A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 100

Chapter 100
A Certain Sort of Mind


"I don't like this, I don't."  Punch paced the floor in front of the fireplace in the bedchamber he shared with Robert.  "Too many risks.  We oughta just go on with what we'd planned."

"There are, dear Punch, risks inherent to that scenario as well."  Robert answered.  "Very real and very serious risks.  Perhaps we should try Gamilla's suggestion."

"You surprise me."  Punch raised his eyebrows.  "I...well, Chum, I thought you'd be the first, I would, to tut-tut such a thought and to call it stuff and nonsense.  You're the man of science.  It is we, me and Lennie and Gamilla and the rest, who are the one's what believe in magic and superstition.  I always been the first to trust in Gamilla's visions and such, but, you've been the one to look for other answers, you have.  But, this...this, what you're suggestin' is...it's a weddin' of voodoo and Mesmer and a front-parlor séance."

"Dear Punch, you and I have seen the very same things together.  We have sat together with Marie Laveau.  We have witnessed the same strange visions.  We have experienced the same miracles.  I cannot deny that, at first, I was skeptical.  However, I also cannot deny that I've seen a vast array of amazing and inexplicable events.  Furthermore, Gamilla's visions have proven right more often than not.  I trust in her instincts."

"But..."  Punch shook his head.  "What she's suggestin' is too...extraordinary!  Mightn't it just waste time, Chum?  Mightn't just give the poison in Lennie's blood more time to grip her whole body and stop her heart from beatin'?  Hadn't we better use that time to replace Lennie's blood with me own, knowin' that by doin' so we have a real chance o' savin' her?"

"I've thought exactly the same thing.  Still, there's merit in what Gamilla says.  We cannot be sure what it was on that teeth of that comb.  Gamilla's assessment that it was some sort of sleeping tonic wherein she's susceptible to some sort of internal spiritual or mental manipulation."

"The battle with my mother?"

"We know her spirit roams these halls.  We've seen the chaos that it's caused."

"Well, yes, we have.  But, if it's a sleeping tonic, then, Lennie will awaken--like when Fern gave me that sleepin' tonic when we were at home.  Sure, she gave me too much, but I awakened...in time.  I was sick after for awhile, but..."  Punch paused.  "Or is that not what you mean?"

 "I'm not sure exactly what I mean."  Robert answered honestly.  "Perhaps it was the residue of some sort of powerful tincture that put her in a death-like state..."

"Are there such things?"

"There are..."  Robert nodded.  "Chemists have toyed with them since antiquity.  The notion of a 'living death,' was quite a popular idea in the sixteenth century.  Just look at the work of Shakespeare.  Juliet, for example."

Punch looked around the room.  "So, just about the time this house was built, that's what folk were thinkin' 'bout."

"Not exclusively."  Robert answered.  "However, the idea would have interested a certain sort of mind."

"Someone like Jackson or my mother."

"Precisely."

"Pity they wasn't around with Queen Elizabeth and fat Henry.  Though, given Jackson's dusty, brittle looks, we can't be sure.  Horrid little ghoul."  Punch threw up his hands.  "I don't say you're not correct, Chum. We already seen that Jackson has an interest in all manner o' strange chemistry what with how he preserved my mother's body and so on."  He frowned slightly,  "Also...well..."

"What is it, my dear?"

"Oh, I was just recallin' somethin' what Julian 'ad forgotten, is all--about how Pauline liked to experiment with different herbs.  She'd have Mrs. Foster bring 'er all sorts o' herbs and flowers and she'd boil 'em down into a kind o' tea.  Sometimes she'd make...she'd make Julian drink 'em.  Sometimes he'd get terrible sick, he would."

Robert put his hand on his stomach.  "I'm so sorry.  I cannot express just how much I loathe that woman.  I detested her in life, and I despise her even more in death."

"She's just as destructive in both states, it seems."  Punch shrugged.  "She hated you, too.  Knowin' that made me happy.  All the folk she fancied were just as hideous and wicked as she.  So, knowin' she hated you pleased me because it was just one more thing to show me how wonderful you are."

"Dear Punch..."  Robert smiled.  He sighed, shaking his head.  "Nonetheless, sometimes I am physically sickened by the thought of what you...Julian...well...you and Julian endured in this house at the hands of that monster and her minions.  Sadly, testing out her herbal brews is the least of what she did to you."

"It is."  Punch nodded slowly...his eyes wandered across the room as he remembered.  "She grew tired of it, she did.  Bored.  I think it bored her--herbs and medicines and such.  It wasn't bloody enough.  I remember Jackson taking all those little bottles and things away and packing them up all nice and neat.  Bottles and flasks, tins and jars, all labeled--all smellin' strange.  I'm sure they're all still here in this house--preserved along with all her other stuff, along with her, in fact.  Who knows?  Jackson probably used some of it to preserve her.  Auntie Morgana says they used to give her somethin' what made her groggy and sleepy.  Who can say?  It all may 'ave been the same tinctures Pauline made all them years ago.  Who can say what was on the teeth o' that comb?"

"So, it is possible that what Gamilla's saying could be true."  Robert continued.

"Oh, sure, it is.  I got no doubt o' that.  I ain't sayin' that.  It ain't that I don't trust Gamilla, Chum.  Ya know I do.  Just as much as I do you and Lennie, even.  Part o' what bothers me is that she's suggestin' that she put herself in...what's it?  Oh...some kind o' trance.  So...so she can somehow get into Lennie's thoughts.  Well, that can't be safe for her--not bein' with child as she is.  I can't risk another life of someone we love.  And, with her, it's two folk.  Gerard'd never forgive us if somethin' happened.  He'd be ruined, he would.  At least if we were to go ahead with the transfusion, it's me what's riskin' me own life, not Gamilla's nor her baby's nor anyone else's."

"I don't want you to risk your life either.  Our son doesn't deserve that."  Robert said.

"None o' us deserve any of this!"  Punch answered.

"There's less risk to Gamilla than there is to you."  Robert responded.  

Punch scratched his head, and ran his fingers trough his thick auburn hair.  "I s'pose discussin' it further's only gonna waste more time."

Robert nodded.

"You already got your mind made up, then?"  Punch asked.

"I do."  Robert replied.  "I'd like it, however, if we were in agreement."

Punch inhaled.  "We are."  He sighed and turned away, walking toward the corner of tall, diamond-paned windows.  He looked out, studying the courtyard below.  "I wish I knew where Auntie Morgana and Georgie were, too."

"We have every man on the estate looking for them by now."  Robert said.  "And for William...and..."

"And?"

"I haven't had a chance to tell you yet."

"Oh, no..."  Punch's shoulders sagged as he turned around.

"Matthew's valet--Perkins."  Robert answered.  "Matthew noticed that he'd gone missing.  He mentioned it to Gerard.  When I was about to come in here to see you,, I overheard Gerard say something to Charles.  I had Charles inquire downstairs.  Perkins is nowhere to be found."

"You know Gregory must know somethin' about all o' this!"  Punch declared.

"He insists that he does not."  Robert answered.  "I don't believe him.  Yet, he has an alibi.  Someone or other can account for his whereabouts all morning.  There are several people downstairs who claim they've seen him at each point in the day and that he's not been out of sight."

"The whole lot o' them are frightened of him."  Punch shook his head.

"I have no doubt."  Robert walked over and took Punch's hand.  "I am worried for Morgana and Georgie, too.  For William and Perkins as well, but especially for Georgie and your aunt.  We shall find them before any harm come them.  But, first..."

"First we must rescue Lennie."  Punch nodded.

"Just know, my dear Punch, that she will survive this."  Robert said softly.

"How can you be so sure?"  Punch asked.  "Is it 'cause you're a doctor?"

"No, it's because I know this family.  She is your sister.  She's very much like you."

"We got different fathers."  Punch mumbled sadly.

"That doesn't matter."  Robert smiled.  "Who your parents were, in this case, doesn't matter.  What matters is what you both became.  That's the part that both of you share--the part of you which survives.  Just like you, she will not only survive this, she'll emerge stronger than ever."

"Oh, Chum, I hope you're right."

"I know that I am.  I insist upon it."  Robert put his arm around his companion as the left the room.


Did you miss Chapters 1-99 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back on Monday Chapter 101.  

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 100

Chapter 100: 

A Trifle 

Mr. Punch, Robert and Colin, thankfully, were allowed two days of relatively uninterrupted, blissful peace. Nothing overly dramatic marred those forty-eight hours which passed without intrusive visits from barons, without the appearance of specters, without any histrionics from Miss Barrett and without any major incident of any sort.

While the masters of the house enjoyed their daily walks around the estate, their time sketching or writing, and their evenings chatting quietly by the fire, the staff below stairs devoted themselves to preparing for the Servants’ Ball.

Mrs. North, the Grange’s housekeeper, kept tight control over her own staff, but allowed Speaight the luxury of managing those from Belgrave Square. Mrs. Pepper, in her exceptional way, maintained an enviable autonomy—directing Ethel and Jenny in the creation of the grand cake for the ball as well as orchestrating the daily meals, both for upstairs and down, with the aid of the Grange’s permanent kitchen maids.

Since Mrs. North had the operation of the castle well under hand, and since the Duke had been clear that the staff from Belgrave Square was meant to be, for the most part, on holiday, Speaight kept his men and women occupied with some of the more creative and interesting details of the ball. Violet was put in charge of the floral arrangements while Georgie was given the task of carrying the many missives and bits of communication to and from the baker, the cooks who had been hired from other estates, and, best of all, the tailor.

Speaight noticed Georgie Pepper’s especially keen interest in visiting the tailor’s shop to receive updates on the progress of the costumes which the Duke had commissioned for the fancy dress ball. When Mr. Speaight mentioned how impressed he was with Georgie’s eagerness, Mrs. Pepper smiled broadly. At first, Speaight thought the smile was simply a mother’s pride, but Mrs. Pepper confessed that her boy was so happy to visit the tailor more so because of the tailor’s handsome daughter than the work itself.

Despite these duties, Ethel, Jenny, Georgie and Vi were still considerably less busy than when they were at the Duke’s London home and, with His Grace’s encouragement, took time to enjoy the beauty of Aberdeenshire—walking the grounds, taking little cakes and treats which Mrs. Pepper had made for them and making small picnics for themselves.

Some of the Grange’s permanent staff balked at the relative freedom afforded the visitors from London, but Mrs. North was quick to point out that their guests lived and worked with the masters each day in London whereas those in Scotland had, overall, a relatively quiet life at the Grange, often going years without a master to serve.

“Them lads and lasses from London gotta work each day from sun up ‘til sun down,” Mrs. North had scolded a group of maids who’d complained. “Most o’ the time, you got it easy here. It won’t kill ya to work a little more this week—especially with such a fine treat comin’.”

Of course, there was little rest for Charles, Gerard and Gamilla, and the Duke was quite aware of their unending contributions to the family. In addition to their usual duties as both footmen and valets to the Duke and the Doctor, the two men had undertaken many of the necessary demands of preparing for a grand event. Charles—with his steady hand—had been asked to write out the menus, invitations and assorted dance cards. Meanwhile, Gerard had been put in charge of Finlay, and set with the task of managing the set-up of the ballroom and surrounding areas.

Gamilla stayed in the nursery with Colin—only leaving when the child was with his fathers. She remained at the baby’s side from the moment he awoke until the moment the Duke and the Doctor retired for the night—taking all of her meals in the nursery. At night, she’d write in the journal which Miss Barrett had given her and, then, quickly would fall into the soundest of sleeps—the kind of sleep which only those who truly work can know.

Still, the three members of the staff closest to the Duke and the doctor never complained. In fact, they felt quite pleased to be a part of something which the Duke found so important. The only small bit of sorrow was that Gamilla and Gerard rarely saw one another—an absence each felt keenly. A feeling which, in his sympathetic manner, Mr. Punch noticed each time he looked upon his companion’s valet or his child’s temporary governess.

Speaking of governesses, Miss Barrett had been all but forgotten by most everyone. Dr. Halifax paused each morning to check on the woman. Somehow, her “fever” never worsened nor improved. She showed no signs of being terribly debilitated, but also failed to demonstrate complete health. The constant limbo of the woman only served to annoy Robert further and, not wishing to bother his mate with such things, instead of fretting about it, he put Miss Barrett out of his mind all together. Furthermore, Robert felt no need to press the woman to return to her duties since he was, after all, pleased to have her out of the way.

Only Gamilla would make a point to spend any time with Ellen, visiting Miss Barrett each night for at least half an hour before retreating to her room to write down her thoughts and fall into a sound sleep. Ellen was always polite to Gamilla, but Gamilla did begin to worry that Miss Barrett seemed forever tired and desirous of solitude and that the woman’s condition didn’t seem to improve. Nevertheless, Gamilla was far too busy to do anything about it, and, even if she had the luxury of more time, she was powerless to make a difference.

And, so, there Miss Barrett remained. Alone in her room, she was brought her meals on trays. Mrs. North infrequently referred to the mysterious, frail governess, only asking three times daily if “The Parakeet”—as she called Ellen—had been fed. Always quick to notice things, Mrs. North immediately realized that Ellen was disliked, if not loathed, by Dr. Halifax and held in contempt by both Charles and Gerard. Since Mrs. North had begun to hold the two London footmen in the greatest of esteem, she felt no need to waste any effort on “The Parakeet.” In the housekeeper’s eyes, if Charles and Gerard didn’t worry about the girl, and if one of the two masters didn’t care for her, there was no reason to even give her the slightest thought.

Mr. Punch had seemed to have forgotten entirely about Ellen. To be sure, he even had taken to referring to Gamilla as Colin’s governess—an error which Robert encouraged. It isn’t that Punch didn’t care what happened with Ellen. Quite the opposite. Of anyone in the house, with the exception of Gamilla, Punch was the most eager to see that Miss Barrett was given a fair chance. Though Punch had often been unimpressed with the manner in which Ellen spoke to him, he did feel a certain loyalty to the governess, recalling how kind she had been when she learned that he was both Mr. Punch and the Duke. Furthermore, Punch also felt a sense of kinship with the woman considering that her brother, Roger, was much like him in many ways. However, in the days leading up to the ball, Mr. Punch was distracted by a variety of other things, and, so, any thoughts of Miss Barrett were naturally at a minimum.

When a man’s body is inhabited by more than one personality, he must navigate, daily, through the many thoughts and worries which arise from each “soul” within him. In Punch’s case, he found himself continually troubled by small bits of memories which would blow behind his eyes like so much jagged fluff. Recalling the scene on the tower had chipped a hole in some dam of which he’d not been aware. Images, scents, and sounds from that long lost day jabbed at Punch and made him wince.

He tried desperately to ignore them. However, the worst part of it all was his guilt. Since his inception within Julian, Punch had always taken great pride in his role as “Keeper of the Memories.” To think that he failed Julian somehow by forgetting something filled Mr. Punch with a tremendous sense of guilt which Punch tried valiantly to suppress.

Robert, however, could tell that something was troubling his companion. Though Punch tried to dismiss his fleeting looks of burden and sadness by explaining them away as something inconsequential as a bit of lint in his eye or the annoying feeling of a hair on his face, Robert knew better. He was not fooled by the excuses of such trifles and could feel deeply that Mr. Punch was being harassed from within by something which caused the man a range of feelings from mild irritation to deep sorrow. Yet, Punch wanted Robert to be happy and Robert wanted Punch to be happy. And, so, they devoted themselves to creating as bucolic a two days as possible.

The evening before the day of the ball, Mr. Punch and Robert sat across from one another in the long, plum-colored dining room. Dinner had concluded and the two awaited pudding. Since only Charles and Gerard were waiting at table that night, Punch felt free to speak as himself.

“Mrs. Pepper said she got somethin’ right special for us for tonight’s puddin’.”

Robert smiled. “I know what it is.”

“Here—how could you know?” Mr. Punch’s eyes widened.

“Because I was downstairs earlier and saw it.” Robert teased.

“You were not.” Mr. Punch smiled. “You was with me all day, you were. ‘Cept…”

Robert grinned. “Except?”

“When you wasn’t.” Mr. Punch snorted. “Coo! Charlie!” Punch looked up. “Did Dr. Halifax go downstairs today?”

“I couldn’t say, Your Grace.” Charles smiled.

“He was! You were!” Mr. Punch chirped. “Fine, then, what’s for puddin’?”

“You’ll see.” Robert winked.

Punch once again looked to Charles. “You know, too.”

“Perhaps, Sir.” Charles nodded.

“What is it, then?”

“Dear Punch, you’ll just have to wait. Gerard will be up in a moment.”

“It ain’t the cake, is it? That’s for tomorrow!”

“It’s not the cake,” Robert shook his head, “but I did ask Mrs. Pepper if she could make something special for you. I thought you deserved a treat. She agreed and I’ve seen her handiwork.”

“Why?” Punch asked sincerely. “I ain’t done nothin’.”

Robert shook his head. “You’ve done much. Hasn’t His Grace done much, Charles?”

“I should say so, Your Grace.” Charles replied. “You’ve given all of us downstairs this wonderful gift.”

“It’s just a little party.” Mr. Punch shrugged.

“If you’ll pardon me, Your Grace, it’s no such thing. You should see how excited everyone is. And, especially, Ethel and Jenny and Violet, Sir. They’re overjoyed. And, really, Your Grace, I must confess, I’m rather excited, too. I know Gerard is. Like the others, he’s never attended a fancy dress ball. And, to be sure, you’ve been so kind in having costumes made for all of us.”

“Furthermore,” Robert added. “You’ve given me this lovely holiday. So, the very least I could do is ask Mrs. Pepper to make you something I know you’ll like.” He looked up as Gerard entered. “And, here it is now.”

Gerard came into the dining room, proudly pushing a trolley upon which stood a large crystal bowl of trifle—gorgeous bits of pound cake layered between pastry cream, homemade jam, fresh berries, cherries and peaches and topped with whipped cream.

“Coo!” Mr. Punch whooped. He sniffed the air and immediately could smell the brandy and crème de cassis which had infused the layers of cake. “What a lovely trifle, it is. Gerry, you must tell Mrs. Pepper how beautiful it is.”

“I shall, Sir.” Gerard smiled as he began to serve.

“Well, then.” Punch smiled hungrily. “This is a nice surprise, it is.”

“I’m glad,” Robert grinned.

Punch frowned briefly.

“What’s the matter, my dear?”

“Oh, it’s just that I wish all them folks downstairs could have some, too.”

Robert looked with pride at his companion.

Mr. Punch shrugged. “I wager they’d like it, they would.”

“Mrs. Pepper made some for all of us, Sir.” Gerard said.

“Oh, good.” Mr. Punch nodded happily, taking a spoonful of the dessert from the bowl which Charles offered him. He took a bite, his face overcome with an expression of deep satisfaction.

“It is lovely,” Robert nodded.

“Such fine berries! Reminds me of when I were a boy.” Mr. Punch mumbled as he took another spoonful. “Well, when Julian were a boy. I ‘member a time what we was here at the Grange. There were a young fella what came by the kitchens with a cart filled up with berries and sometimes the cook would buy some and make us somethin’ like this.”

“That sounds pleasant.” Robert smiled.

“It were.” Punch nodded. “Nice boy. Freckle-faced with strawberry blond hair. I think he were a cousin to Finlay, in fact. Julian never talked to ‘im no nothin’, but he seemed…”

Punch paused for a moment, his face went blank.

“Punch?” Robert asked.

“Huh?” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Oh, nothin’. Got a seed in me teeth, I did. Ain’t nothin’. It’s out now. What was I sayin’?”

“About the boy who brought berries to the kitchens.”

“Yeah.” Mr. Punch continued. “Seemed like a nice boy. Think his name were Roger.” Punch took another bite of trifle and paused. He looked up to see Robert, Charles and Gerard exchanging glances.

“What?” Punch asked.

“His name was Roger?” Robert asked softly.

“I think.” Punch shrugged.

“Like Miss Barrett’s brother?” Robert asked.

“I s’pose.” Punch said. “Could be wrong. Like I said, I never spoke to ‘im nor did Julian. Too shy, Julian was.”

Robert nodded quietly.

“I don’t understand.” Mr. Punch tilted his head to one side. “What you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking how delicious this is.” Robert grinned.

“Oh!” Mr. Punch agreed. “It sure is! It’s just wonderful! Best puddin’ we had all week. I say, it is special. How can somethin’ so important be called a trifle?”



Did you miss Chapters 1-99 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 101.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 100

Iolanthe walked slowly toward the cot where Nontle and Gilbert lay sputtering. She quietly took the pillow from behind Nontle’s head and whispered. “You be quiet, now. It’s all gonna be peaceful for you real soon.”


She raised the pillow and placed it firmly over Nontle’s face. The woman squirmed.

Marjani snorted, waking quickly.

“What are you doin’?” Marjani screamed, jumping from her chair and staggering toward Iolanthe.

The ogress took the pillow from the young woman’s face. With tears in her eyes, she said softly, “Puttin’ her out of her misery.”

“Ain’t your place to do that!” Marjani grabbed the pillow from Miss Iolanthe’s hand. “What gives you the right?”

Tears trickled down Iolanthe’s face. “My son. My own son is…” She wiped her face. “I know what it means to have a child who is ill. My own son has said those words to me, ‘Help me.’ I couldn’t help him. I can’t help him. But, I thought I could help these two poor souls.”

“What do you care ‘bout folks’ souls?” Marjani barked. “I know who you are!”

“I’m sure that you do.” Iolanthe stiffened.

“Nobody’s takin’ my babies. Nobody but the Holy Mother herself. And, you ain’t the Holy Mother! This ain’t their time, woman. No. This ain’t their time for to go!”

“I only wanted to help.” Iolanthe said firmly.

“No one wants your kind of help. Now, get out of here!” Marjani spat.

“I can’t.” Iolanthe shook her head. “I must stay—just for awhile longer.”

“Why?” Marjani growled.

“I’m in danger.” Iolanthe responded plainly.

“You’re in danger if you stay here.” Marjani narrowed her eyes in the dim light of the shack.

“I’m not a woman who begs and I don’t want you thinkin’ that I am. But, you gotta let me stay in here awhile longer. You do me a good turn and I’ll do one for you.”

At that very moment, Adrienne hurried into the drawing room of her house and spied the wreckage for the first time. She gasped. “Mon Dieu. Qu'est arrivé ici ? Ma belle maison!”

“J'aiderai tout remets. Il y a de rien vous déranger.” Robert responded in French without thinking. “I will help. There’s nothing to upset you.”

“On Christmas…” Adrienne put her hands over her face.

“Where’s Fuller?” Julian asked.

“With Gamilla and the others in the servants’ hall.” Adrienne answered. “Toby’s with them—quite happily eating some fine turkey.” She tilted her head to one side. “Oh, Lord Fallbridge! You’re back. I didn’t realize at first.”

“He’s been struck on the head.” Robert said, rubbing Julian’s arm.

“Is he injured?” Adrienne asked.

“I don’t think so.” Robert shook his head. “Thankfully.” He paused, “Adrienne, I broke a window upstairs. It seems Julian and I leave a trail of broken windows behind us wherever we go.”

“That’s the least of my concerns.” Adrienne sighed as she set about righting the room. “Where’s my husband? Is he still chasing Iolanthe?”

“He is,” Robert nodded.

“I do wish he’d come back. It’s not worth it. She always wins.” Adrienne began to sob.

Julian sat up, the figure of Mr. Punch still on his lap.

“Come and sit, dear Adrienne,” Julian said. “Please.”

“I cannot, Mr. Punch.” Adrienne cried. She shook her head, “I mean, Lord Julian. I’m sorry…I’m so confused. Pourquoi arrive-ceci ? Nous avons souffert déjà autant de!”

“I know, Adrienne,” Julian said soothingly. “We have all suffered more than it seems humanly possible. However, we must remain strong. We must have confidence.”

“Julian’s correct.” Robert grinned, proud of His Lordship for stating something that he should have believed long before. “Cecil will walk in that door any moment now.”

“Carrying the head of Iolanthe Evangeline?” Adrienne sobbed.

“At least it would mean an end to all of this.” Robert sighed.

Meanwhile, Agnes Rittenhouse burst into Ulrika’s bedchamber.

“Get out!” Ulrika spat. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Barbara Allen and Arthur were slumped motionless on the settee in front of Ulrika who stood before them both. Their faces were expressionless, their jaws slack.

“He tried to kill me!” Agnes sputtered.

“Who?” Ulrika grinned. “The lunatic Lord? How delicious!”

“No.” Agnes stammered. “The other one. His companion!”

“Oh.” Ulrika’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think he had that much vinegar in him. Really, how terribly exciting! Did you leave the note as I requested?”

“Don’t you care that I almost lost my life?” Agnes asked.

“Not really.” Ulrika grinned. “You’re here, aren’t you? Clearly, you’ve survived.”

“You are heartless.”

“You have no idea.” Ulrika smiled. “Now, get out. I’ll call for you if I need you.”

Speechless, Agnes left the room.

Ulrika knelt down in front of Barbara and Arthur and spoke to their limp bodies.

“Now, we’re alone again. Are you listening?”

Arthur mumbled something that Ulrika couldn’t quite understand.

“There’s no need to speak.” Ulrika snapped. “Just listen…”



Did you miss Chapters 1-99? If so, you can read them here.