Charles looked up from the spot upon which he’d been bound by the fire at the Place Congo. “Arthur is dead, Barbara. Look there. You can see his bones in the fire.”
“You lazy boy.” Barbara chuckled absently. “It’s not as though I’m asking you to do it. I know that you’re a valet now. I’m not asking you to soil your gloves at the grate. I think Mother has spoiled you. You’ve gotten too big for your breeches.”
“Barbara, you must listen to me,” Charles croaked.
“Such impertinence. Very well, I’ll take care of it myself.” Barbara grumbled. “Oh. But, I can’t move. I must be very tired. Will you at least ring the bell for me?”
“Arthur is dead. We’re not at Fallbridge Hall. We’re in America. In New Orleans and not in a very friendly place. There’s no bell to ring.”
“I’m beginning to get angry.” Babrara spat.
“Leave her to her fantasies.” Ulrika clucked her tongue from nearby. “Boy, she’s probably the happiest of all of us at present. Pity. I wanted her to suffer.”
“You don’t think she’s suffering?” Charles coughed.
“Does she look as if she is?” Ulrika chuckled. “While the rest of us are all to well aware of what’s become of us, she’s blissfully under the impression that she’s still a lady in a great house. Let her have that. Reality will be upon her soon enough.”
Charles coughed again.
“You know I’m right, boy.” Ulrika said.
“I suppose.” Charles muttered.
“Giovanni, your brother has agreed with me. What’s the world coming to?” Ulrika teased Giovanni Iantosca who was also bound nearby.
“How sad that it had to come now,” Giovanni grumbled. “I told you that that Englishwoman would bring you to a sorry end, Carlo.”
“If it is sorry, at least you’re here to share it with me,” Charles growled.
“Ah, fraternal love,” Ulrika laughed.
“You’re awfully gay, my dear,” Giovanni frowned. “Perhaps you are mad, too?”
“No.” Ulrika cooed. “I’m not mad—no more so than usual, at least. I’m simply happy.”
“How can you be happy?” Giovanni asked. “You are in the same peril as we are. Marie Laveau’s anger upon you as well.”
“Maybe so,” Ulrika chirped. “But, not for long. My darling, I have a devised a way to escape this foolishness.”
“How nice for you,” Giovanni scowled.
“Not to worry, my love, I’ll take you with me.” Ulrika winked. “But, what about your brother? Should we leave him here to die?”
At that very moment, Agnes Rittenhouse trembled as she wiped the sweat from her brow. She’d become quite dizzy and the cries of the two babies were starting to make her furious.
“Stop your screaming!” Agnes spat viciously at the two boys who lay on the cold ground. “Let nanny think.”
The little outbuilding that she’d crept into was familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite deduce why.
“Damn my shaking hands!” She mumbled angrily. “This is your fault, you two little piggies! If only you’d let me think!”
She stumbled around the dark room, looking for something upon which to rest the infants.
“Quiet!” She belched. “Both of you! Let me think!”
Suddenly, she froze in her spot as she noticed a shadow pass by the small window near the door through which she’d—with considerable effort—carried the two children.
“Now, you’ve done it!” Agnes hissed.
The door opened, scratching the dirt floor and a man entered the room.
The voice with which he spoke was familiar.
“What’s this?” The man asked as he lit a small lamp on a table. As the wick took the flame, Agnes relaxed when she saw the face of the man who had interrupted her.
“Mr. Cage,” Agnes smiled. “I’ve brought your son back to you.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-356? If so, you can read them here.
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