person can make a claim to the identity and if it’s deemed credible, then a review of the previous claim can be made. But you’d have to be dead to make that claim, and I don’t think you want to carry it that far.” He said this last with a smile, hoping he could get her to recognize the futility of her objections.
She ignored his attempt at humour, however, and said, “Yes, that’s what I’ve learned as well. And what about the legal status this bestowal confers?”
Well if you already knew, why the hell did I waste all that time looking it up?
he thought.
“It’s kind of meaningless, legally. All her copyrights have expired. She’s public domain. Some states have passed laws defining disembodied rights, but that has nothing to do with claiming her estate. There’ve been a few bills proposed to allow the disembodied to make an additional copyright extension, but it wouldn’t affect anything published before 1923.
“And besides, she’s English, although that’s an abstraction that really doesn’t mean anything once you’re dead. UK law is also in flux, but it doesn’t matter. She can’t claim any proceeds from her previous work, just anything new, like
Sanditon
. What she has done is declare herself a corporation, and once she had the AfterNet’s blessing, other corporations were willing to make deals with her. Ultimately, it’s how well
Sanditon
sells that’ll truly define whether she’s accepted as Austen.”
Davis nodded several times at this and Stephen got the feeling that again she already knew all this.
“And what did you learn from Virtual Chawton?”
“Look, Dr Davis, you know all this. What’s the point of me telling you …” The look on her face convinced him that his best strategy was to humour her.
“OK, Virtual Chawton, as you already know, is amazing. But I can’t see how that’s going to help us … you. If anything, it makes it obvious that Austen must have known something pretty specific and obscure to prove her identity. Anyone can call up 3D plans of the cottage or the house and see the location, or the supposed location, of everything the house or the cottage ever contained. Maybe she hid a letter under a floorboard that said, ‘In the event of my death, this will be proof of my existence.’”
“Don’t be facetious, Stephen.”
“I’m not. Face facts; for all intents and purposes, she’s Austen.”
She said nothing for a while and Stephen wondered if he’d angered her. His voice had risen slightly because he disliked the idea that she’d allowed herself to get fixated. And he had doubts that anyone could survive two hundred years of solitude and still be coherent enough to pose as Austen. But he admired Austen—that is the original author—enough to hope if anyone had the proper mental makeup, it would be her.
“You’re right, Stephen. I have to accept what my peers, whoever they were, have decided. I’m sorry to have wasted your time on this. You’ll be happy to know I haven’t completely allowed myself to be absorbed in this quixotic quest. I looked over the draft you sent and can offer a few … recommendations.”
She appeared to have shrugged off her irritation at his inability to help her and threw herself into her critique of his manuscript. Far from being fooled, however, he finally recognized what lay at the foot of her objections. It was so stunningly obvious:
I didn’t realize it before because I was sure she was on the committee. She’s hurt she wasn’t asked to help identify the most important person in her life.
1 Chawton Cottage was Jane’s home before her death. Sadly, Virtual Chawton only exists within the pages of this book.
2 Obsession
Mary Crawford
It beats waiting tables
“T hank you, Miss Crawford, you’re all done,” the technician told her. Mary opened her eyes and blinked at the brightness of the room after he’d turned the lights back on.
“We’re done?”
“Yes, you’re on file now, and when we call
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