Punch's Cousin, Chapter 185

The phantom room around Punch and Julian grew dim as a bright light shone on the proscenium which had emerged from the rear wall when Julian turned the key.


“What’s this?” Punch whispered from his chair beside Julian.

“I suppose we’ll have to see.” Julian smiled.

“Should we clap?” Punch asked. “People clap at the theater.”

“No.” Julian shook his head, “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

A figure appeared on the stage. A little boy with chestnut hair and wide, wet eyes stood very still in the center of the proscenium. He was dressed in fine clothes, the sort of handsome finery in which the Duchess had insisted that Julian be dressed when he was a child. At first glance, the child appeared to be quite solid and real, and for a moment, Mr. Punch wondered how he’d gotten inside their shared body. Punch grunted in concern.

As he studied the figure of the child, Punch realized that he wasn’t at all solid, but rather appeared to flicker as if he was a creation of light and color. In fact, Punch could even see a bit of the background through the boy’s torso.

“Here, what is that thing?” Punch asked. “Is he a ghost?”

“You could say that,” Julian replied softly. “Don’t you recognize him?”

“I do.” Punch nodded. “It’s you.”

“It’s us.” Julian whispered.

“He’s all alone,” Mr. Punch said quietly. “It’s sad.”

“Is it?” Julian smiled through the darkness between them. “Look again.”

The figure of young Julian raised his hand and upon it sat a puppet—Mr. Punch himself—far too big for the child’s small hand and arm.

“Coo!” Mr. Punch whooped. “It’s me.”

“Yes.”

“Whole again.”

“We’re both whole at the moment.” Julian nodded.

“Will he speak?” Mr. Punch asked.

“We shall see.” Julian whispered.

The child walked downstage and stood in the bright light, facing out toward Punch and Julian.

Mr. Punch wondered if the spirit boy could see them.

“Mr. Punch,” The child began speaking.

Punch almost answered, but he quickly realized that the wee actor was speaking to the puppet on his almost translucent hand.

The child manipulated the puppet so that it appeared to nod.

“Mother says I must take a trip,” The boy continued.

The puppet nodded.

“I don’t want to go. I like it here. I like the Hall and playing in the folly. Even if Mother is harsh sometimes, Father is here and we have the staff to play with us. They’re all so kind. Aren’t they? Except…”

The air in the room around them filled with the aroma of dried roses as another figure appeared on the stage. Dressed in a pale pink gown, the shape of a woman shimmered into visibility. Her face was obscured by a mask. Or was it? Perhaps she had no face at all, no features that would identify her as human. However, her identity was unmistakable.

“Master Julian,” the woman croaked in a rusty voice which both Julian and Mr. Punch recognized as being that of Agnes Rittenhouse, Julian’s one-time nanny.

“Yes, Nanny.” The child Julian answered meakly.

“Whatever are you about?” The woman chided. “Standing here and talking to yourself. You don’t want to grow up to be mad, do you? You know madness runs in your family—your father’s side anyway. You know that your mother is terribly concerned that you’ll be soft-headed, too. Now, straighten up and be a man. Remember that you are a Fallbridge. Make Her Grace proud.”

“Yes, Nanny.” The child repeted.

“A young gentleman should be excited about a journey to London. Aren’t you a young gentleman?”

“Yes, Nanny.”

“Then, where’s your smile?”

“My smile is outside in the folly and in the thistle and hidden behind the trees where the dirt has worn away to show the sparkling rocks that glitter in the sunshine. My smile is in the statues on the great hall and in the colors of the paintings in the banquet room. My smile is here, in this house, Nanny.”

The female figure raised her hand behind her head and swiftly lowered it—slapping the child across the face.

“Insolent!” The woman shouted.

A third figure appeared on the stage in a puff of smoke and the sharpness of fire. Her face, too, was missing or hidden, but, again, her identity was clear. Her lavish red gown and shining red satin slippers told Punch and Julian that his mother, the Duchess, had appeared in their little private panto.

“Nanny!” The Duchess bellowed. “That’s no way to treat the future Duke of Fallbridge!”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” The nanny mewed.

“You should treat his little lordship like this!” The Duchess laughed, raising her leg and kicking the child swiftly in the stomach.

The child fell to the ground, clutching his puppet to his chest.

“Master,” Punch said to Julian in the audience. “Please, look away.”

“I’ve looked away long enough, haven’t I?” Julian sighed.

On the stage, the misty, flickering figure of the Duchess shrieked with laughter. “Get up, boy!”

In the audience, Julian mumbled, “It’s time for me to get up.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-184? If so, you can read them here.