Punch’s Cousin, Chapter 291

The darkness was, at first, unbearable as Mr. Punch walked into the corridor that he had revealed behind the mantelpiece in the phantom room inside Julian’s body. Mr. Punch squinted and grumbled as he ventured further into the blackness, extending his arms in front of him to feel his way.

Soon, however, his eyes became adjusted to the pitch, or perhaps the corridor relented and offered up some meager light by which he might navigate. The passage soon appeared as a dimly-lit gallery with walls lined with paintings and punctuated by massive sculptures. Punch’s thoughts immediately returned to the museums that he had seen through Julian’s eyes on those rare trips that his “master” had taken on the few days he’d felt somewhat brave.

But, unlike those museums, and certainly unlike Edward Cage’s waxworks, this gallery was not adorned with the faces of strangers and allegories, but, rather, the visages and figures of people who were known to Mr. Punch.

Immediately on Punch’s right was an enormous, formal portrait of Robert—looking humble, yet regal, posed in front of a towering column and a drapery of smoky, medium blue. On Punch’s left, stood an imposing bronze sculpture of Barbara Allen—her face contorted in grief, her hands bent into claws like some penitent Magdalene.

Mr. Punch shivered and walked onward.

Further down, on the right was a multi-figure portrait of the Halifax family: Cecil, Adrienne and Little Fuller. In the background, behind the central figures, stood impressions of Meridian, Cecil and the footmen. Punch studied the painting. The family posed between images of two ornate gilt easels—upon each another portrait had been painted, each framed in an oval. The first was Marjani—grinning and plumply beautiful. The second was Naasir looking reserved and hopeful, as he once was in life before his handsome face had been ruined by fire.

Directly across from that happy scene was another portrait—in the style of the Italian Renaissance. Upon a dark ground of smoke and drapery, Julian’s Mother, Pauline, the Duchess of Fallbridge stood with her arm aloft, holding a shining sword. In her other hand she held the head of Julian’s father, Sir Colin Molliner.

Punch yelped when he saw the scene, and, for a moment, thought that the image of the Duchess had turned to look at him and scowled.

“Here, what is all of this?” Punch grumbled.

Next to that frightening canvas stood a low black pedestal upon which a bright white marble bust sat. The bust showed the shoulders and head of Agnes Rittenhouse with her pinched face and beady eyes. Punch could almost smell the scent of rotting roses.

“Bother!” Punch spat. “Why do I gotta look at all these faces what make me feel ill?”

“Because, dear Punch,” Julian said, emerging from the darkness at the end of the passage. “The time has come for us to seriously consider what we must do and, especially, what we must become.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-290? If so, you can read them here.