Chapter 10:
Dressing a Duke
“I won’t do it!”
Mr. Punch/the Duke of Fallbridge shouted from beneath the writing desk in his
lavishly appointed bedroom suite.
Charles, the
Duke’s valet, leaned patiently against a glossy white , fluted pilaster and
studied the paintings of other, past Dukes of Fallbridge which lined the
turquoise walls.
Mr. Punch peaked
from beneath the table and smiled wildly.
“I said ‘I won’t do it!’”
“I know, Your
Grace, I heard you.” Charles nodded
calmly. He made eye contact with the
Duke and couldn’t help but smile. It
was, partially, a game to Mr. Punch—though he genuinely did not want to take
his bath nor did he wish to get dressed.
Punch, too, knew
that Charles was in on the joke and burrowed deeper under the desk, his legs—lightly
covered with auburn hair—sticking out from both the desk and the thin
nightshirt that he refused to remove.
Charles bit his
cheeks so he wouldn’t chuckle. He
wondered when the Duke had taken to hiding under furniture. It was something which seemed to come with
their return to England. Charles
suspected that it was an invention of Mr. Punch who had spied Dog Toby doing
the same while they were aboard the ship and concluded that it was an enjoyable
enterprise.
Charles sighed
pleasantly and sat on the floor, cross-legged, facing the Duke who, like a
child, peaked out from behind the legs of the writing table. Punch’s brown eyes flickered with a
combination of utter glee and resolution.
“You may wish to
pull your nightshirt down a bit, Sir.”
Charles began.
“Oh!” Mr. Punch blushed. “Is me bum out?”
“Not quite yet,
but it’s working on it.”
“That wouldn’t
be good, now, would it?”
“It wouldn’t
bother me, Your Grace. After all, I
share a room with Gerard. You have no idea
the things I’ve seen. However, it’s
not behavior fitting a Duke.”
“Probably not,”
His Grace replied rationally, arranging the folds of his nightshirt to ensure
that his ducal posterior was not exposed.
“It’s nothing to
me, of course, Sir,” Charles began, “however, I can’t imagine that the Prince
Consort would be too thrilled if you arrived at Buck House in your nightshirt
with your hair unwashed.”
“I don’t care.” Mr. Punch giggled.
“Most people
would be overjoyed to receive a command invitation from His Majesty Prince
Albert.”
“I ain’t most
people.” Mr. Punch snorted.
Charles nodded—unable
to refute the Duke’s assertion. He was
not, in fact, anything like most people.
Charles took a deep breath and recalled a time, not too long before,
when such a scene would have made him terribly uncomfortable. To be sure, he once found the Duke/Mr. Punch
rather difficult to take. However, his
feelings for his employer had mellowed after the kindness that the man had
shown to Charles, and, by the time they arrived in England, he had even
developed a certain protective affection for His Grace—not as madly devoted as
Dr. Halifax, but protective nonetheless.
“Where’s me
chum?” Mr. Punch asked, still under the
table.
“Sir, as I’ve
already explained, Dr. Halifax received a note that one of his patients needed
him. He promised he’d be back well
before you’d need to leave for the palace.”
“Well, when he
gets back, then I’ll come out, I will.”
“I wouldn’t like
to think that you’d be late for your appointment with the Prince.” Charles continued.
“Coo…” Punch considered the thought. “He is German, ain’t he? They do care a great lot ‘bout punctuality.”
“That they do.” Charles nodded. He stretched out his legs.
“It’s
comfortable, the floor is.” Mr. Punch
smiled.
“Yes, it is. The carpet is very plush.”
Punch turned
around, still under the writing table, and stared at Charles for a moment. “I ain’t entirely mad, you know.”
“I know.” Charles nodded.
“It’s just I don’t
wanna go.”
“I can
appreciate that you’d be anxious, Sir. I
know that I was nervous just delivering the letter to the palace the other day.”
“So, you
understand?”
“I do,
certainly.” Charles smiled.
“Well, good.” Punch sniffed. “Here, I didn’t like you at first, Charles…”
“I am aware of
it.” Charles laughed.
“But, I like you
now.”
“I’m glad, Your
Grace.” Charles said. He rolled to his knees and stood. “Now,
perhaps, we could start with your bath.”
“No!” Punch shouted, somewhat playful, but
nonetheless resolute.
“You like a good
bath.”
“Not today I don’t!”
“You’ll feel
better.” Charles answered, coming a
little closer.
“Here, if you
come any nearer, I’ll…I’ll hit you with me stick.”
“You don’t do
that any longer, Sir.” Charles
chuckled. “Even if you did, there’s no
stick in here with which to hit me.”
“I don’t need a
stick.” Mr. Punch pouted. “I’ve hit folk with other things. Oil lamps and wee bronzes. Remember when I hit that policeman in New
Orleans what tried to take Colin from me.
Got him good, right in the crown with a statue, I did. Knocked him right out.”
“I recall very
well.” Charles couldn’t help but
laugh. “However, I’m not trying to take
Colin, I’m only trying to get you to take a bath.”
“Coo, ain’t you ‘fraid
o’ me at all no more?” Punch sighed.
“No.” Charles shook his head. “I am not, Sir.”
“Fine,” Mr. Punch/the Duke grumbled, crawling out
from under the desk. “I’ll take me bath
only I ain’t getting’ dressed ‘til me chum comes home.”
“That’ll do.” Charles replied. “I’ll go ready the bath for you.” He turned cautiously. “You aren’t going to…”
“Run off?” Mr. Punch grinned. “Nah.
There’s ladies in the house.
Wouldn’t be right for me to run ‘bout in me nightshirt.”
“Very true.” Charles replied. “I will return presently.” With that, he slipped into the attached,
marble tiled bath chamber.
Alone in his
room, Mr. Punch began to pace frantically in front of the porch. “Damn the Prince.” He muttered repeatedly. “Ain’t even a nice bloke, he ain’t. Gonna be sharp with Ol’ Red Nose.”
Mr. Punch paused
in front of the long glass which stood in the corner of the room. He studied his face. “Only I ain’t got a red nose. Nor no hunch even.” He touched his face and sighed. “I’m a man, and a Duke, too. Bugger!”
Punch chirped
nervously as the door to the room scraped open and let out a long whoop when
Robert entered.
“Where ya been?” Punch shouted.
“I had to attend
to a patient.” Robert answered, scooping
Mr. Punch into a hug. “I told Charles to
tell you.”
“He did.” Mr. Punch pouted.
“You’re not
dressed,” Robert smiled releasing Punch from his embrace.
“I told Charles
I wasn’t gettin’ dressed ‘til you got back.”
Punch grumbled.
“Well, here I
am.” Robert grinned patiently.
Mr. Punch
sighed. “I don’t wanna do this.”
“But, you must.” Robert answered affectionately. “Dear Punch, Julian has entrusted you not
only with his life, but also his business.
If you’re to properly honor his trust, you must also honor the
relationships which have made him the success that he is. Similarly, the relationships we keep now will only help our Colin later. His father should have a friendship with the Crown, yes?”
“I ‘spose.” Punch sniffed.
“After all, one
day Colin will not only inherit your property and title, but also your
business. And, should he wish to
continue in your footsteps, an easy rapport with the Crown would be beneficial.”
“You mean that
one day Colin might work with wee Prince Bertie as I do with his mum and pa?”
“He might. Prince Albert Edward will be King one
day. He would most likely wish to employ
the crown jewelers favored by Their Majesties, his parents.”
“Well, if it’s
for Colin, I gotta do it.” Punch said excitedly.
“My dear, I must
say that I’m very proud of you.”
“Here, what for?” Punch tilted his head to one side. “I ain’t done nothin’ good. In fact, I been hidin’ under the table. And, as enjoyable as it was, I know it weren’t
a good thing to do.”
“Are you still
under the table?”
“Can’t you see I
ain’t?” Punch squinted.
“Well, yes.”
Robert laughed. “I’m being…I don’t know…I’m
being coy…and adorable.”
“You usually are…” Punch chuckled.
Robert
continued, “I am proud of you because you’re no longer under the table. You’re standing here—like a man—about to
ready yourself to do business. For that,
and many other reasons, I’m very proud of you.
And, tomorrow I’ll be prouder still.”
Mr. Punch
blushed, smiling. “Thank you, chum.”
Charles returned
to the Duke’s room and looked with palpable relief at the doctor.
“Yes, I’ve
returned.”
Charles nodded
emphatically.
“I’m ready for
me bath, Charles.” Mr. Punch nodded,
pulling his nightshirt quickly over his head and running—naked—into the other
room.
Alone with
Charles, Dr. Halifax sighed cheerfully. “I
hope he wasn’t too difficult.”
“No, Sir.”
“Thank you for
humoring him.” The doctor continued.
“There’s nothing
I wouldn’t do for His Grace.” Charles
said firmly. “In my life, there’s no one
who—well, except for you, Sir—who has been kinder to me.”
The doctor
nodded once in thanks.
“I’d best go see
that he doesn’t splash too much.”
Charles said quickly, hurrying into the other room.
Robert grinned,
shaking his head. He flopped upon the
bed comfortably and waited—content with his world.
Little did he
know that Hortence, the under-house maid, was listening at the door.
Did you miss
Chapters 1-9 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?
If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 11.
4 comments:
What a wonderful chapter! The dialogue just makes the scene come to life.
Thank you, Darcy!
If I were a young talented actor instead of a crotchety old bureaucrat I would kill to play the role of Punch in a movie. How much fun would that be?
Thanks, Dashwod. I do have a couple of actors in mind who would be a spendid Mr. Punch and Robert. Paging Mr. Bomer...
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