Chapter 81: Chapter 81 – Are you dead yet?

So, just as he kept quiet and worked hard at the publishing house, Madeleine also tried to put old grudges behind and focus on the future. That day when they met in the cafeteria, although it started with still some tension between them, they parted on good terms. It was probable they would not meet again, since they agreed on nothing about it, but it was not that they wished each other harm. And, given everything they'd been through in the novel, this was a breakthrough.

Oscar was thinking, could it be possible that Dianne and Patrick had given up, going back to town? It couldn't be. Kenneth had sent another letter, in the days before, dwelling once more on what was going on in the village. If one thing had remained since his first missive, it was that the protagonist still hadn't returned.

To such an extent, Mr. Seymour must have been so pissed off that he had even had to correspond with his son's friends, asking about his whereabouts. But apart from deducing that Patrick was in London, he could not have found a concrete answer as to where he was staying.

And, let's see, it was not impossible that Patrick Seymour would give up and leave Madeleine alone. He had an alarming amount of conquests and, as Oscar saw it, he only went after the protagonist because she was the one with whom the wedding was arranged. Wouldn't it be simpler to proceed with her, since they already had the permission of both families? But of course, having guaranteed a refusal from Madeleine, that plan was predestined to sink before setting sail.

Then, as for Dianne, how was she going to give up? If she was still one of those who confused "harassment" with "true love", the truth is she didn't have much hope.

"Wouldn't you, by any chance, feel like coming in?"

The sudden question took Oscar by surprise who, either through force of habit or because he had really become so lost in thought, somehow, had ended up on the same street where the Northrops had a store. And it is that, once or twice a week, he used to pay Albert a visit at his work.

He never entered the store, as he did not wish to disturb. He just stayed outside, in the little park across the street, waiting for the other to come out when he had some time. Sometimes they would take the opportunity to go to lunch together. Others, like this one, would only give them time to chat for less than ten minutes.

"How come in?" Oscar had inquired, confused, as he made sure he had the villain before him. “Isn't it early for your break?”

Oscar hadn't noticed the time because, in principle, he hadn't even intended to go through that neighborhood. But now that he was here, he did realize that it was almost an hour before the other had his usual mid-day break.

"It is, but I wanted to talk to you about something, and since you're here…" Not letting Oscar goad him into proceeding with the conversation right there or postponing it for when they got back home, he continued. “I invite you to enter the store because that way I already kill two birds with one stone.”

“If I didn't know you well, I'd think this was a trap.”

That was not the first time that Albert had invited him in but, after he knew that Oscar was trying not to bother him in his business, he had not insisted again. He didn't to this day, at least.

"Maybe it's a trap…" Albert muttered, though he didn't seem serious.

“But the manager is okay with that? I don't want to distract you from your work.”

“It's okay, I've already asked permission. Although, if we take too long to get back, he might get angry with me.” Sensing the hesitation on Oscar's part, he finally asked. “Let's go?”

The villain was in a good mood and indeed he seemed to have something important to say, but he must not want to force his partner to accompany him either. Proof of this was that he added that, in case Oscar really didn't feel like accompanying him to the store, they could continue the conversation in their apartment. And there would be no problem with that.

But Oscar had already come out of his reverie and, with a curiosity very typical of him, he was the one who took the initiative to take a step forward, going to a shop that was a few steps from where they were standing.

"I was thinking," Oscar interjected as they walked toward it, returning to his mocking tone, "is that how you get clients? Hunting them down in the middle of the road when they're off guard?”

"Of course not! It was a coincidence, I-I just saw you pass from afar.”

“Really? What were you doing looking out, then?” As if a reason had just occurred to him, he exclaimed. “Oh I know! Wouldn't it be that you missed me?”

"I-it's not that!"

“It's normal that it's not that; We see each other daily, how can you miss me? In any case you should be tired of seeing me.”

"How would that be possible…?" Realizing that Oscar was on the verge of a fit of laughter, since his provocations had had the expected effect, Albert proceeded as he opened the door of the premises. “See if I'm going to rethink about letting you in.”

Despite blurting out this crude warning, he didn't even refrain from holding the door as Oscar walked past. And, perhaps in gratitude for this gesture, Oscar himself admitted his defeat and stopped joking for a while.

The place inside, more than a shop, gave the impression of being the home of a nobleman because of how it was decorated. And it is that, with the exception of the two or three mannequins that remained in front of the window, the rest of the store remained free of merchandise on display. The only thing that existed, because of this, were a couple of shelves full of boxes in which samples of fabric or accessories for the suits to be made would surely be kept.

At the counter, too, could be seen some ties and brooches that, placed behind glass, were also not within the reach of the usual customer. Afterwards, the rest of the place was more like a living room than anything else, since there were some sofas and a small table on which a tea set rested.

Not that the establishment was overly large, but there was no doubt that it stretched out over more space than met the eye; Although it was where Oscar was that the clientele was received, another door that led to the back of the building told him that it was through there that both the changing rooms and the part of the building where the workers were in charge were accessed. of taking the measurements for the suits and, likewise, manufacturing them piece by piece. In all probability, and since around here they even served an aperitif for newcomers, they even had a kitchen.

He really did give the impression of having ended up in a high-class venue!

And although Oscar liked it, he wasn't used to it at all. So he was glad to see that Mr Holloway - for it must be him, as there was no other stranger in the shop dressed as elegantly and serving customers - was busy attending to another gentleman, barely pausing to greet him.

Of course, despite the fact that Oscar was relieved to know that it would be Albert who would attend to him, without having to talk to anyone else in that strange environment, he was not prepared to hear the villain tell his boss that he would take care of attending to him so that he could find a suit that fitted.

"And to think that what I said before about you stalking victims for your business was a joke…" Oscar muttered once they had moved away from Holloway, so that no one but Albert could hear him. “But now I see that was exactly your intention!”

"I have a good reason, I can swear."

"For reason or not, I have to warn you that I don't have enough money on me to buy anything. So I hope you don't mind if, given the case, I have to pay in installments.”

"It's okay, I can pay it for you."

“You are inviting me?”

"Yeah, no problem with that.”

“But Albert, the store is yours. How are you going to do? Are you going to pay yourself?” Oscar laughed. “Better let me cover my own expenses here.”

Albert didn't protest, but, flustered by this gaffe, said:

"I-in that case, when my shift is over I'll invite you to dinner."

Being any other weekday, Oscar would have protested and asked that, if they went out to eat there, they split the bill. But the villain seemed so embarrassed by the mistake he had just made, and which he might not have noticed if it hadn't been for him to point it out, that he didn't dare.

It didn't much matter who paid, anyway. Usually they shared the bill, but if one day they wanted to indulge the other and go to a place or buy something more expensive than usual, they took turns making the expense. So Oscar had no problem letting Albert do it this time; he knew that another day he would be the one to invite.

"And what was that important thing you had to tell me?"

When Oscar inquired about this, they had already gone to the back of the premises, to a small office that Mr. Holloway used to deal with clients and vendors who wanted to talk in a quieter place, without being interrupted.

Motioning for him to take a seat at a desk, Albert began:

"This morning my father came to visit and, after the usual questions about work, he asked about you."

That was strange, enough to make Oscar form a lump in his throat and barely manage to ask what was being offered to the aforementioned.

Albert's father, although hadn't been pressuring his son as constantly as in the beginning, and since the issue of the inheritance was still unclear, hadn't wanted to know more about Oscar. He had already started ignoring him when they were in Snodland, and now that they had arrived in the city, things were still the same.

As if Albert were still single and unattached, Mr. Northrop chose to act as if he had never met Oscar. He never asked his son about him, even though he knew they were sharing a flat.

Every time Albert visited his father's house—perhaps fearing that an indiscretion might make his situation worse—he tried to omit matters related to his partner from their conversations. Unless it was his parent who inquired, the stories and details he could tell would have to be reserved for himself or, failing him, for Letitia. Well, she was always ready to hear what her brother had to say.

"I think..." Albert continued. “I think we can get him to accept you, or at least not protest so much knowing you're with me.”

"That second part convinced me, who knows why," laughed Oscar, still nervous. “But what is the reason for the change of heart?”

"He hasn't told me, but if I'm to guess, I'd say it's due to discretion and time." Since that wasn't clear, the villain explained. “What mostly bothers him is what people will say. If I were the youngest son, if I had an older brother to whom it was already established that he would bequeath the companies, I don't think he would put so many buts. Well, anyway, I would have had to find a life on my own, not counting on those possessions. Now, being the oldest and also the only son, my father has to be worried about where the properties will end up in case I never get to marry or have children.”

“I never understood the reason for these concerns about the uncertain future of people who still don't know if they will exist. Perhaps it is because I have never had the happiness of being born in a noble birth, but isn't that a bit absurd? One should worry about what he has and what he will have in the near future. As for future generations, if they don't even exist, they have no right to ask.”

“That's what I thought, but what if it wasn't so short term? I mean, imagine anything happening to me. Where will the goods that my father worked so hard to collect go? My sister can't inherit the houses or the businesses, so that would end up in the hands of my cousins, or...”

"What the hell with everything? We're not married yet and you're already with the what if I die?”

"N-not that I was thinking…! I'm already dispersed, that's not what I was going for.”

"Go on then."

“What I was referring to about time and discretion is that, all these months in which my father has seen that my will to continue with you and working as much or more effort than usual, have convinced him that, as least give you a chance.”

“Really?”

That was weird, to say the least.

"I guess at first he thought we weren't serious, but... But I think there's a good chance he'll accept it! Considering we've been together for a few months now and have stayed out of the public eye, there shouldn't be much of a problem. Besides, my father already knows and likes you. He was just being too stubborn.”

"I'm feeling the pressure right now... But what if things go wrong?"

After so many months in the shadows, first not sitting down to talk quietly about anything with Peter Northrop and then being ignored by him as if he were a plague, Oscar could not be so optimistic. On the contrary, no matter how informal the meeting was, he would be afraid.

Not that Oscar was inexperienced in relationships, speaking of his own time. But, for him, this was the first time he had to deal with a father who did not seem to accept his son's decisions in that area. So he couldn't help but be skeptical at such an abrupt change of heart.

"Nothing will happen, I'll be there too," Albert reassured him. “You just act as you normally would, don't stop to think about unnecessary things.”

“You say that, but I'm capable of talking my head off and getting you disinherited for life. With my bad luck, in fact, I could do it without even trying.”

"Like I said, it doesn't matter. Are we not living well enough now? We don't need any inheritance.” Thinking it over again, he added. “Of course, it would be a great help if you don't want to have to put up with Mrs. Burrows and those demon cats of hers, but discounting that, is it all that necessary?”

“As long as you're out there putting up with those animals for me, no. I think not. It would be weird for me to be surrounded by riches all of a sudden anyway.” Breathing easy again knowing he wouldn't have to face old Northrop alone, he asked more animatedly. “So when am I going to see him?”

"That's why I dragged you into the store, actually," Albert pointed out guiltily. “A ball is going to be organized in a month; It will be an end-of-season event and, as some of our clients are famous people who go to the type of venues where this will be organized, my father and I are obliged to attend.”

"Which includes me… in what way?"

He couldn't be a chaperone to the Northrops, even making peace with Albert's father. It would have been very strange and the people at the entrance would have asked.

“My father told me that you would receive an invitation, on your own. So, in theory, you will go alone and meet us there.”

"Couldn't he have chosen a less crowded place to talk? Seriously, this doesn't make sense to me!”

"He doesn't want to let you into his house until he's cleared things up with you, it's a matter of pride. And since I haven't told him where we live either… But you're right that he could have chosen another place. For now, let's take the opportunity to get you another suit; I seem to recall that Patrick Seymour had broken the one you had.”

Oscar felt that this was like preparing him, dressing him up, to face a calamity. But, choosing to put pessimism aside, he decided to let go and trust that Albert was right when he said that, although his father did not specify what he wanted to talk to both of them about, he was in a good mood when he met him.

In any case, it was impossible that it could be worse for them. And as much as Peter Northrop valued his peaceful life, there was no way she was going to risk creating a scandal to talk some sense into his son.

Why had Albert's father changed his mind about the two of them? As ecstatic as he was at first, upon hearing the news, he didn't stop to ask all the questions he wanted. More than anything because he saw the villain confident and, therefore, he did not want to lower him from that cloud so quickly. But as days passed he couldn't help but go over that question again and again. Sometimes in the company of Albert, but most of the time alone.

Couldn't this be a trap? That was an option he quickly ruled out. Even if Peter Northrop had the malice to play tricks on those close to him, he didn't see Albert walking into such a trap. After all, hadn't he continued to rebel against his father's commands even after learning of his threats?

No, even if it was a trap, Mr. Northrop should use a somewhat more direct method to get rid of trouble. Something like, for example, meeting Oscar somewhere more private and offering him a truce, a bribe, or basically anything as long as he would get away from his family forever. Come on, no matter how you looked at it, a society ball was not the appropriate place to discuss any of this... Unless you had in mind to cause a scandal. But then again, one could reconsider how little attention-grabbing that individual was.

So, having come to this conclusion, there were two options.

The first, that it was all a trap despite everything. A death trap, one might add, from which not only Albert and Oscar would be harmed, but also the entire Northrop household and perhaps even any relatives or close friends Oscar might have; nobody would like to live so close to a social pariah, once that framework was uncovered. It did not matter how well they got along, or that they did not even give importance to these matters, society would not make it easy for anyone.

And, if one was singled out, it was inevitable that people around them would fall.

That must have been the main reason why Mr. Northrop had been particularly cautious in dealing with the matter: He wanted to stop it, but he wanted none of it to spill on him or his people.

The second option that came to mind for Oscar, and which really seemed like something out of a fairy tale not appropriate for his humble person, was simply that Peter Northrop had changed his mind and was willing to accept him, perhaps not as a partner of his son, but at least as the old friend and neighbor he once was.

Of course, this had to have a reason for being. Even in a novel as poorly structured as Dianne's, it was impossible not to have a trigger, absurd as that might be.

And, certainly, there was a trigger apart from what Albert mentioned before, about the time and discretion in their actions during those more than two months that they had been in London. Oscar discovered it a week after being invited to that event where he was to meet Peter Northrop and company. And he did not do it through the usual gossip of his social circle in the capital, much less because Mr. Northrop himself would have wanted to explain himself a little better on that matter. No, it was only thanks to his mail and his landlady's own indiscretion.

"I don't know what trouble you'll be in, but in your village you're already left for dead," she had said one afternoon, when she was preparing to deliver his mail. “You are more in demand than my late man, when creditors were all over him for not paying the rent on the rickety flat we had in Mayfair. Good thing my family had property, if not for that...”

Mrs. Burrows didn't go on, but it didn't take to see that she was right: Oscar was given quite a handful of letters, at least one for every person he held in esteem in Snodland. Even her aunt, who since she found out about his adventures with the eldest of the Northrops did not want to know more about him, and now she had written to him!

But it wasn't the fact that there were people who weren't very fond of writing to him—and who had finally decided to do so—that made Oscar sick.

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

"Did you say dead?"

“See for yourself, there is even a brochure with offers from a funeral home.”

"Don't tell me you,ve been checking my mail, with how well you and I have been getting along these past few weeks…!"

Although he said it ironically, there was also some truth in his words. Ever since they moved in, Albert had tried to intercede for him in front of his irate landlady. And she had, at some point, assumed that the presence of this tenant she disliked was inevitable. So she tried to contain herself a bit and, as the days went by, not pout every time she saw him.

Thus, the sharp comments had diminished. They didn't disappear completely—and probably never would, given Burrows's character—but at least the woman no longer seemed so prone to saying something just to attack.

It could not be said, therefore, that Oscar and she had become friends. But the lady had begun to invite him and Albert to have tea in her apartment and, since the cats no longer seemed interested in him either, ignoring him every time they saw him pass, it could be said that they had managed to start a cordial relationship.

Now, bad-tempered as Mrs. Burrows was, it was unheard of for her to go through letters from her tenants. She never did it when she was still on it with Oscar, it would be awesome if she started doing it now.

“Of course I haven't checked anything, I don't have that much free time!” she complained and immediately added. “If I'm aware of what's going on, it's because a friend of yours has contacted a funeral home. And these, as if it weren't enough to clean up corpses from the underworld, have come here claiming I don't know what nonsense that they would be in charge of the funeral services.”

“It has to be a joke…”

But it wasn't. It couldn't be, first because Mrs. Burrows wasn't one to take her macabre jokes that far. And, second, because of the evidence that he had before her: it was impossible that all those close to him would have coordinated in such a way to write to if nothing had happened! In addition, the funeral home's advertising —along with a note from it, perhaps indicating the services to be offered for this particular case— was included in the number of letters.

"Looks like someone wrote a check to cover the expenses. It´s nice, right?” the landlady pointed out, quite sarcastically. “One waiting for his friends to give him a bottle of red wine or some vouchers to go see an opera for his birthday. And what do they do? They raise money for a coffin.”

"There must have been some mistake."

There's no way these people could have come to such a conclusion on their own! Oscar thought.

“If you want some advice, if I were you I'd ask the funeral home to give me my money back, before telling my people that I'm not underground yet. Then, if anything, I would explain to them that the funeral home does not make returns of the investment and I would keep that money.”

“That doesn't sound very ethical.”

Although, since when was Ms. Burrows on the side of ethics and moral correctness?

“Maybe not, but look at it this way: That money was going to be invested in you anyway, what difference does it make how it's spent?”

"And when I really die?"

"Bury you in a ditch. What else will it give? You'll be dead anyway, you won't care where they put you then.” The woman shrugged her shoulders; It seemed that she didn't say that to bother, but that it was really a conviction of hers. “I always tell my kids this, but for some reason it feels wrong to them.”

The truth is that Oscar's opinion regarding funeral ceremonies and what to do with a body once its user had already passed away did not differ too much from that said by Mrs. Burrows. But, having made it to where he was unscathed, the last thing he wanted was to discuss matters of beyond the grave.

That is why he chose to say goodbye to his landlady, taking the letters with him to his apartment, with the intention of reading them all and reaching a conclusion about what had happened.

Apparently Sayer, Kenneth, Mallory, his own uncles, and even the Cornells—or, well, Mr. Cornell to be precise—were the ones who had written to him. The first three were incredulous, as if asking what the hell could have happened to his friend when it hadn't even been three weeks since they received his last letter and, at that time, there was nothing abnormal about him that augured mortal danger.

The others, that is, his family and his former employer, sent more solemn letters. As if they already took for granted that he had died and wanted, somehow, to make up for the inconvenience to whoever had to deal with the stiff. There were even at least half a dozen letters, without much content, from neighbors and acquaintances from the town, giving their condolences without inquiring further into the matter!

In fact, these people, and discounting Edmund Cornell since his cordiality did not go that far, had even prepared a collection to pay the expenses of the funeral home and buy a couple of wreaths for when the mass and burial took place. .

It was unheard of! It seemed that the character of Oscar was more popular in death than in life. Which, to be honest, did not surprise him: something similar happened in the original work. When Oscar died there, suddenly, people began to remember him, pitying him for the shitty life he had led and how little he had been able to enjoy it, being a poor orphan that never did anything relevant with his existence. He even remembered reading a ridiculous scene with Madeleine crying over her coffin and Patrick consoling her with a couple of sentences not too sensitive towards the deceased!

Well, it was ridiculous.

The only good thing about this misunderstanding that was now taking place was that, apart from the funeral home, no one but his friends had his address.

And it is that, although there were so many who wrote to his address with the intention of being able to reach his landlady or whoever it was that shared a flat with the aforementioned and thus be able to arrange the procedures for the burial, Sayer had mentioned in his own letter that he was in charge of writing the address on the envelopes, once the letters were delivered to him for this purpose.

No one, not even after his supposed death, had to know where he was staying or with whom. This was a detail that Oscar appreciated.

But, back to the subject at hand, who the hell could be twisted enough to go to his relatives with the story that he had died? And for what purpose? The first person he thought of was Peter Northrop. This man must have been anxious to get rid of him, if only in theory, and when you took into account the rendezvous they had arranged and his growing good humor… No, that couldn't be. Oscar had dealt with Mr. Northrop long enough to know that he was a serious, down-to-earth individual.

If the guy wanted to get rid of him, he would kill him for real. Or rather, he would hire someone to do it. And, of course, he would not warn everyone that his victim was dead before the crime had occurred, since that would be too serious an inconsistency in case someone was given to investigate the event.

So if Peter Northrop wasn't involved—even though he was obviously aware of it—who was…?

Patrick Seymour had no reason to, now less than ever, so busy with his own problems. Neither did Dianne, although this one could easily pass as one of her mediocre ploys that ruined things more than they fixed them.

Madeleine, then?

It had to be Madeleine. Oscar now remembered it; the day they met in the cafeteria, after the topic of Dianne came up, they both complained about her for a long time. One because she was sick of the writer trying to tell her what to do, and the other because he was already seeing that Dianne would never keep her word, and it wasn't just that he couldn't get a favor out of her, it was that it would be impossible to restore his reputation in Snodland because of it.

The protagonist, perhaps due to a stroke of lucidity not very typical of her person, must have seen before her a comrade who suffered from the same misfortunes once she saw herself misfiring against a common enemy. And so she asked him something like, why not get revenge, discrediting Dianne in the process? After all, Patrick already seemed to have taken to his heels. And with the writer out of the game too, for the moment, why not take advantage and tie up the last loose end of that fabric?

She would go without saying that Oscar refused. He did it not once, but several times, at Madeleine's insistence.

Revenge already seemed like an absolute waste of time and energy by itself, but it is that if the protagonist was the one who was planning it... Well, to say that this would have all the traces of ending in disaster would be an understatement. Which is why he so adamantly refused to be involved in whatever imbroglio Madeleine had come up with, insisting that he didn't want to even listen to her idea in order to at least regain some of his lost dignity, and also trying to make Madeleine forget about that sudden and eerie desire to help others.

Let's see, Oscar thought he would have succeeded. He had a hard time shutting Madeleine up, but he finally did. She didn't bring it up again, didn't even try to send him another one of her wild notes via Albert in later days.

Who was going to tell him that not only had the aforementioned not given up, but that she had begun to act on his behalf and without taking into consideration what he thought about it?

Although, also, it was about Madeleine. What was to be expected of her, after all?

"Is there any particular reason why there's a wreath with your name on it downstairs?"

Albert asked that question as soon as he had arrived at the apartment, with the curiosity of someone who hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Mrs. Burrows so that she would advance at least a small part of that gossip.

"It seems that I died," Oscar replied simply.

He still hadn't finished reading all the condolences, but he was already beginning to think about how to untangle this mess… Or if it was convenient for him to do so.

"Well, for a dead man, you look like a pretty functional corpse," joked the villain, now approaching the pile of letters that were on the small table at which Oscar was sitting. “But now seriously, what´s all this?”

And Oscar told him. From his exchange with Mrs. Burrows half an hour earlier to his own suspicions that Madeleine was behind the whole thing. Lending him some letters to take a look at on his account, he ended up concluding:

“Maybe it's not so bad to be dead. I mean, there's not much point in gossiping about the life and work of a deceased person, especially when that person never offered anything of value to the community. I bet they'll have forgotten me in a couple of weeks.” Seeing an outcry already brewing over a villain who seemed more willing than he to do what was politically correct, he hastened to add. “Ah, you don't have to say it, I am of the same opinion. I have to write to my family and friends to give them the bad news that I'm still breathing and unfortunately won't be able to collect his much-loved inheritance yet (whatever that is, because I'm still penniless). I was only hinting that, even if they must know, what does the rest of the town have to do with my misadventures?”

"Are you planning to hide from the community that you still live?"

“Why not? It will sound abrupt, but it would be like rooting out the problem. They can't keep talking bad forever about someone who no longer exists. They'll soon get tired and go looking for their next victim... One that does breathe, anyway.”

"I can't believe you're going to play along with Madeleine Cornell, if she planned it," Albert murmured, for, rightly so, this was new. “And what will happen to the money invested in funeral preparations? Even if you try to pretend to be dead in front of the neighbors, that would have to be returned.”

Oscar may not have had a guilty conscience regarding this task, perhaps thinking that paying for a coffin was the least kind gesture that the people of Snodland should have shown to his character, but it was obvious that Albert was not going to be okay with that.

"Here's my idea," Oscar proceeded cautiously. “Why don't you convince your father to organize a social event or something when he comes back to town? In this way the money will return to the villagers as a banquet with a chamber orchestra included.”

“It's a good option.”

“Right? With the number of devout people in Snodland, my other suggestion would have been to donate it to the parish. But meh, then I remembered about Father Gilmore's skirt troubles and I don't think the parishioners would be too happy if all that money went to the clergy.”

"I agree that the parishioners might be somewhat sensitive about that, even though, from what I understand, Father Gilmore has already been replaced by another priest." Returning to the subject at hand, Albert intervened. “May I inquire now how you plan to let only a small group of people know that you are not actually dead?”

Everything is known in Snodland, Oscar imagined he wanted to add. And he was right, such a small town was like a nest for lovers of gossip.

"I suppose it will come down to two things," he concluded. “The first, because the name that appears on the envelope that I will send is someone else's except mine. Preferably, we could use the one from the landlady, since it would only raise suspicions of something shady if you were the one mentioned in the letter. Then, regarding the address, how about using my work address? It will not happen that nobody sends me a letter to such a place, because in the letter itself I plan to tell you that I am still alive and that the few people who have permission to correspond with me can continue to do so at the usual post office box. But, just in case, I don't think the publishers would have a problem withholding mail from Snodland for me if I ask them to.”

"And you think that will work?"

The concern was evident. When a serious event occurred, such as a death, the villagers tended to be more attentive than they should regarding the adventures of their neighbors. It didn't matter if they weren't tolerated, they just wanted to know more. In part, it was for this reason that so many people wrote to Oscar once the rumors of his death spread.

“Sayer has already done a good job of keeping our address from spreading throughout the county. Changing the sender and address on the envelopes is merely a precaution, as this time the letters will not pass through his hands alone before reaching its destination, but I trust him to continue to keep the secret.”

“If you trust him, I have no reason not to. In addition, I refer to the tests, these last months have been very quiet precisely thanks to the fact that almost nobody knows this apartment. I hope it stays like this for a long time!”

“It would be disappointing if it wasn't. Especially now that I've been run over to death, can you imagine that even in this difficult moment they don't let me rest in peace?”

Not wanting to continue the joke, perhaps because Oscar had gotten too into the role of his living dead and the villain did not want to continue imagining such a scenario, he returned to the subject he had brought up as soon as he arrived at the apartment:

"Something should be done with the funeral home, we should also return the flowers."

“Right, we should. I was going to suggest we hang the wreath on the door, but Christmas is months away and it would look weird.” Remembering something suddenly, he turned to a letter he had kept away from the rest, handing it to Albert as he said. “At least it's not all bad news, it seems that Crane hasn't heard of my death and he's very kindly sending us the results of his investigation.”

Richard Crane was one of the Oxford detectives they had hired long ago to find out what Thomas was up to.

Since neither Oscar nor Albert lived anywhere near that city, and especially now that they had moved and were therefore still busy adjusting to their new life together, it was impossible to approach the detective agency for a quick update on how the investigation was going. Of course, not that it mattered, anyway; with Crane they agreed, before leaving Oxford, the progress report would be made by post.

Thus, every end of the month, the detective sent a brief summary of his latest findings.

At first there wasn't much to tell, as Thomas Stevens was one of those cunning types who knew how to cover their own backs. And, although he did not suspect that someone was following him and inquiring about his business, he took all possible precautions to make it difficult to track him down.

Using false names when renting premises and, likewise, being careful not to be seen depending on which company, both he and his colleagues kept a low profile. This is, at least, until the investigations and interrogations of fellow students from the university and neighbors of the gallery that Crane and company carried out took effect.

"They're dealing with opium," Oscar summed up, saving the villain having to go through sheets and sheets of documents that accompanied Crane's original letter. “As I thought, the art gallery is just a cover, something they use to look good to the innocent citizenry and at the same time attract clients for their main source of income…”

"It seems they have a ground floor with its corresponding rented basement four blocks from the gallery," Albert reviewed, finding the exact address on the papers. “Is that where...?”

“Yes, they set up the ground floor to make it look like an ordinary tavern, catering to a clientele not as select as you might expect for people who supposedly run a gallery full of quality exhibits. Now, it's the cellar where they put those who want to have a good time with opium. Do you remember Jimmy, one of Thomas' partners? I told you that the first time I saw him he was snoring on one of the sofas in the living room.”

"I know who you mean." Crane had mentioned it often in his reports as well; it seemed that he rarely dropped by the gallery, even to spend the night, despite Thomas's claim that he was the one who carried out most of the repairs in the place, “what about him?

“It seems that if he's so sleep-deprived it's because they have him serving the drug addicts in that joint, every night. Since it is he who should be behind the counter.”

“In a way, I'm not surprised.”

“You know? Looking back on my visit and seeing how open Lowell Travers was with me until Thomas showed up to cut the conversation short, I have a strong belief that said guy thought I might join them in the mix. As if I was going to fall!”

“Definitely, it doesn't sound like something you'd get into.”

Though Albert couldn't help but smile as he said this. How many criminal activities had Oscar gotten into up to this point, looking out for his own benefit and not facing legal consequences for it? If he didn't go into the drug business, it was only because it was too risky and useless, since he wasn't so cash-strapped that he couldn't afford a legitimate job, not because the plan wasn't clever.

And it is that Crane took a few months to gather all the evidence to conclude the investigation.

"It's lucky they got caught now because, knowing Thomas, he would be very capable of starting to export that opium and start a new war," Oscar pointed out, perhaps remembering the one that had started a few decades ago and for which the government had decided to prohibit the use of opium until these days. “Regarding this, it seems that they were already in negotiations to put another place of those outside Oxford, in another city.”

"I guess, if that's the case, it's time to leave the rest in the hands of the police."

Seen what was seen, to say that the investigation had gotten out of control was little.

“The agency will take care of it… They already have, actually. I don't know if they've already arrested Thomas, but Crane has let it slip that he stopped by the police station to make the report, before sending us these papers.”

After all, the detective had not only written to Oscar to inform him of his progress, but also to advise him of the course of action to be taken: a small group of people engaged in opium trafficking was a business for the relevant authorities. There was no need to ask the client in that sense, since it was common sense that such a thing should be reported as soon as possible.

Now, wasn't the purpose of all that research to make the Stevens see that his son was on the wrong foot? Crane awaited instructions to that effect, since it was evident that Oscar would not be the one to break the news to his uncle. No, this would have been a bad idea. It might even have led to a new wave of indignation on Thomas's part, a new blackmail.

Oscar knew it was best to keep the investigation secret, which is why no one—except for Albert, obviously—ever knew that he had hired someone to attend to this matter. And now that the investigation was over, the findings of the investigation could be sent to the Stevens anonymously, stamped by the detective agency, but without the name of the client who commissioned it anywhere.

In the end, dying and then resurrecting and seeing what Thomas would fall on was something that was worth it. And for that alone, regardless of the work that would later be involved in clearing up all the entanglement with his acquaintances and the funeral home, he managed to be in a good mood for the rest of the day.

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