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“Well, Mr. Briggs, perhaps you would be good enough to explain the previous marriage of Mr. Parke-Laine so we may all know the extent of this man’s cowardly action.”
Briggs looked at Mr. Mutlar and then at the couple at the altar.
“My information does not concern Mr. Parke-Laine; I am speaking of Miss Mutlar, or, to give her her married name, Mrs. Daisy Posh!”
There was a gasp from the congregation. Landen looked at Daisy, who threw her garland on the floor. One of the bridesmaids started to cry, and Mr. Mutlar strode forward and took Daisy’s arm.
“Miss Mutlar married Mr. Murray Posh on October 20, 1981,” yelled Mr. Briggs above the uproar. “The service was held at Southwark. There was no divorce petition filed.”
It was enough for everyone. A clamor started up as the Mutlar family beat a hasty retreat. The vicar offered an unheard-of prayer to no one in particular as Landen took a much needed seat on the pew that the Mutlar family had just vacated. Someone yelled “gold digger!” from the back, and the Mutlar family quickened their pace at the abuse that followed, much of which shouldn’t have been heard in church. One of the pages tried to kiss a bridesmaid in the confusion and was slapped for his trouble. I leaned against the cool stone of the church and wiped the tears from my eyes. I know it was wrong of me, but I was laughing. Briggs stepped through the arguing guests and joined us, tipping his hat respectfully.
“Good afternoon, Miss Next.”
“A very good afternoon, Mr. Briggs! What on earth are you doing here?”
“The Rochesters sent me.”
“But I only left the book three hours ago!”
Mrs. Nakijima interrupted.
“You left it barely twelve pages from the end. In that time over ten years have elapsed at Thornfield; time enough for much planning!”
“Thornfield?”
“Rebuilt, yes. My husband retired and he and I manage the house these days. None of us is mentioned in the book and Mrs. Rochester aims to keep it that way; much more pleasant than Osaka and certainly more rewarding than the tourist business.”
There didn’t seem much I could say.
“Mrs. Jane Rochester asked Mrs. Nakijima to bring me here to assist,” said Mr. Briggs simply. “She and Mr. Rochester were eager to help you as you helped them. They wish you all happiness and health for the future and thank you for your timely intervention.”
I smiled.
“How are they?”
“Oh, they’re fine, miss,” replied Briggs happily. “Their firstborn is now five; a fine healthy boy, the image of his father. Jane produced a beautiful daughter this spring gone past. They have named her Helen Thursday Rochester.”
I looked across at Landen, who was standing at the entrance to the church and trying to explain to his Aunt Ethel what was going on.
“I must speak to him.”
But I was talking to myself. Mrs. Nakijima and the solicitor had gone; melted back to Thornfield to report to Jane and Edward on a job well done.
As I approached, Landen sat on the church steps, took out his carnation and sniffed at it absently.
“Hello, Landen.”
Landen looked up and blinked.
“Ah,” he said, “Thursday. I might have known.”
“May I join you?”
“Be my guest.”
I sat down next to him on the warm limestone steps. He stared straight ahead.
