The Eyre Affair

‘Miss Mutlar married Mr Murray Posh on 20 October 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 clamour 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 first-born 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.

‘Was this your doing?’ he asked at last.

‘No, indeed,’ I replied. ‘I confess I came here to interrupt the wedding but my nerve failed me.’

He looked at me.

‘Why?’

‘Why? Well, because… because I thought I’d make a better Mrs Parke-Laine than Daisy, I suppose.’

‘I know that’ exclaimed Landen, ‘and agree whole-heartedly. What I wanted to know is why your nerve failed you. After all, you chase after master criminals, indulge in high-risk SpecOps work, will quite happily go against orders to rescue comrades under an intense artillery barrage, yet—‘

‘I get the point. I don’t know. Maybe those sorts of yes or no life-and-death decisions are easier to make because they are so black and white. I can cope with them because it’s easier. Human emotions, well… they’re just a fathomless collection of greys and I don’t do so well on the mid-tones.’

‘Mid-tones is where I’ve lived for the past ten years, Thursday.’

‘I know and I’m sorry. I had a lot of trouble reconciling what I felt for you and what I saw as your betrayal of Anton. It was an emotional tug-of-war and I was the little pocket handkerchief in the middle, tied to the rope, not moving.’

‘I loved him too, Thursday. He was the closest thing to a brother that I ever had. But I couldn’t hang on to my end of the rope for ever.’

‘I left something behind in the Crimea,’ I murmured, ‘but I think I’ve found it again. Is there time to try and make it all work?’

‘Bit eleventh-hour, isn’t it?’ he said with a grin.

‘No,’ I replied, ‘more like three seconds to midnight!’

He kissed me gently on the lips. It felt warm and satisfying, like coming home to a roaring log fire after a long walk in the rain. My eyes welled up and I sobbed quietly into his collar as he held me tightly.

‘Excuse me,’ said the vicar, who had been lurking close by. ‘I’m sorry to have to interrupt, but I have another wedding to perform at three-thirty.’

We muttered our apologies and stood up. The wedding guests were still waiting for some sort of decision. Nearly all of them knew about Landen and me and few, if any, thought Daisy a better match.

‘Will you?’ asked Landen in my ear.

‘Will I what?’ I asked, stifling a giggle.

‘Fool! Will you marry me?’

‘Hmm,’ I replied, heart thumping like the artillery in the Crimea. ‘I’ll have to think about it—!’

Landen raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Yes! Yes, yes! I will, I will, with all my heart!’

‘At last!’ said Landen with a sigh. ‘The lengths I have to go to to get the woman I love…!’

We kissed again but for longer this time; so long in fact that the vicar, still staring at his watch, had to tap Landen on the shoulder.

‘Thank you for the rehearsal,’ said Landen, shaking the vicar vigorously by the hand. ‘We’ll be back in a month’s time for the real thing!’

The vicar shrugged. This was fast becoming the most ludicrous wedding of his career.

‘Friends,’ announced Landen to the remaining guests, ‘I would like to announce the engagement of myself to this lovely SpecOps agent named Thursday Next. As you know, she and I have had our differences in the past but they are now quite forgotten. There is a marquee at my house stuffed with food and drink and I understand Holroyd Wilson will be playing from six o’clock onwards. It would be a crime to waste it all so I suggest we just change the reason!’

There was an excited yell from the guests as they started to organise transport for themselves. Landen and I went in my car but we drove the long way round. We had plenty to talk about and the party… well, it could continue without us for a while.

The celebrations didn’t finish until 4 a.m. I drank too much and took a cab back to the hotel. Landen was all for me staying the night, but I told him slightly coquettishly that he could wait until after the wedding. I vaguely remember getting back to my hotel room but nothing else; it was blackness until the phone rang at nine the following morning. I was half dressed, Pickwick was watching breakfast TV, and my head ached like it was fit to burst.

It was Victor. He didn’t sound in a terribly good mood but politeness was one of his stronger points. He asked me how I was.

I looked at the alarm clock as a hammer banged inside my head.

‘I’ve been better. How are things at work?’

‘Not brilliant,’ replied Victor with a certain reserve in his voice. ‘The Goliath Corporation want to speak to