“
Sorry, Sir?” Charles blushed.
“Your name?” Mr. Punch smiled.
“Your Grace, I’ve already…”
“Your name isn’t Charles Van Eyck.” Mr. Punch repeated.
Charles didn’t respond.
“Your cuff buttons.” Mr. Punch pointed. “They’re engraved. They got initials on ‘em. Them initials don’t match the name what you gave.”
Charles glanced at his sleeves.
“You didn’t steal ‘em.” Mr. Punch smiled. “I know you didn’t. They’re worn and tarnished and not of any great value. I may not know much. Most things are new to me. But, I know jewelry. I learned that first-hand. If you were gonna steal cuff buttons, you’d steal some what were worth somethin’. Not those cheap things. But, the initials on ‘em are ‘C.I.’ So, what’s your name?”
“Carlo.” Charles sighed. “Carlo Iantosca.”
“That’s a right nice name.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Italian?”
“Yes,” Charles nodded.
“So, why use a different name?”
“Distance, Sir.” Charles said softly.
“From whom?” Mr. Punch asked.
“You’re not the only one with a difficult sibling, Sir.” Charles smiled.
“I see.” Mr. Punch answered. “So, you’re runnin’ away from somethin’?”
“I suppose you could say that.” Charles shrugged. “Though I’ve been running for so long now that I don’t think you could even call it ‘running’ anymore. Now, I’m just living—trying to live anyway.”
“So, in the short time we’ve known you, we can see you’ve already lied about your name and about your references.” Mr. Punch said, pulling the bedcovers up higher.
“Does this mean that you don’t wish to employ me, Sir?” Charles asked.
“No.” Mr. Punch answered. “I’m just tryin’ to understand you. Here, don’t look so frightened. You still got your job. It’s just that ‘round here, we try to be as honest as we can. We got ‘nough goin’ on without having to create extra dramas for ourselves.”
“You’re very wise, Your Grace.”
“That’s what folk keep tellin’ me. Coo! I don’t see it me-self. Now, go on, go collect your things. We’ll talk more later.”
“Of course, Sir.” Charles bowed his head. “And, thank you.”
Mr. Punch nodded.
“May I get anything for you before I go?”
“No.” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Just close the door on your way out.”
Charles bid his new employer “good evening” and walked downstairs. He thanked Cecil, Adrienne and Robert and headed out of the back door of the house. There, in the alley, he was not surprised to see Barbara Allen waiting for him.
“Well?” Barbara asked.
“Your brother is a curious fellow.” Charles sighed.
“I told you.” Barbara smiled slightly.
“And his companions are fiercely loyal.” Charles continued.
“But, did they hire you?” Barbara asked.
“Yes.” Charles nodded.
“Oh, I’m so glad.” Barbara sighed with relief.
“Why are you so glad?” Charles asked.
“Well, now I know that someone will be looking after my brother.” Barbara answered quickly. “And, of course, you’ll have an opportunity for a much more fulfilling life.”
“What’s it to you?”
“We already discussed this.” Barbara frowned.
“I defended you in there, Miss Allen—a woman I don’t even know. They don’t care for you much. Seems you’ve done some pretty wicked things.”
“I confessed to you all that I’ve done.” Barbara blushed.
“I don’t think you have—not all of it.” Charles narrowed his eyes.
“The important points.” Barbara muttered.
“I think maybe you’d best tell me the things that you consider unimportant, then.” Charles tilted his head to one side. “I’ll not be tricked. If I’m to do this, I need to know everything.”
“Very well,” Barbara whispered. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you the rest.”
Meanwhile, Ulrika Rittenhouse brushed the filth from the sleeve of her gown as she stood, shivering in a seedy little shop on one of the French Quarter’s side streets. To distract herself from her unsavory location, she browsed the contents of the shop. Costume jewelry, feathers, masks, tattered finery, threadbare coats and worn hats lined the walls.
“Can I interest you in anything else?” A toothless hag croaked from a corner of the shop.
“No.” Ulrika said firmly. “Just see to it that your husband is quick about his work.”
“Can’t rush these things.” The woman growled.
“Try.” Ulrika hissed.
“Might help if he could see the real thing again.” The hag winked.
“No.” Ulrika answered flatly. “It stays with me.”
“Wherever did a little thing like you get such a big diamond?” The hag chuckled.
“That’s none of your concern.” Ulrika spat.
“I figured you’d say that. I should know better than to ask questions. We’re not in the business of askin’ questions. For the right price, we’ll say nothin’ at all.”
“We’ve already negotiated our price,” Ulrika barked. “I’ve been more than generous. And, I can assure you, if you don’t keep your silence, I’ll burn this shack down around your ears.”
“Settle down there.” The old woman laughed. “You’re as fiery as your hair, ain’t ya?”
“You have no idea.” Ulrika smirked. “Now, go check on that man. Surely he’s finished by now.”
“You can’t rush genius!” The old woman howled. “You want it to look real, don’t ya?”
“As long as it passes for a few minutes, I’m happy.” Ulrika said, beginning to pace again.
“What’s your hurry, Red?” The woman asked.
“The longer this takes, the farther away someone gets.”
“You ain’t dealin’ in nothin’ shady, are ya?” The old woman narrowed her eyes.
“As I told you, I just want a copy made of that diamond so that I can wear it without worry.” Ulrika said forcefully.
“And you paid out the nose to keep us quiet?”
“Well, it’s embarrassing.” Ulrika grinned.
“As you say.” The hag cackled.
“You do ask too many questions.” Ulrika spat.
“Just tryin’ to be friendly.”
“I don’t need any more friends.” Ulrika shook her head.
“Whatever you say, Red.” The crone winked. “Whatever you say.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-180? If so, you can read them here.
Come back on Monday, February 28, 2011 for Chapter 182 of Punch’s Cousin.
