Still, she worried. What if something happened to the Duke while the doctor and Marjani where gone. Meridian was resting. Gerard had followed Mr. and Mrs. Halifax to help look for the missing children as had the other servants. She was, essentially, alone in the house with the exception of little Columbia who had been sent back to bed.
What if the Duke had some sort of fit? Gamilla wouldn’t know what to do. What if he awakened while the others were gone? What would she tell him? She studied her employer. Such an odd man. She’d long ago made her peace with the fact that he acted strangely. She accepted that he was two different people on one body. In fact, she actually preferred Mr. Punch to the Duke himself. Sure, the Duke was kind and gentle. But, he was so quiet and sad-looking. Mr. Punch, on the other hand, was full of life—jokes and laughter. He was rough, certainly, but at least he didn’t have the pained expression that the Duke always wore. That face broke her heart. Mr. Punch made her smile.
As he—or they—were, he seemed rather peaceful. He looked, mostly, just like he was sleeping. Gamilla wondered what he was thinking about, if anything. She’d spied Mr. Punch sleeping before—on a few occasions when he’d curled up in front of the fire for a nap with the dog, Toby. In fact, Mr. Punch was rather like a dog himself. He liked to eat and to play and he was always so excited to learn new things. He even slept like a dog, his hands drawn up to his chest like paws, muttering and twitching as he dreamt. But, he didn’t mutter or twitch now—he just lay there. It reminded Gamilla of when her little sister lay dead after a long illness. Her little body was so still.
Gamilla began to panic. What if the Duke was dead? Cautiously, she leaned forward and strained to listen. No. He was breathing. She took a deep breath of relief.
Doctor Halifax had told her to talk to the Duke while he lay there. What would she say?
“Sir,” Gamilla began nervously. “I don’t know what you’re doin’. But, I hope you’re comfortable. What you thinkin’ ‘bout, Sir?”
What did Dukes think about? What did men like Mr. Punch think about? The latter question was easy to answer. Mr. Punch thought about food—biscuits and sausages and warm potatoes. Gamilla could understand that. But, what of the Duke? Did he think about diamonds and gold? Did he think about important problems? Maybe that’s why he was always so sad-looking. As much as she tried, Gamilla would never have been able to guess what Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge was thinking at that moment. Nor could she imagine what was happening inside his mind.
For as his body lay on the floor of the parlor in their borrowed house on Royal Street, Julian was far away—in a vision of his estate in England, side-by-side with Mr. Punch, as they watched long-buried memories unfold before them.
“It’s suddenly gone cold,” Julian said as he and Mr. Punch walked through their imagined world.
“Sure it has,” Punch nodded. “It’s winter now. Just before Christmas.”
“What year?”
“Dunno.” Punch shrugged. “You’re about six years of age.”
“1825, then?”
“Sounds ‘bout right.” Punch nodded. “George is the King. I remember that cuz our pa talked ‘bout him a lot.”
“George IV,” Julian frowned.
“That’s the one. Coo! Ain’t you clever, knowin’ who was King and when and what number George he was, too.” Punch smiled.
“It’s not miraculous to remember the name of the Sovereign.” Julian chuckled.
“It is for me. I don’t pay no attention to such things. I only got one King, Master. And, that’s you.”
“Good heavens,” Julian groaned. “I’m the King of nothing.”
“What kind of talk is that?” Punch asked. “I won’t hear none of it.”
“My apologies,” Julian nodded. “So, it’s the winter of 1825 and we’re at Fallbridge Hall. Where are we going?”
“Here.” Punch pointed.
Suddenly, they were inside the Hall, in the Duchess’ private chambers. Julian cringed upon seeing his mother. She sat in her enormous gilt chair with the bronze mounts of swans for arms. Before her stood young Julian. Punch had been correct. He seemed to be about six years old.
“Stop sniffling!” The Duchess spat at her young son. “You are revolting.”
“I’m sorry, mummy,” Little Julian whispered.
“You’re always sorry about something, aren’t you?” The Duchess sighed.
“I’ll try to be good.” Little Julian continued.
“It makes no difference to me what you do.” The Duchess laughed. “You’re going on an adventure for a few days so that I can have some peace and quiet.”
“Is Papa going, too?”
“No!” The Duchess bellowed. “Your father has better things to do than go to London with you!”
“Oh.”
“You’ll go with Nanny.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to go away.” The Duchess grumbled. “You’ll like London. You’ll see all sorts of things. The Abbey and St. James Palace.”
“I don’t want to see things. I want to stay here.”
“Well, you can’t!” The Duchess snapped.
As they watched the scene in front of them, the adult Julian stepped backwards.
“Somethin’ troublin’ you, Master?” Punch asked quietly.
“I won’t go. Don’t go! Don’t let him go!” Julian pleaded with Mr. Punch.
“It’s too late, Master. It’s already happened.” Punch said soothingly. “All you gotta do is watch.”
“No.” Julian shook his head. “You know what’s going to happen as well as I! Don’t make me watch it.”
“You gotta,” Punch shook his head. “It’s time.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-360? If so, you can read them here.
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