Charles wept openly as he sat on the wet stoop outside of Big Ollie's shop. He gulped and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. This was not the world that he had wanted to be a part of when he fled from his older brother, Giovanni.
He had imagined a sedate, quiet, proper life in service. No, he would never make the fortune that his brother had, but he would be comforted by a greater wealth--the knowledge that he would not rot in Hell alongside his closest kin as a thief and murderer. He had always thought he would meet a fine, upstanding parlor maid and marry her. They’d have children and take a little cottage near an aristocratic house, one day becoming butler and housekeeper respectively. They’d have a family, and, in turn, be part of another family—a noble family who would cherish them and protect them.
That’s not how it happened. No.
He did meet a maid--a maid who had once been a lady, but a maid nonetheless. She had once been a lady, sure, but, other things, too. He could overlook that. She was fine in her heart, she had just been led astray. No, she wasn't particularly upstanding--certainly not the sweet girl he had dreamed of, but he loved her. He couldn't help himself. She was beautiful and passionate, intelligent and cunning. Cunning? No, that was not one of the qualities he had sought.
Still, Barbara made him feel alive. She had made him ambitious again. But, she had also diverted him from his path.
"And, now, I'm sitting out in the cold while my...sweetheart...is..." Fresh tears rose in his eyes.
Charles moaned as he remembered how he had pleaded with Barbara to come with him. He looked from her face to Big Ollie’s—hers soft still, not entirely hardened by her pain; his, grotesque and drooling. He ordered her to walk out with him. He was prepared to fight the gargantuan beast who would threaten Barbara’s honor. Her honor? Well, threaten her honor again.
“I’m gonna get what I want,” Ollie grinned, licking his lips. “Big Ollie’s gonna get what he wants, or you two are goin’ to be in a heap of trouble.”
"Charles, it's of no consequence," she had replied blankly after Big Ollie explained what he wanted in return for his services. "If it will buy his silence and quicken the sale of this diamond, it's certainly worth it."
Charles shivered as he recalled Big Ollie's smirk as he escorted Barbara to the seedy little room above his office. The giant had turned and spat on the floor, looking Charles squarely in the eye. “Gonna see what you’re so protective of, little man.”
Sobs shook Charles’ lean body and he was at once hot and cold, trying not to picture the loaf-like hands of the beast on Barbara’s tender, pale skin.
The click of the door startled Charles and he wiped his nose and eyes with his sleeve.
Barbara exited, red-faced, but otherwise unfazed. "Strange creature," she shrugged. "The whole of him was…well, it was putrid. Such growths. But, it's done. He thinks he can find a buyer for the stone immediately."
She waited for Charles to reply.
"Well?" She snapped.
Angrily, Barbra took Charles' face in her hands. " What is this? Jealousy?"
"What I am feeling is not jealousy." Charles shook his head slowly.
"Probably disgust." Barbara chuckled. “I don’t blame you. If I were paying attention, I’d probably have vomited. Still…”
"You joke?"
"What else can I do?" Barbara shrugged. "I have no choice. Perhaps if you were a little more forceful..."
"What?" Charles' eyes widened.
"Well, I have to do everything myself." Barbara stretched her back. “Meanwhile, you cower and examine your conscience which is, frankly, an awful waste of time.
"I see." Charles grunted.
"Do you disagree?" Barbara nodded.
“I don’t know.” Charles replied.
“Listen to me. We cannot be diverted from our goal.” She sat down on the stoop next to Charles. “I apologize if I was harsh just now. I suppose it’s my nature. I’ve always been this way—cold. I take after Mother. Julian, the poor fool, has always been like father. You know, when I was a child—well, you know Julian’s quite a bit older than I—he wasn’t completely mad then. He was actually rather sweet in a sickening sort of way. He’d try to hold me and rock me and sing. He’d make me dolls and bring me little cuttings from gemstones that had been delivered to him. He’d do anything I asked of him. One day, I ordered him to sing for me. The Ballad of Barbara Allen. You know it, of course?”
“Yes.” Charles nodded slowly, his nose running.
“Obviously I loved the song. It made me laugh. That day, as Julian sang of Barbara Allen’s cruelty to Jimmy Grove, I roared with laughter. Julian stopped singing. He looked hurt and asked if I was laughing at him.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that I certainly was, but not exclusively. I was also laughing about the dead man in the song. Do you know what he did, my older brother, heir to the Duchy of Fallbridge?”
“I imagine he was very hurt.”
“Yes.” Barbara chuckled. “He sobbed. That’s when I knew he was different—useless just as mother had said. I didn’t know then how different he was. You know, we never talked about it, but we all knew. If it wasn’t so amusing, it would be tragic.”
“It is tragic.” Charles sniffed.
“Now? Now you have pity for him?”
“Of course.”
“Charles, I’ve listened to you a thousand times as you’ve told me how much my brother the Duke irritates you.”
“Well, yes.” Charles nodded slowly. “He does. But, through no fault of his own.”
“Honestly?” Barbara clucked. “All of his nonsense about being Mr. Punch, his rough speech and his wide-eyes.”
“He doesn’t irritate me because of those things. I realize now that I’m bothered by him because he reminds me of what I’ve lost, what’s lacking in myself. That sense of innocence about him—it’s charming, enviable, really. I wish I could have just a grain of His Grace’s sense of fairness and loyalty; just a small portion of his exuberance and the joy he takes in something as simple as the wag of a dog’s tail.”
“You call that ‘joy’? It’s idiocy or lunacy or both. It’s a weakness, a disease. He’s disgusting. He’s the disgusting one, Charles.”
“Yet, you let him raise your child.”
Barbara’s eyes sparked with anger. “Yes.” She growled. “He may be weak, but he’s clean. The boy will grow up loved—even if it is in a peculiar household.”
“Don’t you think you could have loved your son?”
“I do love him. That’s why I let him go.” Barbara snapped.
Charles gagged a bit. As Barbara grew angrier, she grew warmer and he could smell Big Ollie’s revolting aroma on her.
“Barbara,” Charles began cautiously. “I’ve overlooked quite a bit.”
“As have I.” Barbara retorted.
“I’ve overlooked,” Charles continued, “everything you’ve told me of your past. However, presently, I have an image of a woman carrying a child onto a ship. Carrying him like a cabbage or a fowl in a burlap sack.”
“I don’t deny it.”
“Yet, you feel no remorse.”
“No.” Barbara shrugged. “It’s done.”
“And, you say you loved the boy?”
“You’ll never understand.
“I understand better than you think.” Charles sighed. “You’re incapable of human love. You love only one thing—revenge. That’s…”
“Charles, before you go any further, think about what you’re saying.” Barbara warned coldly.
“I am, Barbara. I am.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-436? If so you can read them here.
