Punch's Cousin, Chapter 104

“Ulrika,” Carling Rittenhouse said in a warning tone, “Don’t test my patience.”

“Don’t test mine, Mother.” Ulrika growled. “You’ll force me to do something that I don’t wish to do.”

“Such as?” Carling raised her eyebrows.

“Do you really want me to visit with Corliss Cage when I arrive in New Orleans and tell her all that I’ve seen?” Ulrika grinned.

“What could you possibly mean by that?” Carling blanched.

“Where do you go when Father is traveling to inspect the garnet mines?” Ulrika asked. “You’re not in the house. You’re nowhere to be found while your husband’s poor relation tends to your younger children. Isn’t it peculiar how Afton was born so prematurely? Yes, peculiar indeed. Considering that Father was abroad for months until six months before her birth. Perhaps it was God who fathered Afton. Is that it, Mother?”

“How dare you?” Carling hissed.

“Mother, I’ve seen you walk across the fields like some love-sick slave. I’ve seen where you’ve gone on humid summer nights.” Ulrika smirked.

“Get out of my sight!” Carling spat.

“That’s what I aim to do, Mother.” Ulrika said, opening the door to the carriage. “I’ll see you at the ball. Do tell Rowan that his sister will miss him.”

Carling turned and walked toward the house as Ulrika climbed into the carriage.

“We’re ready!” She shouted to the driver. “Go.” As the carriage clattered off, Ulrika grinned broadly and whispered. “Stay hidden, you two…until we reach the edge of town.”

As the carriage rolled down La Colline Cramoisie, past the plantation of Manuel Fontanals, Ulrika had no idea that for all the pain she had just caused her mother, another mother was suffering more terribly.

Marjani walked stiffly from the shack into the daylight and squinted. The previous few days had added years to her body—lines and creases began to cut across her once-smooth face and her thick black hair had begun to go white.

She drew in a deep breath as she walked toward the row of modest cabins at the rear of the land.

The slaves who sat outside the cabins looked up at her as she walked. She didn’t dare to come too close to them for she knew she had the seeds of Yellow Fever on her clothes and in her hair.

“Gilbert is dead.” She said softly, but loud enough for them to hear. “I need someone to dig a grave. No proper cemetery will take him. We’ll need to put him here in the land and hope that the Holy Mother done sees fit to let him lay in peace there.”

“What ‘bout Nontle, honey?” A woman called out sympathetically.

“She lives.” Marjani shook her head. “For now…” She fell to her knees in the dust. “Bring me some water so I may wash myself. Then, make Columbia ready so I can talk to her, for to tell her that her daddy…”—she glanced behind her at the gleaming plantation house—“…that the man she calls her daddy is dead.”

Meanwhile, in New Orleans, Naasir shivered as he unpacked Lord Julian’s trunks. He shut his eyes. “Ah,” he whispered to himself. “Poor soul. Would that I were there to help her.” He sniffed the air, “It’s happening sooner than I expected. She’s arrived. Sad…one mother loses a child, another comes to find her own.” His hands shook. “Ice…”

Downstairs, Mr. Punch, Robert, Adrienne and Cecil had gathered in the dining room of that fine mansion on Royal Street. Meridian beamed with pride as her staff—in their finest suits—served them the most opulent meal she could prepare.

“Doesn’t this all look lovely?” Adrienne grinned at Meridian. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Ain’t nothin’, Ma’am.” Meridian said humbly.

“Now, I know that his Lordship likes sausages, so I got some right fine special sausages from the French Market. These are not like anything you done had in England, I can tell you that for sure.”

Mr. Punch’s eyes widened with delight. “Coo!”

“Steady on, dear boy.” Robert winked at Mr. Punch.

“Now, your Lordship, I done taken the liberty of lettin’ your pup eat in the kitchen. I got him a fine meal, too.”

“I’m sure he’s grateful.” Mr. Punch said, partly in his own voice, but trying to be “proper” as he thought Julian might.

“Will you be wantin’ anything else? For that…” Meridian said, squinting at the puppet that Mr. Punch had seated at the dining table in the chair opposite him.

“Do I need to set a place for it…him?” Meridian asked politely.

Adrienne chuckled and looked down at her plate as Cecil snorted.

“No,” Mr. Punch answered happily. “See, he’s a puppet and he don’t eat. Just thought he might like to join us.”

“Folk sure do things different in England, don’t they?” Meridian smiled sincerely. “Long as everyone’s got what they need, I’m happy. I’ll leave you to your supper. You just let one o’ these fellas know if you need me.”

“Thank you, Meridian.” Robert said.

“I say, this is a fine meal.” Cecil said, eating with gusto. “This gumbo is quite lovely. We must have Gamilla talk with Meridian about how she does it.”

“I’ll suggest that,” Adrienne said.

Mr. Punch put his fork down and stared across the table at his puppet.

“Is something wrong, dear Punch?” Robert asked.

“Here, you know how you was sayin’ in there that you had a feelin’? A feelin’ like somethin’ ain’t right?”

“Yes.” Robert nodded.

“I got the strangest feelin’ just now.” Mr. Punch answered. “A chill-like. Like when the wind would howl through Fallbridge Hall and me master would hide under his quilts at night… Like those nights when the Duchess was in a fouler humor than usual. How he’d shiver on those nights. Got a chill like that.”

“There must be a draft in here.” Cecil said, looking at the windows.

“Must be.” Mr. Punch nodded.

At that very moment, Iolanthe Evangeline—dressed in her most elegant gown—strode brazenly across the docks and bowed her head at the regal woman who was disembarking a ship.

“Your Grace,” Iolanthe said, raising her head. “Welcome to New Orleans.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-103? If so, you can read them here.