EIGHTH NARRATIVE

by Wilkie Collins

I’m the one who kicked off this tale, and now I’m here to wrap it up.

Don’t think for a second that I have anything profound to say about the Indian Diamond. I despise that cursed gem, and I’ll leave any updates about the Moonstone to someone more qualified than me. Instead, I want to highlight a significant moment in our family history that everyone seems to have overlooked. I refuse to let it be brushed aside.

I’m talking about the marriage of Miss Rachel and Mr. Franklin Blake. This momentous event took place at our home in Yorkshire on Tuesday, October 9, 1849. I even wore a new suit for the occasion. The newlyweds set off for their honeymoon in Scotland afterward.

Since family celebrations have been few and far between since my poor mistress passed away, I must admit that I indulged a bit too much as the day wore on.

If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar situation, you’ll understand. If not, you might think, “What a disgusting old man! Why is he sharing this?” Well, there’s a reason for it.

After enjoying my drink (and let’s be honest, we all have our vices—yours just isn’t mine, and mine isn’t yours), I turned to my tried-and-true remedy: _Robinson Crusoe_. I can’t recall where I opened that classic book, but I remember exactly where the words began to make sense again. It was on page 318, where Robinson Crusoe reflects on his marriage:

“With those thoughts, I considered my new engagement; that I had a wife”—(Note that Mr. Franklin had one too!)—“one child born”—(And that could very well be Mr. Franklin’s future too!)—“and my wife then”—I had no interest in discovering what Crusoe’s wife did or didn’t do at that moment. I marked the part about the child with my pencil and slipped a piece of paper in to keep my place. “You stay right there,” I said, “until Mr. Franklin and Miss Rachel have been married a few months—and then we’ll see!”

Months went by—more than I had anticipated—and I didn’t have a reason to disturb my bookmark. It wasn’t until November of 1850 that Mr. Franklin came into my room, looking cheerful, and said, “Betteredge! I have news for you! Something is going to happen in the house before too long.”

“Does it involve the family, sir?” I asked.

“It definitely involves the family,” he replied.

“Does your lovely wife have anything to do with it?”

“She has a lot to do with it,” he said, starting to look a bit surprised.

“You don’t need to say another word, sir,” I replied. “God bless you both! I’m truly happy to hear it.”

Mr. Franklin looked at me as if I’d just struck him with lightning. “May I ask how you came by this information?” he inquired. “I just learned about it (in the strictest confidence) five minutes ago.”

This was my chance to bring out _Robinson Crusoe_! I could read that remarkable passage about the child that I had marked on the day of Mr. Franklin’s wedding! I read those words with the emphasis they deserved and then looked him straight in the eye. “Now, sir, do you believe in _Robinson Crusoe_?” I asked, with the seriousness the moment warranted.

“Betteredge!” he said, equally serious, “I’m convinced at last.” He shook my hand, and I felt a sense of triumph in having swayed him.

With that extraordinary story shared, my role in this narrative comes to an end. Don’t laugh at this unique anecdote. Feel free to chuckle at everything else I’ve written, but when it comes to _Robinson Crusoe_, I assure you it’s serious—and I ask you to take it as such!

With that said, I take my leave and close the story.