Chapter 11:
Blackmail
Robert grinned when
he heard Mr. Punch, from the other side of the door, howl with laughter as the sound of splashing
water filled the marble-tiled bathroom.
Still lying on the bed, Robert chuckled to himself. He sat up smoothing the front of his
rust-colored waistcoat as the bathroom door opened and a slightly damp Charles
came into the bedroom.
“He’s splashing.” Robert grinned.
“He always does,
Sir,” Charles nodded.
“Well, then, his
spirits have improved.” Robert nodded
appreciatively, standing up.
“Sir, would you
like to instruct me as to which suit to lay out for him?” Charles asked, walking to the imposing mahogany
wardrobe which stood proudly against the furthest of the turquoise plaster
walls of the Duke’s room.
“Black, I think.” Robert squinted thoughtfully.
“Which black?” Charles asked, thumbing through the hanging
suits.
“The one with
the looser breeches.” Robert continued,
rising and walking to the wardrobe.
“Ah, yes.” Charles chuckled, forgetting himself for a
moment.
Robert chuckled,
too. “After all, as His Grace always
says of breeches, ‘Them’s the worst part, they are.’”
“I can’t
disagree.” Charles smiled. “I think, perhaps, the velvet court
suit. Yes?”
“I concur.” Robert nodded. “Let’s add a bright cravat. He’ll like that. The lavender.
Or…yes…the crimson.”
“Yes, Sir,” Charles replied.
Suddenly, they
heard a loud, wet slap from the other room and, then, a long, delighted laugh
from Mr. Punch.
Robert raised
his eyebrows. “Should we look in on him?”
“No, Sir.” Charles shook his head. “He’s just throwing his soap. He’s taken to doing that lately. He likes to sit in the tub and see if he can
throw the soap hard enough to get it to stick to the wall.”
“Ah.” Robert chortled.
“Not to worry,
Sir.” Charles continued. “I left several bars in the brass tray. He’ll use some of them as soap and the rest
as projectiles.”
“God love him.” Robert sighed contentedly.
“I’m sure He
does, Sir.” Charles replied softly. He looked up.
“Which jewels?”
“Of course his
usual diamond ring.” Robert answered,
walking over to the Duke’s jewel case. “And,
the ring set with the fragment of the Molliner Blue Diamond. Then—hmmm…
He studied the case. The enameled
gold buttons—the red ones. And,” he
looked over the wide array of stickpins.
“The pin with the rubies set into a floral head.”
“Yes, Sir.” Charles answered absent-mindedly, squinting.
“Charles,”
Robert began, “You look a little concerned.
Do you disagree with my choices?”
“Oh, not at all,
Sir.” Charles shook his head. “Please, forgive me.”
“If there’s
something on your mind…”
“Well, Sir,”
Charles sighed. “I confess I’ve been
thinking about the Duke. I know he’s
worried about this visit to the palace.”
“I appreciate
that you show concern for His Grace.”
“I can’t help
it, Sir.” Charles continued. “He’s not been out in Society since we’ve
returned. Of course, I’ve seen him
interact with others and done a fine job of it, but, I think…” He stopped.
“Pardon me, it’s not my place.”
“Of course it
is, Charles.” Robert shook his
head. “Go on…”
“Well, I worry
that perhaps he’s…”
“Forgotten how
to be the Duke?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“He hasn’t.” Robert smiled reassuringly. “I know he hasn’t. He’s more like His Grace than he lets
on. Let’s not forget, the Duke of
Fallbridge is still a part of him. While
none of us really knows the mechanics of their complicated relationship, Mr.
Punch seems to be able to draw on the Duke’s font of knowledge when he needs
to. I know that Mr. Punch will be able
to convince the Prince Consort that nothing has changed. If for no other reason, he’ll do it to
preserve the sanctity of the family name and out position in Society.”
Charles smiled. “I’m glad to know it, Sir. I am terribly sorry if I spoke out of turn.”
“You did no such
thing. You should always feel free to
speak your mind where our well-being is concerned.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Here!” Punch shouted from the bathroom. “I’m wet and cold!”
“Oh.” Charles’ eyes widened. “I’d best hurry.” He rushed into the bathroom, leaving Robert
to look through the Duke’s jewels.
Meanwhile,
outside the Duke’s door, Hortence leaned against the passage wall—pressing her
ear against the cool, sleek wood of the door.
“What are you
doing?” a voice spat causing Hortence to spin around.
“Miss Barrett!” Hortence coughed.
“Are you
eavesdropping on His Grace?” Ellen said,
truly shocked. “How dare you do such a
thing. I shall bring this behavior to
Mr. Speaight’s attention immediately!”
“Will you?” Hortence smirked, stepping away from the
door.
“I most
certainly will.” Ellen nodded firmly.
“And what will
you tell him, Miss?”
“I shall say
that on my way upstairs to the nursery, I spied you listening at His Grace’s
door!” Ellen replied, seething with
anger.
“And, do you
know what I’ll tell him?”
“No, Hortence,
what will you tell him?” Ellen snorted
in contempt.
“I shall tell him
the reason you left your last position.”
“Mr. Speaight
knows the reason that I left. As do the
Duke and the doctor…”
“Do they?”
“Yes,” Ellen snapped.
“I don’t think
that they do.” Hortence giggled.
Ellen narrowed her eyes.
“See,” Hortence
continued, “I think you lied to them.”
“How could I do
such a thing?” Hortence asked. “I presented my references.”
“Those
references were written as…what’s the word…a consolation.”
“Whatever do you
mean, Hortence?”
“I know a girl
what works in your old place.”
“Oh?” Ellen nodded angrily.
“Yep—Daisy. She told me all ‘bout ya.”
“Daisy has as
much of a filthy mind as you do.”
“How could she
not, Miss Barrett, livin’ in such a house of scandal.”
Ellen blushed.
“I know all ‘bout
ya, Miss. I went to see Daisy yesterday
on my afternoon out. She and I had a
fine time talkin’ ‘bout how you was caught in the master’s bed and how the
mistress of the house ordered you out.
Only, the master didn’t want you to go.
He said it weren’t your fault and made the mistress give you a good
reference.”
“Lies—that’s all
lies.” Ellen fumed.
“Is it?”
“Yes!” Ellen hissed.
“You want to
risk it?”
“What do you
mean?"
“You say it’s
lies, sure, but sounds pretty true to me.
I think ol’ Speaight and the masters would believe it.”
“No, they would
not.”
“Let’s see if
they would.” Hortence growled. “You go—go to Mr. Speaight and tell him what
you saw. I’ll tell him what I heard and
we’ll see who comes out best.”
Ellen started as
the door to the Duke’s room opened quickly.
Robert peered out, raising one eyebrow.
“What’s this?” He asked.
“Pardon me, Sir.” Hortence curtsied obsequiously.
“Miss Barrett?” Robert looked at Ellen. “Is there a problem?”
“Shall I tell
the master,” Hortence grinned. “Or would
you like to, Miss?”
Did you miss
Chapters 1-10 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?
If so, you can read them here.
Come back on Monday, April 16, 2012 for Chapter 12.
1 comment:
I agree with your suggestion yesterday. Matt Bomer would really bring Punch to life. In fact, in picturing Mr Punch as I read today's chapter it was Bomer's face I saw and that is probably just how I will picture him from now on,
Post a Comment