Chapter 27: Chapter 27 – Be prepared for fate

Perhaps, to Patrick it had come to seem that Oscar was useless to continue working in his mansion but, of course, his employees didn´t think the same. And, since the day of the fair, Oscar had been summoned to the service wing more often than usual. They no longer only needed him to take care of the gardens. Now as soon as they saw he was unoccupied, they didn´t hesitate to call him out to perform any other task similar to those they had seen him do during his service on the holiday.

It is not yet that they´d let him enter the kitchens and stir at ease, but it was true they had him as a dishwasher often. He also took care of cleaning the corridors or rearranging the shelves when maids were entertained in other tasks and there were even a couple of times when he was required as a waiter. Under supervision, he had permission to enter and leave the kitchen.

He couldn't touch anything, because these people must still be afraid of him poisoning something, but that was an obvious thought that didn't bother him. Surely anyone who knew Patrick well would want to poison him. There was no sin in it.

Oscar's salary increased slightly. And understand by "slightly" a couple of shillings people he was doing a favor to gave him from time to time. And the fact is that not a penny more than the one stipulated in the contract came out of the boss's pocket, so Oscar discovered in that week after the fair that, once he had acquired a certain confidence on the part of the servants, it was easier to extract money from them than Patrick himself.

This wasn't good, but it wasn't bad at all. It gave Oscar the guarantee that, if he fulfilled the extra tasks asked of him, he could save a little faster than expected. Just a little. Well, that wouldn´t exempt him from having to look for another job.

“What are you doing?” Was something Kenneth asked him one night, when everything was already dark and all the chores in Lilac Hall had been done.

Oscar had lit a lamp or, rather, he had not switched off the only one there was, as he used to do. And not only that, but he had taken some writing instruments, settling on the floor to write.

Kenneth found this attitude so strange! His roommate, aside from taking uncomplaining tasks without complaining — and it wasn't normal not to complain! They had also tried to cajole Kenneth before, but he had whined them, refusing to work where the master hadn´t ask him to!— he had become greedy with his possessions. A few days ago, without going any further, he had caught Oscar rummaging through the drawers of the dresser to end up taking out a bag of coins. These coins were arranged in piles, counted several times and then, instead of boasting about having collected so many in a short time, their owner had returned them to their place with an air of deep dissatisfaction, cursing loudly. Anyway, Oscar looked like Scrooge but in its poor version.

"Oh, are you writing a letter to Madeleine?" Kenneth tried to guess when he got no answer to his first question. “I think it's the best you could do if you want to express your feelings to her, indeed. After all, I don't think you want to go near Rose Cottage these days.”

“Why's that?” Oscar asked, thus surprising Kenneth.

When Oscar wasn't interested in talking, he wouldn't respond to his comments, no matter what he said. So the fact he had asked a question about something was already something extraordinary.

"Well, I just thought that if Albert Northrop saw you leaving his beloved's home he would be mad. At the end of the day, he already has you in his sights and... And you don't need to hide it from me, because I know everything! I know you´re trying to save money to buy a sword and skewer your love rival so you can have the eldest Cornell. So I think, and I consider you should take my advice, that maybe you should stay away from Thornfield and surrounding areas for a few days, until you get the right weapon.”

Oscar smiled enigmatically upon hearing this, immediately asking his second question:

"By any chance were you the one who spread the rumors about Albert wanting to challenge me to a duel?"

“Me? What are you saying!”

But the abrupt silence there was proof that it had indeed been his thing. Oscar wasn´t interested in knowing how he misinterpreted the situation, but he wasn´t going to explain about the little scene on the bridge and what he really suspected the villain thought of him. Therefore, proceeded to respond to what Kenneth inquired in the first instance:

"For your information, I´m not writing a letter, but a story."

“A story? How, why or for what?”

"If you're still and quiet today, when I'm done, I'll let you read it. Then you´ll understand.”

"No, I get it," Kenneth went on, leaning over the rail of his bunk to get a better view of what Oscar was writing; even if this effort was not fruitful, as he could barely make out the letters from that distance.  “You want to become a novelist to impress Madeleine and unseat Albert Northrop (who by the way, before you only called him by his first name, does that mean? Is this because you´re already officially on the warpath and for that reason you don´t respect him?). Because everyone knows that artists are more appreciated than the common populace.”

“You think so?”

“Don´t you?”

“I always thought artists were poor individuals, both in mind and pocket, with a tendency to commit suicide before turning thirty.”

“No, no, no. You´re very wrong! Listen to me, become a novelist and you will triumph with the upper classes! Those people who looked down on you for seeing that you worked cleaning the manure of their horses will change their mind immediately, as soon as you tell them that you´re writing a book. And yes, you have to say "book". You cannot say a story, or a novel, much less poetry. Ah, poetry book is the worst you can say! That's only for bohemian people, and you are the respectable man working for a gentleman.”

Kenneth seemed to forget that Oscar never worked for a "gentleman", but that didn't stop him.

"This reminds me of the cousin of a friend of a friend of a colleague of my father's, when we were still living in London." He no longer knew if the other occupant of the room was listening, mired as he was in his own writing and without leaving of moving the pen over the paper, but continued anyway. “Morton, I think his name was. He was a badass guy, the worst rat you could ever meet. He was over forty and still lived with his parents, he didn´t work, although his father had a hat business. And one day, suddenly, he said: ‘I'm going to become an artist!’. Well, not a writer because he barely went to school, and what little he was, he didn't pay much attention. So he could barely write two sentences without fault. But... but he dedicated himself to painting, yes! I understand that he came up with it when he was eating and some grease got on his pants, he had passed an art gallery and he must have thought, why not do the same? I mean, there is no reason not to try. He started doing ugly little paintings and, later, he switched to portraits (do you know those modern photography machines? Well, he wanted to set up one of those studios, but without money he thought it would be more profitable for him to draw puppets). The thing is, three years later, the guy was already famous in the underworld. And all thanks to his art!”

"He has an art gallery now?"

"Oh no, he's not that sophisticated. Although I don´t doubt he was given the option. But no, he only paints outdoors and sells his paintings to whoever is interested. He´s very popular with the neighbors! Even more than once he required the police from him as an artist… Oh, you know what? Let's leave it here, I'm a little tired.”

That being said, Kenneth must have gone into airplane mode, because after wishing Oscar good night and reminding him to turn off the light when finished, he rolled over in his bed and proceeded to sleep. Just five minutes later, he could already be heard snoring.

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Accustomed as he was to Kenneth's random stories, Oscar didn't pay much attention to him; it was routine to hear a story or two each day about acquaintances of the aforementioned. If he initially resented being talked to while he was performing a task that required concentration, he could now tolerate it to some extent. As long as it didn´t require his active participation in the conversation, Kenneth could continue talking for hours if he so desired.

Although Kenneth must be one of those masochists who needed someone to shut them up because, just as Oscar had been improving his tolerance, he felt less and less like talking to a person like his partner. In truth, it was so boring that he didn't even ask for the gossip of the day!

Be that as it may, Oscar continued to write until he was tired. And it wasn´t only that day, but also the next four, until he concluded a story that could be divided into several parts if wanted.

After his little manuscript was finished, on a morning when there wasn't much to do in Lilac Hall and he was able to take a break to sneak out, he hurried off in the direction of Snodland, through streets and paths, stopping when he reached the window of the only publishing house in the entire town. Although, thinking about it again and despite the fact that there was a sign on the door where they called themselves “publisher”, that was little more than the place where the local newspaper was printed. And the thing is that no book had been published there for decades.

Oscar didn't care about that. In this world he had no material to make a complete novel, much less pretense that with something of numerous words they would pay attention to him.

He was about to reach for the doorknob when, without warning, it swung open. A young woman came out of the establishment and stopped short as soon as she saw Oscar.

“You again?” She asked, as if the boredom of meeting him three times in the last two weeks was intolerable for her.

“One would expect a little more enthusiasm when seeing their characters, in the case of their author, don't you think?”

"If you really were a character, believe me, you wouldn't have made it past chapter one. What are you doing here? Have you run out of tricks to get money from Patrick?”

"No, the truth is, I didn't even try with him. I was waiting for Madeleine to sis a few pounds for me, but it seems this will go slowly, because your beloved protagonist may not take care of his dignity, but his bank account... He defends it better than his three-hour conquests!”

"Don't say it in that tone! He does what he can, surely you too would walk with a thousand eyes if your parents had entrusted you with the family fortune!”

That was true, it had to be admitted. But, if Oscar were a millionaire, he was sure he wouldn´t go around squandering his fortune, much less letting good-looking girls he had met two hours earlier into his house, as Patrick did.

"Unfortunately, I've always lived in poverty," Oscar said wryly. “Both in my other life and in this one, so I have no choice but to look for other jobs to survive as I would like. Ah, but let's stop talking about me. What about you? I thought you were working as a governess and for that you received a solid salary. Don't tell me your eagerness to become famous within your own text was aroused by our conversation the other day.”

Dianne glared at Oscar. No, she was not working as a governess - although that was her plan in the beginning - and this bastard must know it by now. How could he not, if Snodland was a nest of old gossips where each person was aware of the life of his neighbors?

"I'm doing this for my employer," Dianne said slowly. “She likes me to read to her from time to time and, according to her, my stories are far better than the ones that usually appear in the newspaper. For this reason, since she likes the press so much, I thought she would be excited to see some of my stories in the columns of the gazette.”

"Oh, but you know that here they´re a bit conservative and won´t accept erotic stories, right?”

“I don't write that kind of thing, the ‘My impure obsession’ thing was a special case because many people asked me for it and it had already had many chapters. I only write romance stories! And romance of the innocent, don´t come to me with complaints when you haven´t read them.”

"And you say your employer likes them? No, don't growl at me. It's just an innocent question, like your stories. It's just that I wasn't aware that Mrs. Ryan found a good read stimulating.”

In fact, this Mrs. Ryan was known in town for her two favorite activities: bossing people around and sleeping. Her relatives had been hiring new maids and companions for years, so that her scolding would be better distributed within the house and they wouldn´t have to put up with the old lady's complaints at all times. And, also, it was for the second reason it was known that she didn´t stay awake too long if someone read to her or told her about something that Ryan had no interest in.

“Mrs. Ryan loves my stories, she always listens to me carefully until the end!” Dianne said, not caring how false that sounded. “It's a shame that not everyone thinks the same around here. But what am I going to do about it? Not all have culture, they still live two centuries ago.”

"Did you get them to let you publish or not?"

"Of course not! I'm telling you! They believe because I´m a woman, I should dedicate myself to other activities or, if I´m so determined to write, dedicate myself to write about cleaning or cooking supplies. It´s humiliating!”

"Maybe trying a masculine name and cajoling someone to submit it for you…" he began, granting a reasonable doubt as to whether her writings were rejected because she was female or because of how badly done they were. “But don't look at me, I wouldn't want to be associated with those stories.”

"As if I were going to entrust them to you, who don't even appreciate them!" Finally realizing that Oscar was carrying an envelope big enough to fit a couple of sheets of paper, she asked. “Are you going to try your luck too? Don´t get any illusions, if I did not succeed, you´ll have even less possibilities. And with a narrative as heavy as yours... And suspense or terror! Who is interested in reading that?”

"It's okay if they take a look at it, even if they don't take it. Anyway, I've already gotten a raise and I think I'll be able to pay back what I owe Albert soon.”

"That's what you think," Dianne remarked, giving him a little shove to the side and starting to walk down the main thoroughfare, turning just to say. “The reality is that you will die poor, ugly, friendless... and poor!”

Oscar remained standing in front of the premises trying to contain the laughter, during a few moments. He had lived much of his life being poor, ugly, and friendless. What was so terrible about it? As the author put it, it sounded like the biggest misfortune that could happen to one, but the truth is that Oscar had become used to a certain lifestyle. If his misfortune was not to the point that he had to move to live under a bridge, he considered he could still handle with integrity what came.

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