Coming Monday: Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square

Yesterday, with Chapter 500, Punch’s Cousin came to an end as Mr. Punch, Robert and Colin headed home to England along with Charles and Gerard as their valets.  On Monday, their adventures continue with a new online novel, Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.  This new story will follow Mr. Punch and Robert as they begin a new life together.  Robert will return to his work as a physician while Mr. Punch will try to fit in (as the Duke of Fallbridge) in the aristocratic Victorian world of  Belgravia in Central London’s City of Westminster.  Among the first orders of business for Mr. Punch is a request to visit Prince Albert and Queen Victoria at Buckingham Palace to discuss a new project of great interest to the Prince Consort. 

Of course, Mr. Punch, aside from learning to be a father to his adopted son Colin, will need to discover a comfortable way to become the head of a posh household.  You’ll be introduced to a series of new characters in the form of the staff of the elegant No. 65 Belgrave Square.  These characters will be joined by Gamilla (whom you met in Punch’s Cousin) who will have her own struggles as a black American woman in a very different, class-divided world. 

Yesterday, I had a request to re-post the first chapter of Punch’s Cousin to show how our Mr. Punch developed from a shadowy, ominous, dangerous figure to the beloved, caring, sensitive dominant personality of the Duke of Fallbridge.  The comparison, actually, is quite interesting.  So, here it is...

As we await the launch of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, let’s revisit the origins of our story with the first chapter of Punch’s Cousin.  You’ll meet Julian (as the time, Lord Fallbridge) once again and recall what led him to New Orleans and his journey of self-discovery.

And, remember…if you missed any of the five hundred chapters of Punch’s Cousin, you’ll still be able to read all of them in the Chapter Archive.  

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 1

Unblinking eyes, pink where they should be white, wide and dry with the arched brows of permanent bemusement stared at Julian over a bulbous ruddy nose and gin-blossomed cheeks. Julian looked back. He couldn’t help but press his own eyes shut for a second. As the fading orange light of the evening chinked through the leaded glass panes of the tall casement windows of his room, Julian shivered—certain that those eyes which had always been still had finally blinked at him. No, not blinked. It was just one eye. It was a wink. Did those painted red lips—those lips perennially affixed in a grin—pull back into a grimace for just the tick of a clock? No, it couldn’t be.

Julian looked away. Glancing at his writing slope, he flicked his fingers at the stack of correspondence which awaited his reply. The top letter hadn’t even been opened. Sealed with red wax—the red of those lips—and stamped with the Molliner “M,” Julian knew what the letter said without opening it. No doubt, it was a request for money from his uncle. With Julian’s father in France, all of the Molliners in England had silently appointed Julian the financial head of the family. Their requests for funds would have to be addressed to Julian. After all, no one dared write his mother. The Duchess of Fallbridge would never offer her support to anyone outside of the peerage, especially her husband’s family.

Julian’s heart pounded. He fiddled nervously with the diamond ring he always wore on his left index finger. Dealing with people—even via a letter—was too much for him to stomach. When had he become so fearful? At first, staying tucked away in his rooms at Fallbridge Hall seemed like a natural break from the nervous bustle of London. He had come to the country for the air and the bucolic landscapes. That was all—wasn’t it? He’d return to the city one day. He used to interact with people—not comfortably, no—but, he could do it. Now, even the idea of writing a letter upset him.

Again, Julian felt the eyes on him.

“It’s just a puppet.” Julian sided, looking up again at Punch’s large, waxy head. The puppet grinned at Julian from beneath the arc of his puffy, tasseled red hat.

“Good evening, Punch.” Julian mumbled at the figure.

The puppet continued to stare as a shadow passed over it—surely from the play of some cloud over the dimming sun. Its stubby, empty hands seemed lost without the little club it had once used to bludgeon Judy.

Julian sighed. Without even looking at it, he tore open the letter from his uncle. He forced himself to read it.

“You may be Lord Fallbridge, but you are a Molliner first.” Julian read. He could hear his uncle’s voice.

Julian opened the writing slope and put the letter, along with the others which sat unopened, inside. He closed the slope with a loud click.

“Tomorrow.” Julian thought.

Did the puppet move?

His head darting up, Julian once again looked to the thing that always sat in the curio at the far end of the chamber.

“A trick of the light…” Julian thought, drawing in a breath.

A knock at the door startled Julian, causing him to jump in his seat, almost upsetting the writing slope.

Surely, it was one of the housemaids come to tend to the grate. The fire was dying. Or, perhaps, it was the footman come to trim the lamps. Tea wouldn’t be for another half an hour.

The door opened.

“Yes, Jackson.” Julian said, trying to mask his surprise at seeing the butler.

“Lord Fallbridge,” Jackson said in his gentle way, “Her Grace wishes you to take tea with her in the drawing room.”

Julian nodded slowly.

“Shall I come for you?” Jackson asked, awaiting a response.

“No, thank you, Jackson.” Julian forced himself to smile. “I know the way,” he joked.

“Very good, sir.” Jackson replied before retreating from the room.

Julian rose and walked toward the window. As he did, he passed the curio—filled with his many artifacts and prizes…and Punch.

His mother never took tea with him. Never. She preferred to be alone or, on occasion, to take tea with Barbara.

Julian shivered again.

He glanced over his shoulder. There was Punch—grinning, not blinking.

“It’s merely a puppet.” Julian muttered again. He recalled the day—thirty years before—when his father made such a show of purchasing the puppet from that toy shop in Covent Garden after Julian had been so enchanted with the puppet show they’d seen earlier that morning. “Just a memento from my youth.”

Julian walked to the bell-pull to ring for Arthur—the footman, Julian’s valet.

“Her Grace wishes…” Julian muttered.

If his mother wanted him to take tea with her, how could he argue? No one argued with Pauline, the Duchess of Fallbridge. But, if he was to take tea with his mother, he’d have to go down looking his best.

Julian had a feeling his mother was already displeased. He didn’t want to risk further upset by appearing less than perfect.

Julian suddenly thought he’d heard someone laugh. He looked at Punch. Was the smile different? Could it have laughed? No, it was just the scraping of the door as Arthur entered.

Surely, that’s all it was.