Anyone could see he didn’t belong up here.

  Now the jig was truly up.

  Jonathan and Becky would fetch Mr. Wright, who would throw him out, whereupon he’d be rendered useless to Lizzy. And the others. And Kate.

  Well, he supposed he could always sneak back in again.

  But that wasn’t the point.

  Because once caught, Mr. Wright would be more vigilant, meaning the mere ability to be stealthy might not be enough.

  And yet neither Jonathan nor Becky screamed out his presence, alerting others.

  Instead, Jonathan tore his gaze away from Will and, turning to Becky, said, “So. Bex.” Bex? Was that some sort of friendly nickname? “I was about to tell you. Last night, when Daniel and I were playing cards…”

  Whatever else got said was lost as Will watched, dumbfounded, as Jonathan and Becky turned away, continuing down the stairs, soon laughing again, as though they’d never seen him there at all.

  Huh.

  Will decided then and there that he rather liked Jonathan and Becky. Or Bex. They seemed like jolly sorts.

  Will puckered his lips, a smile twinkling in his eyes as he continued on up the stairs. If he weren’t worried about being overheard, he’d have whistled out loud.

  …

  After Will’s narrow escape on the staircase and his subsequent return to his room, he’d laid his pistol down on the small dresser and laid himself down on the bed.

  He hadn’t planned on sleeping—there was so much still to think about—but so much had already happened that day, and so much of it had been exhausting…

  He awoke to the sound of shouting.

  Many voices shouting, somewhere in the house far below.

  Will raced from his room, in a hurry to get to whoever was shouting, whoever needed help.

  Only just roused from sleep and being in that great hurry: no doubt, those were the two reasons he’d left the pistol behind on the dresser, where it was of use to no one.

  Which was why when he arrived on the scene, that horrific scene—Mr. Young, turned into something even worse than Dr. Webb had been; Lizzy in danger—he’d been as impotently useless as that lemon in the earl’s hand.

  And then everything else had followed.

  He’d wanted to go to Lizzy then, afterward, to at least make sure she was all right. He felt so responsible for her. After all, he’d been the one to give her the pistol. He’d been the one to put the idea in her head that she might be somehow equipped to fight whatever lay ahead. But her mother had her.

  And then he’d seen the look on Lady Kate’s face. Did she not understand that he felt responsible for Lizzy, who had been in direct and immediate danger of attack from Mr. Young, while he’d seen Kate to be relatively safe at the time, and anyway, he trusted and respected that Kate was strong enough to take care of herself? But then the earl sent him back upstairs to the attic and he’d gone, like a little boy who, having behaved badly, needed to be dealt with later.

  Again, he waited.

  And waited.

  Now, though, there came the sounds of footsteps and then more footsteps coming up the servants’ staircase.

  He thought that he should remain hidden and not risk being seen, but then he realized:
What was the point any longer? His jig was already up. The earl had seen him, everyone had, and he’d no doubt be evicted in the morning.

  So when it sounded like there were more footsteps of people out there than there could possibly be servants in the house, he opened his door and had a peek.

  What he saw were farmers he knew there, some villagers, too.

  “Will!” someone shouted at him. “Will Harvey!”

  And from another person: “You thought to come here ahead of us? You were always a clever boy.”

  He was about to explain that he hadn’t been clever, but before he got a chance to, they were telling him things: about attacks on the farmers; attacks on the villagers; how a menace had come among them that no one understood and the only thing they’d thought to do, those who could get away, was to head for the greater safety of the abbey.

  The people he spoke with said there were more like Dr. Webb and Mr. Young out there, but none could say how many. Just more. And more today than there’d been yesterday.

  Every so many seconds, another farmer or villager would come up the stairs to be added to their group in the hallway, and more greetings of reunion would follow, leaving Will little time to ask the things he wanted to know: Just how bad was it out there, really, beyond this idea of “more”? Who had let them in the house? Surely it wasn’t Mr. Wright. And most important of all, where was Aunt Jess?

  But then what must have been the last of the lot joined them, and a few minutes later there was Fanny and—Will had to blink at this!—the duke, jacketless and with shirtsleeves rolled up, there to help organize everyone, Fanny showing people which rooms they could use and directing the duke on where to find and then set out linens and the like.

  Before people could be dispersed to their rooms, Will raised his voice above the din: “Has anyone seen my aunt Jess? Jessamine Harvey?”

  His uncle and aunt, the only parents he’d ever known. They’d taken him in when his own parents had died. And while one might think that to be expected behavior in all families, as Will had grown he’d learned that wasn’t always the case. He’d heard of other orphans turned away by family members who said they already had too many mouths to feed. And no one had judged them poorly for this. Rather, people had accepted that you do whatever you need to do to protect the survival of those closest to you first, no matter the cost to others. But who knew what ever became of those other unlucky orphans.

  Will, on the other hand? He’d been taken in by his uncle and aunt, even though they didn’t have to do it, because they believed it to be right, no matter the cost to themselves. More than that, though, beyond a roof and food, they’d given him love. For Will’s part, he’d been grateful to them for providing him a place to live and warm food. But more than that, he’d loved them back.

  “That’s funny,” said a large man with white muttonchops, who Will recognized as Silas Powell, the village publican. “I could’ve sworn Jessamine was in our group.”

  “Well, she’s not here now,” said Lottie Richards, one of the tenant farmers’ wives. “And who can really say if she was with us before? I know I was so busy running for my life, I doubt I’d have noticed if the king of England had been with us and then left.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Will said. “There must’ve been lots of confusion.” Then: “Fanny? Did you see her tonight? With the others?”

  “No,” Fanny said, not lifting her eyes from the task currently at hand, which was fitting a case to yet another pillow. He smiled at the sight. It was as though Fanny’d gone and opened up her own boardinghouse here, or a hotel even. He’d heard of those: grand places where people could go and, for a price, spend the night and get treated like, well, those who lived in the abbey got treated every day. “I’d have said if I had,” Fanny added, still not looking up.

  “Your Lordship?” Will turned to the duke. “Have you seen her?”

  “I wouldn’t know if I had, would I?” the duke said, his eyes likewise fixed to his task, which in his case was handing sheets to one of the village women. You wouldn’t think such a simple task would require such intense focus and concentration, but then, Will told himself, the duke had no doubt never performed such a menial task in his life and perhaps he merely wanted to get it right. “I’ve never met the woman.”

  “I’m sure,” Fanny said, “that wherever she is, she’s fine, Will.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Will said. “Wherever she is, I’m sure Aunt Jess can take care of herself.”

  Chapter

  Forty-Five

  Kate sat before the vanity mirror in her bedroom as Agnes stood behind her holding the silver-backed hairbrush. Agnes had already helped her out of her evening clothes, then slipped the silk nightgown over her head. Now, having taken the peacock-feather forehead band and pins out, she was brushing her hair. One hundred strokes. And they were only at around twenty-four.

  Had there ever been such a long day?

  Thankfully, days like this didn’t come along every day and hopefully never would again.

  Surely tomorrow would be better.

  “Agnes?” Kate asked. “What are the servants saying?”

  Kate was aware, on some level, that the servants had thoughts and feelings about things, too, just like anyone else, she supposed, although their jobs demanded that they maintain a stoic front at all times. Of course, those thoughts and feelings were no doubt informed by silly superstitions and wrongheaded beliefs. Still, Kate found, she was curious.

  Agnes kept her eyes on her work. Thirty-nine. “How do you mean, miss?”

  “Come now. It’s me. You can tell me. Surely, they must all be saying something after all that has happened.”

  “Well, naturally people are scared…”

  “Scared? Why?”

  “Why, because of what you just said! ‘All that has happened’! The thing with Dr. Webb…that awful thing poor Mr. Young turned into… Why, there’s not even a doctor in the village anymore if one of us got very sick! That is, of course, if we ever can get into the village again. Aren’t you scared, miss?”

  “Of course we’ll get into the village again! And no, I’m not scared, not in the slightest.”

  “But how is that possible?” Agnes said, pausing in her stroking at fifty-two.

  “I don’t know! I’m just not. And you shouldn’t be, either. It’s ridiculous to be so fearful of things that are outside of one’s control.”

  “Perhaps, miss, but it’s because it all seems so out of our control—that’s what I find scary.”

  “Don’t be—”

  Kate had been about to admonish Agnes, use the word “ridiculous” again, possibly toss in a “silly” or two, but then it occurred to her: if Agnes had stopped mid-stroking, at just fifty-two, the poor girl really was concerned.

  “Do people think we’re not doing enough?” Kate asked, looking at Agnes in the mirror until the other girl became compelled to meet her eyes.

  “No, of course not, miss,” Agnes said. “Besides, what can anybody do if no one even knows what’s really going on?”

  Kate turned in her seat.

  “It will be all right, Agnes,” she said. “I promise, you’ll be taken care of. I won’t let you down.”

  Then she reached for the brush.

  “But we still have—” Agnes started to object.

  “Forty-eight more to go, I know,” Kate said, relieving her of the silver-backed item. In doing so, her hand accidentally touched up against Agnes’s and for the briefest of moments Kate thought to cover the other girl’s hand with her own, to offer that comfort. But no. That would be taking a good thing too far. So instead she added brightly, “We’ll just add it to the morning’s lot. One hundred and forty-eight strokes seems to me a fine number to start the day with, and tomorrow will be a fine day, I promise you.”

  “Then I’ll just…” Agnes moved to begin arranging the bedsheets and things on the great canopy bed, but Kate stopped her there, too.

  “Leave it,
” Kate said. “I think I can turn down my own sheets for just this once. It’s been an impossibly long day for everybody. And you must be tired, too.”

  “I am,” Agnes said. “If you’re sure…”

  “I am.”

  Once Agnes was gone, Kate did turn down her own sheets and climb into bed. But sleep did not immediately come. Without the maid’s silly fears to contend with and comfort her over, Kate was left with her own concerns.

  Kate had told Agnes that she wasn’t scared, but was she?

  Kate thought about it for a long moment and then decided that, no, she was not.

  What was really bothering her was this: Was she really destined to wind up with Cousin Benedict?

  Mr. Young was obviously out of the picture. Not that he’d ever been in it. But after tonight? She thought about that crab-like creature he’d turned into and shuddered. She didn’t want to think about that. What if Mother had never thought to grab that weapon from Fred? She couldn’t believe the rest of them had frozen. She couldn’t believe she had frozen.

  No, even if what had happened to Mr. Young hadn’t happened, he would still never have been in the picture.

  But Kate had seen a few other things tonight, too, perhaps none so dramatic as the transformation of Mr. Young, but still.

  The stable boy, Will Harvey, had come charging down the stairs, no doubt imagining himself some sort of romantic hero destined to save the day!

  And he’d been calling Lizzy’s name as he ran.

  Lizzy!

  Why had the stable boy been so concerned about Lizzy? Again, Lizzy! It seemed suddenly as though wherever Kate turned, Lizzy was shooting someone or saying something shockingly not stupid or, now, capturing the attentions of the stable boy. He’d been worried about Lizzy, but hadn’t he been worried about her at all?

  And then later, in the back parlor, Kate had seen the glance that had been exchanged between Grace and the footman, Daniel. Leave it to Grace to make eyes at a footman. Not that she, Kate, would ever want one for herself. But still. At least the footman was handsome.