She started, blood arcing out of her forehead, her eyes going dull.
I cried out.
“Will?” said a voice.
I turned and there was George damnable Wickham, with a brace of guns over his shoulder, like one might have a brace of arrows. He was plucking one out, like one might pluck out an arrow.
“What are you doing here?” he said to me.
“What areyoudoing here?” I roared.
He took aim with the gun and shot my cousin Anne, who was cowering behind her dead mother, silent, though, as if she was too frightened to let out a squeak.
Anne’s head jerked back and she slumped over.
I uttered a word—a very bad and very uncouth word. “What are youdoing?” I screamed at Wickham.
He plucked out another gun. “Stop screaming, Will.”
“I will not stop screaming!” I screamed.
And then, Wickham shot me.
elizabeth
I sat up straight in my bed at Rosings, letting out a little cry.
I examined my head. I’d been shot directly between the eyes. It still smarted there.
I touched the spot, and moved my fingers down.
They were trembling.
No blood.
Letting out another cry, I vaulted out of bed and hurried over to survey myself in the mirror. I looked whole. I wheezed out several gasps. I gazed into the mirror, unsure of what to do.
I couldn’t help it.
I had to go look in on Maria!
But then, halfway to her room, I remembered that Maria was out looking for ribbons with Charlotte. I sagged into the wall in the hallway, quite distraught.
One of the servants moved past me. “Would you be needing some help, ma’am, then, this morning?” she said to me.
“Help?” I was utterly flummoxed.
“You’re not dressed,” she said to me.
I looked down at my shift. “Right,” I said in an insubstantial voice. “Not dressed.”
“I can come right by and help you into your stays if you like,” she said with a smile.
I cleared my throat. “No, I shall manage myself, thank you.” I usually used the set of stays that laced up the front today. It was easier to put on myself.
I went back, dressed myself, and presented myself to the breakfast parlor.
But it wasn’t simply Mr. Collins in there.
