Chapter 55: Chapter 55 – Haunted

Discounting the dramas that Madeleine could drag him into, the problems that he could get thanks to Patrick's troublesome character and the misunderstandings caused by a Dianne who every day must have been less clear about how she made her original plot work the first time. Oscar soon found a new enemy in that peaceful town where nothing interesting ever happened.

And, no, luckily it was not an implacable enemy. In fact, compared to the previous three, this one was relatively easy to get rid of.

It was the parish association. Association formed by a flock of vultures led by Father Gilmore who, under the guise of religion, managed to extract money from the working people of this part of the region. If they did not make an excuse to need cash to repair the roof of the church, they would do it to renovate the pews of the aforementioned chapel. And, if it wasn't for the furniture either, they would want to put together money to restore a painting, renovate the wooden cross that had been half eaten by termites for years in front of the altar or even have to pay someone to clean the windows.

The fact is that there always seemed to be something to invest in and the money that the priest was paid didn´t seem to be enough for it, no matter how insignificant was what had to be replaced.

Ordinarily, one could get away with giving to church by the simple but effective method of not coming to it on Sundays, but there were two times in the year when it was almost impossible to get out. The first was during Christmas, when Father Gilmore used the excuse of the birth of the son of God to soften the hearts of people and thus empty the contents of his wallets.

According to him, not being able to give Christ a gift, what better way to invest in his devotion than to donate to the parish in its place?

The second time the guy got weighed down on the subject of donations was around the month of March. Because it was around this time that Snodland's patron saint festivities were celebrated, the astute parish priest always had some activity planned for those dates. It could be a fair, like the one organized last year at the Seymour estate, a second-hand market set up in the heart of the village, or, as it would be this year, a charity play.

Being an activity that would require some extra organization, those of the association had no choice but to annoy their neighbors to collaborate in some way even a month and a half before the supposed premiere of the function. The collaboration they were seeking now, still in mid-February, was mostly monetary. So it was not surprising that one met one of those people, carrying a box that was supposed to serve as a piggy bank for what they managed to steal the devotees, every time it occurred to them to go out on the street.

They were so annoying…!

And they were still kind of bearable in the past, they begged once and no matter what answer they got, they were never seen making the same person uncomfortable again. But now, for some time, Mrs. Cornell had joined their ranks. And that was far worse than the entire usual army of pious women!

Oscar could understand, watching her, where Madeleine had gotten her fondness for harassing him until she got her way. And it is that Sarah Cornell was also like that when she was begging people for money: she did not stop until they gave her something. If they didn't give her anything, she didn't confront them, but she began to speak ill of them behind her back, thus making sure that the whole town knew how tight-fisted those who lived in those neighborhoods were.

Ah, but if someone made a donation to her it was even worse, it seemed that a light in her head went on and Oscar could perfectly imagine her thinking: “Oh, that person has cash! We´re going to insist more, to see how much we can squeeze out of him! ”. Well, she never got tired of always going after the same people, praising them based on how many coins they were willing to part with. Her harassment could be so blatant that she was able to enter houses and establishments several times a week and without asking permission. It was all for that noble cause of hers.

Oscar already knew this way of acting well from having read the novel and that is why he did not allow himself to be caught even once. If he saw someone, especially Mrs. Cornell, walking around with a piggy bank in hand, he would immediately head in the opposite direction.

They weren't going to pluck him, not if he could help it!

"This is supposed to be confidential information," Kenneth had pointed out one day when he was found in town running errands for Lilac Hall, "but it seems the ladies of the association have a list of the names and addresses of all the villagers. Sorted by financial solvency, name and proximity to the parish, there they write down who gives, how much and how. They also have a separate scheme where they have calculated which are the best places to approach people, with what excuse and at what time of day.”

"These people, if they went to the same slums that Patrick Seymour does when he takes it for gambling, they'd get a lot of money," Oscar thought aloud. “I have never seen so much planning for a village collection.”

“It's not just any collection, it is the great collection!” Kenneth assured him, moving as if he were the recipient of all that money. “Did you know that Father Gilmore's plan is to collect enough for the theater owner to leave the premises for them to celebrate their event? It is quite a novelty, since the other years in which works were represented what was done was to set up an improvised stage next to the cemetery. Of course, that's not wrong either; in a place like this, the capacity is unlimited and anyone can arrive or leave without disturbing those who act. But come on, the theater is so much better! The public that attends will be much more comfortable there and several performances could even be held, on different days, without one having to worry the weather is not propitious.”

“Not to mention that, if they agree to lend them the theater, the priest will be able to charge them entrance.”

Because it was clear that greed, to such an extent, would not stop.

The collection was to pay for the costumes and props, to bribe the owner of the premises so that he would not be so reluctant to cooperate and, perhaps, to invite to a dinner all those people who had lent themselves to collaborate with the organization of the event. Well, being a charity act, no one would charge a measly penny for acting or working behind the scenes, taking care that everything went perfectly.

This is why Father Gilmore would be doing his best to be able to bribe the neighbors and hopefully take some of the capital raised for personal use into his own pockets.

"Is it my thing, or do you think very badly of Father Gilmore?" That must have been a rhetorical question, because Kenneth didn't let Oscar answer before continuing. “Although, thinking about it again, I remember that after the last collection he made, he was seen walking around in a new suit. Somewhat surprising because, shouldn't priests adhere to the dress code of their order? At least on holidays like Christmas, where they have to work in front of the parishioners day in and day out. But hey, the thing is, he bought himself an outfit worthy of the best of dances. It is not known with what money, because just then they barely gave the accounts to repair the roof of the church for the third time in the year, but it is clear with what purpose. Didn't you see him at the Seymour ball? Looks like he came dressed in his new suit.”

"Maybe I saw it," Oscar murmured, who did have a vague memory of having seen the priest in the distance that night. But, how could I or anyone know if what he was wearing were newly acquired clothes or any suit that, despite being new, had already been purchased for several months?

Not to mention that Oscar was too busy on those dates. Yes, he saw the priest then, but he did not stop for a second to think what he was doing there. Much less to ramble on about his attire.

"Oh, I guess you're right. I know the brother of the cousin of the lady hired to do the chores in the rectory. And of course, that woman, efficient as she is, has even the father's panties numbered.”

Not wanting to inquire further about why Kenneth had a couple of informants giving him an account of where the priest's underwear was going, Oscar commented, to get off the subject a bit:

“In any case, and assuming that the expectations that the function is represented in the theater are met, I imagine that they´ll need more cash than usual. Keeping so many people in a confined space for a couple of hours and having to endure the stage ravings of non-acting professionals must be tough if there isn't a good incentive for them to stay.”

Because this was another thing, Gilmore had no plans to hire a theater company. Whether it was to save costs, or because if he chose known people they would have a better chance that they would go up on stage and release four phrases for free, he only accepted villagers for his entire cast.

“It will have sponsors, like every year. He´ll make sure to advertise to the stores that collaborate in his homily and everyone is happy. Ah, he too will see to it that the richest and most prestigious families in town donate something! Well, quite a bit, to tell the truth. That even if he says no, the wardrobe is usually old clothes that less humble families give him, it is not that he was going to spend a lot on that... Now, it is a pity that the Cornells can no longer deliver anything. As generous as they used to be…! Although of course, it can also be better this way, I still remember as if it were yesterday that year in which they made a donation such that it tripled the amount imposed by the second family in the ranking of people of generous devotion (ranking that Father Gilmore has noted in secret in a notebook in his study, do not think that this is public either). Back then the Cornells went so far into their heads that, I don't know if you remember, but they wanted to coerce the parish priest into appointing them as honorary patrons in the church, writing their names in large letters on the notice board. of the association...”

"Is it possible that your employer is going to donate something?" Oscar asked, cutting off his speech.

"Patrick, you say?"

"Since his family fits the concept of wealthy and successful that most people have around here… Even if I don't think I can imagine him giving anything. Maybe Mr. Seymour senior yes, but definitely not his son.”

"Patrick would be more likely to be seen on stage, in a leading role," Kenneth conceded, laughing. “But you're right, he hasn't given anything. He has not done it, don´t think that by personal preference, but because he did not give him the opportunity to collaborate.”

“How is that?”

"A few days ago he felt stressed and said he was going to spend a couple of weeks in London."

"What a coincidence, a few days ago it was just when the priest's henchmen began patrolling the streets in search of solvent partners!"

"Do you think that's why...? It´s certainly a good possibility. Although in Lilac Hall they say, and this is something that I know that Patrick also confessed to his friends, that if he chose to leave it is because he can no longer bear to be behind the oldest Cornell without her making him notice.”

"I don't see much of a desire to join her, despite everything."

And it must have been a dilemma for a protagonist of poorly made youthful cliché like her, Oscar understood. On the one hand, Patrick saw it as a challenge to win someone who lately seemed disgusted by his mere presence. Irresistible as he had to be considered, it was a direct stab at his pride that Madeleine ignored him as she was doing. Now, if he thought about the poverty that overshadowed that family… They didn't make him want to move on.

It was a tug of war what that man was bringing with the female protagonist at this point, as if he had become infatuated with a new toy, one that is difficult to reach as well, but once acquired it was not clear what its practical use could be.

"You know what he's like, he takes it easy," Kenneth shrugged, implying that if he knew anything more about his employer's intentions, he wasn't planning to indulge in it and, a moment later, exclaimed as he looked over at somewhere behind Oscar. “Ah, isn't that your friend, the postman?”

Indeed, as he turned around, Oscar saw Sayer approach at a brisk pace. The aforementioned carried a bulky bag over his shoulder, which implied that that morning he had decided to stop wandering around, making a firm proposal to deliver all the correspondence at his time.

"Is it that you never work?" He asked after a brief greeting, once he had reached them.

The truth is, they both seemed quite idle, standing by the side of the road on a Monday morning, doing nothing useful except exchanging information about the latest gossip in the village.

"I'm on my break," Oscar pointed out, and it was certainly credible in the extreme.

The local newspaper building was only thirty feet from where they were standing. With all the windows pointing in that direction, if his boss was unhappy that he was staying out there chatting with the Seymour gardener it would be a long time ago that he would have come out to scold him.

"I… uh… me too! But I'll be back to work shortly!”

If Kenneth had hesitated, it was because there was no way they would let him go into town to run errands alone. He dispersed too easily, it was obvious that he would need supervision. And who would want to do that job? It sounded like a real bummer!

No, in the end, if supplies had to be purchased so that the garden keepers could carry out their tasks efficiently, it would be Moore who would come to buy the necessary supplies. Kenneth, for his part, was condemned to act as a coachman and pack mule for these monthly visits that Mr. Moore had to make to the Snodland warehouse, where there was sold gardening tools and fertilizers. That is why Kenneth seemed to be there doing nothing: In reality he was waiting for his immediate superior to return, with the order that he should help him get into the carriage who knows how many bags of earth.

Sayer had looked at Kenneth suspiciously, but left the matter be and asked instead:

"What are you talking about?"

You are reading story How to survive the worst novel ever written at novel35.com

"That you left the competition." Noting that now that look had turned to an inquisitive one, he proceeded to explain. “There are no men left in town who can fight you for Miss Cornell's affection.”

Hearing this, the postman let out a monosyllable to express his surprise. But, other than that, he didn't say anything else. Not being the reaction that Kenneth expected, he hastened to inquire about what could have happened:

“What's going on? I thought you'd be happy! Last time we met, you were complaining to me that it was unfair that Madeleine had only written letters to Oscar.”

"I don't remember saying anything like that."

Sayer stood his ground and Oscar tried to remember. When did these two have a chance to stop and speak beyond the usual couple of polite phrases? Maybe last summer, not long after he went to work at Lilac Hall.

"What do you mean?" Fortunately, it seemed that Kenneth's memory was still intact. “If we spend more than half an hour in the Seymour gardens trying to find a solution to your miseries!”

"I said I don't remember, you must have been mistaken."

"It was before the fair, in July, maybe. Or was it in August…? Whatever! Oscar stayed in his room reading, while you came with me to cry.”

“That didn´t happen! You were the one who began to tell me about the uncle of a cousin of yours who lives in the city, without coming to mind at all. I even got a headache!”

"But that was only the first ten minutes, then you cut me off and started rambling about your own problems. I remember it well because you were so upset that I was afraid you might cry right there and they would draw our attention to both of us… Ah, but you didn't shed a tear! You almost collapsed and everything, but in the end the fury took hold of you and you started to blurt out, I don't know what kind of thing, that why life was unfair to you, that Madeleine had eyes for anyone except for you, then you mentioned that Oscar was an ingrat...”

Kenneth could not finish his sentence, as Sayer hastened to cover his mouth with his hand, knowing that this was the only method to silence this charlatan once and for all. Kenneth wanted to protest and detach himself, but the other did not let him, hurrying to tell the remaining individual:

"Sorry about that, I wasn't in my right mind when I said it."

"It's okay," Oscar replied with a smile.

He remembered that day, but he didn´t remember that Sayer had made the slightest sign of disgust at his person for hoarding so much correspondence. No doubt he was trying to swallow his own frustration, not wanting to show it to someone who was most likely not to blame for all the attention he was receiving.

"To be frank, I doubt that a year ago any of us were as focused as we should have been," he continued. “What matters now is that we have both gotten rid of a burden... Or several, if we take into account how troublesome Patrick can be as a boss. An indefinite vacation from him also sounds like heaven on earth.”

Even in a rogue novel like this, he thought to add, but his point of view was already clear. He did not blame Sayer for anything that had happened the year before, nor did he intend to take into account his impulsive reactions. The important thing was that he had realized he was wrong and, therefore, he would not make the same mistakes as before.

That was the great thing about characters like the postman, for he did have a conscience and, unlike Madeleine, he was also capable of processing new data, analyzing it carefully, in his best interest. He may not have been the smartest in the story, but he was open-minded and always ready to learn. If you add to this that he was the only one who noticed the difference between his original character and the current one, Oscar could not help but hold him in high esteem.

The previous Oscar made many bad decisions during his lifetime, but he had to admit that he did know how to choose his friends well.

The conversation lasted just another five minutes, until these three people had to separate thanks to an angry Moore who, perhaps resentful that his workmate was distracted and had not seen him coming from the opposite sidewalk carrying a heavy sack, threw him the anger at such a volume that all the residents of that street found out what was happening.

Kenneth was so startled he barely managed to excuse himself before running off towards an enraged boss who was still scolding him as he came by.

Sayer and Oscar said their goodbyes shortly after, each with a view to returning to their respective jobs: Not that things have become excellent now that the male lead had resolved to disappear for a period, or since the postman had decided to cut that possible toxic relationship he had with Madeleine, but it was true that they were all in a better mood. Even if not all the problems dissolved.

The two weeks that Madeleine promised to take to return to Thornfield turned out to be three. And those three now threatened to become a full month, since March arrived and the aforementioned had not even left a note warning  she would stop by at any moment.

It was not necessary to be very clever to deduce that something had happened in that period so that she no longer felt the need to knock on his door.

That the impostor had decided, after hearing the story, not to grant her permission to read it was unlikely. Why would he upset Madeleine like this by now? Besides, even if he gave his approval, there would be no danger that she would discover the deception. That is to say, the protagonist still did not mistrust that the address that Oscar gave her was not that of the villain and she, talkative as she could be, had told everything - even the most unnecessary - to that person who was impersonating Albert.

There was no doubt that she, if got hold of the notebook, would also give him a detailed summary of what she read!

Using a certain subtlety so that she didn't seem like he was imposing, Oscar advised the Northrop employees not to let Madeleine in again if he was absent. A recommendation that, as soon as he made it, he learned was unnecessary. Since the butler then proceeded to inform that they were not allowed to accept any guests on the property while the lords were away.

It was seen that this rule applied to everyone, except for certain exceptions. So he didn't want to know more: It was all so clear that it was scary.

Having concluded that Madeleine would not return to her old ways, Oscar went one afternoon to check that bookcase in the library that almost gave him a new headache.

On those visits he made to Thornfield on a regular basis, it'd given him plenty of time to memorize the placement of the books on that last shelf. So that he could tell, with a glance, when the tomes had been moved out of position, even if only by a few inches. Now this precaution of heeding so much attention to detail turned out to be unproductive: Madeleine was not a careful person. Much less when she was in a hurry or she was angry.

Not only were the volumes in complete disarray, but whoever walked with them didn't even bother to organize them properly so that they would fit upright in the available space. Oscar had never believed that there was a huge difference between how noble and servant things organized, but with Madeleine in charge of some duty proper to servants, he could easily prove this to be true!

It looked like an earthquake had passed through that shelf. She hadn't even repositioned the table properly before she left, leaving it half crooked and thus causing the books to tip over to the other wall of the bookshelf. No wonder the tomes didn't seem to fit in a space created to fit perfectly!

Oscar sighed wearily as he pulled out all those books, thinking that maybe that idea of ​​his to memorize the position hadn't been so bad. Madeleine might not give a damn, not even trying, but he figured the Northrops would appreciate not having to waste minutes of their lives fixing this mess.

When he finished emptying the place, he pushed the board away with the same care as the first time. And, reaching into the familiar hiding place, he wasted no time in pulling out a notebook.

It would be improper to say, after a quick inspection of it, that Madeleine hadn't touched it. Since some scratches and dents could be seen on the spine, as if someone had gotten angry and had forcefully pulled it to the other end of the room. Because, let's see, there was no way that those flaws, so visible in an object bound with material that was supposed to be resistant, were caused by a bad fall or a minor accident.

No, the book was definitely taken and kicked. Such a lack of manners…! Madeleine should be ashamed.

When opened, a couple of pages had also been bent, perhaps due to bad impact. But hey, apart from that, there was no major damage. Turning the pages to check that, indeed, nothing was out of place and the protagonist had not thought to scribble some impertinence in her fit of fury, Oscar could not help but smile to himself.

His plan had worked.

The book before him was literally intact. Discounting bruises, having survived a crazy woman, each of its pages remained as empty as the day Oscar bought it.

Because yes, it was elementary that this was not the same notebook that Albert left hidden. The day he found out it is true that Oscar thought about leaving it there but, in the end, he concluded that it would be too risky. What if Madeleine came back, as she had now been shown to do? He didn't want her to get the book, but it didn't suit him if she found the place empty.

What if the protagonist then concluded that the notebook had changed places? She would be very capable of dragging the entire library in search of it! The library and the rest of the Thornfield rooms, if they left it. And then, should she get no results in her treasure hunt, she would definitely go to harass him for the diary. This woman was so easy to read…!

Therefore, Oscar ended up taking the diary to his apartment, hiding it in the same safe in which he kept his money. And, before twenty-four hours had passed since he made the discovery, he made sure to stop by a bookstore to pick up an identical-looking notebook.

It was fortunate that Albert had not thought of buying his diary at one of those specialty stores and that therefore a replica could be acquired quite easily. It was a shame that, considering the fight between Madeleine and the notebook, added to the scribbling he was forced to do before leaving it in hiding, he would no longer be able to return it to the store when the villain came back. But anyway, that was the least of it. What counted was that, after acquiring it and writing down four things — such as a name and a date, just how little Madeleine managed to discern in the one glance she took — she had swallowed the pantomime and would no longer bother.

After all, what interest could she possibly have in a blank agenda? It was probable that at that moment she was writing to what he believed to be Albert, believing, in his hysteria, that they had played a joke on him by telling him that he could read as much as he wanted.

Either way, that wasn't Oscar's problem.

He returned his trap to hiding, just in case the protagonist decided to return, and immediately repositioned the shelf in the correct way. With all volumes arranged alphabetically.

He was in a good mood when, before he even thought about settling into the desk, he walked over to one of the windows. Was this where Madeleine had sneaked in? It had to be, a shoe print on her windowsill gave her away. Oscar could imagine her sneaking up from Snodland, perhaps experimentally clothed in rags in her attempt not to attract her attention, taking advantage of the shadows so as not to be seen by anyone.

If you were referring to Thornfield's front gardens, the fence that separated them from them was too high to be climbed. But at the rear of the property, where hundreds of meters of field stretched freely, the dividing line between fields became more blurred. The divisions died at some point and therefore, even if it was through the countryside, it was not difficult to approach the house from here.

Madeleine could have taken a detour through the country to reach Thornfield the long way. Then, taking advantage of the fact that her invincible protagonist aura would have helped her not to be discovered all the way, she climbed up to a window that was close enough to the ground so that she did not need the help of any tree to reach her. The rest was history already known.

She must have been there recently, for it wasn't just that the markings on the windowsill still looked new, it's that the Northrop servants, who stopped by the library daily - even if only to draw the curtains - still didn't report anything unusual. Something that was not entirely unheard of, since the traces that Oscar found were on the outside of the window. In other words; To be discovered they would have had to open the windows and deliberately direct their gaze towards that part of the building.

Still debating with himself whether or not he should do Madeleine a favor and clean up the traces of her crime, Oscar looked up to where Rose Cottage stood, still imposing despite no longer having the presence of its original owners.

You can find story with these keywords: How to survive the worst novel ever written, Read How to survive the worst novel ever written, How to survive the worst novel ever written novel, How to survive the worst novel ever written book, How to survive the worst novel ever written story, How to survive the worst novel ever written full, How to survive the worst novel ever written Latest Chapter