VICKERY: If I might ask a difficult question, is it hard to write of such things now that you’re …
AUSTEN: Now that I’m dead?
VICKERY: Yes, I mean obviously you’ve been dead some time, but … how can you … can you still feel … is it still as personal to you, the silly dramas, the misunderstood intentions, the little lies that make up romance?
AUSTEN: Oh yes. Still very real to me.
1 The British Library has Austen’s portable writing desk, a sloped wooden box with a hinged top, which opened to reveal paper and writing supplies. It sat on a desk that remains at the Jane Austen House and Museum (Chawton Cottage).
2 A situation comedy, starring comedian Jerry Seinfeld, that ran on American television from 1989 to 1998. The show has been described as being about nothing.
Timing is everything
Albert’s letter arrives
Jane paced the hotel room as she composed her thoughts. She was alone, Mary having left after the film crew to eat lunch while Melody was busy trying to arrange a flight for Tamara. That information was a surprise, for Jane had assumed the flight had already been booked.
She was glad of her isolation. She had even forgone using the computer while trying to compose her explanation and apology to Albert. Unfortunately, she could not quite find the right words—or rather she could not avoid the temptation to excuse her conduct rather than simply and honestly accept her guilt.
She said to her imaginary Albert: “Without my wanting it—in fact despite my efforts to the contrary—my life and reputation is more than just that of good daughter and faithful sister. But with you, I am just Jane and that is how I wanted to represent myself, without the baggage of …”
No, I did not say baggage before. Why can I not recall what I just said moments earlier? Am I such a slave now to Google Docs that I cannot write without a crutch?
Or is the problem that I am writing and not … feeling. Is this how people actually speak? Certainly it’s how Elizabeth and Darcy spoke, but did I ever speak in such a fashion? Do people really speak in such complete thoughts? Do I now doubt the very essence of everything I have ever written?
I must focus. I must say this to Albert as soon as I possibly can. Why does he not respond?
That last thought made her hurry back to the computer and check her messages and email to see whether Albert had responded. He had not replied to her earlier emails and texts, but this gave her more opportunity to rehearse … craft … her apology. It had now been several hours since she sent her message that she wished to chat, however, and it was not like Albert to ignore her.
This time, however, she was rewarded by seeing Albert’s email address in her in box, but the subject line—Leaving AGM—confused her. She opened the email and the salutation alerted her that she had delayed her apology too long.
Dear Miss Austen,
You are no longer my Jane, it would seem, for now I know the truth of it. I saw your agent address an email to [email protected], an address familiar to me as belonging to my friend. I confess I further observed what your agent wrote and by this I know for a certainty that the woman I have known for three years as Jane really is that Jane Austen, a woman I have known for nearly a hundred years.
To say that I am embarrassed and hurt by this revelation would be an understatement. In fact I am so shaken that I must resort to explaining this to you in a letter, rather than confront you in a chat. You see, even my choice of verb–confront—indicates what tone I would take were we to chat. I would confront you; I would accuse you of hiding the truth from me; I would demand an explanation.
And so I must take refuge in an email, so that I can choose my words carefully and examine exactly how you have represented yourself to me, to see whether I have just cause to censure you.
You have never claimed to be Jane Austen, except by your choice of username and you have never claimed not to be Jane Austen, except by your choice to refer to your corporeal existence in the third person. That, however, is a common enough custom among the disembodied, so I cannot judge it intentionally disingenuous. And you have always been a harsher critic of your work than I, an unabashed admirer, but that may be a trait common to any author. Upon our first meeting, in that now defunct chat room, you certainly had no obligation to purport to be Jane, and had you actually claimed to be Jane Austen, I almost certainly would have dismissed you.
Taken separately then, you are guilty of no overt act; nevertheless I am hurt and ashamed and saddened by what I cannot help but perceive as a pattern of deception. It has been ten months since the news that you have reclaimed your identity and in all that time, you failed to tell me of your good fortune. Friends share their good fortune, Jane; that you failed to do so makes me wonder as to our friendship.
You also misrepresented the nature of your “employment,” which I almost thought you had invented as an excuse to reject my offer of paying for your admission to the AGM. And now with some embarrassment, I think how ridiculous was my offer to a woman who is probably wealthy beyond my poor ability to imagine. I must also re-evaluate all the times that you failed to meet me for a chat or failed to suggest we schedule a meeting.
I do not wish to lose your friendship, Jane, but I fear I already have. I can only conclude you no longer desire the friendship of a simple wuzzer.1 And if that is the case, then perhaps I must re-examine my good opinion of the one bright star of my lonely existence. That this revelation has robbed me of the friendship of a good woman from Hampshire is a tragedy that I can endure, but to be robbed of my esteem and admiration for that Jane Austen who sustained me in my darkest days is a tragedy from which I may never recover.
Albert Ridings
PS I will be leaving Fort Worth presently. I can’t remain at the AGM; everything here reminds me of you.
Despite her incorporeal state, it still felt to Jane as if her stomach turned and although she did not faint as she had done in the dentist’s office, she moved quickly to the bed and allowed herself to fall. She lost the AfterNet field as she moved away and the image of Albert’s letter dissipated, but the words still lingered in her thoughts.
At first, the shame that suffused her eclipsed the hurt caused by the letter, which was considerable. The hurt was intensified by the fact that Albert’s accusations were all true and justified, but for the moment her shame was more intense. She even made it worse for thinking for one second: “If only I had confessed to Albert sooner,” but she knew that would not make her crime any the less.
Oh what have I done? she asked, and then felt a little foolish for both asking the obvious and for the drama of it. You know very well what you did and even had you apologized before Albert discovered the truth, it still would have lowered you in his estimation
But my deception was not unkindly meant, she argued, even if it was self-serving. He himself said we would not have formed our friendship if I had represented myself as Jane Austen. And so, like any person confronted with a hurt largely self-created, Jane did her best to deny herself some of the blame.
In all her thoughts, however, she did not address the question of why she should feel so devastated. She did not ask herself if she feared the loss of a friend or that of a person for whom she felt an even stronger emotion.
1 In Hampshire, a wuzzer is a local, a word not much used anymore
A terrible mistake
Albert tells Stephen what he’s done
Stephen arrived a few minutes late at the hotel restaurant for his lunchtime meeting with his roommates. He sat alone at a small table in a corner. He wished they could try another meeting place, but his friends said the hotel’s AfterNet hotspot gave them great access to the Internet. A side benefit of meeting in the same place was that the waitress now knew him and his invisible friends.
“Ice tea with lime, right?” she asked.
He confirmed this and then she asked, “Do you want the big table again?”
“No,” he said, glancing at his terminal. “I don’
t know how many of them will turn up, and I think I saw your manager wondering why I had the whole table to myself.”
“It’s no big deal if you want it,” she said.
“No, I’m wondering if I’m being stood up. I might as well order. Could I get the tuna fish sandwich and fries?”
She nodded and left to get his iced tea.
He sat patiently, wondering how many of his roommates would appear and whether he could insist on a different restaurant. He was chuffed1 by his hope of a rapprochement with Mary and that led to a profound feeling of happiness, which was odd considering how he had grovelled at her feet for forgiveness.
When Albert arrived, he found Stephen sitting with a contented smile on his face. Despite his own anguish, Albert couldn’t help but comment. “You look happy, Stephen.”
“Who’s that?” Stephen looked at his terminal to find out who had arrived and smiled at the information. It figured that the only one he could rely on to meet him for lunch would be Albert.
“Oh, Albert. Hi. Yeah, I guess I’m pretty happy.”
“Does this have something to do with Miss Austen’s avatar?”
“Mary, yes. I think she’s forgiven me.”
“What did you do that required forgiveness?”
“Well, I guess it’s debatable what exactly I did wrong, but you know with women, it’s best to accept blame and … I can’t really go into it.”
“Perhaps I should also beg forgiveness, Stephen. I’m afraid I followed you into that meeting this morning.”
He told Stephen what he’d observed and his conjectures as to what had transpired.
“Yes, that’s the gist of it. I guess I should be mad at you for following me around, but now I’m relieved I’ve got someone to talk to about this. Mary’s pretty devoted to Jane, so I can’t say anything critical about her.”
“Do you still doubt her identity?”
“No, I never really did. It’s just Dr Davis … I think I have to start looking for another graduate advisor.”
“Has it occurred to you that being a friend of Jane Austen might be a boon toward that goal? You may find other professors would be eager to be your advisor.”
“Oh, I guess I hadn’t thought of that. But I’m still bummed about me and Dr Davis.”
“Don’t give up on that relationship, Stephen. You obviously have great respect for her and she may yet come to her senses. And I think I have some sympathy about her complex attitudes toward Jane.”
“What do you mean?”
Albert debated how much to tell Stephen, but like his roommate, he appreciated having someone to talk to. And although Stephen’s sandwich had arrived, none of their other roommates had, so Albert decided to take advantage of the opportunity to tell of his revelation.
“And then I saw her agent forward those photos to [email protected].”
“Wait, that’s Jane’s address. I mean Jane Austen’s real address.”
Albert was surprised to have this confirmation. “You know her address?”
“Yes, she gave it to me, so I could ask questions about my thesis.” The statement surprised him. “I guess I do move in high circles. But more to the point, you’re dating Jane Austen!”
“You might speak more quietly,” Albert suggested. He guessed from Stephen’s animated expression that he’d spoken loudly.
Stephen also noticed another diner look his way, so he continued more quietly. “Sorry. It’s just hard to believe.”
“Well, you’re dating her avatar.”
“Point taken, but we’re not really dating. We’ve gone sightseeing and exchanged a lot of emails and texts. Wait, so you had no idea she was really Jane?” Stephen asked this while chewing, but Albert was able to comprehend.
“No … not really. Jane, my Jane, always made so much fun of the Jane. And … she would encourage me to do the same. Oh Lord, some of the things she got me to say.”
“Wow, I don’t know what to say … except congratulations? Must have come as something of a shock, though.”
“You have no idea. About that, I actually came here to tell you I was leaving.”
“Leaving what? You mean the AGM.”
“Yes. I’m …” But as he struggled to explain, he realized it sounded rather petty. “I am upset with Jane, for not being honest with me.”
Stephen briefly considered this. “Well, yeah, but you have to see it from her side. It would be a lot to expect … I mean it would be pretty hard to convince someone that you’re the Jane Austen.”
“That’s not what upsets me. I mean it is, but there’s more to it.”
Stephen looked down at his food, hardly touched. It was getting hard to concentrate. “OK, what else is there?”
Albert then explained to Stephen about Jane’s fake job.
“That’s kind of cute. Jane Austen—working girl.”
“I think you miss the point. She made up this story because … she’s no longer interested in me.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
Albert was about to object to this characterization of Jane when he realized what Stephen meant.
“No one’s going to make up a story like that if they don’t … you know … have feelings for you.”
“You really think so?” Albert asked.
“You’re upset for another reason,” Stephen prompted.
Albert took a moment to reply. He suddenly realized that Jane’s confession at least negated his original worry. “I thought … that maybe … she might be seeing someone else.”
“You’re a glass half full kind of guy, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“What I said before. Jane got in over her head and for some stupid reason made up this elaborate story …”
“But she kept missing chats … or she cut them short … or we never set a date.”
“And how long did this go on?”
“Months.”
“Look, Albert, you’re making me reassess my evaluation of you as a smart guy. When a woman needs to shoot a guy down, she does it. Anyway, what explanation did she give?”
Albert’s conviction that he’d made a horrible mistake increased. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked. I sent her an email.”
“That’s a little harsh. It’s like breaking up by text.”
“I didn’t want to say something stupid in a chat.”
“OK, so what did you say?”
As Albert related the contents of his letter to Jane, the growing look of horror on Stephen’s face left him no doubt.
“I think perhaps I have made a terrible mistake.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Did you even tell her you love her?” Stephen surprised himself with the question. Up to now, he’d been reluctant to ask Albert if he loved Jane. Albert pretended to be surprised by the question as well.
“What? No, of course not. What a ridiculous suggestion? How can there be love between such as us?”
“Wow, love is blind, isn’t it? OK, we’ve got to find a way to fix …”
“Hey, sorry I’m late, Stephen,” a new voice said in Stephen’s ear. Stephen looked at his terminal and realized another of his roommates had arrived.
“What have I missed?” asked WalkLikeADuck.
1 Well pleased, for our American cousins
So the drama
“What poor love can two ghosts have?”
“Well of course you should have told him, but he should have understood why you didn’t,” Mary told Jane. “And it was pretty inconsiderate to send you this letter just before your keynote,” she added.
Jane looked at her friend and saw that Mary’s eyes were bright with anger, and she thought how close they had grown.
“I think he was unaware of the consequences when he wrote it,” Jane said in defence of Albert.
“Well that’s just perfect, isn’t it? It’s your most important speech tomorrow and he dumps you …”
Mary instantly regretted her words. It wasn’t clear
at all that Albert had “dumped” Jane. He had only made clear how hurt he was at his belief that Jane had betrayed him.
“I … I don’t think he … I shouldn’t have said that. Oh God, I’ve gone and made it worse.” Now her anger was gone and was replaced by a mortified look.
“Don’t worry, I had already contemplated that Albert’s affections for me …” But now Jane’s attempt to comfort Mary only made her feel the hurt more keenly. Even without a body, she felt the sting of tears well up inside her.
And for just that brief second, Jane existed for Mary like she had never done before. She longed to reach out for her friend and squeeze her hand to let her know she comprehended the depth of their mutual despair. But all she could do was let loose the tears Jane was unable to summon.
For a few seconds then, Mary and Jane remained silent, Mary for the reason that she didn’t know what she could say without making the situation worse and Jane because she thought she must harden herself or else she would be undone by grief. Finally Mary could not abide the silence.
“Jane, are you all right?”
“Yes, and thank you for being such a dear friend, but I cannot afford to indulge in sadness. As you remind me, and as I am sure Melody … oh, I do not relish telling her of this.”
“Maybe we should keep this between us,” Mary suggested. “Even with Prilosec, I don’t know that her stomach could withstand … all of this.”
Despite her sadness, Jane wanted to smile at the thought of Melody’s high dudgeon at the discovery that not only did Jane Austen have a boyfriend, but also that he’d ended his suit just before the keynote. “I agree. I think we should keep Melody in the dark.”
“So what do we do now?” Mary asked.
“Do?”
“Yes, to … uh, respond.”
“I had hoped to explain to Albert about … everything, when I received his email.”
“Oh, that’s bad timing. But what do you do now?”
“I honestly don’t know. Perhaps nothing.”
Jane, Actually Page 35
