Punch's Cousin, Chapter 6

The dirt floor of the folly pressed against Julian’s wet cloak in aching clumps. He gasped, sputtering as he inhaled a lungful of dust. His hands flew to his throat and he rubbed it gently, making sure the skin wasn’t broken. Darkness crushed his eyes like heavy weights. He felt a tickling trickle on his forehead and was unsure if it was the rainwater from his hair or blood from his collision with the beam.


“Sir?” Someone shook him.

Julian pushed the hands from him and sat upright.

“Lord Fallbridge, are you hurt?”

Arthur. Julian sighed, his eyes, again growing accustomed to the dark. He could see the silhouette of the footman—a faint glow from his slick teeth.

“I’m fine.” Julian said, slowly rising to his feet, careful not to hit his head.

“But, you,” Julian began, gently dusting himself off, “you shouted. I heard a crash…”

“I stumbled over some loose stones on the landing.” Arthur said. “I’d have thought it bad luck, Sir, only I found this.”

“What is it?” Julian grumbled as Arthur thrust a wet piece of crumpled paper into his hands.

“A note…in Lady Barbara’s hand, Sir.” Arthur cooed. “I could barely make it out, but it’s sure to be Lady Barbara’s hand.”

“So, she has been here.” Julian sighed. “I knew it.”

He rubbed his throat.

“Something wrong, Sir? Why were you on your back like that?” Arthur asked.

“I hit my head on a beam.” Julian responded, his shoulders rising in tension to his ears as he felt the uneasy feeling of someone’s gaze on his back.

“You said something, Lord Fallbridge, when I heard you fall.” Arthur probed. “Sounded like you were saying, ‘Punch.’”

“No.” Julian rasped as he felt the throbbing in his neck. “Tell me, could you make out what the note says? It’s too dark down here for me to read it.”

“It seems to be a name. A French name, Sir. Something ‘Evangeline.’ And, then, it says, ‘New Orleans.’”

“New Orleans?” Julian squinted. “In America?”

A faint, high laugh pierced Julian’s ear.

“Did you hear that?” Julian asked.

“Hear what, Sir?” Arthur said with his false politeness. Even without seeing him, Julian knew the footman was smirking.

Julian drew in a breath. “Nothing, Arthur.”

“You were clever, Sir, to know Lady Barbara must’ve been here. Only, she’s long gone by now.” Arthur took Julian’s arm. Julian wanted to shake the man’s hand off, but didn’t.

“We’d better go. Lucky you didn’t hurt yourself worse, hitting your head like that.”

“Yes, lucky.” Julian mumbled. His mind raced as quickly as his heart. This—this—was what happened when you left your rooms. Outside was nothing but blood, rough hands and sharp stings. He longed for his aubergine chair, his fire, the comfort of the bones of his room—the proud pediment protecting him in its triangular embrance.

For a second, Julian thought he felt Arthur’s hand brush into the pocket of his cloak. But, it couldn’t have; the footman had moved his hand to Julian’s back. He felt the thick rough fingers of the man’s hand move down his spine and rest on his hip.

“I’ll help you, Sir.” Arthur whispered. “The rain is letting up. I don’t hear it like I did before.”

“I can manage myself, thank you.” Julian moved away from the footman.

Still dizzy, Julian walked toward where he suspected the folly’s wooden door stood waiting. Though he didn’t want to leave the safety of the enclosed space, he longed to have a distance from Arthur.

Fumbling against the rough wall, Julian found the door handle and pulled with all his force. The door yawned open with a wooden belch and Julian stumbled from the folly, letting the cool air rush into his chest.

Mercury stamped at the ground—his liquid brown eyes showed a sympathy that no human could. Horses, dogs…far better company than people, Julian thought.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt, Lord Fallbridge? You seem out of sorts.” Arthur said, taking Julian arm again.

This time, Julian did jerk his arm away from the footman.

“Quite fine.” Julian answered, mounting the horse.

“Where will we go now, Sir?” Arthur asked.

“Just a moment, please,” Julian answered, unfolding the paper that Arthur had handed him. Though the rain had turned to a fine mist, the moonlight still cast enough of its ice-blue glow to read his sister’s writing which had begun to bleed in smoky pools into the paper.

“Iolanthe Evangeline.” Julian read aloud. “38 Jouet Street, New Orleans, Louisiana. The Vieux Carré.”

Julian crumpled the damp paper in his hand.

“We are going to America, Arthur.” Julian sighed.

“Sir?”

“But, first, back to Fallbridge Hall.” Julian gently tapped Mercury with his heel. The horse trotted toward the hall. “We have much to prepare.”

As they trotted home, Julian stuffed the wet paper into the pocket of his cloak. As he did, he felt something metallic with the tips of his fingers.

Without looking, Julian knew exactly what it was. He’d toyed with it so many times in his life. He jingled it in his pocket and was at once terrified and soothed by its sound. He clutched it in his hand to stop the sound and shivered. How cool it felt in his wet palm—that little brass bell from the tip of Punch’s cap.

“I’ll see you in America, Punch, old chap.” Julian thought as they rode toward Fallbridge Hall. “We shall all be reunited there.”

Did you miss Chapters 1-5?  If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 7.