Punch's Cousin, Chapter 34

Arthur set the tray down on the writing table with a metallic clatter. Both Robert and Julian looked up at the footman who seemed to be a bit unsteady on his feet.


“Beggin’ your pardon, Sirs.” Arthur said in his typically obsequious manner.

Robert studied the tray which held a bottle of whiskey (his favorite maker as well), two glasses and a pitcher of water.

“Will you be needing anything else?” Arthur asked.

“No, Arthur,” Julian responded. “I think you can retire for the evening.”

“Very good, Sir.” Arthur bowed his head before exiting the cabin.

“Did you catch that twinkle in his eye?” Robert asked.

“I didn’t notice.” Julian shook his head. “He’s always got a bit of an impish look about him. No, ‘impish’ isn’t the word.”

“Demonic?” Robert suggested.

Julian laughed momentarily, his thoughts drifting to his own demons. The weight of the reminder made his face feel heavy.

“Buck up, there.” Robert said cheerfully.

“Sorry.” Julian sighed.

“No need to be. In addition to everything else that’s burdening you, you are also mourning.” Robert answered gently.

“I won’t even be in England for the funeral.” Julian thumped his hand on the desk. “Not that Mother would even notice if I were there—except to tell me how disappointingly like my father I am. I’m sure she’s missing Barbara, however.”

“Do you know what you need?” Robert asked.

“Do tell.” Julian grumbled.

“A drink.” He poured a glass of whiskey for himself and one for Julian.

“No. I can’t handle the stuff.” Julian shook his head. “Never could. Besides, do I really need to further distance myself from reality?”

“Might do you good. A nip or two now and again can be healthy.” Robert winked.

“That’s your scientific opinion, Doctor?” Julian asked.

“Mostly.”

“No, no. Thanks, but no. You have your ‘little nip.’ But, I shall pass.” Julian shook his head again.

“It’s good for what ails you.” Robert continued, pushing the glass toward Julian.

“I already have a bag full of grave dirt for that.” Julian pointed toward the bed where the sack of gris-gris sat under the pillow. “Being ‘The Great Man of the Rocks,’ I know it will protect me.” He added dryly.

Robert sighed, picking up his glass. “I was hoping to make a toast.”

“To what?”

“To you. To our safe journey. To our health. To our friendship.” Robert smiled.

“Well, then, go ahead.” Julian shrugged.

“Toasts are invalid unless you take a sip.” Robert replied playfully.

“Why is it so important to you that I take a drink?” Julian grunted.

“Because, dear boy, I want you to sleep tonight.” Robert answered in exasperation.

“Very well!” Julian picked up the glass that Robert had poured for him.

“Splendid!” Robert grinned. He raised his glass into the air. “To your health, Julian!”

“Thank you.”Julian nodded.

Robert took a sip of the whiskey. Julian, however, brought the glass to his mouth, tilting it back, but only letting the amber-colored liquid wet his lips. He did not swallow.

“To our safe arrival in New Orleans.” Robert took another drink.

Again, Julian did nothing more than raise the glass to his lips.

“To us…” Robert toasted again, taking a swig from the glass.

“To us,” Julian smiled, again, not swallowing the liquid.

“I know you’re not really drinking.” Robert chuckled.

“I don’t like spirits!” Julian retorted. “I don’t do well with them. I’ve already explained that.”

“One more toast.” Robert said. “And, this one you have to drink to.”

“What’s that?”

“To Sir Collin Molliner. May he rest in peace.” Robert took a sip.

“To Father.” Julian said softly. This time, he did take a sip of the liquor which burned his throat and made him sputter a bit.

“You really can’t handle it.” Robert smiled sleepily.

“I told you I couldn’t.” Julian nodded. “Thank you, by the way, for toasting Father.”

“My…p…p…leasure.” Robert stuttered, squinting.

The cabin seemed to spin around Robert’s head, tilting and twirling at the strangest angles. As it spun, all the color bled from the room, leaving nothing but ghostly outlines of the place—like the lines of a charcoal sketch.

“Robert?” Julian rose, walking to his friend who had begun to slump in his chair. He stood behind Robert and shook him by the shoulders—gently, but firmly. “Robert?”

“L…L…Lord Julian…” Robert stammered before falling forward onto the table, his face striking the shining wood.

“Oh God!” Julian knelt down next to Robert’s chair and turned the man’s head to the side. He felt the man’s neck and put his hand to Robert’s lips and nose to see if he could feel his breath.

“Help!” Julian shouted in a deep voice, rushing toward the cabin door.

He, too, began to feel dizzy.

“Someone! Help us!” Julian shouted into the corridor.

Julian stumbled, grabbing the wall to keep from tripping. The corridor twisted and writhed around him. However, for Julian, the wriggling turned to blackness, and, quickly, Julian was gone-Mr. Punch taking his place.

“Try to poison me master and me chum?” Punch growled. “I’ll beat his oily face in with me stick!”

Punch tried to walk down the passageway, however, Julian’s body did not cooperate. It staggered and stumbled. Punch felt the fire in Julian’s stomach.

“Here now!” Punch cried out. “I need this body, I do!”

Julian’s legs gave out—his body falling in a heap in the corridor.

Punch screamed in terror! “I need this body! I need it!” However, Julian’s mouth didn’t open, and his body remained motionless. Punch’s screams went unheard.



Did you miss Chapters 1-33? If so, you can read them here.