Authors: Peter Archer
Bad Austen (6 page)
S
HANNON
W
INSLOW
“How long has this engagement of Edward’s been known to you?”Marianne demanded.
“About four months,” Elinor rejoined.
“What?! And never a hint to your closest companions?”
“No doubt you would reproach me again for my reserve and quarrel with me over my forbearance. Would you question the existence of my heart as well because I choose to suffer my disappointment in private?”
“Indeed, I do not ask the location of your heart, for I vouch-safe that you have an organ of that description beating within your breast, and it may well be as susceptible to tender sentiments as any other person’s. My question to you, Elinor, is this: Where is your fighting spirit? You have been grossly ill-used, and the time to take decisive action is come!”
“I admire your conviction, dearest, but what recourse is there within my reach? The courts can give no satisfaction; no law has been broken. What would you have me do? Challenge Lucy Steele to a duel?”
“A tempting notion, is it not?”Marianne sprang into a fencer’s stance and addressed a phantom rival with the cut and thrust of her imaginary saber.
“Marianne! Have you completely taken leave of your senses? Surely there can be no occasion for bloodshed.”
“Perhaps not, but I have heard of another equally satisfactory avenue for settling disputes.” Marianne clasped her sister’s hand. “Come, make haste!”
Her protestations notwithstanding, elinor found herself unceremoniously dragged to her feet and from the room. Marianne was unstoppable. She collected their wraps and propelled them both out into the street, where they were fortunate to find a hansom cab standing at liberty.
“Where to, Miss?”the cabbie asked as the young ladies climbed in.
“Southwark. To Vauxhall, and don’t spare the horses,” Marianne ordered. They were off with the crack of the driver’s whip.
Elinor, who had been carried thus far by the sheer force of her sister’s will, at last spoke out. “I must protest against this madness, Marianne. You intend to take us across the river and into the Borough at this time of night? And unescorted? only think what our mother would say to such a scheme!”
“Mama need never know. Besides, it would be well worth any price for the chance to see you settle your score with Lucy. It was, in fact, by overhearing her speak of the contest tonight that I learnt of it myself. According to her information, this form of entertainment is quite the thing here in London now, so you need not be squeamish.”
Her scruples laid to rest by these reassuring words, elinor’s mind eased from concern to mere curiosity. As long as no breach of decorum was involved, a new diversion would be welcome. One could not go to the opera every night of the week, after all. But how a Vauxhall amusement could render any amendment to a broken heart, elinor could not begin to fathom.
“Be patient,” Marianne answered when asked. “You will see soon enough.”
Elinor’s bewilderment only increased upon their arrival, however, for she heard sounds of a great tumult emanating from the vast tent to which her sister steered her.
“This cannot be entirely proper,” she said. “Ladies and gentleman never raise their voices in such a manner at the theatre or at a ball.”
Marianne pressed ahead, taking no notice. Another moment and they were both within the canvas enclosure, hemmed about on all sides by crowds of unruly persons, many of whom were of dubious lineage. Elinor stood transfixed for a long moment, not believing her eyes. “B-but Marianne, those t-two young ladies …”Elinor pushed forward for a better view. “They seem to be …”
“Yes, they are indeed!”Marianne confirmed. “Glorious, is it not?”
D
ID
Y
OU
K
NOW?
James Austen, the eldest Austen son, ten years older than Jane, had established himself as the writer in the family long before Jane could have been taken very seriously as such. He was always a good scholar, attended Oxford, and, like his father, was ordained in the Church of England. In 1789, after the verse prologues and epilogues for the family theatricals were behind him, he began publishing his own weekly magazine,
The Loiterer
. It was modeled after Samuel Johnson’s important and wonderful periodicals,
The Rambler
and
The Idler
. Henry, another brother, also contributed to it.
The Loiterer
was published for fourteen months and distributed in London, Oxford, and other major towns in England. In later life James continued to write poetry for the pleasure of his family, but if he had any greater ambition for his writing beyond that, it was unrealized.
“I hardly know. I would not have imagined such a thing possible … or prudent,” Elinor murmured, tilting her head this way and that as she followed the movements of the female contenders. An inner voice whispered that she should be repulsed, that she ought to turn on her heel and flee the den of iniquity at once. Yet she found that she could not; she was irresistibly drawn to the spectacle before her. The singular visage of Lucy Steele sud- denly appeared amongst the onlookers across the way, and, when their eyes met, Elinor shot her a pointed look through the steamy atmosphere betwixt them. Lucy nodded, accepting the silent challenge. As if by some audible signal, they started toward each other at the very same moment. The crowd cheered, apprehending that some considerable augmentation to the evening’s entertainment was forthcoming. With an expression of exhilaration overspreading her countenance, elinor cast caution to the wind, hoisted up her skirts, and waded into the mud-filled arena to meet her adversary.
T
he
P
erilous
P
lot at
P
emberley
P
ATTI
W
IGINGTON
It was a dark and stormy night. Our hired carriage broke down on the side of the road ten miles from Pemberley. The driver, fearful of the lightning and thunder, ran off into the darkness.
My darling Freddie suggested I stay with the coach while he went for help. I had not long to wait, for shortly he returned in a second carriage, driven by a disheveled young man. Frederick assisted me into this conveyance and explained that the lady within was also headed to Pemberley.
“I am Georgiana Fitzwilliam,” I said, “and you have met my husband, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“I am Miss Dinkley,” she said, blinking through a pair of thick spectacles. “I am to be governess to the Darcy daughters.”
Before I could reply, I was nudged by something damp. I nearly leapt from my seat, startled as I was.
“Oh,” Miss Dinkley laughed, “pay no mind. Mr. Rodgers, the coachman, has brought his dog with him. He answers to Scoobert. I have treats in my reticule, if you would like to offer him a snack.”
We soon arrived at Pemberley. The storm had worsened, and Freddie recommended the coachman spend the night rather than venture back to his village. He readily agreed, and we left him and his dog indulging in a plate of mutton in the kitchens. It was a joy to see my brother and Lizzie after our years in India. Their daughters, Charlotte and Catherine, were abed, but we spent hours catching up on news of the surrounding countryside. It was good to see familiar faces; Lizzie’s sister Jane and her husband, Bingley, were there, as were Bingley’s sister, Caroline, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins of Rosings Park.
After everyone retired for the evening, Lizzie took me aside. “Georgiana,” she said, “I confess, I am troubled. I feel foolish speaking of this, but you know Pemberley much better than I. Is it possible—dare I ask—could Pemberley be haunted?”
I laughed despite myself. “It is possible, but I have never—why Lizzie! You are white as a sheet! What has happened?”
“Georgiana, it is awful! There is a terrible spectre! I have seen it three nights in a row, outside my rooms, wailing and howling! It says I must leave Pemberley at once!”
I frowned. “It speaks to you?”
She nodded. “I have said nothing to your brother; Fitz is such a skeptic. And yet I feel there is something truly wrong here. I am certain I am being watched, even when I am alone.”
I patted her hand. “I shall speak to Freddie of this, and we shall solve the mystery. Worry no more.”
As I climbed into bed, I told my husband of Lizzie’s fears. Despite his being fifteen years my senior, Freddie never dismissed me as frivolous, and so he concurred we must do what we could to help. We agreed to take turns listening in the night.
Much later, Freddie woke me. “A noise in the hall,” he whispered. I scurried to the door and eased it open. The corridor was dark.
We tiptoed slowly down the hall, and then I too heard a sound. As we rounded a corner, I gasped. “Miss Dinkley!”
“I heard a noise,” she said softly, “but now I cannot find my room again. You see, I’ve lost my glasses.”
There was another footfall, and Mr. Rodgers and Scoobert appeared. “What ho?” he asked. “I was looking for a midnight snack, and—”
“Hush!” I whispered. “Look!”
At the far end of the corridor, away from the shadows where we were concealed, a ghostly figure glided up to Lizzie’s door.
“Wooooooo!” it moaned. “Leeeeeeeeavvvve this hooooooouse! Woooooooo!”
“Yikes!” exclaimed Rodgers. Miss Dinkley squinted toward the sound, and Freddie and I ran down the hall at the gauzy gray spectre. Suddenly, Scoobert raced in front of me, and I tripped over his paws, toppling straight into the apparition!
Which let out a feminine squeal and some very bad words.
I reached up and pulled the filmy veil from the ghost’s head and was all astonishment.
“Caroline Bingley!” exclaimed Miss Dinkley, Mr. Rodgers, and Freddie.
“Yes,” she spat. “It is I who should be mistress of Pemberley! And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling—”
“What is the meaning of this?” my brother roared, appearing behind us. I explained all to him and Lizzie, and to the Bingleys and Collinses as well, who had awakened at the commotion. Caroline was banished to her room by a very angry Lizzie.
Miss Dinkley handed me a treat, which I passed to Scoobert. “After all,” I exclaimed, “he helped us unmask the poltergeist of Pemberley!”
P
ride and
P
rejudice:
T
he
F
irst
D
raft