Chapter 111:
Among Us Again
Mr. Speaight stood at the middle landing of the monumental grand staircase which divided the two wings of the Great Hall at Grange Molliner. His back straight, his eyes bright, he stood proudly in his fancy dress—looking for all the world like Edward the Confessor, complete with little, pointed red slippers on his feet. He cleared his throat, and everyone below turned to look at him.
A group of about fifty people milled about the Great Hall—all in fancy dress. The staffs of both the Belgrave Square house and Grange Molliner were in attendance as well as the many people who worked the estate. Aristocratic neighbors rubbed shoulders with common laborers unaware who was who for, in addition to their costumes, most people wore masks over their eyes, in the style of the Commedia dell’Arte.
Speaight looked down at the crowd and smiled. Everyone looked quite fine in their brightly-colored costumes—glittering with jewels and sequins in the light of the fire and the candles which burned in the eight ornate bronze and crystal chandeliers which adorned the hall.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Speaight smiled. “Your hosts…His Grace, the Duke of Fallbridge and Dr. Robert Henry Halifax.”
As thunderous applause echoed throughout the Great Hall, Mr. Punch and Robert descended the stairs. Robert held Punch’s arm, supporting him on the stairs as Mr. Punch was cradling Colin.
“My friends,” Mr. Punch began when they reached the landing. He tried his best to set his face into an expression which would be typical of Julian, but he found he was much too excited to be completely reserved. And, so, his eyes were wide with anticipation and joy. Still, he managed to keep his voice even and suitably formal. “Dr. Halifax and I would like to welcome all of you to our home. Furthermore, we’d like to introduce all of you to Colin, Lord Fallbridge.” Mr. Punch paused and looked down at the baby in his arms. His voice trembled for just a moment. “He’s a handsome little lord, isn’t he?”
The revelers applauded wildly.
“We had rather thought that our Colin’s first public appearance would be at his own christening, however, I think that this is an even more suitable debut for this child who will one day be the Tenth Duke of Fallbridge. Many of you may have noticed that Colin is named for my father, Sir Colin Molliner. The majority of you knew my father. He was the great explorer and archaeologist, yes, but he was also a devoted father, master and friend. When Dr. Halifax and I arrived here recently for our holiday, I spoke to him of the Servants’ Ball which my father would host here at Grange Molliner, and, we decided to continue that tradition in his honor. I’m sure that Sir Colin would be as proud as Dr. Halifax and I are of all of you. Our staff from our home in London has proven to be particularly loyal and exceptional. Our governess, Gamilla…”
Mr. Punch paused to point out Gamilla who stood in the center of the room—for the night, Cleopatra. She looked gorgeous, dressed in a shimmering azure and silver sheath with a gold and turquoise headdress. Her long, dark hair was down, and cascaded over her shoulders. Over her eyes, she wore an azure blue mask, trimmed in gold.
Gamilla grinned with pride. To begin with, she was quite pleased with her fancy dress and felt, for the first time, really, exceptionally beautiful. She was also proud to be standing next to Gerard who was dressed as Marc Anthony and who looked at her with such affection that it made her heart race. The evening was quite exciting overall, in fact. From her costume to the aroma of the floral garlands, to the spiced punch and tables of delicious foods surrounding the great butterscotch cake—she’d never seen anything like it. And, then, there was Gerry who looked so relaxed and handsome in his crisp toga and indigo robe—one broad, bare shoulder was exposed and his muscular arms were showing. It was the first she’d ever seen of any of Gerard’s body aside from his face, neck and hands, and she found the sight confusing and exciting. But, most of all, she was thrilled to have been called Colin’s “governess” in front of the entire room. Though part of her felt that Miss Barrett should not have been slighted in such a way, she knew Mr. Punch meant no harm, and could not help but feel that it was her rightful due.
“Gamilla has not only been kind to our boy, but has brought such joy to our home. Ladies and Gentlemen, Gamilla came to us all the way from America. In her short life, she has lived in Africa, America and, now, the British Empire, and we are most pleased that she has chosen our home as her own. Similarly, our valets, Charles Iantosca and Gerard Gurney—both of whom came home with us from America, are invaluable to our lives. Never before have we known such loyalty. Our Mrs. Pepper—who gave us the exquisite, magnificent cake you see over there—makes sure that we are fed while Speaight, keeps our household running smoothly. Without them, and without Violet, Georgie, Ethel and Jenny…and Hutchinson, who could not be here, we would be at a loss.”
Ethel and Jenny clasped their hands together, both feeling so overcome with emotion that they thought they would cry. Though they were both quite young—just girls, really—they could not recall a time when anyone ever singled them out for special mention, and, certainly never made a statement about them which was met with applause.
Mrs. Pepper held her head up high. She felt quite regal indeed—dressed as Queen Charlotte and wearing jewels which once belonged to the Duchess of Fallbridge. She never had another master who would introduce her to guests at a ball, and certainly not one who would lend her his mother’s jewels. She, too, felt as if she might cry with pride, especially when she glanced over at the towering cake she’d made—adorned with colored frosting in a plaid to match the Molliner Tartan. She looked over at her son, Georgie, and saw that he did, in fact, have tears in his eyes. She was prouder still, then.
Charles glanced at Violet. She looked quite pretty dressed as Juliet. Charles could tell that she missed Hutchinson—her aging, balding Romeo. Charles took a deep breath and smiled. He was pleased that the Duke had not mentioned Miss Barrett. He wondered if it was purposeful, but concluded that it wasn’t. Charles sighed and looked down at his costume. Even if his mask itched, he felt he made a handsome Hamlet and was quite pleased with the way his costume had turned out.
Punch smiled as the room was, again, filled with applause. He looked at Robert and nodded.
Robert began. “And, then, when we came here, I had the honor of being introduced to the wonderful staff at the Grange. Led by Mrs. North…” Robert nodded at the woman he thought to be Mrs. North. At the base of the stairs, a plump woman was standing, dressed as “Me A’an Sel”—the fairy girl of Scottish lore. Draped in an iridescent purple robe, the woman’s back was graced by wings of papier mache and tulle, and, upon her head she wore a large hat shaped like an upside-down morning glory—the silk petals of the flower nearly completely obscuring her face. The woman bowed slightly.
“Led by Mrs. North,” Robert continued. “the staff here has proven as warm and welcoming to me as if I’d spent my entire life here. So, tonight, we honor all of you who live and work both here and in our London home as well as those of you who tend the land here. We are joined tonight by our neighbors: some from here in Aberdeenshire, and some, from as far away as London. Each of you makes our life interesting, bright and full in your own particular way.”
“And, so,” Mr. Punch spoke up. “We invite all of you to eat and drink your fill and to dance until your heads spin. Before we begin, I’d like to ask each of you to raise your glasses aloft.” He chuckled. “Dr. Halifax will have to hold his glass up for both of us since my arms are rather occupied by young Colin.”
The crowd laughed as Robert took a glass from a tray offered to him by Speaight.
Robert raised his glass.
Mr. Punch began. “My father had a favorite toast that he liked to give at gatherings such as this. Some of you may remember it:
May those who love us, love us.
And those who don't love us,
May God turn their hearts;
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles,
So we will know them by their limping.”
The crowd laughed.
“As they say here,” Mr. Punch continued, still managing to speak as Julian even though he was feeling quite emotional. “Slàinte mhòr agus a h-uile beannachd duibh. Excellent health and every good blessing to each of you!”
Everyone responded, “Slàinte!” Each took a sip.
“Slàinte don Bhànrigh!” Mr. Punch added.
“Health to the Queen!” The crowd responded, taking another sip.
“And, finally,” Mr. Punch gulped, his voice cracking slightly, “To Sir Colin Molliner, Cha bhithidh a leithid ami riamh! His equal will never be among us again!”
“To Sir Colin!” The crowd cheered.
“Now!” Mr. Punch chirped. “The pipers!”
Suddenly, from the door beyond the Great Hall, a troupe of pipers dressed in the Molliner Tartan—their bagpipes blaring “God Save the Queen.”
Robert looked over to Punch who had tears in his eyes.
“I’m cryin’ on the baby, I am.” Punch whispered in his own voice.
“You did beautifully, dear Punch.” Robert nodded, his own voice choked by emotion as well.
“Thanks, Chum.” Punch responded softly.
“Shall we go down and join our guests?” Robert asked.
“Not yet…” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Let’s watch from up here for a few more minutes.”
“As you wish.”
“I like to think this is how our pa is seein’ it.” Punch nodded toward the cheerful commotion below.
“I have no doubt, my dear.” Robert smiled. “And, I’m sure he’s quite proud.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-110? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 112 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square as the ball gets under way!
Mr. Speaight stood at the middle landing of the monumental grand staircase which divided the two wings of the Great Hall at Grange Molliner. His back straight, his eyes bright, he stood proudly in his fancy dress—looking for all the world like Edward the Confessor, complete with little, pointed red slippers on his feet. He cleared his throat, and everyone below turned to look at him.
A group of about fifty people milled about the Great Hall—all in fancy dress. The staffs of both the Belgrave Square house and Grange Molliner were in attendance as well as the many people who worked the estate. Aristocratic neighbors rubbed shoulders with common laborers unaware who was who for, in addition to their costumes, most people wore masks over their eyes, in the style of the Commedia dell’Arte.
Speaight looked down at the crowd and smiled. Everyone looked quite fine in their brightly-colored costumes—glittering with jewels and sequins in the light of the fire and the candles which burned in the eight ornate bronze and crystal chandeliers which adorned the hall.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Speaight smiled. “Your hosts…His Grace, the Duke of Fallbridge and Dr. Robert Henry Halifax.”
As thunderous applause echoed throughout the Great Hall, Mr. Punch and Robert descended the stairs. Robert held Punch’s arm, supporting him on the stairs as Mr. Punch was cradling Colin.
“My friends,” Mr. Punch began when they reached the landing. He tried his best to set his face into an expression which would be typical of Julian, but he found he was much too excited to be completely reserved. And, so, his eyes were wide with anticipation and joy. Still, he managed to keep his voice even and suitably formal. “Dr. Halifax and I would like to welcome all of you to our home. Furthermore, we’d like to introduce all of you to Colin, Lord Fallbridge.” Mr. Punch paused and looked down at the baby in his arms. His voice trembled for just a moment. “He’s a handsome little lord, isn’t he?”
The revelers applauded wildly.
“We had rather thought that our Colin’s first public appearance would be at his own christening, however, I think that this is an even more suitable debut for this child who will one day be the Tenth Duke of Fallbridge. Many of you may have noticed that Colin is named for my father, Sir Colin Molliner. The majority of you knew my father. He was the great explorer and archaeologist, yes, but he was also a devoted father, master and friend. When Dr. Halifax and I arrived here recently for our holiday, I spoke to him of the Servants’ Ball which my father would host here at Grange Molliner, and, we decided to continue that tradition in his honor. I’m sure that Sir Colin would be as proud as Dr. Halifax and I are of all of you. Our staff from our home in London has proven to be particularly loyal and exceptional. Our governess, Gamilla…”
Mr. Punch paused to point out Gamilla who stood in the center of the room—for the night, Cleopatra. She looked gorgeous, dressed in a shimmering azure and silver sheath with a gold and turquoise headdress. Her long, dark hair was down, and cascaded over her shoulders. Over her eyes, she wore an azure blue mask, trimmed in gold.
Gamilla grinned with pride. To begin with, she was quite pleased with her fancy dress and felt, for the first time, really, exceptionally beautiful. She was also proud to be standing next to Gerard who was dressed as Marc Anthony and who looked at her with such affection that it made her heart race. The evening was quite exciting overall, in fact. From her costume to the aroma of the floral garlands, to the spiced punch and tables of delicious foods surrounding the great butterscotch cake—she’d never seen anything like it. And, then, there was Gerry who looked so relaxed and handsome in his crisp toga and indigo robe—one broad, bare shoulder was exposed and his muscular arms were showing. It was the first she’d ever seen of any of Gerard’s body aside from his face, neck and hands, and she found the sight confusing and exciting. But, most of all, she was thrilled to have been called Colin’s “governess” in front of the entire room. Though part of her felt that Miss Barrett should not have been slighted in such a way, she knew Mr. Punch meant no harm, and could not help but feel that it was her rightful due.
“Gamilla has not only been kind to our boy, but has brought such joy to our home. Ladies and Gentlemen, Gamilla came to us all the way from America. In her short life, she has lived in Africa, America and, now, the British Empire, and we are most pleased that she has chosen our home as her own. Similarly, our valets, Charles Iantosca and Gerard Gurney—both of whom came home with us from America, are invaluable to our lives. Never before have we known such loyalty. Our Mrs. Pepper—who gave us the exquisite, magnificent cake you see over there—makes sure that we are fed while Speaight, keeps our household running smoothly. Without them, and without Violet, Georgie, Ethel and Jenny…and Hutchinson, who could not be here, we would be at a loss.”
Ethel and Jenny clasped their hands together, both feeling so overcome with emotion that they thought they would cry. Though they were both quite young—just girls, really—they could not recall a time when anyone ever singled them out for special mention, and, certainly never made a statement about them which was met with applause.
Mrs. Pepper held her head up high. She felt quite regal indeed—dressed as Queen Charlotte and wearing jewels which once belonged to the Duchess of Fallbridge. She never had another master who would introduce her to guests at a ball, and certainly not one who would lend her his mother’s jewels. She, too, felt as if she might cry with pride, especially when she glanced over at the towering cake she’d made—adorned with colored frosting in a plaid to match the Molliner Tartan. She looked over at her son, Georgie, and saw that he did, in fact, have tears in his eyes. She was prouder still, then.
Charles glanced at Violet. She looked quite pretty dressed as Juliet. Charles could tell that she missed Hutchinson—her aging, balding Romeo. Charles took a deep breath and smiled. He was pleased that the Duke had not mentioned Miss Barrett. He wondered if it was purposeful, but concluded that it wasn’t. Charles sighed and looked down at his costume. Even if his mask itched, he felt he made a handsome Hamlet and was quite pleased with the way his costume had turned out.
Punch smiled as the room was, again, filled with applause. He looked at Robert and nodded.
Robert began. “And, then, when we came here, I had the honor of being introduced to the wonderful staff at the Grange. Led by Mrs. North…” Robert nodded at the woman he thought to be Mrs. North. At the base of the stairs, a plump woman was standing, dressed as “Me A’an Sel”—the fairy girl of Scottish lore. Draped in an iridescent purple robe, the woman’s back was graced by wings of papier mache and tulle, and, upon her head she wore a large hat shaped like an upside-down morning glory—the silk petals of the flower nearly completely obscuring her face. The woman bowed slightly.
“Led by Mrs. North,” Robert continued. “the staff here has proven as warm and welcoming to me as if I’d spent my entire life here. So, tonight, we honor all of you who live and work both here and in our London home as well as those of you who tend the land here. We are joined tonight by our neighbors: some from here in Aberdeenshire, and some, from as far away as London. Each of you makes our life interesting, bright and full in your own particular way.”
“And, so,” Mr. Punch spoke up. “We invite all of you to eat and drink your fill and to dance until your heads spin. Before we begin, I’d like to ask each of you to raise your glasses aloft.” He chuckled. “Dr. Halifax will have to hold his glass up for both of us since my arms are rather occupied by young Colin.”
The crowd laughed as Robert took a glass from a tray offered to him by Speaight.
Robert raised his glass.
Mr. Punch began. “My father had a favorite toast that he liked to give at gatherings such as this. Some of you may remember it:
May those who love us, love us.
And those who don't love us,
May God turn their hearts;
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles,
So we will know them by their limping.”
The crowd laughed.
“As they say here,” Mr. Punch continued, still managing to speak as Julian even though he was feeling quite emotional. “Slàinte mhòr agus a h-uile beannachd duibh. Excellent health and every good blessing to each of you!”
Everyone responded, “Slàinte!” Each took a sip.
“Slàinte don Bhànrigh!” Mr. Punch added.
“Health to the Queen!” The crowd responded, taking another sip.
“And, finally,” Mr. Punch gulped, his voice cracking slightly, “To Sir Colin Molliner, Cha bhithidh a leithid ami riamh! His equal will never be among us again!”
“To Sir Colin!” The crowd cheered.
“Now!” Mr. Punch chirped. “The pipers!”
Suddenly, from the door beyond the Great Hall, a troupe of pipers dressed in the Molliner Tartan—their bagpipes blaring “God Save the Queen.”
Robert looked over to Punch who had tears in his eyes.
“I’m cryin’ on the baby, I am.” Punch whispered in his own voice.
“You did beautifully, dear Punch.” Robert nodded, his own voice choked by emotion as well.
“Thanks, Chum.” Punch responded softly.
“Shall we go down and join our guests?” Robert asked.
“Not yet…” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Let’s watch from up here for a few more minutes.”
“As you wish.”
“I like to think this is how our pa is seein’ it.” Punch nodded toward the cheerful commotion below.
“I have no doubt, my dear.” Robert smiled. “And, I’m sure he’s quite proud.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-110? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 112 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square as the ball gets under way!
5 comments:
Beautiful chapter! You can feel Mr. Punch's joy. He is so happy to be able to have this party to thank his loyal staff and honor his father's memory.
Congratulations. Beautiful scene. Makes you almost forget what might be slithering around in the dark edges.
It would have been an exceptional speech for its time and, while some of the meaner guests would speak of it in shocked tones the day after, the majority of people hearing it would have been proud to be British and among the group.
Thank you. Yes, to praise servants like that in public would have been shocking. You'll see some fallout from some in attendance regarding the Duke's too-casual speech.
I agree. Great chapter. Read it twice and choked up a little.
Thank you, Matt.
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