“
My God, Ulrika,” Fane Rittenhouse belched at his daughter as they entered the grand ballroom at
Le Merveilleux Musée de Cire—Edward Cage’s opulent French Quarter waxworks. “The least you could do, after detaining our entire party, is step aside so that the rest of us may view the exhibits.
“You, Father dear, don’t have to act like a brute just because you’re dressed as Henry VIII. You know, you could have thought of a more clever costume, really. The room is likely to be lousy with Henry VIII’s.”
“Don’t be so tiresome, girl.” Ulrika’s father sighed. “Besides, I don’t see anything particularly clever about your attire. Do you think you’ll be the only Marie-Antoinette here?”
“I’ll be the only one with her throat sliced.” Ulrika grinned, removing the scarf from her neck to expose the red slash she’d painted across her throat.
“Obscene!” Carling Rittenhouse moaned, fluttering her fan in front of her face. “Wash that atrocity off immediately.”
“Oh, please, Mother.” Ulrika smiled. “It’s not as if you wouldn’t see much worse right here in the museum’s exhibits.” Ulrika’s grin broadened as she thought of how she’d come to paint the wound on her neck.
“Wherever did you find such a dreadful-looking makeup? It looks as if it could be real blood.” Fane Rittenhouse frowned.
“Doesn’t it?” Ulrika winked as she recalled swiping her fingers through Nellie’s blood and using that clotting crimson mass for her costume.
“Well, then, who’s with me?” Fane Rittenhouse grumbled, realizing that Ulrika wasn’t about to do as her mother asked.
“With you?” Ulrika spat.
“I want to look at the exhibits—as I said.” Her father frowned. “Will you come?”
“No.” Ulrika laughed. “I haven’t come here tonight to see wax figures. I want to enjoy myself.”
“Ulrika,” Her mother said sternly, “Your time away from home has made you even more disagreeable. I didn’t think it possible.”
“Anything is possible, my dear mother.” Ulrika chuckled. “Anything.” She searched the crowd for a familiar face and was relieved to spot Arthur—cleverly sporting the mask she’d given him—slipping into the ballroom via the servants’ door. “Oh, yes, tonight will be full of possibilities.”
Meanwhile, Mr. Punch, Adrienne, Cecil and Robert rode in silence in their hired carriage.
“I suspect we’ll be a bit early.” Cecil grumbled after awhile. “We’d best wait before we go in. We want to be able to make an entrance. We’ve got to take everyone by surprise.”
“The real surprise is Adrienne.” Robert said seriously.
“Perhaps you and Mr. Punch can go in ahead of us.” Cecil suggested.
“You promised we’d all stay together,” Adrienne said quickly.
“I’ll stay with you,” Robert answered. “But, there’s no point in having you enter until we’re sure that Iolanthe Evangeline is there.”
“I suspect she’ll want to make an entrance of her own.” Adrienne frowned.
“Will she?” Robert asked. “Wouldn’t she be wiser to slip in without detection? She is, after all, not an invited guest.”
“When has anything as simple as an invitation either stopped or encouraged Iolanthe to do anything?” Cecil grunted. “She does what she pleases.”
“She’s more likely to make a show of arriving.” Adrienne continued. “She always does. She likes to flaunt her presence in the faces of ‘respectable’ people. Frankly, most don’t even realize she’s there. With everyone in fancy dress, it’s hard to tell who is who.”
“How will we even know she’s there?” Robert asked.
“She always wears her purple feathers. No matter what her costume is, she’ll have a purple feather somewhere quite visible.” Adrienne answered.
“Surely there will be dozens of ladies with purple feathers.” Robert sighed.
“No.” Adrienne answered. “No one of any station in New Orleans would wear Iolanthe’s color.” She shook her head, “Except me, of course.”
“You’re not nervous, are you?” Cecil asked.
“Of course, I am.” Adrienne exclaimed. She looked at Mr. Punch and reached across the carriage to pat Julian’s leg. “I think we’re all a little nervous, and rightfully so. Mr. Punch, you’ve suffered a terrible shock, so it’s understandable that you’d be so quiet. Is there anything we can do for you?”
Mr. Punch shook Julian’s head. “No, thanks, Lady Chum. Ain’t nothin’ no one can do. But, don’t you worry, I’ll carry out everything you told me to do in just the way you told me to do it.”
“We have no doubt of that.” Robert smiled.
“I only hope you fellas know what you’re doin’.” Mr. Punch sighed. “No use puttin’ innocent people in harm’s way.”
“We know what we’re about,” Cecil said confidently. “Don’t suppose I’d put my own, darling wife in danger.”
“True.” Mr. Punch whispered. “But, sometimes, things happen what we don’t account for.”
At that very moment, Iolanthe laughed as Barbara Allen helped her on with her dress.
“Stop your pouting,” Iolanthe cackled. “How can anyone look so sad when I look so beautiful?”
“I’m not pouting,” Barbara spat, “I’m mourning.”
“For what?” Iolanthe narrowed her eyes, “The mother that you fled from? The woman you hated so much that you traveled across the ocean? I did you a favor. You should thank me.”
Barbara simply stared at Iolanthe.
“You do realize that I own you?” Iolanthe growled.
“I know.” Barbara nodded.
“So, you’ll do as I instructed?” Iolanthe smiled.
“If it kills me.” Barbara sighed.
Did you miss Chapters 1-140? If so, you can read them here.
