Jane Actually

famous, like Jane Austen, then they have to prove that to a committee made up of experts.”
    Thinning white hair lady said, “So it’s like a court, you have to convince a jury.”
    “Yeah, usually,” Stephen replied. “But in this case … uh, Miss Austen … she could answer a question or she knew something only she could know and so the committee decided that she had to really be Jane Austen.”
    “What was it? What was the question?” tweedy guy asked.
    “Uh … well, nobody knows. I mean the committee knows and she knows, but they can’t reveal it.”
    “Huh,” T-shirt guy replied. “So that’s it. That’s what makes her Jane Austen.”
    “That and what she’s written,” Goth girl said, happy to be able to enter the conversation again. “The excerpt’s pretty good. Sounds just like Jane.”
    “What do you think?” asked a store employee who’d joined the group, absent mindedly handing out bottles of water from a basket she carried.
    “And why do you know so much?” tweedy guy asked.
    “I know a couple people on that committee,” he lied. He was certain he probably knew someone on the committee. “I’m not convinced yet she’s Austen, but I want to keep an open mind,” he added, regretting it instantly because he was immediately bombarded by questions. He honestly hadn’t intended to brag about his knowledge—well maybe just a little—but he also almost always answered a direct question without thought of the consequences, a trait that often gave him grief.
    After a few minutes, however, he’d answered what questions he could and as usual with any group of Janeites, the conversation had turned into impromptu discussions about the books and Austen arcana. A few minutes before 1 pm, however, the discussions were interrupted when someone said, “Hey, I think they’re getting started.” Everyone turned to look into the store and they saw that many of the customers had clustered to one side of the store and then they heard a round of applause.
    At the same time, the store employees allowed the first group of ten people to enter, although by now the crowd had doubled. Stephen hoped he would be in the next group to be let in but it was a full forty-five minutes before his turn came, along with Goth girl and T-shirt guy, who preceded him. They were led to the signing table and found a large group there, including most of the people who presumably had already had their books signed.
    At the table were two women—one older woman wearing a business suit and the other presumably Jane Austen, wearing Regency costume. The avatar was pretty with brown hair correctly done up, wearing a cap. Her dress, with a proper empire waist, was a pale cream colour. It was a walking dress, with a fichu to conceal her décolleté. A spencer jacket was lying on the table beside her.
    Damn, no wonder women think I’m gay. No man should know those words.
    He couldn’t quite decide whether wearing the costume was stupid or not, but he had to admit if you’re going to go to the trouble of hiring someone to play the part of Jane Austen, you’d have to put her in costume for anyone to recognize her. After all, who really knew what Jane Austen looked like. Thankfully the avatar looked nothing like Cassandra’s portrait. Instead she was young, probably in her mid twenties, with high cheekbones and a bright complexion. He was still too far away to see her eye colour.
    “She looks very pretty,” the woman behind him said.
    “She looks pretty young,” another woman replied to the first.
    “You want her young, don’t you,” yet another woman, who had a British accent, said. “I always imagine her young, before she was published.”
    The line moved forward and now Stephen was fourth in line. A store employee—the woman who’d been handing out the water—asked him how many books he’d like to buy.
    He told her two and she produced a handheld register that scanned his credit card and printed a receipt. She handed him his two books and proceeded down the line to the next person.
    The line moved forward again. He could hear her voice now. She sounded British.
    “To whom should I address it?” she asked.
    “To Sardonyx,” Goth girl replied, but then amended in a quiet voice, “Actually, make it out to Julia.”
    The avatar took the book, signed it and returned it. “Thank you, Julia. I very much hope you enjoy it.”
    Goth girl took the book from her and almost curtseyed, laughed and then turned