Page 3 of Inventing Mr Darcy

Anyway, it was epically bad.

I’m saved from the temptation of reliving that night any further by Professor Pedersen’s voice behind us. “Shall we go up?”

Her third-floor office is cozy, two walls covered with overstuffed wooden bookshelves, an actual honest-to-God china tea service on a little table by the window, a family snapshot with her partner and their grandchildren on her desk, and a shabby-genteel faux-Oriental rug on the floor. Ever the gentleman, Geoff offers me the chair across from her desk and elects to stand.

“I have some exciting news about the database,” she begins.

I sit up a little straighter.

“I’ve been invited to talk about AUSTEN-C at a pedagogical resources convention in New York over winter break. The organizers are pitching it as a fabulous chance to drive up our subscription numbers.” She looks from me to Geoff and back again with a hopeful smile; having to worry about those numbers is the bane of her existence. “To that end, I think it would be best to put our freshest faces forward, so I’d like the two of you to come with me and help deliver the presentations.”

Both of us are stunned, albeit for slightly different reasons. Geoff speaks first. “Thank you, Professor. I appreciate—that is, we appreciate, I’m sure—the confidence this shows in us. When is the convention?”

“Between Christmas and New Year’s,” she says. “I hope that won’t present a scheduling problem. And the college will be paying your way, of course.”

I’m over the moon. Of course. It’s an amazing opportunity.

I just don’t particularly like the idea of sharing it with Geoff.

“Naturally, Elle,” Pedersen says, “given your greater experience with the database, I’m counting on you to take the lead.” The spark of warmth I feel at that clarification of our roles quickly fizzles as she continues. “But I also want you to bring Geoff up to speed, since he’ll be stepping into your position as Team Leader next year.” Though I try to keep my face from reflecting my internal panic at her words, I know I haven’t succeeded when she adds, “You do intend to finish the program at the end of this academic year, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I tell her. It couldn’t be clearer that I don’t have much choice.

Four years of funding was the original deal; I had to do some pleading to be granted a fifth. But now she’s telling me this is really, truly it. If I haven’t completed my degree come spring, I might as well kiss the future I’ve envisioned goodbye.

She keeps talking and so does Geoff, but I haven’t the faintest idea what else they discuss. The minute it’s clear that we’re free to go, I’m on my feet.

“Oh, Elle,” she says, looking up. “One more thing. I’ve had a number of requests lately to upload Austen’s novels into the database.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that the U in AUSTEN-C stands for Unappreciated, which Jane Austen most certainly is not.

But Pedersen is one step ahead of me. “I know that seems ridiculous on the face of it, given our ambit. However, a great many of our users are doing comparative projects, and having Austen’s novels searchable within the system alongside the other texts would facilitate that work.”

“It’s no problem,” I insist, and I mean it. After all, it’s only six novels, and there are multiple digitized versions of them already in existence. All I’ll have to do is click a few buttons. “I’ll get right to it.”

Once we’re through the door and down the hall, Geoff touches my arm to slow my pace. “Brilliant news, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I concede. Especially for you.

“I was hoping, under the circumstances, I might finally get a look at the inside workings of AUSTEN-C?”

I’m tempted to brush him off, as I’ve done every other time he asked, but Pedersen clearly expects me to be a team player, and I still need her support. Plus, none of this is Geoff’s fault.

“Sure,” I tell him. “As you heard, I’ve got some files to upload. You can watch and see how it’s done.” I peek at my phone to check the time: almost four. “I’ve just got a few things to take care of first, but swing by any time after five.”

TWO

Outside, it’s a perfect fall afternoon on a picturesque campus, and if the Grantham College admissions office intern hasn’t been sent out to take promotional pictures for the college’s social media accounts, someone should probably get fired for the oversight. Sun streams through red and gold and orange leaves, but the air is crisp enough you know you’ll need a sweater by evening. In the distance I can hear the marching band practicing for tomorrow’s halftime show. There’s a banner draped over the welcome center: Go Eagles!

But I ignore all that as I put the classic red brick and white pillars of Arden Hall behind me and hustle to Kirwin, one of the newer buildings on campus and home of the computer science department. Stairs lead down to a windowless basement corridor lit by garish fluorescent lights. There are other offices here, but this late on a Friday, all their doors are closed.

At the end of the hall, beside the door marked B-7, is a wood-grained plastic plaque with white letters that read

A.U.S.T.E.N.-C.

Digital Humanities

J. Pedersen, Director