Authors: Peter Archer
Bad Austen (24 page)
C
ATHY
T
AVERNIER
Mr. Charles Bingley and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy were both dead, but they had not given in to discouragement. Rather, they made for themselves a remarkable posthumous life that included many of the same entertainments they enjoyed while living: eating, drinking—as they particularly needed to drink still—and courting young ladies—this, too, being a pastime as much required as it remained pleasurable. It rarely occurred to them to bemoan their glorious past lives; for being deceased, while liberating in several ways, also allotted them many similar experiences they had grown accustomed to while living.
“What am I to make of this ball to which we are heading, Darcy?” asked Mr. Bingley one fine spring evening. He trotted down a dirt path upon his black horse beside his fellow mounted partner.
“It is the perfect scenario for us,” replied Mr. Darcy, unusually interested in this ball, despite not being fond of them in general. “I have it on good authority that hardly an eligible man—nary a card-playing group of old chaps—is in attendance. We would be fools for passing on such a unique opportunity.”
“That is capital, indeed! Well done, Darcy. We shall dine finely this evening,” said Mr. Bingley, pulling down the brim of his hat. He felt relief, for he recalled recent dances he and Mr. Darcy had attended, uninvited, with a fair amount of gentlemen present. Unfortunately, as a result, drastic measures to purge them from the engagements by those overseeing men were undertaken. If anything, this evening would prove significantly easier for the two of them to retain their persons amongst the ladies present.
Moments later, they dismounted from their steeds. Much noise and merry-making escaped outside the windows of the large manor, and, as Mr. Darcy had been informed, there certainly stood mainly fine young maidens laughing and chattering inside.
“As I said earlier, hardly a man to be seen,” repeated Mr. Darcy after peering in through a foggy window. Mr. Bingley could not help but quicken his step as they approached the entrance. He was glad he wore his favorite blue coat! As soon as the two stepped inside, all the prattle and racket ceased, replaced by gasps and awestruck expressions.
With all the attention immediately diverted to the two, Darcy grabbed the lapels of his coat and flapped out his elbows. “good evening, young ladies without gentlemen! We are lords of the finest social order of the Undead, and we have come here to suck your blood,” announced he, bowing with all formalities. two distinctive fangs hung out over his lower lip for all to see.
“And, to drink it, as well!” added Mr. Bingley, bowing and exposing his own fangs also, but sporting a happy smile.
“Va-vampires!” screamed a young girl, pointing in their direction, as if it were necessary. Suddenly, the room erupted into a cacophony of yelps and shrieks. Yet something about the tone seemed oddly untainted by fear.
“They are so … handsome!” shouted another young woman, whipping a fan in front of her face. The excitement of the maiden crowd grew higher, as expected, but not more fearful.
“Suck my blood, vampires!” shouted a few ladies in a synchronized fashion, as they all dashed at the two men-of-the-moment. “No! Not hers! Mine! You may drink as much of my blood as you wish, good sirs!” Such were the commands howled by the animated crowd, as they tore off shawls and craned their necks to the side to ease the two vampires’ imbibing.
“How very courteous of you all,” remarked Mr. Bingley over the roaring cluster of maidens, as they stepped and trounced on one another to draw near him.
“This is the way, is it not?” asked an uncertain, shy girl, directing her unveiled ivory neck at Mr. Bingley.
“Why, yes, that is the correct position we vampires require when feeding,” he assured her. His delight grew more fervent with each exposed limb shoved within his vicinity.
“You see, Bingley,” began Mr. Darcy, “we may have been dead for a time, but, as is quite evident, we are as popular as ever.” A handful of women swarmed him all at once as he nearly winked at Mr. Bingley.
“I will drink to that. I dare say we were never quite this popular before! And, let it not be said that Darcy and Bingley went out of this world without leaving an impression of some sort, including the kind we make upon the maiden neck!” shouted Bingley, as he bit ardently into one such eager neck.
And, thus, the grand feast ensued for the evening, as the two deceased—yet, still undoubtedly popular—young men drank the crimson fluid to their hearts’ content.
D
ID
Y
OU
K
NOW?
In May of 1779 the third Austen boy, Edward, was twelve years old. Thomas Knight, a distant Austen cousin (and the landlord of Steventon), visited the parsonage with his new wife, Catherine. Apparently they became so fond of Edward that they asked permission to take him with them as they continued their “honeymoon” travels. This seems to have been the beginning of their extraordinary attachment to the boy, which culminated in their actually adopting him a few years later. The Knights were very wealthy, and since they were also childless, Edward stood to inherit their fortune, including several large estates.
Once again, this may seem to show a cold-heartedness toward their children on the part of the Austens—another chance to give them away as they did when they sent them as infants to foster families in the village—but the truth is that the adoption scheme was a great success in every way. The Knights were not only wealthy, but good. Jane was very fond of Mrs. Knight, who was actually the writer’s only patron, giving her some kind of annual allowance. And Edward remained very close to the Austen family throughout his life. We may have Mrs. Knight to thank for Jane Austen’s novels on much stronger grounds than her bestowal of the “usual Fee” on Jane, for it was Edward’s inheritance that ultimately supplied Jane with the comfort and security of the house in which she wrote and/or revised her novels: Chawton Cottage, one of the world’s greatest literary landmarks.
J
ersey
S
hore
D
oes
B
righton (or,
I
f
J
ane
S
cripted
J
ersey
S
hore)
S
HELLEY
R
USSELL
We find our friends of questionable rank on holiday at Brighton. Alas, this holiday is of little distinction from past seasons, with many members of the group frequently casting up their accounts as the girls prove again quite able to elevate their demimonde status whilst frequently imbibing body shots and other libations at the local pub and inspiring frequent displays of swordplay amongst the local rakes.
“Oh, what a wonderful welcome we have received. I presented myself at a fine establishment on the evening of late. to be sure, I shall find my perfect gorilla in the UK.” Snooki had ensured that her signature poof was of greatest proportion prior to her introductions the evening before.
“My dear Snooki, I pray you find me not indelicate to your feelings, as I am compelled to converse with you on a matter most sensitive to your good, if not questionable name,” began J Woww. (You are familiar with J Woww, the irascible chit whose own moniker aptly denotes her more than ample and artificial décolletage?)
“Surely, you mean not to refer to the kindly escort provided to me by the gentle constable who transported me to the pokey on the Jersey Shore. He afforded me every consolation and comfort following the faint I succumbed to, which found my visage planted in the sand.”
“To be sure, it is the continuance of your lack of prudence that lays fear upon my soul. I find it necessary to confer upon you a matter in need of your most urgent attentions. I shall speak plainly, dear Snooks, that you find yourself too often, too far in your cups.”
Sensing the demise of the well-intentioned advice afforded by J Woww, the paternal “The Situation” deems it prudent to speak his mind and devise some sense of order. “The concerns you share for Snooki may well be deferred by way of GTL (Gym, Tan, Laundry) as it always returns me to an affable condition. Come, ladies. Let us trifle no more over these matters, which, to be sure, affect us all.”
Considering the weakened pallor experienced by even less sunshine than the Jersey Shore can afford, the girls concede and the happy party departs. Once again, a tragic consequence has been averted by “The Situation.”
T
he
W
easleys
V
isit
N
etherfield
P
ark
K
IMHPARK
“Did you get it? Did you pick up the dance tonic like I asked you to?”
“Yeah, I got it,” moaned Ron, showing Hermione the bottle he picked up from the apothecary. “But must we do this, Hermione?”?
“Oh, stop grousing. You promised. You can’t back out on me now. Besides, I’ve already bewitched the book to make space for us in the story, and we mustn’t keep the pages waiting.”
“Yes, but I didn’t realize it would be a Jane Austen story. I thought it would be a Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. You know, something with a little rough and tumble? Remember last week? Wasn’t that fun?”?
Hermione glared at Ron, folding her arms across her chest. Ron looked down at his shoes. “How ’bout a nice dinner out?” he tried. “Wouldn’t that suffice?”?
“No, a dinner out would not suffice, Ronald. It’s our first wedding anniversary, and I want it to be elegant. I want to dance with you at Netherfield Park, alongside Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Now put your jacket on, please. It’s time to apparate.”?
Ron shrugged into his dinner jacket. Hermione took Ron’s hand in hers, tapped her worn copy of
Pride and Prejudice
with her wand, and pop! the two of them vanished into the pages of Austen’s nineteenth-century England. The neigh of horses, crunching of carriage wheels on gravel, and giddy salutations of the arriving guests echoed across the lawn to where the pair stood under the trees, taking in the scene. They had a good view of the great house—its windows thrown wide, tapestries pulled elegantly aside, and servants making the rounds with silver trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.?