Chapter 61: Chapter 61 – It´s not over

Not even ten minutes had passed since Oscar had been there. First chatting with some of Mr. Northrop's friends who kept him entertained with business matters, and then, having separated a few meters from Albert, choosing something to eat from one of the tables. There was quite a stir around him, both in terms of voices and footsteps moving from one side of the great hall to the other. And it was normal, because not only the spectators were concentrated there, but also all the people who worked on the play. Both on stage and behind the scenes.

This was a chaos in which, although a crime could not be committed without several hundred witnesses, it would be possible for someone to approach Oscar from behind without him noticing. And that was just what this person did, go to him when he wasn't looking.

"Don't move," a familiar voice warned him, positioning what felt like a razor edge behind his back.

In that position in which he found himself, Oscar was not able to see that blade that, being held in a strong grip, threatened to go through his clothes and dig into his body. He couldn't tell what weapon it was or if he had any chance of getting rid of it. The only thing he could figure out was that it must be a little one. Enough at least so that the people around him, filing past the rest of the staff or sitting at a table a few chairs away, didn't notice.

On the other hand, although he couldn't say for sure what weapon it was or if it would be wise to make a sudden movement to get away, he had instantly distinguished the owner of that voice. And no, he wasn't afraid of him.

"Aren't you a little old to play criminal?" Oscar asked calmly, not even bothering to give him a glance. “What do you expect?”

"You know what I mean, Ogden," Patrick said, not moving the knife an inch from where it stood. “You and I are going to have a man-to-man conversation, in private.”

"And if I refuse?"

"In that case you'll force me to do something I don't want to do." Saying this, the blade was driven a little harder into Oscar's back; not enough to begin to bury itself in his body, but enough to go through his clothes and even make a tiny wound.

Seeing that things had escalated to this point, Oscar took a moment to think. What was the weapon thing about? Of course, if Patrick had told he wanted to talk to him in private, he would have refused, but why take such a point to threaten him? And that thing about him wanting the conversation to be private sounded important enough that it wasn't appropriate for the others to hear it. All this without mentioning the tone in which he spoke; He really looked angry! As much or more than in Christmas Eve!

Before deciding on an option, Oscar looked towards the place where he had left Albert, a few meters away. The villain was still there, talking to some people. Apparently, he must not have been aware of the danger that lay ahead.

"I'll go," Oscar stated, thinking that no matter what happened, if he had been able to survive one of the few intelligent beings in that novel, he wasn't going to let a brainless one kill him. “But would you kindly put that thing away? It would be ugly if someone made sure that Romeo is out there trying to stab innocents.”

A contemptuous laugh was heard from the protagonist, as if something he had said was funny. And, right after, the knife was removed.

"Walk ahead of me," Patrick instructed. “I will show you where to go.”

And so it was that, after taking one last look at the banquet, the guests, and especially at a certain individual whom he would leave behind, Oscar obeyed without resistance. He did not know the degree of madness that would drive the protagonist to commit such an act and, having him behind him, he was also not sure what his reaction capacity would be if he made a sudden movement and he took out the weapon again. If to this was added that Oscar wanted to clarify things with this subject, once and for all, the result was that he did not think it appropriate to rebel so soon.

He would first observe, then act accordingly.

Patrick led him through one of the backstage corridors, where hardly any people passed, until he reached a room quite similar to the one Oscar had been in earlier. Although, yes, further from the stage and without any paraphernalia hanging from the ceiling and could break someone's head in case of collapsing.

Once inside the place, he pushed his prisoner into the center of the room and closed the door behind him.

Analyzing the place where he was now, Oscar was able to establish several facts. Some favored him, while others not so much. For example, there was only one door and no other exit. Not even windows that overlooked some alley. The only halfway good thing about this was that the door they entered through didn't have a deadbolt, making it impossible to lock.

Patrick couldn't lock him up even if he wanted to. Not without drawing the attention of people outside, definitely.

Now, if he looked at what was and wasn't in this room, Oscar wouldn't have much to defend himself with either. Despite being as spacious as any other, that warehouse was used to store the costumes for each work performed in the theater facilities. Therefore, it was mostly full of coat racks and trunks. The only props blunt enough to be used as a weapon were a handful of wooden swords, neatly placed in a box much closer to Patrick than to himself.

He might have had the opportunity to take one of those swords that, although they were dull, seemed heavy enough to deliver a good blow. But this opportunity vanished before it even appeared, when the protagonist instigated him to walk beyond that set box, using the excuse of burying the knife in his flesh if he did not behave.

"You'll say what you wanted to talk about," Oscar began as soon as he saw Patrick allow him to stop and turn to face him.

There were only a couple of lamps illuminating a room of considerable size but, despite such poor lighting, he would swear that he could clearly see the anger in the protagonist's eyes.

"And please," he added, before the other had time to open his mouth, "could you put the weapon down on the floor already? It's a bit awkward trying to have a civil conversation with someone wearing such a thing.”

"So now you fear me, huh? I didn't see you so scared before, when you went out with Madeleine without any consideration, without caring that she was already being courted by me.”

"Knife on the floor, please. And if you don't want to put it on the floor, because you´re going to use it to eat later, at least put it anywhere visible to me.”

“You mean this?” Patrick asked, pulling a knife out of his sleeve.

The blade part wasn't unsheathed, but remembering the little pressure he'd felt on his back a few minutes before, Oscar could tell for sure that the damned thing was sharp.

“It seems incredible, getting so nervous about this!” Patrick went on, too deep into his newly acquired role as a dangerous criminal to be stopped now; He tossed the weapon to the ground and kicked it aside until it was lost in the darkness. “Of course, you country bumpkins have no resistance. You die for anything. But hey, don't worry about this. I'm not going to kill you yet. First I'd like to hear what you have to say in your defense.”

“In my defense? Do I need to defend myself from something?”

“Of course! Do not think that I am not already aware of what your pretensions are! I know that you recently started a relationship with someone… And no, don't come trying to find out how I knew or who I talked to reach such a conclusion. It's obvious that anyone would notice, since you don't even have the decency to be discreet about it!”

"Reserving the answer as to whether whatever rumors you've heard are true or false, I'd like to know, who cares?" Oscar continued to ask although, from the tone in which Patrick had just spoken, he already figured that there was a misunderstanding as to who the supposed "couple" was. “Does it have something to do with you who I hang out with?”

"How can´t it be?! You've been hanging around Madeleine since…! Actually I don't know since when but I am very convinced that you have been doing it for a couple of months.”

"I thought it was more than clear that she and I were just friends," Oscar murmured, tired of senseless jealousy antics, despite the fact that he never considered the protagonist a friend of his.

"That's what I thought at first, too, when you approached me asking for a job last summer. It was no longer just that you were a tacky poor guy who didn't notice the angel that Madeleine is, it's that even she didn't seem to notice you once I got to know her! Oh, and I want to believe that it was like that for a long time, that there was no chance that she cheated on me with you while we were dating, but…! But it all started a couple of months ago. It was then that I realized that you were to blame for my precious Madeleine not giving me the proper attention… What are you doing?!”

Patrick had stopped when he saw Oscar reach a nearby chair and take a seat. With total parsimony, he sat down and crossed his legs while he said:

“Nothing, I just thought: This guy is going to tell me the story of his miserable love life, even if I didn't ask him to. And since it will probably be long, I thought that, if it can't be avoided, I could at least make myself comfortable to listen.”

“Don´t make fun of me!” The protagonist complained in this way, but in all that time he hardly moved from where he was standing, implying that at the moment he was more interested in loosening his tongue than proceeding with wanton violence. “I've been watching Madeleine and you, and I've come to the conclusion that she loves you back!”

Oscar didn't say anything in the face of such a statement, he just had an expression on his face as if to say: "Tell me more, even if I don't give a damn." And he stood still, rubbing an ankle that seemed to ache from the new boots he was wearing.

Realizing that Oscar was not planning to put up any resistance and that, despite the crude jokes he always made, he had no intention of ignoring him, Patrick managed to calm down enough to proceed with his account without raising his voice:

“I have to confess that I made a mistake on Christmas Eve, thinking that this Northrop was the one who wanted to steal my fiancée. I shouldn't have challenged him to a duel without knowing the truth, now I know.” Before Oscar could require an apology on that matter, Patrick continued. “But I won't apologize! He deserved it, for being such a coward and not talking to me about this calmly. I'm a reasonable person, if I hadn't had anything to do with it, he would have listened to you.”

"He tried, but you came running and half drunk crying out for revenge. How could it have been avoided?”

"In any case, that is already in the past. Now to what concerns us: At first I thought that Madeleine, somehow, would have found out about the ridicule I made during the duel and the subsequent rigging so that I appeared as the winner. But, as the weeks passed and my attempts to win her back failed, I realized that this was not the case. She was after another man! And I, of course, immediately thought of Albert Northrop. Only he would think of such a vile thing as going after other people's property. But there was a problem, that guy wasn't in Thornfield and Madeleine kept avoiding me. She didn't even listen to me when I told her I was so sorry she had to move out of Rose Cottage!”

“Perhaps her little act of compassion would have had a greater effect if she had bought the house back for the Cornells.”

“No, no, I'm not spending on a ring, I'm going to spend on a house. And still! If I go back to Madeleine, I'll convince her that she's better off out of that bleak place. Making sure she'd gotten off on a tangent with her,” he exclaimed. “But that's not the point now! The thing is, I started to suspect you when I saw you two so lovey-dovey at the tavern. I had never seen Madeleine alone with a man other than me!”

“No? And what about that time when she and her sisters were having a picnic?”

"Madeleine told you…? Oh sure she did. You got plenty of confidence! In any case, that doesn't count. Those who stayed keeping her company were close friends of mine, they would never dare to take something that is not theirs. I answer for them with all the vehemence!”

"That being the case…" Oscar muttered, refraining from expressing out loud how absurd it all seemed to him.

It must have been a serious blow to Patrick's fragile masculinity, no doubt, that his sometimes-beloved Madeleine was stolen from him, not by a few men of high social status, but by a lowly, semi-literate former stable boy. Which was what the protagonist still considered him, to this day.

"I thought it was timely, that it wouldn't happen again," Patrick continued. “But I remembered that I had also seen her visit you at that seedy newspaper where you spend your mornings… I even saw her get into the same inn as you on a couple of occasions!”

“Eh, no. Wait. Dianne Warren also lives in that inn, don't burden me with all the shit.”

"Now you will also deny that a while ago you were trying to enter the same room as Madeleine with a bouquet of flowers for her!"

Oscar would have liked to inquire how on earth he had managed to so blatantly ignore the presence of the villain in this entire adventure. Perhaps Patrick had been eavesdropping from somewhere or from a time when he didn't see Albert enter the room? Since there was another entrance and… No, that was irrelevant now. What did matter was what Oscar remembered at the time!

"It was you who trampled on the bouquet!"

"Of course it was me, I wasn't going to let my rival get ahead of me!"

Hearing this, the muscles in Oscar's wrist tensed, making his grip on his ankle tighter. If you had to guess, you could say that in that room there was a murderer and a victim. But, knowing this fact, Oscar would opt for being the criminal.

"I'm beyond sick of people other than me getting what I want," Patrick continued, oblivious to the change in his interlocutor. “This whole thing has got me thinking, what if Madeleine was already starting to take an interest in you months ago? Not as a possible lover, not yet. But, yes, you were after her even then! During the hunt, without going any further, you managed to get her to tell all her confidences to you. She even took you to that damn shed to spend time alone!”

“Of course, because it is the most romantic thing in the world to get into a lost cabin in the middle of the mountain to spend an afternoon of storm and polar cold. Especially when it comes to a cabin that doesn't have a chimney and it's a pigsty,” Oscar said ironically, that made less and less sense to him. “If already at that time we were trying to get together, according to you, how do you explain the ring in the soup?”

"You put it there! It´s elementary, only someone from the service would have access to the soup of us gentlemen. You wanted to propose to her, but Madeleine still had some attachment to me at the time and she couldn't say yes to you directly. That's why the poor thing had to made up that I gave it to her!”

“Anything else?” Oscar asked with a sigh.

It was incredible how hard some tried to give a coherent explanation to the miseries that they had to experience. When Patrick had Madeleine by his side, he never stopped to think about all the things he was now throwing at her. On the contrary. It seemed that, during his stay at Lilac Hall, Oscar had been little more than an invisible being in the eyes of the protagonist.

It was only now, that Madeleine was ignoring him, that he was trying to make an effort to figure out who was to blame for her choosing to leave. For, to him, it was elementary that his own apathy towards her had nothing to do with it.

"Yeah, there's something else." Patrick took a couple of steps forward, stealing a glance or two at a box full of swords that was suspiciously close to him. “It seems to me that you need someone to teach you a lesson, so that you don't go on trying to steal other people's women. I mean, it's great that you're friends with Madeleine. Or that you are siblings, as she sometimes said. But that's just fine to say casually, without it being the truth. Because, and this should already be engraved in your head, you belong to different social strata. And it wouldn't do to drag on the Cornells' good name by spending too much time with her!”

"Ah, so I deserve a beating?" Oscar asked, even though the answer was obvious; Patrick was already only one step away from the weaponry, he only had to stretch out an arm to grab any of the swords that rested there. “How unfair! You want to beat me up, but to Mr. Northrop you gladly let him fight a duel. Do you want to turn this into something one-sided? Or is it that, unlike me, you´re afraid of Albert Northrop enough to leave him some room for a counterattack?”

"I've had enough of dueling," he stated, just before he had reached the haft of one such weapon. Besides, what would be the point of I challenging you to one? I bet you've never picked up a sword in your life. It would be too easy, a duel that no one would want to see. So wouldn't it be much better to set this up much faster?”

“Better for whom?” Oscar wondered. But he had already changed his mind about what he wanted to do; he suddenly didn't care that the other was next to that box, choosing which would be the right tool to open his skull. Putting both feet back on the ground, but without getting up from his chair, Oscar continued as calmly as possible. It seemed that all his fears had been drained and that, although he was now in real danger, he no longer cared.

He waited until Patrick had chosen a sword that, if he didn't look closely, might even pass as the real thing, before saying:

"You're not even going to let me choose a weapon to defend myself? Look, if it makes me bleed and splashes on your suit, then it will be a hassle to have to clean it before returning to the scene.”

“That will not happen, I know well where I have to aim.”

And he must know, yes. Because he, with sword in hand, he rushed forward to hit Oscar. His intention was not to do it as a swordsman would, sticking the blade into one of his opponent's weak points. No, those kinds of fake weapons were useless for that. But, having the precise robustness of it, he could use it as if it were a bat and try to hit the other on the head with it.

That is, he would have, if not for Oscar getting to his feet at the last second. Moving away as the edge of that sword snapped against the back of a chair, which wobbled slightly on impact.

That sword might not have skewered anyone, but Patrick had swung it so hard that when he hit, he'd cut through the back of the seat and got a little stuck. It wasn't much, on the other hand, nothing a couple of tugs on the handle couldn't fix. But, by then, a door had already been opened and the edge of a blade had already landed on the protagonist's throat.

"If I were you, I'd drop that," Oscar recommended, in a tone so gentle that it was inappropriate for the situation. “I figured something unpleasant might happen tonight and took the liberty of bringing my own knife.”

“Your games don't impress me, Ogden. You should be the one to stop! It's not okay to attack your former employer.”

"Am I playing? Ah, but we can check it” saying this, Oscar began to plunge the knife into the other's neck.

From how the protagonist squirmed and asked him to please stop, it was clear that he was in pain, that he would no longer dare to challenge him. Although Oscar hadn't done this with the intention of causing him severe harm, much less killing him. He had only dug the tip of the blade in a little, enough to draw a very fine trickle of blood. It was a cut not at all deep and far from any major artery.

After all, he just wanted to scare him.

'I think that's enough,' Albert pointed out from behind.

“How boring, now that the good part was finally coming!” But despite saying this, Oscar withdrew his knife without question, as if he had been waiting for someone to tell him to stop.

Patrick, seeing himself free of blades that threatened his integrity, but without forgetting that it was not one but two people who could now position themselves against him, he ignored the sword in front of him —which had not yet been completely removed from the chair— and backed away from Oscar as far as possible, nearly tripping in the process. When he turned to the other occupant of the room, he looked at his former gardener as if he was crazy. And, immediately afterwards, he addressed Albert as if he expected him to save him from a homicidal maniac:

"Don't just stand there and do something!" Pointing his index finger at Oscar, he exclaimed. “This bastard tried to kill me!”

"Oh yes, I tried to kill him," Oscar laughed sardonically. “You, on the other hand, were just checking your sword balance. And, by a coincidence of fate, it fell right towards the place where I was sitting.”

Not to mention the force with which the blow had been delivered and the angle at which if Patrick struck and Oscar hadn't backed away, it would have landed on his head. And even if the sword wasn't sharp, the sturdiness of the wood would be enough to crack open his skull and, at the very least, render him unconscious in a pool of blood.

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“Don´t lie!” The protagonist continued, now using his own acting skills to pretend that he had been wronged. “You were the one who lured me here out of jealousy! You wanted to get me away from my precious Madeleine, which is why you even dared to put a knife to my neck! Who knows what would have happened to me if it hadn't been for someone to interrupt us... I might never have been able to see my beloved again!”

“Where did you get that from?” Albert asked this question turning to Oscar, ignoring the protagonist and focusing his eyes on a knife with which the aforementioned was still holding.

“This? Oh, he had it hidden in one of my boots. You know? As much as I trust someone to stop a fight, I'd rather always have a plan B.”

And so it had been. This was not something Oscar had thrown together at the last minute. That afternoon, when dressing for the gala, he had already selected a knife and had deposited it in a place where no one would suspect it was kept and that, moreover, he would have at hand whenever he needed it.

It was, so to speak, a little secret weapon in case things got ugly. It would only serve him if his opponent got too close or if, like Patrick, he was too slow, stupid, or hesitant in his thrust. But that, for someone good with words like Oscar, was enough.

"Sorry I'm late," Albert apologized. If he was disappointed, it wasn't precisely because Oscar had had to go so far as to intimidate someone with a razor, but because he hadn't reached the cockpit in time to stop Patrick from getting violent. “I saw you leave with this guy, but the people I was talking to wouldn't let go of me. It took me a couple of minutes to get rid of them before I could go.”

“Nevermind that. You arrived at the best part.”

“The best part? Did you know that the knock was heard from the hallway? For a moment I thought it wouldn't come in...”

"But it's a good thing you came when you did. Look at it this way; dodging that I also did some exercise. With the adrenaline that this generated, I will no longer need to play sports for the rest of the year. They´re all advantages.”

Albert didn't say anything, but it was clear from his expression that he was still blaming himself for not reaching the room sooner. It was then, after that brief conversation between the villain and Oscar, that Patrick was encouraged to speak:

“How…? What is he doing here?”

The protagonist must have been referring to Albert because, when he was in charge of kidnapping Oscar from the room where the public was gathered, he had been very careful. Taking care that no one would notice his intentions, he hid part of his weapon in his sleeve and kept an eye out in case someone who knew this insolent ex-employee of his recognized him and dared to stop him.

In any case, the villain could not have been one of those spectators who greeted him as he passed, much less one of those who stared at him for a split second, before returning to the conversations he was having or the food he was having. presented before himself.

"He's here because we both have something that you and Madeleine lack," Oscar said, at this point returning to his usual placid self. “That is, good communication.”

"Because of certain events from a while ago, Oscar told me that it was very possible that someone tried to make an attempt on his life today," Albert explained. “I thought it was unlikely, but since we had already had an incident, I thought it prudent to give him a vote of confidence. Which, by the way, I'm glad I did. So, since we didn't know for sure what or who we were facing, we agreed that we would keep an eye out for anyone who came near us. And, exaggerated as it might seem, it worked.”

"But he hasn't been discreet about his intentions at all," Oscar pointed out, referring to Patrick. “I mean, I already felt that they had been watching me for a while, since we were in the room with the rest of the guests. But since he didn't separate me from you, I thought: Ah, nobody approaches me precisely because I'm accompanied. At the beginning of the evening I thought that was a good thing, but then I changed my mind. If that person who resented me didn't talk to me today, when I was protected, he could choose another moment to act. One in which I had no company and therefore would have had to live on the defensive from now on. That's why I told Albert that I would retire to a certain table free of diners, so that I could see if anyone approached me.”

"I see..." The protagonist already seemed to have a headache from hearing all that. “It was all a setup from the start!”

"If you don't have anything coherent to add," Albert put in, "I'll ask you to go back to the dressing rooms or to the break room with the others. Anywhere, but staying away from my secretary. This little number that we have just witnessed is not typical of someone who is playing the main role in a function for all audiences. And, in case you repeat yourself, I'm afraid I'll have to take drastic measures.

"Now you won't come and threaten me with a knife, too! Because that was what I needed, such a lack of ethics on the part of one of the Northrops...”

“Don´t misunderstand me. We already had a duel, you and I, and there it was clearly seen who has the advantage in this type of business. It would be useless to repeat such a contest” Before the protagonist could protest, reminding him that the duel must have been another plot hatched against his person, he added.  “Also, I don't like violence. By “taking drastic measures” he meant that I don't intend to bear the costs of those poker games that go awry again. No, not only that. I will also send your father certain documents. And I don't think he'll be too happy to know how you spend your free afternoons!”

Within seconds, Patrick's face turned pale, as if he had just seen a ghost. Then, just as quickly, he turned a reddish color, denoting that he was beyond furious”

"You won't dare...! I´ve already repaid most of the money you lent me, there is no need for this!”

“You repaid almost the full amount you owed me, but without interest. And, in the agreement we signed, we stated that you would give me thirty percent of what you asked me for, in excess.”

“Hey, I was drunk when I signed that. You cannot demand such a thing of me! I do enough that I manage to pay you back the amount you lend me in no time, someone less kind wouldn't even give that!”

"I don't care if you don't want to pay me the extra money you owe me, but I imagine your father will be bothered when I send him a copy of the contract we signed for this and he sees that there is no other way out than drop the pocket. Well, either that or end up being reported: It's reasonable that the Seymours never come to trial, being the respectable family that they are, but rumors spread quickly. And I don't think it's to anyone's liking to be seen as delinquent in front of his neighbors.”

Hearing this, Oscar looked at the villain as if he wanted to ask him if everything he was saying was true. Because, in case it was, it was genius. And it would explain both why Patrick was being too nice to someone he harassed one day, and why it was so hard for Albert to talk about it in front of others. That was, without a doubt, a winning trick that few should know about.

"Now I see why you two get along so well," Patrick said with difficulty, as the anger not only lingered, but grew deeper. “You´re both equally rubbish! One trying to steal the money I tried so hard to earn, and the other trying to keep the most beautiful woman I´ve ever met!”

"Speaking of that so-called perfect woman," Oscar commented good-humouredly, contributing to the protagonist looking at him as if he were sorry he hadn't hit him with the sword, "are you still thinking of proposing?"

“Well of course! I'm not like you, I'm not playing with people's feelings. If I get it into my head that a woman will be mine, so be it. I'll personally take her down the aisle myself. And about Madeleine… of course I haven't given up! I'm still wearing that expensive ring I showed you, even. If I'm not the one to put it on, I won't let anyone else do it!”

"Okay, so we can work this out amicably, okay? Look, you go onstage when the show resumes, put on an extraordinary performance as Romeo, and at the end of it, you propose in front of the audience. She won't be able to refuse as she´s aware of your incomparable talent and since the crowd will be cheering her on to accept!”

Albert smiled for a couple of seconds, perhaps thinking he had already heard that plan before, somewhere. But he didn't say a word. Patrick, for his part, was not entirely convinced:

"Is this your new plan to keep me out of the game, Ogden? Because I refuse to be anyone's puppet! If I go out there, under the pretext of proposing to my beloved, who knows what dirty trick you´ll concoct to prevent it in the time I leave you alone!”

"I won't do anything to stop it, I promise." Pointing at Albert, he pointed out. “That fearsome fellow who had the indecency to take money from you will stay with me, all night, to watch me.”

"As if I could trust a Northrop after all they've put me through!"

"Maybe if you trust me this time, I'll forget about the interest you owe me," murmured the villain.

“Really?”

“Yes, but for that you should do what Oscar asks. Propose to Ms. Cornell as soon as possible and, in addition, never again raise your hand against any of the people who are under my protection.”

That must have seemed like a ticket to a carefree life for Patrick. He wouldn't get such favorable treatment for centuries, no matter how hard he searched. How much time and effort did he spend convincing his father to raise or advance his allowance, despite not meeting the deadlines or the effort that the family business required in terms of work? So he didn´t hesitate to accept, knowing that this way he could forget about the debts for a period and, besides, not having to continue treating Albert in public as if he were the best of benefactors because of a damn blackmail.

Having apologized to the villain and not to Oscar for his violent behavior earlier, he left that room as if he had just won the lottery. So happy had he suddenly been that he stormed out of there at such a speed that the other two had no chance to tell him to try to clean his neck before he went back onstage: Maybe the wound they inflicted on him wasn't serious after a couple of minutes, it would have stopped bleeding on its own. But there was still a reddish thread slipping down his neck that would cause suspicion in anyone who looked at him.

"So fearsome fellow, huh?" Albert laughed, once he and Oscar were alone.

"Laugh all you want, but know that there are people who might consider you evil!" the other interjected. “Naturally, these are people who have no idea, because they shouldn't have treated you more than a couple of courteous phrases… Ah, but now tell me what it was about you taking over Patrick Seymour's debts! Did you really make him sign a contract?”

“And it was before a notary, with several witnesses. All very official.”

Being that Oscar wanted to know the whole story, Albert agreed to tell it while they made their way back to a second floor that was already beginning to fill up again, because the break had almost come to an end:

“It happened shortly after the Seymours bought Lilac Hall. One night when I was in town, intending to go back home, I bumped into Patrick coming out of an establishment where, it's no secret, poker and bridge games used to be held on a regular basis. Either way, it was obvious what he was coming from. At that time a carriage was waiting for me a couple of streets away, so I proceeded to ignore that guy, heading without stopping to the place where my employees were waiting for me. Who was going to tell me that he would come after me? That thing about him being drunk isn't quite right. He had been drinking, but not enough to cloud his judgment. And certainly he was in his right mind when he asked me for a large sum of money to replace his father's quarters that he had lost in a long shot gone wrong."

"Wait, but why did he ask you for such a thing? Doesn´t he have dozens of friends willing to lend a hand?”

That question was formulated with a certain irony and, in truth, was half serious and half in jest. But, anyway, the villain answered her as if he was totally serious:

“It seems his friends are only friends until he has to make an economic sacrifice… Or well, that for one thing. On the other hand, knowing that we hadn't seen much of each other since we were in school, I think Seymour figured he could take the money from me and then forget to pay it back. I don't think he expected me to drag him to a notary at the precise moment I accepted, under the threat that the other option was to investigate more about his business and his father's secret bets. Coincidentally, the owner of the place where he used to meet his acquaintances for those games is a friend of our family. So if I needed evidence or witnesses to Patrick Seymour's deplorable behavior, it was easy to get.”

"In short, since last summer you've been extorting Patrick for what he owes you. Threatening him that, if he doesn't do it, he'll turn this whole thing over to the authorities. Or, worse, his father.” Realizing something, Oscar stopped. “Wait, before you told Patrick that you would forgive his debt… But you didn't talk about what you would do with that contract.”

"Oh, you noticed." Albert smiled, perhaps satisfied that someone had noticed that detail. “It was never my intention that Mr. Seymour Sr. wouldn´t know of the arrangement. That's why I told him first, before even getting his son to sign anything. The idea was to make Patrick nervous, having to raise money that he didn't have, by working. And since his father already knew everything, he could make excuses for refusing to lend money or instigating him to go to great lengths to acquire the funds he badly needed.”

"So Mr. Seymour always knew…"

"Yes, although at my request, he never confronted him. I wanted Patrick to suffer the anxiety of not knowing what to do to get that money, having to work to meet the deadline that the contract required. If he does what we've asked, I'll explain the whole thing to his father and, I imagine, he'll pretend to be angry. But at least this little blackmail will have ended favorably for all parties.”

"Now you do sound like a real villain," Oscar laughed; he would be lying if he said he didn't like it. “And, that money you gave him… Was it a lot?”

“A few thousand pounds. Much more than the amount he used to lose in other games, which is why he was so desperate that day. There was no way his father would find out that the money had gone where it shouldn't have if he took such a sum out of the bank at once”. Seeing the surprise on Oscar's face because, ultimately, such an amount was nothing joke, he had to say. “Ah, but it was no sacrifice to lend it. I used my own savings for it, wanting to keep my own father's company and income out of it. I had already spoken with Mr. Seymour before meeting his son at the notary the following afternoon, ever since he asked me for help. I knew that if Patrick didn't pay me back, he would. I never had anything to lose. On the contrary, with such high interest...”

The sentence trailed off before it was fully uttered, perhaps because Albert found it embarrassing to admit that he enjoyed how this "evil" plan of his had unfolded over the months. Being that Patrick treated him with considerable respect, he greeted him whenever he saw him and did not hesitate to speak well of him when he was in public, not objecting when his family wanted to invite the Northrops to an event.

Oscar didn't say anything about it either, but he didn't blame him for having acted as he did. Rather, he was glad that things had turned out this way, putting the villain in an advantageous position to the point that he had the protagonist completely at his mercy. And, he didn't mind admitting it, he probably would have acted similarly had he been Albert.

Now, returning to the box, it would be safe to comment that there were no more incidents in the remainder of the night.

The play was picked up where left off, advancing normally towards its end. An ending the spectators applauded and cheered, as if that were the best work they had ever seen. And, although the performance was not so good for those who, like some of the wealthy families who were gathered there, were used to going to the theater, it was nice enough. Oscar knew well that, despite the cast he had and the writer behind the scenes, it could have been a bigger disaster. But, against all odds, the result was passable and the people who watched it looked like they had a good time.

When the lights came up and the curtain came down, it happened. Now past the final salutations and speeches and rising from his seat, intending to leave the boxes before the aisles filled again, Patrick decided to act on his own.

That was a surprise both for Oscar and Albert and for those who remained on stage, and for the rest of the audience itself. Was this guy really going to propose to Madeleine? Why had he gotten down on his knees if not?

That image was totally surreal! But true, despite the reputation he had, because the guy had in his hands the same little box that he showed Oscar on Christmas Eve.

"But is he serious? I thought he was bluffing!” Oscar admitted, suddenly not intending to leave his box without first contemplating the hypothetical end of the soap opera.

"I thought he would after a couple of days of persuasion," Albert muttered. “But it looks like he really was scared that you were going to steal Ms. Cornell.”

And, ultimately, he was. Because Patrick did not hesitate for a moment to propose to Madeleine, in front of an audience that did nothing but show the reaction that Oscar previously predicted. That is, to encourage an embarrassed protagonist to accept such a redneck dressed as Romeo.

Human nature was curious, to be sure. Madeleine had repeated countless times over the last few months that she no longer loved Patrick. That she wanted to keep him as far away as possible, since her affections now belonged to someone else and that, apart from her, the last thing she would want was to marry someone like this individual who stood her up on more than one occasion. However, now that the hunk stood before her with an engagement ring, it seemed that all those bad thoughts had been blown away, and she didn't waver for a moment before saying yes.

Was it Oscar's doing or was it really Madeleine, just before accepting the proposal, that she had looked in Albert's direction with an unmistakable expression of superiority?

Regardless, the crowd cheered upon hearing that response, and Oscar had mixed feelings as the actors and staff members were full of congratulations to the new couple. And it is that, on the one hand, he was disgusted that those two toxic people got together. But on the other he was glad that it was so. That would save them a lot of trouble.

Realizing that Albert had also been lost in thought, observing what was happening on stage, Oscar sighed before asking him with all the seriousness he was able to muster:

"And ours for when?"

 “What?”

“Our wedding, of course.”

This clarification brought with it immediate consequences. And it is that Albert got nervous, blushing in an instant and not knowing what to say next. Would that of a wedding between the two be possible to even carry out? Regardless of whether he could or not, he had put him in a compromising position by asking the question so suddenly.

"Just kidding." Oscar couldn't contain his laughter any longer, and he exploded before the villain had time to put together a congruent sentence. “It's a little early for weddings, don't you think? Although you've already introduced me to your family so, in that sense, you could say you got advantage.”

“But, if one day we could…”

"I'd think about it," Oscar conceded. ·I would like to have my own house and a stable job before I start accepting commitments. You know? I wouldn't be able to do like Madeleine, who throws herself into the arms of any man, with no personal goal in mind. It's a waste! If one day I were to get married, I would want to do it out of preference, not with a view to it solving my life.”

Albert well understood this way of thinking, since he was not far from Oscar's fondness for working on his own and not demanding more from the world than he was willing to give. And he wasn't against it.

"Then let's get married when we've both managed to establish ourselves on our own."

"Oh, but you too?"

Albert was startled, perhaps thinking that the question would go in another direction. Like, for example, why he was assuming that an affirmative answer had already been achieved for a still uncertain future. It wasn't like the laws allowed a same-sex marriage, anyway.

"Despite the fact that I have a job that could be described as stable, since it was my father who provided it for me, I still can't rest easy," Albert explained. “Not when he's still the owner of all the businesses, and I'm still just another employee. One with more power than most of those who report to him, yes, but an employee nonetheless. I would like to show that I am prepared to run the family business or, if that is impossible, to be able to work elsewhere. Without my family supporting me or assuring me a future. Anyway, for now I can only keep doing things the best I can. Because either of those two goals will take me a while to achieve.”

"I don't think that first goal of yours is impossible," Oscar pointed out. “How could it? You are supposed to be the heir to your father's companies. It may not be tomorrow, or next year... or in ten years. But eventually, those properties will become yours.”

"Probably, yes. But sometimes I think that I would not like to wait for those businesses to be mine, that I´d like to have something of my own that I have built with my own effort, without taking into account my father's wishes or belongings” Noting that his words could be misunderstood he added. “Although that doesn't mean I want to stop working in the family business or that I'm going to put in less effort.”

Oscar immediately understood what Albert was trying to say because, after all, they both thought in a similar way. It wasn't a question that he didn't like his work or that he was in a hurry to take over the reins of the companies, but something more psychological. The villain wanted to prove to himself he was worthy for the job and that, always remaining under the protection of his father, he would not achieve.

Either way, they would have occasion to talk more about this. For now, and as soon as the strange request for a hand that took place on stage finished, neither of them wanted to stay in the theater any longer, listening to the words of thanks from the protagonists or hearing the bland words of the priest and the organizers . No. Once both the play and that fateful chapter in which Oscar did not die were finished, they finally left the theater.

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