The Duchess took a deep breath to steady herself. She forced her face into a malicious grin and released air through her teeth so that it whistled in a labored hiss. Narrowing her eyes on her son, she began to speak.
“Now that your father is dead,” Pauline began, “Of course, his wealth passes to me. I am now in control of one of the greatest fortunes in England. I’ll say this for your father, while he may have been absent-minded, and too-much lost in his dreams, he did manage to add coins to our coffers. Combining his legacy with my own means that the Fallbridge line is, by far, one of the most prestigious in all of England—perhaps the world.”
“The Fallbridge line?” Mr. Punch grumbled. “What of the Molliner name?”
“You, thankfully, are the last of that.” The Duchess chuckled. “A strange lot, they were. I see you’ve inherited all of their foolishness and none of the Fallbridge sensibility.”
“I’d rather have me foolishness, I would.” Mr. Punch answered. “I’d rather have that than all the riches in the world.”
“And you just might.” The Duchess spat. “Listen to me, my lunatic child, I will continue to provide you with your allowance—providing that you adhere to a few basic rules.”
“I don’t need your gold,” Mr. Punch shook Julian’s head. “Me master’s got ‘nough gold of his own to last us until the end of our days.”
“Your master?” The Duchess squinted. “What is he saying?” She looked to Robert.
“I believe,” Robert said slowly, “that His Lordship is trying to communicate the fact that he is unconcerned about his wealth.”
“He shouldn’t be.” Pauline said angrily. “Upon my death, he’ll be one of the wealthiest men in England—if I don’t change my mind.”
“Upon your death, the only riches what concern me is the wealth of freedom we’ll have. I’d eat off the streets if I had to, to be free of you.”
“I see.” The Duchess rose. “You’ve been too much influenced by these…people.” She walked toward Julian/Mr. Punch. “Know this, you insane creature, you must remember your title and your station. If not for loyalty to me, then to your father.”
“Me pa weren’t no Fallbridge.” Mr. Punch answered sharply.
“No, he certainly was not.” The Duchess grinned. “However, he was smart enough to respect his betters. He wanted you to achieve the position that my name has given you. Would you neglect that?”
“I’ve not done nothin’ to make me pa ashamed no matter what me name is.” Mr. Punch replied softly.
“I don’t know what you think you are,” The Duchess hissed, “but, I know what you should be. You are Julian, Lord Fallbridge. If you want to continue to be, then, you’d best do as I say.”
“And, if I don’t?” Mr. Punch said.
“You’ll have nothing.” The Duchess smiled.
“I got plenty.”
“Do you know how easy it would be for me to seize your property? That shop which has sat closed all this time, the house in Belgrave Square… That lease is in my name, isn’t it? Any accounts you might have would certainly revert to me should you be found incompetent. Think about it. Are you fit to manage your own life? Isn’t it a mother’s place to make sure that her child is provided for? Should you lose your fortune, how long do you think these people who claim to love you so dearly would continue to stand by your side and suffer your antics?”
“I speak for all of us when I say that His Lordship will never want for a thing for as long as he lives.” Cecil answered for the family.
“How certain you are,” The Duchess winked. “Now.”
“What do you want of me?” Mr. Punch whispered.
“I want you to return with me—this moment. I want you to collect your sister and sail back to England. Otherwise, I’ll leave you in the dirt.”
“Dirt is good enough for me,” Mr. Punch said firmly.
“Very well, Fool.” The Duchess replied. “You’ll regret this.”
“No.” Punch responded, shaking Julian’s head.
“Good day, then.” The Duchess said, walking toward the door.
“Your Grace,” Adrienne began, but it was too late, the Duchess had hurried from the house.
“What an unpleasant woman.” Adrienne sighed.
“She can’t take all of Julian’s wealth, can she?” Mr. Punch asked Robert.
“Not as easily as she seems to think.” Robert shook his head. “However, she can deny you your rightful inheritance. That’s her right if she so chooses.”
“Ain’t nothin’ worth sufferin’ with her.” Mr. Punch grumbled.
“I’m sure Julian would agree.” Cecil slapped Mr. Punch on the back affectionately.
“I want me puppet.” Mr. Punch frowned. “And me dog and me breakfast.” He sighed. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
“No, dear Punch,” Adrienne smiled, “it isn’t. Chers Punch, don’t worry about a thing. We must believe that goodness always triumphs in the end.”
“I believe that.” Mr. Punch nodded. “But, I believe that wickedness sure makes fun for itself in the meantime.”
The Duchess arrived breathlessly back at Iolanthe’s house, hurrying past Mala’s ugly gaze and to the relative safety of her bedchamber. She was surprised to see Iolanthe Evangeline sprawled across the bed—reading from a dusty, tattered book.
“Well?” Iolanthe asked.
“He’s unmoveable.” Pauline hissed.
“I figured he might be.” Iolanthe laughed. “Your son’s a real looney.”
“I don’t disagree.” Pauline frowned. “Now, leave me, I must rest.”
“You’ll have time enough to rest once we’ve solved our problem.” Iolanthe sat up. “See, I don’t cotton to failure. Yet, somehow, I knew you’d fail me. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m unreasonable, because I’m not. I believe that folks should have a second chance. We have an agreement, you and I. In exchange for my silence about your husband, I expected you to pay me what you agreed. Now, we gotta find another way to get it. See, I have things that worry me. I have debts to settle. There are folks out there who done me wrong. I can’t let them get away with that. And, if, in getting justice, I can line my purse, why not?”
“Just leave,” The Duchess bellowed.
“Not so fast, Pauline.” Iolanthe grinned. “I’ve been readin’ from this book. Seems like I may have been too specific. Didn’t know I could make substitutions. I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m not a woman who can’t accept some changes here and there.”
“You bore me with your talk of books. What is that thing anyway?” Pauline growled.
“You could call it a recipe.” Iolanthe’s eyes flashed. “But, it isn’t as specific as I thought. Sure, I need your son’s man—that priest, Naasir, but I can get him on my own easy enough. You see, Duchess, he’s the fire upon which I’ll cook my supper. But, it don’t look like I’m gonna need your son after all.”
“You’re not threatening my daughter, are you?” Pauline asked.
“No. She’s got too much mud in her. She’s better spent keeping my visitors company. They like the mud. You, on the other hand, you’ll do nicely.”
“I don’t understand.” Pauline shook her head.
From beneath the pillow, Iolanthe withdrew a long, sharp knife. “Don’t you?”
“What are you doing?” Pauline asked as Iolanthe rose from the bed and walked toward her with the knife.
“Just keeping up a tradition.” Iolanthe responded flatly. “And, like all traditions, I’m adding something new to it. See, I was taught by Marie Laveau. Do you know who that is? But, she didn’t want me around anymore. I guess she reckoned my power was greater than hers. I’ll give her that. It is. See, I’m not afraid to take chances. I aim to do that just now.”
Pauline ran to the door and opened it, only to find Mala grimacing on the other side.
“Step aside, you hobgoblin!” The Duchess commanded.
Mala shook her disfigured head slowly.
Pauline shrieked.
“Come back in here, Pauline,” Iolanthe said. “Fightin’ is only gonna make it worse. I don’t want you thinkin’ it isn’t.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-113? If so, you can read them here.
