“Can’t I have a minute’s pleasure?” The nanny scowled. She sniffed. “Never mind, he’ll cry himself tired.”
Looking up, she snarled at the baby, “Cry all you like, piggy, you’re not going to move me. You’d best get accustomed to figuring things out on your own. Tonight, your life begins anew. You are no longer called whatever it is that that French harlot and her sculptor husband called you. Tonight, you have a new name. I shall call you, ‘Colin’ and you shall have a new mother—a true lady with noble blood in her veins. You shall replace the child that she lost. She’ll never know the difference, and besides, you seem much stronger than the other one anyway. Who knows who that one’s father is? At least we know you come from strong stock.”
The child continued to cry.
“That’s right, Piggy.” Agnes laughed. “Cry your lungs out. Tomorrow begins your new life!”
At that very moment, Edward Cage cradled his adopted son in his arms. “You’ve returned to me, Holt.” She grinned. “You are my future. I already know that Orman is a lost cause. You, my son, will carry on in my name!”
A knock at the door of the stately drawing room made Edward pause. “Come.”
“Sir,” Ty Odo bowed. “I done brought Mrs. Cage like you done asked for.”
“What is it, Edward? I was in bed.” Corliss Cage whispered as she came into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the baby. Freezing in her steps, she gasped. “Is it?”
“Yes, Corliss. It’s Holt. He’s been returned to us.”
“How?” Corliss gaped.
“Never mind about that.” Edward laughed. “It’s done.”
“Oh…” Corliss coughed.
“Don’t you wish to hold your son?”
“Did that—that woman. That Evangeline woman? That Ogress? Did she return the child as she had promised?”
“As a matter of fact, no.” Edward winked. “Another party all together. But, I told you, don’t worry about that. Now, come and take your son.”
“I don’t dare,” Corliss shook her head.
“Why not?” Edward snapped. “Honestly, Woman! Must you ruin everything? Come and take your son!”
“I can’t.” Corliss said, visibly shaking. “I’m ill.”
“You’re always ill.” Edward growled. “Take the boy.” He charged forward and placed the child in his wife’s arms. As he did, he felt her flesh—warm and moist.
“Dear God!” Edward bellowed as he withdrew the baby and held it to his chest. “You’re on fire.”
“I have a fever.” Corliss whispered.
“What kind of fever?” Edward asked, moving away from his wife.
“It’s not good, Edward.” Corliss coughed. “Not good at all.”
Meanwhile, in a world of their own creation—deep inside of their shared body—Julian and Mr. Punch walked through the warm air near the vision of the folly at Fallbridge Hall.
“Look how we play, you and I. It’s kind of sweet, wouldn’t you say?” Punch smiled pointing to the specter of a young Julian and his very own puppet, Mr. Punch.
“I remember those many hours we spent out here,” Julian nodded. “Just me and you. How I would talk with you.”
“And by doin’ so, Master, you gave me life.”
“I didn’t know it at the time.” Julian laughed. “But, I’m glad that I did—my protector.” Julian studied the scene that played out before him. “What am I doing?”
“Don’t you remember?” Punch pointed as they watched little Julian come in and out of the folly.
“No.” Julian shook his head.
“Come with me,” Punch smiled, taking the adult Julian’s hand. Together, they walked into the folly and watched as the ghost of little Julian stacked up tall piles of stones and small rocks.
“I appear to be building something.”
“Walls, Master,” Punch nodded. “You’re buildin’ walls what you think will keep ‘em out—the nanny, your mum and them what’s always been mean to ya. Them’s the beginnin’ of the walls what I built for ya in your own mind—them walls what keep the memories at bay.”
“I see.” Julian sighed.
“Listen,” Punch pointed.
“Here we are, Mr. Punch.” the vision of little Julian said softly with a slight smile. “Just the two of us. We’re safe in our own castle, and here, nothing can touch us—not Nanny Rittenhouse, not Mother, not the groomsman, no one. Here, we’re the King. We’re good kings. Father doesn’t like King George. So, we won’t be Kings like he is. We’ll be good Kings. King Julian and King Punch. Now,” little Julian continued. “We should have a coronation. We’ll need crowns and scepters and…” He looked around. “Well, this rock can be our orb. And…” He hunted about the dim folly. “This stick can be our sceptre. I know—I’ll make us some crowns. There are some shiny rocks by the brook. I could get some of them and…I know. Yes. I can get some of the teaspoons from the larder and make a crown! Two crowns! One for me and one for you!” He sighed. “I wish you could talk to me, Mr. Punch. I wish I could always hear you—what you’re thinking. But, no one else! I want to hear you alone. That way we could be the best of friends and no one could ever make us stop.”
As he watched the image of his young self replay itself, the adult Julian wiped tears from his eyes.
“Here, Master, it’s nothin’ to be sad ‘bout. This is a happy memory. Look at ya. Coo! Couldn’t be no more than seven years of age. That was the very moment what made me come to life inside ya.”
“I remember.” Julian replied.
“See, all memories ain’t so bad.”
“If I recall correctly, Nanny beat me for taking those spoons.”
“But, it didn’t matter none. I felt the pain, not you. And, bein’ that I’m a puppet, it didn’t bother me none. I’m used to gettin’ hit, I am.”
Julian nodded and he and Punch continued to watch the image that unfolded in front of them.
“Let’s stay here.” Julian said after awhile. “It’s safe here.”
“Can’t stay safe always, Master.” Punch shook his head. “There’s other things what you gotta see. I only brought you here first so you’d know that you weren’t alone.”
“Just a moment more.” Julian pleaded.
“No, Sir.” Punch sighed. “We ain’t got much time.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-358? If so, you can read them here.
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