Chapter 191: Chapter 191

Jenkins wrestled with the thought of needing a lie to cover a lie as he opened the rest of the letters and read through them. Because he had deliberately chosen addresses in shopping districts or upscale residential areas, the recipients all had a certain level of education. To his surprise, every reply he received was a seriously completed questionnaire.

"Do I really have to write back? If I do, I can't just reply to one of them..."

The more he thought about it, the more troublesome the matter seemed, yet he knew he had to deal with it. The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the Novᴇl_Fire(.)net

After much deliberation, he began to write his replies. He was worried that faking progress on a sociology thesis would expose him, as he had never written one before. To avoid such a pitfall, he created a new survey, this time delving into customs and daily habits in even greater detail.

To make it seem authentic, Jenkins wrote the same letter to all thirty-seven respondents. To prevent the gentleman from 12 Green Avenue from writing back again, Jenkins added a postscript to the letter. Adopting the persona of a female student from a pitiful background, he fabricated a story about his current difficulties and asked the recipients to send two shillings or equivalent currency in their reply to help him through this crisis. He—no, *she*—promised to thank them later.

There weren't many letters, and using Psychography, he finished them in half an hour. But then he reconsidered, feeling it should be more convincing. He printed another hundred copies of the first letter, but this time he enclosed a one-shilling banknote in only fifty of them. In all of the letters, he added a plea describing his hardships and asking for help.

"Surely no one will write back now! Who would believe a complete stranger?"

He thought gleefully, preparing fake envelopes and stamps for each letter before heading to the post office to mail them.

The next morning, Jenkins woke up and spent the day working and studying at Papa Oliver's shop as usual. It was only in the evening that he prepared to attend the ball. This time, he couldn't bring Chocolate and had to leave the cat at home. Papa Oliver even urged Jenkins to make some new friends and not to spend the entire evening sitting in a corner.

Initially, Jenkins found the idea of a ball being held in a hospital's banquet hall rather strange. But when his carriage arrived, he saw dozens of others bearing various family crests scattered among the trees. Finely dressed men and women walked hand-in-hand down a red carpet leading to the hospital's main building, and he suddenly had the illusion of being at a nobleman's grand estate.

The attendants at the entrance announced Jenkins's surname and title with perfect accuracy, then led him into the hospital.

To his astonishment, the entire first floor, aside from the load-bearing walls and pillars, had been completely opened up to form one enormous ballroom. Professional decorators had adorned the inconvenient structural walls with huge oil paintings and elegant gold ornaments, creating a style that was surprisingly unique.

"Am I really that important?"

Jenkins stood at the entrance, slightly puzzled, but no one came to greet him. He glanced around but saw no familiar faces—in truth, he only knew two people here. So, he picked up a tall glass of red wine from a table and found a seat in a quiet corner of the lounge area.

About half of the attendees were young people, while many of the others were faces Jenkins recognized from the newspapers. An orchestra was seated on a raised platform in the center of the hall, playing elegant music under the direction of a gray-haired man in a black formal suit.

Guests chatted and laughed, greeting one another. The gentlemen discussed the latest political topics, some puffing out their chests and addressing their acquaintances as "sir."

Along the east and west walls, a series of newly installed copper gas lamps had been mounted. The pipes weren't hidden within the walls but were bent into intricate, mechanical patterns on the outside, serving as decoration. Above, the crystal chandeliers were lit with dozens of real candles, their faint, sweet fragrance filling the air as they burned, adding to the opulent atmosphere.

A group of young people were sitting nearby, seemingly talking about something. Jenkins shifted slightly, uncomfortably removing the white gloves from his hands and placing his hat and cane beside him. A servant had offered to take them with his overcoat, but Jenkins had insisted they were personal items he would keep with him.

"...every night, that strange thump, thump, thump would sound right on schedule..."

The young people gathered nearby seemed to be telling stories—horror stories, judging by the gasps from the beautiful ladies. The young man closest to Jenkins seized the chance to grasp his companion's hand; startled, she didn't pull away.

"...the spirit could only maintain the form it had at death, and that poor..."

Another sentence drifted into Jenkins's ear, and the more he listened, the more familiar the story sounded.

"Wait a minute, isn't that the horror story I told the other night?"

He couldn't help but chuckle softly, sliding over on the sofa to join the crowd of listeners.

The story wasn't particularly long, and the young man telling it soon noticed Jenkins in the audience. He had also been one of the guests at young Wellington's reading salon that evening. Jenkins vaguely recalled that his father was a viscount, but unlike the impoverished Viscount Augustus, this viscount's family was incredibly wealthy. Not only was the man a member of the kingdom's Upper House, but he also owned a sizable tobacco company.

"What was his surname? Right, Abbott."

Jenkins searched his memory and then gave young Mr. Abbott a nod.

Abbott's face, caught in the act of plagiarizing someone else's story, instantly turned pale.

As it happened, the story had just reached its most critical point. The storyteller's sudden pallor was so effective that several of the more timid girls let out screams.

Not all the ladies reacted that way, however. One woman, whose attire was so severe that her blue dress could only be described as "plain," showed no reaction at all. Jenkins guessed she was the most distinguished person present, not just because of the deference others showed her, but also because of her purple earrings.

He had been studying with Papa Oliver for some time now and had developed a decent eye for appraising such items. At the very least, he knew they were far beyond his own ability to afford.

Not wanting to disturb Mr. Abbott's performance, Jenkins stood up to get something to eat. He'd come to the party on an empty stomach.

He was inspecting a tropical fish on the buffet table, its eyes wide in death, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.