Jane Actually

front of Stephen, then we can hardly blame him if he accidentally divulges it to Dr Davis.”
    Jane was pleased to see Melody and Mary nod. She had said something to which they could both agree and it recalled to her all the times Cassandra had settled or prevented arguments.
    In truth, Dr Davis’s remarks did not overly upset Jane and she was not disposed toward action to remedy them. After having met so many Janeites, signed so many copies and addressed so many groups, she had come to believe that most accepted her as the real Jane Austen. According to their surveys, Melody’s publicity campaign had swung the majority of readers into the “I believe in Jane” camp.
    Mary, of course, was still reeling from the news. By extension, she felt complicit in this attack against Jane, but she also knew that Stephen had no hand in it. He was undoubtedly a Jane supporter.
Everything he’s ever said …
    But that thought stopped her. Naturally they’d often speak of Jane and she had confided to him some of her frustrations and anxieties and challenges of representing the author. She’d told him numerous funny stories about Jane’s personality.
What if he told them to Dr Davis? Did something I say make her doubt Jane?
    Then Mary remembered some questions Stephen had asked on their drive to the mountains in Colorado. She couldn’t remember the exact words, but she thought he’d asked her if she ever had any doubts of Jane. She felt a stab of panic that fortunately went unnoticed.
    Mary’s guilt, however, was nothing in comparison to Melody’s.
How did I miss this? I thought Davis was on board.
    She had kept up a regular correspondence with the eminent Janeite, although it had been largely one way. Melody had often tried to arrange a meeting between Jane and Davis, but their schedules had never meshed—not even when Jane and Mary were in Chicago. And Davis had demurred when asked for a book plug, although that was in response to a request from Random House.
Oh God, I should have asked directly.
    But that was one of the tasks that had gone undone, first because she had taken on too much on her own and then because of her retrenchment after Tamara’s revelation.
    Their thoughts explained their silence while Mary distractedly chewed the cardboard bagel. Seattle no longer seemed like the victory lap before the AGM they had anticipated.

Beauty is truth
A whole new perspective on life
    “C an I just say how exciting it is to meet you, Miss Austen, and how amazing
Sanditon
is?”
    “Why I think you just have, my dear,” Mary said with a forced laugh she hoped wasn’t too dismissive. She added the laugh because Jane had surrounded her remarks with the [laugh] code. The result was an improvement on Jane’s earlier efforts; at least now the laughter was in the upgraded Elizabeth digitized voice, but it still sounded like someone playing a Beatles song backward.
    “Oh, yes, so I have,” the unmistakable graduate student said, with a laugh and a little shake of her head left and right, reminding Mary of the blonde joke involving shoulder pads.
    “However I am uncertain how you can know that
Sanditon
is amazing as you have only just purchased it.”
    “Oh, I’ve already read it on my Kindle. But I had to come here to buy a real book so you could sign it.”
    “Then I must think of something very special to write for someone who has bought two copies. May I have your name?”
    “It’s Alethea … with a TH … and an EA … and another E.” 1
    “Yes, I think I know how to spell it. Let me think.”
    Then Mary heard in her ear, “Mary, sign it …
    ‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty —
    and Jane is her friend. That is all
    Alethea need know for now.’”
    Mary signed it slowly, Jane repeating the words. She added the signature far faster from long practice and handed the book back to the bubbly woman.
    “Oh thank you, Miss Austen, thank you.”
    “What was that quote?” Mary shot back to Jane.
    “It was me doing rubbish to Keats. 2 I hope I won’t be meeting him online. Was she the last of them?”
    The bookseller approached them. “Well, I think we’re finally done, Miss Austen,” she said. She still had a frozen smile on her face, borne of her awe of meeting Austen and the novelty of speaking to an avatar.
    “Ms Fentriss, how can I express my gratitude for this turnout?”
    “Oh, please, I’m only sorry your … that you had to sit here two hours. Isn’t your, aren’t you …”
    “I admit I am