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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