Chapter 14:
The Rest of the
Stag
Mr. Punch tried
very carefully to ensure that he didn’t open his eyes too widely. After all, Robert had always told him that it
was his typical wide-eyed gaze which usually gave him away. Julian, as Robert explained, didn’t open his
eyes that much. And, so, Mr. Punch
attempted to keep his eyelids in a position which would neither give him a
countenance of surprise nor, conversely, one of drowsiness.
The two men sat,
rather uncomfortably, in a long, narrow corridor in Buckingham Palace. Mr. Punch didn’t much like the upholstery
which lined the soaring walls, but he didn’t dare say anything about it to Robert. He looked over to his companion
mischievously. Robert stifled a small
smile and the two nodded at one another, silently deciding between them to
discuss the appointments of the palace’s little-seen, somewhat damp and drafty, apartments privately once
they arrived home.
Robert looked
around. For a moment, he couldn’t
contain his excitement and a childish grin crept over his face as he considered
the reality that he, Robert Halifax of Wimbledon, was seated not only in Buck House, but in the
passage which led to the private rooms of the Prince Consort. He itched to laugh out loud. Still, he
knew that Punch’s composure hinged on his own, so, he kept silent, tapping
his knees with the palms of his hands in order to steady himself.
A rather stiff,
disgruntled-looking footman appeared from an unseen corridor around a heavily
plastered corner. The footman was
followed by an older gentleman who looked quite exhausted.
The footman
paused in front of Robert and Punch/The Duke and asked softly. “Do you require anything, Your Grace? Sir?”
“No, thank you,” Punch replied in his best impersonation of
Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge. Afterwards,
he looked sideways at Robert and winked quickly.
“No.” Robert nodded.
As the footman
scurried off, the older man approached.
“His Majesty
will see you now, Your Grace.”
Mr. Punch
rose. “Thank you.”
“This way,” the man began. He paused and turned around, looking at
Robert. “Does he know how to address the
Prince?”
“Yes.” Mr. Punch replied curtly.
“Of course, Your
Grace.” The man nodded.
Mr. Punch
wondered who this man was. He didn’t
remember seeing the baggy-eyed bloke the last time he’d been at the palace—well,
the last time he’d been there and watched from within the body he shared with
the Duke. Mr. Punch clenched his hands
into fists, overcome with a desire to belt the old man across the back of the
head. He knew that he couldn’t, but…oh,
it would have felt so very nice.
Robert and Punch
followed the old gentleman to a gilt and heavily carved door. The man paused, bowing his head before
opening the door.
“Your Majesty?” The man said softly.
“Come!” A very German, but surprisingly quiet voice
responded.
“His Grace,
Julian, Duke of Fallbridge and Doctor Robert Halifax.” The man said, bowing and allowing Punch,
first, and, then, Robert to pass.
“Your Majesty,” Mr. Punch smiled, imitating Julian. He bowed his head quickly and only
slightly. Robert, however, staying
silent, bowed longer and more deeply—perhaps a little too deeply, but it didn’t
matter since Prince Albert was only focused on the Duke.
“Sit.” Prince Albert said sharply.
Punch sat, indicating
to Robert to sit next to him on the long settee in front of the fireplace at
the farthest end of the Prince’s study.
Mr. Punch raised his eyebrows slightly to remind Robert not to sit until
the Prince Consort did. Once the two
other men were seated—the Prince in a rather rigid, highly ornamented armchair
adjacent to the settee—Robert joined his companion.
“Fallbridge--who
is this man?” Prince Albert asked.
Mr. Punch smiled
politely wishing he could shout, “He’s me chum!” Instead, he answered in an even, mannered
voice, “This, Your Majesty, is Dr. Robert Halifax—my companion.”
“Are you ill?” Prince Albert growled.
“No, Sir.” Punch replied, forcing himself not to frown.
“Why, then, do
you require a physician companion?”
“I do not
require him, Your Majesty. I enjoy his company.” Mr. Punch replied as coolly as he could.
“Ah.” Prince Albert narrowed his eyes. “It is said, Fallbridge, that you are
mad. Are you?”
Mr. Punch took a
deep breath and continued smiling. He
could feel Robert’s discomfort and wanted to shout at the Prince Consort. “It is said that you think the Queen will
allow you to rule the Empire! Which one
of us, then, is mad?”
He didn’t,
however.
Instead, Mr.
Punch replied simply, “It is said that many a great man is mad. Those who are beneath us wish to discredit
us. I suspect that I should be thankful
that those who gossip still think me important enough to manufacture rumors
against me. Otherwise, I should worry
that I had no place in Society at all.”
Robert drew in
air audibly—terribly impressed with his companion’s response.
“Good show,
Fallbridge. You’re as sharp as ever.” The Prince answered. He looked over at Robert. “Your companion, Fallbridge,” the Prince
continued, speaking to Punch, though looking at Robert, “is very handsome. Very handsome indeed.”
“He is, Sir.”
“He appears as
if he has stepped from a work of an Italian Master. Botticelli, I think.”
Mr. Punch felt
that itch in his hands and wished he could grab the small parian bust of the
Queen from off of the gilt table next to the settee and smash it across the
Prince’s head.
Instead, he only
nodded. “Dr. Halifax is more handsome
than that, I think.”
“Perhaps,” Prince Albert sniffed. “I imagine he’s popular with the ladies in
court.”
With this, Mr.
Punch could not resist chuckling aloud. Robert
blushed.
Punch forced
himself to sober up by rubbing his palms quickly against his velvet
breeches. “The doctor has no time for
such things. He is dedicated to his life
as a healer as well as to keeping me company.”
“A loyal man,
then.” Prince Albert nodded
approvingly. “Not distracted by sinful
pursuits.”
Mr. Punch
glanced at Robert who was doing his best to not look as miserable as he felt. “You could say that,” Punch replied
slyly. He seized that opportunity to
change the subject by trotting out the little speech he had so diligently
rehearsed.
He began, “We
were ever-so overjoyed by your invitation.
I must confess, I was quite pleased at the chance to see you again, Your
Majesty, and, more so, to introduce my companion to you as I suspect that you
share similar sensibilities. Like you,
Sir, Dr. Halifax is a man of both the arts and sciences. His influence has aided me tremendously,
allowing me to serve you all the better.”
“Fine,” Prince Albert replied dryly. He looked again at Robert—this time finally
speaking to him directly, “I am pleased to know you.”
“I am honored,
Your Majesty,” Robert replied, opening his mouth for the first time since they
entered the Prince’s chamber.
Prince Albert
cleared his throat. “As you know,
Fallbridge, the anniversary of Her Majesty’s birth is coming in May. The twenty-fourth to be exact. I wish to make a special gift to her. It must be very special.”
“How may I help
you, Sir?” Mr. Punch asked.
Robert gazed
affectionately at Punch, so proud of the way the man was carrying himself in
that terribly stressful encounter.
“I want for you
to make her a lovely jewel.”
“I would be
delighted, Your Majesty,” Punch replied,
still speaking as Julian might. “Have
you something in mind?”
“Of course!” Prince Albert spat. “I want a pin. A lovely pin of golden oak leaves.”
“That would be
brilliant.” Punch smiled. “I should be thrilled to show you several
designs.”
“Not just gold,
mind…” Prince Albert warned.
“Certainly not.” Mr. Punch nodded. “I know how Her Majesty loves diamonds. Perhaps with emeralds and lovely Persian
turquoise. Or blue sapphires to sparkle
in Her Majesty’s eyes.”
“No!” Prince Albert growled. “None of those.”
“Do you have a
certain stone you’d prefer?”
“Yes!”
“Will you
provide them to me, or shall I purloin them for Your Majesty?” Mr. Punch asked.
“These,” Prince Albert frowned, reaching into his coat
pocket and removing a small, red velvet pouch.
He tossed the pouch to the Duke/Mr. Punch who caught it deftly before it
hit his lap.
“Open it.” Prince Albert nodded.
Mr. Punch
carefully opened the pouch and poured the contents into his hand.
For all the
world, poor, poor Punch wished he could cry out and laugh—“Bloody hell! It’s a sack of teeth!” But, he didn’t.
Punch could feel
Robert’s eyes widening.
Mr. Punch
inhaled and forced another smile. “How
very interesting, Your Majesty. Teeth. And, what lovely…large…teeth they are.”
“Stag’s teeth!” Prince Albert barked. “From my own kills. My own trophies. All of them from Balmoral. The Queen loves reminders of my skill.”
“I think that
these will make a very...interesting...brooch, Sir.” Punch continued.
“How will you do
it?”
“I think,
perhaps, the teeth would be displayed as acorns amongst golden oak leaves.”
“Fine,” The Prince replied.
Mr. Punch
carefully returned the teeth to their pouch.
He wished desperately to wipe his hands on his stockings, but he
refrained.
“It is
settled. I wish to see sketches in one
week. Thank you for your time. You are dismissed.”
Mr. Punch and
Robert exchanged glances as Prince Albert rose and returned to his desk.
Bowing slightly,
Mr. Punch grinned. “Good day, Your
Majesty.”
Robert did the
same. Together, they backed out of the
room. The footman closed the door behind
them.
Walking slowly
down the corridor, they waited until
they were a safe distance from the Prince’s door before Punch chuckled long and
low. “Coo!” He whispered.
“It’s a bloody sack of teeth.”
“I wonder what
he did with the rest of the stag.”
Robert whispered.
“Probably gnawed
it to pieces with his own teeth.” Mr.
Punch teased quietly. “’Spose I should
be bloody grateful he didn’t give me a sack of antlers and hooves.”
Robert giggled
softly.
“You did real
good, chum.” Punch whispered.
“Thank you,” Robert replied. “My dear Punch, you have no idea how
brilliant you were. I could not be more
impressed.”
“Here, I were
pretty brilliant, weren’t I?” Punch
whispered. “Now, come on, chum, let’s go
make a terrible ugly brooch.”
Did you miss
Chapters 1-13? If so, you can read them
here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 15
of Mr.
Punch of Belgrave Square.
2 comments:
I remember when you first posted the stag's tooth pin that Prince Albert designed for Queen Victoria. It's pretty but a little odd. I'm glad even Mr. Punch seems to feel the same way about it. Very clever writing to include it in the story.
Thanks, Darcy. That pin "stuck" in my brain all this time. You summed it up perfectly.
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