“Not so fast,” Cecil smiled.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Robert sputtered.
“Falling to the floor like a sack of stones would tell me otherwise, Robert.” Cecil shook his head.
“What’s wrong with him?” Mr. Punch shouted, pacing Julian’s body back and forth frantically. “Is me chum hurt? Not gonna die like our pa, is he?”
“I’m not going to die, Mr. Punch.” Robert said. “I simply felt light-headed. I need a drink of water.”
“You shall have one.” Cecil said, walking over to a pitcher to pour a glass.
Mr. Punch rushed to Robert’s side and knelt down next to him. He placed Julian’s hand on Robert’s chest. “Hot, you are—right through them clothes. Hot—not like people hot neither, but sickly hot like when me master had a fever that time when he were a boy.”
“I think all of the excitement has gotten to me, a bit.” Robert said calmly despite the gravel in his voice. “A long passage, and don’t forget we were awake most of the night. I merely need some water and a little rest, and I’ll be back in fighting shape again.”
Punch rocked back and forth on Julian’s knees. “No. This is somethin’ worse than just bein’ tired. I know tired. This ain’t just tired.”
“Which of us is the physician?” Robert smiled.
“You.” Punch grunted.
“Don’t you think I should know if something were terribly wrong?”
“Think you would know, but I think you’d not tell us. Kind of a fool that way, you are. No offense meant, Chum. But, you’re not ‘xactly the best ‘bout tellin’ how you feel.”
Robert coughed.
“Am I correct?” Mr. Punch asked.
“You’re wiser than you think, Mr. Punch.” Robert sighed.
“So, then, what’ll we do? Gotta be another doctor in this damnable town.” Mr. Punch growled.
“There is,” Cecil said, returning with the water. “I’ll have Ty Chidi fetch him.”
“No.” Robert said, sitting up and taking the glass of water angrily.
“Robert,” Cecil responded plainly. “In case you’re not aware, there’s quite a dangerous fever swelling in these parts. It’s not something that we want to ignore.”
“I have not contracted Yellow Fever.” Robert shouted. “Damn it! I’m a physician! I know of what I speak! This is simply the remnants of the poison I drank on that ship!”
“Poison?” Cecil’s eyes widened.
“Me master’s valet—the dead one—gone and poisoned us, he did. ‘S why he’s the dead one and not the one what we brought with us.” Mr. Punch smiled.
“That’ll be enough, dear Punch.” Robert groaned.
“You’re an interesting fellow, Mr. Punch.” Cecil laughed. “I’m glad that we are friends.”
“Same here, Brother Chum, only what’ll we do ‘bout this one.” He pointed to Robert.
“’This one’,” Robert stood up, “doesn’t need anything except a few minutes to collect himself. Then, we’ll be on our way to our appointment with the Rittenhouses.”
“Oh, no!” Cecil laughed, putting his arm around his brother’s waist. “You’ll not be going up la Colline Cramoisie today, brother.”
Robert leaned in and whispered in Cecil’s ear, “Would you have me send Mr. Punch to that house unattended? Do you really think you can handle him on your own?”
“Here!” Punch frowned. “I heard that. And, I don’t ‘preciate bein’ thought of us somethin’ what needs handlin’! I can handle me-self. Done it a long time now, I have. I know how to act in situations what’s difficult, I do. Listen a this…” Punch took a deep breath and spoke again—this time mimicking Julian’s voice. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rittenhouse. My, my, but isn’t this lovely country? How happy you must be here. The landscape does remind me of the stand of trees near Fallbridge Hall.” Punch whooped with joy—returning to his own voice. “And, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Rittenhouse, I’ll be hittin’ your cousin, the nanny with me stick!” He laughed loudly. “Fine, then, I won’t say the last part. But, see, I can be good.”
Robert and Cecil both shook their heads and laughed.
“Well, then, Mr. Punch, I beg your pardon. Please forgive me.” Robert smiled.
“Quite all right,” Mr. Punch nodded. “Only I know you’re just bein’ protective.”
“I am.” Robert agreed. “And, I’m still going with you.”
“For all you’re protectin’, why don’t ya let the rest of us help you none?” Punch moaned.
“Because I’m perfectly fine.” Robert spat.
Punch grunted, looking to Cecil helplessly. “Don’t know what to do. May have to hit him with somethin’. Not hard, mind ya. Only to keep him down for a spell. Not gonna hurt him.”
“I think, rather,” Cecil smiled, “we should just let him have his way. It would do no good to hit him. Believe me, I tried that often enough when we were lads.”
“Guessin’ you know best,” Mr. Punch sighed, “what with you knowin’ him longer than me.”
“If it helps,” Robert began, “I’ll take to my bed until we need to leave for tea.”
“Might help.” Mr. Punch smiled. “But, I gotta watch ya to make sure you’re really restin’.”
“Dear God,” Robert rolled his eyes. “Very well.”
“Yes, a most interesting man, Mr. Punch. You are most interesting.” Cecil laughed.
Robert was good to his word. He did, in fact, rest before teatime. And, of course, Punch watched him—perched in a chair in the corner of the room, whispering quietly to himself—or perhaps to Julian. Strangely, Robert found Mr. Punch’s child-like murmuring to be something of a comfort, and he managed to fall asleep.
He was awakened by a soft tapping on his bedroom door. Mr. Punch opened it and whooped gleefully. “It’s me lady chum!”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Punch,” Adrienne laughed. “How is Robert fairing?”
“Sleepin’ he is.”
“Was.” Robert sat up and rubbed his yes.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. However we will need to start for the Rittenhouses shortly.” Adrienne walked into the room. Are you sure you’re well enough to go?”
“Quite.” Robert smiled. “There’s been no trouble this afternoon, has there?”
“No.” Adrienne grinned. “All has been quiet. Thankfully.”
“Here, who’s gonna look after the baby chum when we’re out?” Mr. Punch asked. “We don’t want him alone, what with not bein’ able to walk or talk or anything, in case someone nasty should come back here.”
“We don’t typically leave Fuller alone, Mr. Punch,” Adrienne giggled. “Gamilla will stay with him and Gros Chidi will sit outside the nursery door to ensure that no one comes in.”
“That’s fine.” Punch nodded. “Listen, what’s with callin that fella “Growww Chidi?” Mr. Punch exaggerated the way in which Cecil and Adrienne pronounced the man’s name.
“You’re right it does sound like ‘grow,’ however it’s ‘gros’ meaning big. He is Big Chidi and his son his little Chidi. Petite or Ty Chidi.” Adrienne explained.
“Say, pretty clever.” Mr. Punch hooted.
“It’s just tradition in these parts.” Adrienne smiled. “Mr. Punch, Naasir is in your room awaiting you. He’ll help you dress for tea.”
“Don’t need ta get dressed.” Mr. Punch frowned. “Already dressed, I am. Got trousers and a waistcoat and boots and this thing ‘round me neck what makes me feel like I’m gonna choke. Did it me-self, I did.”
“You might want to change your clothes. It’s customary to put on a different suit before going to call on someone.” Robert said gently.
“What do ya think a that?” Punch shrugged Julian’s shoulders. “Well, then, off I go to do the custom’ry thing.”
Mr. Punch cut quite a dashing figure in Julian’s deep blue suit and finest lavender cravat. He wore Julian’s usual diamond ring, and also the fragment of the Fallbridge Blue. In his cravat, he wore a simple stickpin of aquamarine surrounded by seed pearls. With Julian’s wave chestnut hair slicked back, he looked for all the world like Lord Fallbridge—until he spoke.
“How ya feelin’, Chum?” Mr. Punch asked Robert as the carriage jostled up the red hill.
“I’m quite well.” Robert smiled weakly—the motion of the carriage making him feel a bit queasy.
“I’m so fortunate.” Adrienne smiled.
“Why is that, my dear?” Cecil asked.
“Not every woman in Marionneaux can share a carriage with three such handsome men.”
“Here,” Mr. Punch looked away, blushing. He glanced up at the stately plantation at the crest of the hill.
A magnificent mansion—surrounded by monumental white columns—sat at the end of an oak-lined lane. To its left, fields of sugar cane seemed to touch the sky.
“That’s where I am.” Punch muttered.
“It will be all right, dear Punch.” Robert whispered. “Just remember that we’ll find you and that, for now, you’re Lord Julian.”
“Should I start now?” Mr. Punch asked.
“Probably.” Robert nodded.
“Very well,” Mr. Punch said in Julian’s voice. “I say, but isn’t this an enchanting estate? Why, it doesn’t appear at all to be the home of vicious monsters.” He winked at Robert.
“Do I have to correct you?” Robert asked.
“Nah,” Punch said, still speaking in Julian’s voice. “I’ll be good, I will.”
Carling Rittenhouse greeted them outside the house. She was an attractive woman—pale with flaming red hair. She was so slender that she looked as if the gentlest breeze might knock her over.
“Ah, Adrienne, Mr. Halifax,” Carling smiled stiffly as Cecil helped Adrienne from the carriage. “And, this must be your brother. I would recognize that strong jaw anywhere. She offered her hand to Robert once he’d dismounted the carriage.
Robert took her hand. “I am Robert Halifax, and this is Julian, Lord Fallbridge.”
“Your Lordship,” Carling bowed theatrically. “What an honor it is to have you in our home.”
“I was so flattered by your invitation,” Mr. Punch mimicked Julian. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I will confess that I had a great deal of trepidation about coming to such a new and strange land, but everyone here has made me feel so welcome that I’d hardly think I’d ever left the comforts of England at all.”
Robert, Adrienne and Cecil all looked—wide-eyed—at Mr. Punch, impressed with his composure.
“Oh, well,” Carling blushed, “Do come in, please.”
When Mrs. Rittenhouse turned her back, Mr. Punch tapped Robert on the shoulder and made a very Punch-like wild face. Robert bit his cheeks to keep from laughing.
“The parlor is through here.” Carling said as they walked.
Mr. Punch looked around the house. He concluded it was, in fact, a very fine house with its sweeping maple staircase, colorful rugs, silk draperies and large landscape paintings. But, something about it bothered him—the smell.
“I say,” Mr. Punch began, again, as Julian, “but what is that interesting aroma?”
“Rose oil.” Carling responded as she sat dramatically on a slipper chair. “I do love it.”
“Most intriguing.” Mr. Punch answered in his borrowed voice.
And, so, they began to talk—teatime chit-chat about trivial things—and as they did, Robert grew increasingly overheated. His stiff collar and cravat felt as though they were digging into his throat. He stifled the urge to cough violently. The scent in the room began to overpower him.
Mr. Punch watched Robert, noticing the beads of sweat which were appearing on his “chum’s” brow.
“If you’ll pardon me,” Mr. Punch continued his mimicry, “I’m feeling a bit warm. Is anyone else a bit warm?”
Adrienne glanced at Robert and also noticed his discomfort. “Now that you mention it, Mr.,” She paused. “Pardon me, Lord Fallbridge, I mean. Yes, now that you mention it, I, too am a bit warm.”
Carling looked flustered. “Where is that girl? She always stokes the grate too much!” Anxiously, Carling rang the bell next to the fireplace.
A young woman appeared. Though she was blonde, Mr. Punch recognized her immediately. The woman would not look at Punch, yet she felt his eyes on her face—her face which looked so much like his.
“Barbara, you foolish girl, try to quiet that fire!” Carling growled.
Punch watched Julian’s sister—in her blonde wig—tend to the grate. He wanted to speak—to be himself. Yet, he knew he couldn’t.
“She’s new.” Carling sighed. “Only been here a day or two. I don’t know why I took her on. She came so highly recommended! I can’t imagine why.” She turned to the girl. “Barbara Allen, do hurry! You’re making a backdraft!”
As the smoke from the fire tickled Robert’s throat, he could hold his coughing no more. A horrible wave of convulsing coughs gripped Robert’s body. He coughed so violently that glittering specks of blood flew from his mouth onto the marble floor.
“Oh dear!” Carling gasped.
“Mr. Punch…” Robert stood up, shaking.
“What’s he saying?” Carling asked nervously.
Robert staggered forward. “Mr. Punch.”
“I’m comin’.” Punch answered, hurrying to his friend.
Mr. Punch arrived too late to keep Robert from falling into a heap on the gleaming white floor.
Did you miss Chapters 1-59? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday, October 4, for Chapter 61 of Punch’s Cousin.
1 comment:
I've rather come to expect cliff hangers on Saturdays, but one is exceptional. So much at once. Poor Robert really seems to be taking a step back.
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