Iolanthe Evangeline turned toward Robert and Mr. Punch and glowered.
“What do the two of you know about this?” She hissed.
“Whatever do you mean?” Robert asked.
“No.” Iolanthe shook her head. “I want to hear from the daft Duke.”
“I don’t know nothin’.” Mr. Punch grunted.
Iolanthe’s back stiffened as she drew in a deep breath. “I don’t believe you and I don’t want you thinkin’ that I do. If I’m not to get any answers from you, I’ll address the lady herself.”
Iolanthe spun around quickly and walked toward Adrienne and Cecil—upon whom all eyes were fixed.
“Look alive, darling,” Cecil whispered. “She’s headed toward us.”
“Who dares to mock Iolanthe Evangeline?” Iolanthe growled as she came forward.
“Mock you?” Adrienne replied, “Dear Miss Evangeline, what makes you think you’re being mocked?”
“Adrienne,” Iolanthe grumbled. “I should have known it was you. Wouldn’t you consider this display to be mocking me?”
“Perhaps it’s an homage.” Adrienne grinned. “An homage to your very essence.”
“And, why would you wish to pay me homage?” Adrienne asked.
“Aren’t you one of the most beautiful women in New Orleans?” Adrienne asked. “And, one of the most famous?” She grinned. “Look at everyone. All eyes are on me. And, there’s not a soul in this room who doesn’t know—on sight—who I am meant to be. Isn’t a masquerade about fantasy? Look around. The room is filled with fantastical figures—famous visages from history and legend. Don’t you rightfully have a place amongst Marie-Antoinette and Queen Elizabeth. Aren’t you, yourself, an equally important figure?”
“I don’t disagree with that.” Iolanthe laughed. “However, I can’t help but think that your fancy dress is less of a tribute than it is a condemnation. Why pay me such flattery?”
“Is it too late to make my peace with you?” Adrienne asked.
“It’s never too late,” Iolanthe shook her head. “When it’s sincere. Yet, I find myself distrustful.”
“I’ve gone to a lot of effort to properly represent you this evening.” Adrienne smiled. “From the gown—which I must say was quite dear—to the elaborate wig.”
“Too much effort, I’d say,” Iolanthe frowned.
Sensing unrest at his party, Edward Cage lurched forward. “Well, then, I think we have a contender for our best costume, tonight. Wouldn’t you all agree?” He began applauding—an act which elicited the parroting of many in the room who also weakly applauded.
“And, truly, how could I expect anything less creative from the wife of my brilliant sculptor, Cecil Halifax. Ladies and gentlemen, will you allow me to present the clever mind and hands responsible for many of the excellent sculptures you’ll see tonight in my marvelous museum. Cecil Halifax!”
The applause grew stronger as the crowd fell for Mr. Cage’s showmanship.
Cecil bowed slightly.
“And, of course, his beautiful wife, Adrienne, who seems to have caught all of your attention with her ever-so clever costume. My dear lady, who are you meant to be? No. Don’t answer, let me guess. You’re meant to be the very spirit of New Orleans—are you not? New Orleans where our ladies are the finest in the world!”
A ruckus of whooping and cheers rose in the ballroom.
“Mr. Cage, I am meant to be the most famous of all of the ladies in New Orleans. More famous than Marie Laveau herself.” Adrienne answered loudly.
“Brilliant, just brilliant.” Edward Cage interrupted. “Now, I think it’s time for music and dancing! Maestro!” He signaled to the orchestra leader. “Begin!”
From the rear of the ballroom, the orchestra began to play.
“I will not have a scene here tonight,” Edward hissed at Cecil and Adrienne.
“But, a scene is just what we propose, Mr. Cage,” Cecil smiled.
“If you value your employment, I suggest that you blend into the crowd.” Edward spat. “We’ve had enough chaos for one evening.”
“What chaos would that be?” Cecil asked.
“Never mind about that,” Edward grunted. He turned to Iolanthe and frowned, “I’m going to continue to think that I don’t know who you are. Presently, I shall only consider you to be St. Joan since that’s the guise you wear, but I will warn you, too. If I were to look at the list of people I’ve invited here this evening, I don’t think I’d find your name. If you wish to stay, I reckon you’d do well to keep to yourself.”
“You’ll have no trouble from me,” Iolanthe purred. “In fact, Mr. Cage, the pleasure I can offer you is enormous.”
“That’ll do.” Edward sighed. “I warn all of you, we’re going to have a fine evening—without any trouble.”
“Of course,” Cecil nodded. “Tonight is a night for honest merriment. That’s all we shall offer you.”
“See that it is,” Edward smiled falsely, before walking away.
“We’d best join the others in our party.” Adrienne nodded to Iolanthe. “If you’ll excuse us.”
“Your brother and his mad ward are over there.” Iolanthe said stiffly. “I shall be keeping my eyes on you.”
“And ours shall be on you,” Cecil nodded as he took Adrienne by the arm.
Cecil and Adrienne met up with Mr. Punch and Robert.
“She’s quite upset.” Robert said.
“She’ll be more upset when our pantomime begins.” Adrienne said breathlessly.
“Are you quite well, my dear?” Cecil asked.
“Overheated, and a trifle nervous.” Adrienne answered.
“We don’t gotta do this.” Mr. Punch whispered anxiously.
“Yes, we do.” Adrienne nodded. “Don’t fear, Mr. Punch.”
Punch looked from side to side nervously. “Not to argue, but I think it’s only right that we should fear what’s dangerous.”
“Do you know your parts?” Cecil asked.
“I do.” Robert nodded.
“Dear, Mr. Punch?” Adrienne asked.
“I do as well, only I wish I could say that I do not.” Mr. Punch answered.
“Shall we begin, then?” Cecil asked.
Mr. Punch gulped. “If we must.”
“Go on, Mr. Punch,” Cecil said. “Remember what to do.”
“I remember,” Punch muttered. He looked to Robert, “Please, Chum, there’s got to be another way.”
“I assure you that we’ll be quite safe.” Robert said. “I’d never put any of you in harm’s way.”
“Very well,” Punch said uneasily. “I’ll leave you to it.”
With that, Mr. Punch walked to the rear of the ballroom and climbed upon the raised platform from which Edward Cage had given his speech. He began speaking, startlingly, as Mr. Punch—not as himself—but as the puppet. His voice was curiously like that of the puppet—as uncanny an approximation of Mr. Punch’s voice could be without a swazzle.
“Dooo-deee-doooo-deee-doooo.” Mr. Punch squawked. “What a fine ball, this is.”
The orchestra leader looked at Mr. Punch and tapped his podium, thinking that one of the revelers was about to delight the crowd with some spirited fun. The musicians stopped playing.
From a corner of the ballroom, Edward Cage grunted furiously.
“Dooo-dee-dooo,” Mr. Punch continued to squawk. “On a night such as this, a man fancies a kiss. Who will give us a kiss? No one?” Mr. Punch looked theatrically out into the crowd. “Who will kiss me on my beautiful nose? Who will give a kiss to Mr. Punch?”
The crowd began to laugh good-naturedly.
“Oh, my kingdom for a kiss, if a kingdom I so had to give. Such a lonely man, I am. And, sad, too for one so handsome as me-self. What a tragedy that my beautiful nose should go unkissed on such a fine night.”
The revelers chuckled heartily.
Edward Cage wrung his hands nervously.
“If I can’t come by a kiss honestly,” Mr. Punch continued his squawking. “Perhaps I can come by one in the manner known to lonely men. Perhaps I can buy a kiss for me-self. But, truly, what fine woman would sell her kisses to one such as me?”
“I would, Mr. Punch,” Adrienne said in a frighteningly deep voice, not unlike Iolanthe’s.
She cut through the crowd and ascended to the platform to join Mr. Punch.
“And, who might you be, lovely lady? You’re not Pretty Polly, you’re not.” Mr. Punch screeched.
“No, I am far more beautiful than Polly, and far more adventurous.” Adrienne grinned.
“But are you a virtuous lady?” Mr. Punch asked.
“For the right amount of gold, I am as virtuous as you wish,” Adrienne answered.
The crowd erupted into laughter and applause.
“Whatever is your name, oh virtuous one?” Mr. Punch continued.
“I call myself the name of violets.” Adrienne said dramatically, “though you’ll find that my buds smell far sweeter.”
The party-goers went wild with laughter.
“Will you kiss me, Flower of New Orleans?” Mr. Punch asked.
“I shall, Mr. Punch. I shall kiss your beautiful nose.”
“Go on, then.” Mr. Punch leaned forward.
“But, not first, without you giving me something.” Adrienne smiled theatrically.
“Whatever you desire.” Mr. Punch said. “Is it gold you seek? Is it diamonds? Is it exotic silks?”
“To be sure, I do desire those things,” Adrienne played along. “But, I desire something far greater still.”
“I want your kisses,” Mr. Punch opined broadly. “I shall give you whatever you wish.”
“You see, handsome man, I have a hunger.”
“Don’t we all?” Mr. Punch winked exaggeratedly at the audience. “For what is your hunger?”
“Souls, dear man,” Adrienne replied comically. “Souls!”
Iolanthe groaned, looking angrily at the display before her.
“Souls?” Mr. Punch asked. “But, I am a man of wood.”
“All men are of wood,” Adrienne chuckled in a stagey manner. “But, surely, short of offering me your soul, you’ve got something else I can use.”
“What’s that?” Mr. Punch asked.
“Your blood!” Adrienne replied.
The crowd’s laughter became silent.
“I take the blood of men and women alike…”
“Stop this!” Iolanthe shouted from the crowd. “Stop it at once!”
Did you miss Chapters 1-145? If so, you can read them here.
