“What’s he doing?” Cecil whispered to Adrienne who sat nearby—with Fuller on her lap—in the drawing room of the Royal Street mansion.
“He’s thinking,” Adrienne said softly. “Let him be.”
Cecil looked quickly at Robert who was sitting by the fireplace. They made eye contact. Robert shrugged.
After awhile, Mr. Punch stopped pacing and muttering and sat down on the floor in the exact place where he’d been standing. Toby flopped over onto his side and tapped Julian’s knee with his paw. Punch absent-mindedly scratched the dogs stomach.
“Everything all right with you, dear Punch?” Robert asked.
“I ‘spose.” Mr. Punch grumbled. He paused and looked at the dog. “Here, this dog’s got four feet.”
“That’s the required number for a dog,” Adrienne smiled.
“How many toes does it got?” Mr. Punch asked, gently taking one of the dog’s paws in Julian’s hand and examining it. “One, two, three, four…and this thing in the back. Is that a toe?”
“I’m not sure if you could call any of those toes, per se.” Cecil answered.
“Don’t know if you got toes or not,” Mr. Punch whispered to the dog. “Here, what about this?” He pointed to the joint in Toby’s front leg. “Is that his elbow or his knee?”
“I don’t really know.” Cecil smiled. “I’m not well-versed in the proper language of canine anatomy. I don’t think that the names for human body parts necessarily apply to animals.”
“Got a head, don’t he?” Mr. Punch muttered.
“Yes,” Cecil nodded.
“Got a stomach, too.” Mr. Punch continued. “Those are two things what people got.”
“He also has a tail.” Cecil replied. “None of us has a tail.”
“No.” Mr. Punch shook Julian’s head. “Though it’d be interestin’, wouldn’t it?”
“Rather cumbersome, I think,” Adrienne chuckled.
Mr. Punch sighed. “For as much as we know, we just don’t know nothin’. We don’t know nothin’.” He rose and started pacing again. Toby sprung up and followed Punch back and forth.
“Mr. Punch, why don’t you entertain us with a puppet show?” Adrienne asked quickly. “I know that Fuller would enjoy it.”
“Really?” Mr. Punch paused, one foot still off the ground.
“I’m sure he would.” Adrienne nodded.
“Ain’t gonna be a proper show. Ain’t got a swazzle. It’ll have to be me own voice.”
“What better?” Adrienne said. “Mr. Punch voiced by Mr. Punch himself.”
“I’m just a Mr. Punch, I’m not the only one.” Punch sighed.
“You’re the only one with a beating heart and an intelligent mind.” Robert said affectionately. “While there are, no doubt, dozens of puppet Mr. Punches, you’re the only one that’s a man.”
“I ‘spose that’s true.” Punch said, retrieving his puppet from the chair and sitting next to Adrienne and Fuller.
He gently put his hand into the puppet’s glove-body and made the figure stand tall in front of the baby.
“Dum-de-dum,” Punch hummed as he made the puppet dance.
Fuller clapped his hands and squealed.
“What ho?” Punch said in a theatrical voice. “What’s this, then? A baby, is it? Funny thing ‘bout babies. They’re just little blokes what drool a lot.”
“Not unlike the men in your club, Cecil.” Adrienne smiled.
“I say,” Cecil grimaced.
“I think this baby is a fine man.” Mr. Punch continued. “Would this fine man like to help ol’ Mr. Punch?”
The child cooed.
“Mr. Punch has to defeat the devil!” Punch continued. “In a battle of fire and ice…” His voice trailed off.
“Here,” Mr. Punch said after a moment. “I don’t want to disappoint the little man, but I feel cold, I do. Maybe we could play another time.”
“Of course, Punch.” Adrienne nodded, showing her concern. “Why don’t you go sit by the fire with Toby.
“Better still,” Robert stood up. “How about you and I go upstairs? I’ll have Naasir prepare a nice warm bath for you.”
“Wouldn’t mind a bath.” Mr. Punch said. “That’s one good thing ‘bout bein’ a people. Can’t take a bath when you’re made of wood and paper.”
“Come along, then, bring your puppet.” Robert said, gently placing his hand on Mr. Punch’s shoulder. He looked to Adrienne and Cecil. “We’ll say good night now.”
“We’ll play more tomorrow,” Punch said. “I promise.”
“Of course we will,” Adrienne smiled understandingly. “Good night, dear Mr. Punch.”
“Yes, good night, old chap.” Cecil nodded.
Robert led Mr. Punch to the stairs. “Now, then, you go up to your room. I’ll fetch Naasir and will join you momentarily.”
Punch stopped in front of the stairs and moaned. He put Julian’s arms around Robert and whispered in his ear. “She’s here. I feel it.”
“You’re shaking,” Robert said, hugging the man.
“I’m cold, I am.” Mr. Punch said softly.
“Who’s here?” Robert said, releasing Punch and looking him square in the eyes.
“His mother…” Punch said. “I can feel her.”
At that very moment, the Duchess of Fallbridge sat across from Iolanthe Evangeline at a dimly lit table at a restaurant.
“Tell me, Miss Magdalena,” the Duchess said, referring to Iolanthe by the name she’d been using with the Duchess, “now that I’ve responded to your letter and traveled all the way here, where is my son? In your missive, you stated clearly that you knew where he was.”
“I’ll take you there very soon, Your Grace.” Iolanthe smiled.
“Miss Magdalena, I’ve not come all this way to sit in this fetid place and eat this vile food. I’ve come to secure my dimwitted son who seems to have failed in the one simple task I’ve given him. Now, tell me where he is.”
“You need to keep up your strength,” Iolanthe said. “Such a beautiful woman must be strong.”
The Duchess smiled. “Do you think you can charm me? I am impervious to charm. I am also impervious to lies. Will you, then, tell me who you really are? In your letter, you describe yourself as a concerned gentlewoman. You’re no gentlewoman. The lines of your throat tell me otherwise. Who and what are you? And, what do you know of my son and daughter?”
“So many questions, Your Grace.” Iolanthe laughed.
“I recommend that you begin to answer them.” The duchess growled.
“First, Your Grace, answer a question for me.” Iolanthe winked. “Why did you order the murder of your husband?”
Did you miss Chapters 1-104? If so, you can read them here. Tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, Punch’s Cousin will not be posted. Come back on Friday, November 26, 2010 for Chapter 106.
2 comments:
No wonder poor Mr. Punch is so unsettled. One could almost picture Mary Astor staring across the table at Gale Sondergaard as those two evil forces negotiate.
Have a very nice Thanksgiving. And thanks to you for this wonderful story.
I like your casting ideas, Dashwood. Too bad both of the ladies in question are dead. But, it's a nice image.
Thanks. Here's wishing you a good Thanksgiving, too. I'm sure Bertie and I will have a great day with our family. We're both looking forward to it. I hope your day is equally enjoyable.
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