A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 11

Chapter 11:
Protectiveness




"Dear Punch?"  Robert said softly.  "You look a little tired.  Perhaps you should lie down for awhile."

Punch nodded.  "Perhaps I will.  Carriage rides always rattle me so."

Lennie and Robert exchanged quick glances, surprised that Punch didn't put up a fight as he usually did when anyone suggested that he rest.  

Punch looked from side to side.  "I suppose I can stretch me-self out here."

"Your feet will hang over the side,"  Robert chuckled.  "This settee was not built for masculine legs."

"No."  Punch sighed.  "Maybe on the floor."

"Brother, dear."  Lennie smiled.  "You really should go upstairs.  We'll come for you in a little while.  We've quite awhile before dinner."

"Upstairs?"  Punch squinted, looked toward the library door.  Though he said nothing, he didn't much like the idea of walking through the Great Hall alone just then--not with the cold touch of his mother's notebook still stinging his hands.  "Chum? You should come, too.  You know, I can't sleep without you next to me."

"It isn't a bad idea."  Robert smiled.  

"I'll go to my room in a few moments as well,"  Lennie nodded.  "I just want to write Matthew before I do.  I promised I write to him the moment I arrived and I rather forgot all about it during the pantomime which played out when we set foot in this house."

"You wish to stay here?"  Punch tilted his head to one side.  "You can write...I mean, there's a fine writin' desk in your suite, Lennie.  And, I'm sure Vi's got the hearth lit up there, and..."

"I'll be fine here,"  Lennie shook her head.  "Such a handsome room."

Punch nodded.  "Ya know, Chum?"  He looked at Robert.  "Maybe, I'll just look in on Colin and see how our boy is doin'...and Dog Toby...and Gamilla and Gerard.  Ya know...before I go lie down.  How 'bout you stay here with Lennie and walk up with 'er in a bit?  I'll meet ya in our rooms."

"Very well."  Robert replied.  "Give our Colin a hug for me."

"I will."  He paused.  "Don't stay too long, sister.  We all could use some rest before dinner."

"Don't worry about me."  Lennie smiled.

"But, I do.  It's what I'm for."  Punch replied.  He took a deep breath and with a deliberate hand, opened the library door, exiting into the Great Hall.

As he headed for the stairs, he tried not to look at the monumental portraits which lined the marble walls.  Centuries of Dukes and Duchesses of Fallbridge stared at him as he hurried up to the nursery, glowering over portions of familiar faces.

Meanwhile, in the library, Robert scanned the shelves as Lennie wrote.  After awhile, she set aside her pen and looked up.

"She was a monster, wasn't she?"  Lennie said quietly.

"What's that?"

"Our mother."

"I couldn't say, Lennie."  Robert replied.

"You knew her, Robert."  Lennie continued.

"Only briefly.  Certainly, I knew of her for many years, but I only knew your mother for a brief time before she was killed."  Robert answered honestly.

"Punch won't speak of her."  Lennie inhaled.  "He did--at the first, when we met.  He spoke vaguely of her coldness and cruel heart.  But, as we grew to know one another, he spoke of her less, and now, he will say nothing of her.  When he does, it's only something I could find myself in a history book.  Only when he's not guarded will something slip, and, then, he covers.  Why is that?"

"As you two grew to know one another, he naturally developed the sort of protectiveness an elder brother feels for his younger sister.  It's important to him that his experiences not color your opinions.  He wants you to develop your own impression of your mother.  You never knew her.  He wishes for you to paint your own picture of her.  I concur that his is a fair thought."  Robert replied.

"She was a monster, though, wasn't she?"

"I shall say only that your mother did not care much for me--as a man, as a physician, and as her son's lover."  Robert nodded.  "And, I did not care much for her."

"She made Punch suffer terribly."

"It's not my place to answer that."  Robert shook his head.

"He won't answer."

"Have you asked him?  Have you asked your brother as simply as you just asked me?"

"No."

"Perhaps you should, dear Lennie."  Robert smiled.

"Perhaps I should."  Lennie replied.

"Have you finished your letter?"  Robert asked.

"Not quite."

"Do hurry."  Robert said.  "Perhaps we can catch Punch in the nursery."

"That would be delightful."  Lennie chirped.

Robert chuckled, reaching for a book, he paused and looked over his shoulder--unaware that Jackson was watching their entire conversation from behind the farthest bookcase, the entire time.



Did you miss Chapters 1-10 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 12.  

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 11

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.  

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 11

The cabin was commodious enough. The statelier cabins had already been booked. Since Julian had sought passage on the Hyperion at the last minute, the crew obviously had to scramble to make the small cabin more suitable for his lordship. Julian didn’t mind the cramped quarters. In fact, he found them rather reassuring especially after the crawling, clamoring chaos at the dock.


Julian lay down on the narrow bed and tried to settle his stomach by breathing deeply. He never cared for ocean voyages. He never cared for any sort of voyage. At least Arthur’s quarters were nowhere near his cabin. For once, Julian hoped to enjoy a modicum of privacy. Even when he lived in his townhouse in Belgrave Square, someone was always coming or going.

A knock at the door shattered Julian’s hopes for solitude. Julian grunted and sat up. He’d ordered Arthur to settle into his quarters and insisted he would not need anything for some time to come.

Julian opened the door, expecting to see his valet. Instead he was greeted by a ship’s porter.

“Lord Fallbridge?” The man asked politely.

“Yes.”

“I have a note for you.” The porter offered a silver tray with an envelope which Julian took.

Alone again in his room, Julian sat in the small, wooden-armed chair in the corner of the cabin.

On the envelope, in a florid hand was written, “Julian, Lord Fallbridge.”

“Most likely an apology from the captain for the size of my cabin.” Julian sighed. He let the envelope rest in his lap and twisted the ring on his index finger. “Nothing more, I’m sure.”

That familiar twisting in Julian’s stomach made him lean forward again. He hoped he wouldn’t vomit.

Scratching his thick eyebrows, Julian tried to calm himself, but the perspiration rose on his forehead.

“Julian,” a voice from inside his skull called. “Julian, it’s just a letter.”

“Nothing good can come of letters.” Julian responded to the voice.

Whose voice was it? Not his own.

“Master, open the letter.” The voice said. “Perhaps, it will help you find me.”

“I’m not looking for you, Punch.” Julian answered irritably. “I’m looking for Barbara.”

How did he know it was Punch’s voice?

Julian’s hands shook.

“Mother’s right.” Julian said aloud. “I have gone quite mad.”

With shaking hands, Julian opened the letter.

Dear Lord Fallbridge,


Though we have yet to make one another’s acquaintance, I would like to request the honor of your company this evening in the smoking room. I will be there at eight o’clock. You will find me in the farthest left corner. I feel that I have some information that will assist you in your journey.


Robert Halifax

Julian squinted. He’d had no intention of leaving his cabin that night. Frankly, he’d intended to leave it as infrequently as was possible.

Halifax? Who was this man? Most likely, he was some fortune hunter looking to make a tidy profit by offering false hope that he could assist in finding Barbara. Had the news of Barbara’s flight spread so quickly? Surely his mother had kept it quiet. The Duchess of Fallbridge was never eager for the peerage to think that anything could be amiss in her household.

Julian leaned back in the chair and felt the storm that brewed in his bowels. The clouds in his belly filled his chest and spun into his head. Julian let the blackness wash over him.

The cabin was dark when Julian opened his eyes—so dark that, at first, he was unsure if he had, in fact, opened them.

“Where I am?” Julian thought to himself as he tried to get his bearings. He remembered he was on a ship. Yes, a ship.

Julian stood up and lit a lamp which smoked slightly for a moment, sputtering.

Julian placed the lamp on the vanity and prepared to change his clothes before Arthur could come to offer his assistance. However, when Julian saw his reflection in the glass, he realized he had already changed into a different suit of clothes. When had he done that?

Julian reached for his gold watch which sat on the vanity. Next to it, Punch’s tiny bell glittered atop an open letter. Julian picked the paper up to fold it and tuck it away. However, he quickly realized that it wasn’t the same note from earlier.

Lord Fallbridge,


Thank you for your quick response. I will await you in the smoking room.


Robert Halifax

Julian staggered backward. He reached for the watch again, hoping the coolness of the metal would soothe him.

“Quarter to eight.” Julian mumbled.

And, then, curiously, a power within himself, a command that was not his own, propelled him out the door of the cabin toward the smoking room.

There, in the corner, sat a man who rose and smiled when he saw Julian.

Walking over, he took Julian’s hand and shook it.

“Lord Fallbridge, thank you for meeting me. I worried that you might not.”

Julian nodded.

“Shall we sit down?” The man gestured to the small table in the corner where he’d been sitting.

“Do I know you, Mr. Halifax? You say we haven’t met, but I feel that…”

“No. We have not. However, you’ll be glad that we have. You see, I know everything. I am your champion.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-10? If so, you can read them here.