A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 112

Chapter 112
For Her Grace's Amusement



"Oh, look Mr. Jackson."  Ivy cooed, her voice thick with hatred.  "Our charge is awakening."

"Shall I melt some butter?"  Jackson smirked.

"I don't know."  Ivy continued.  "She's a trifle too old to be tasty.  You know, sea food turns so quickly."

"Nonetheless, Miss Blessum, look at those claws.  I'm sure the meat, though aged, would still be quite sweet.  I think when we celebrate at the feet of Her Grace upon her resurrection, we should consider eating her sister's enormous claws."

"It would be a fitting tribute.  Wouldn't it?"  Ivy laughed.  "After all, without Morgana's pretty face, we'd not be able to enjoy in the renewed radiance, the very brilliance of Pauline, Duchess of Fallbridge.  To put all of her to good use would be the only appropriate thing to do."

"Well, maybe not all of her."  Jackson snickered, sending small beads of spittle flying.

"Not her tree-trunk leg."  Ivy howled.  "No, no."

"S...s...stop."  Morgana rasped.

"She's found her voice again!"  Ivy clapped.

Jackson wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.  "Time for another drink, then."

"No, no, Mr. Jackson.  Let her speak.  She won't be able to do so for much longer."

Morgana looked around.  She was somewhere damp and cold--a strange dark structure of crumbling stone.  Slits of light peeked into the darkness through lost stripes of mortar.  The floor was dirt, covered in rotting hay from which tangles of vines grew and clung to the gray walls with long, yellow sticky feelers.  In the rear of the space, a curving narrow staircase, slanted with age, seemed to groan under its own weight.  Where did it lead?

Tucked under the dilapidated spiral of stone was a long, low box of rough wood.  To its left was a mound covered in dirty blankets.  From under one edge, icy-white fingers were visible.  Fingers atop fingers.  Two hands, one atop the other.

Morgana yelped.

"That's rather how our Mr. Quick reacted."  Ivy nodded, noting Morgana's realization that they shared the space with the bodies of William and Charlotte.  "None too thrilled with us was Mr. Quick.  Still..."  She sighed.  "It had to be done.  William was in the way, and, of course, you know what became of your newly-found bosom friend, the round-heeled trollop."

"We couldn't let her go unpunished."  Jackson snorted.  "The gall of her to try to assist you."

"Sh...she didn't deserve to die for showing compassion for a fellow being."  Morgana coughed.

"A harlot!  That's what she was, and a disloyal one.  That, dear Lobster Girl, is a treacherous combination."  Jackson wiped his mouth again with his beige, wrinkled hand.

"You are savages."  Morgana growled.  "Hideous, horrible...beasts."

"We?"  Ivy laughed.  She turned to Jackson.  "Maybe we should not eat her.  She's too bitter."

Jackson nodded.  "There is also the chance that we'd develop into whatever she is.  Strange, isn't it?  Such a lovely face atop that pile of deformed flesh."

"It's sacrilege, truly."  Ivy agreed.  "To think that Her Grace's countenance should be attached to such a monstrous body."

"A joke of nature."  Jackson sniffed.

"The work of the devil, perhaps?"  Ivy suggested.

"No, even that would be more fully-formed.  She's unfinished."

"Or over-finished."  Ivy laughed.  "Like a bread forgotten in the oven."

"Now I'm becoming hungry again."  Jackson winced.

"Pity we must stay here.  Yet, we know our little lobster can't be trusted on her own--even bound as she is."  Ivy inhaled.  "A terrible pity."

"It's no pity, Miss Blessum."  Jackson shook his head.  "We're doing this for the ultimate good.  Furthermore, to be in the presence of Her Grace--even as she is--is a blessing that we must not discount."

"I stand corrected, Mr. Jackson."

Morgana glanced at the long, low crate of splintered, dry wood.

"Yes, dear."  Ivy nodded.  "Her Grace is in there--waiting, waiting for nightfall, for the glow of the moon to revive her."

"Perhaps Morgana would like to see her perfect sister."  Jackson rose, creakily, from the wooden stool upon which he sat.  He offered his hand to Miss Blessum to help her from her own three-legged perch.

"I think that's a lovely idea."

"Or..."  Jackson's eyes widened.  Even at that state of excitement, his gray eyes were still narrow and beady.

"Or?"

"I've a better idea.  Instead of just letting the sideshow attraction gaze at her better, why don't we...initiate a communion of sorts?  If anything, it would please the duchess.  You know how Her Grace loved her little amusements.  We could...well, we could please her greatly."

"An appealingly curious idea, Mr. Jackson.  Do tell."

"We'll need a flame.  A torch..."  Jackson chirped in a gravely, high pitch.

"I think that can be arranged."  Ivy grinned.

"Surely Mr. Quick wouldn't object.  We only need her head."  Jackson winked.

"I'm sure he'd welcome whatever we did for Her Grace's amusement." Ivy mewed.

Did you miss Chapters 1-111 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 113.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 112

Chapter 112: 
A Note of Discomfort 


“Your Grace,” Countess Hamish croaked as she approached the Duke who, still holding their son, stood next to his companion. She made a point of not addressing Robert. “What an interesting speech. One wonders what the Duchess of Fallbridge would have thought.”

“I imagine that my mother would not have been pleased.” Punch smiled slightly, affecting Julian’s shy mannerisms.

“For a variety of reasons, I’m sure.” The countess hissed.

“I think it was a very sweet address, Mummy,” Lady Constance spoke up.

“I’ve no doubt of that,” The countess snarled. “You, I’m sure, would also speak so. You have always had a peculiar fondness for the servants.”

“My thought,” Robert began, “is that the staff should not be treated as mindless automatons. They are human beings just as we are. Perhaps they have not had the same advantages that we’ve enjoyed, and, perhaps they are not as eloquent, however, they are living beings with emotions and dignity. I applaud His Grace’s attitude regarding the servants. The Duke, for as long as I’ve known him, has always endeavored to treat those whom most would consider less fortunate as his equal.”

Despite her initial intention to completely ignore Robert, the Countess Hamish could not relinquish an opportunity to spar with the doctor.

“What advantages have you had, Dr. Halifax?” She grinned.

“My education, to begin with.” Robert answered patiently.

“Yet, you are not of our class.”

“No.” Robert shook his head. “I was not born to wealth. Quite the opposite.”

“Mummy,” Lady Constance warned as the Countess opened her mouth.

“This is not a vulgar discussion of wealth, Dr. Halifax. This is a discussion of station.”

“Nor was a born to a ducal coronet as was His Grace.” Robert smiled politely. “Yet, His Grace has accepted me as his equal, and, for that, I am most grateful.”

“I suspect that you are.” The Countess hissed.

“And, we’re glad that you’re among us, Dr. Halifax.” Lady Constance said quickly. “Your reputation in London…as a physician…is quite sterling. You’re, I’m sure a credit to the House of Fallbridge.”

“I wonder if the Duchess of Fallbridge would have agreed.” The Countess smirked.

“I assure you, Countess, that the Duchess of Fallbridge did not approve of me at all.” Robert nodded. “She was most emphatic in her disapproval when we met in America.”

“I’ve no doubt.” The Countess sighed.

“Tragic how she died.” Lady Constance said awkwardly.

“Yes, isn’t it?” The Countess continued. “And, yet, in your toast, Your Grace, you made such a point to mention Sir Colin Molliner—hardly of the rank of the Duchess of Fallbridge—but you did not mention your late, lamented mother.”

“As this is my father’s ancestral home,” Mr. Punch said, still managing to maintain his impersonation of Julian despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to strike the woman across the head with any available heavy object, “I found it most appropriate to honor him, especially since this event is a continuation of his legacy.”

“What of your mother’s legacy?” The Countess asked.

“I thought it best to leave a discussion of that for another time.” Punch replied plainly.

“What a handsome baby.” Lady Constance interrupted, her discomfort apparent. She wanted desperately to change the subject.

Punch’s growing irritation faded as he glanced down at the child in his arms. “Yes, thank you. He’s a fine boy. We’re most proud of him.”

“He looks quite a lot like you.” The Countess said curtly.

“Isn’t it fortunate?” Robert smiled. “To think that his foundling should grow to resemble his benefactor is remarkable indeed.”

“Yes.” Mr. Punch said softly.

“Only fitting since he will inherit the Duke’s estate and title one day.” The Countess clucked her tongue.

“We…” Punch began, his voice cracked slightly—his own natural way of speaking momentarily creeping in, “we love ‘im.” He cleared his throat. “The doctor and I have found our Colin to be such a delight. He’s quite intelligent. Look how he’s observing everything around him with such wonder and curiosity.”

“Such a darling.” Lady Constance nodded.

“He has something of the same wide-eyed stare which I have recently noted in you, Your Grace.” The Countess added snidely.

“What are you?” Punch snapped. He paused again. “Your dress?” He covered, for the sake of politeness. “Tell me of your costume. It’s delightfully old-fashioned. I’ve not seen a dress like that in ages, Countess. What character are you?”

“I am no character. This is not fancy dress. This is my own gown.”

“Ah,” Mr. Punch blushed.

Robert bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing.

“Mummy does not care for fancy dress.” Lady Constance said, a hint of amusement dancing in her voice. “I had toyed with the idea of it, but Mummy insisted that we should not. I see that Your Grace and Dr. Halifax have not donned costume either.”

“No,” Robert shook his head. “We concluded that this was the servants’ night and, so, we did not wish to detract from them.”

“Of course you didn’t.” The Countess grumbled.

“Everyone seems to be having a very good time,” Lady Constance said with a note of discomfort.

“I’m glad of that.” Mr. Punch nodded, regaining his composure. “I trust you’re enjoying your stay in Aberdeenshire? You’re staying with the Baron and Baroness Lensdown, yes?”

“Yes.” Countess Hamish replied dismissively. “Gertrude insisted that we come tonight.”

“I’m so glad that she did.” Mr. Punch forced a smile. “Have you had a chance to spy the construction at Balmoral? I’m sure His Majesty will grace the landscape with a beautiful new castle.”

“I find Prince Albert’s tastes entirely too German.” The countess scowled.

“Ah.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Still, I’m sure it will be lovely. I was granted a chance to see the plans when last at court, and I must say that they’ve done a remarkable job of parroting the look of the old castle while making it thoroughly modern.”

The countess shrugged.

“You really should take a stroll toward Balmoral if you can.” Mr. Punch said hesitantly.

“You’ll find the air here quite bracing.” Robert added.

“I don’t care for walking.” The countess snorted.

“Well, I trust you’ll find endless amusement with the Baron and Baroness. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Dr. Halifax and I must receive our other guests.”

“Of course,” Lady Constance bowed her head.

The Countess Hamish sniffed derisively.

As Robert and Punch walked off, Mr. Punch looked down at Colin and whispered. “Don’t listen to what I’m ‘bout to say, Colin.” He glanced at Robert and mouthed the word. “Bitch.”

“That’s not what I would call her, dear Punch.”

“No?” Punch asked, wide-eyed.

“No.” Robert shook his head. “Nothing so kind.”

“What would you call her?” Punch grinned.

“I’ll show you the word in my book of anatomy later.” Robert winked.

“Oh!” Punch giggled. “I look forward to it.”

Meanwhile, the countess grabbed her daughter by her arm, gripping the girl’s flesh in her bony fingers. She dragged the woman to a obscured crook in the grand staircase.

“Mummy,” Lady Constance whispered. “You’re hurting me.”

“How dare you make me look a fool in front of that doctor person.” The Countess growled.

“They were kind enough to invite us.” Lady Constance retorted. “And you were being insufferable.”

“We’re not here to be their friends, Constance.” Countess Hamish snapped. “Or have you forgotten?”

“I’ve not.” Constance pulled her arm away from her mother’s clasp. “How could I? You remind me of our intentions often enough.”

“And, yet, you do nothing.”

“I’d do more if you’d let me.” Constance replied.

“Is that it?” The Countess rasped. “Well, then. Don’t let me stop you. Go find your lover and do his bidding so that we may repay our debt and be out from under his thumb.”

“We’d not be under his thumb, Mother, were it not for you.”

“I’m not the one who became entangled with a married man.”

“This married man, Mummy. This one.”

“I never found myself in this position, Constance.”

“It’s, perhaps, the only position you’ve not been in.”

The countess’ face fell and her eyes turned to ice. “Were we not in this room, in this house, I would…”

“I know exactly what you’d do.”

“Lensdown is expecting you.” The Countess barked. “Go to him. Now.”

“I shall.” Lady Constance responded. “Meanwhile, you should try not to drink all of the Duke’s wine. At least not tonight.”

“Is that how you’re going to treat me?”

“You force me to do it, Mother.”

“Daughter, you have no idea what I can force you to do.” The countess frothed. She looked over her shoulder. “The Duke—this madman whom you hold in such high esteem—look at him with his male lover and his little ward. He seems to have a penchant for foundlings. I’m sure he’d love to have a daughter, too, a little sister for his father’s namesake. The doctor isn’t going to give him a child. Do you know where the Duke could get a little girl to be a sister to his beloved Colin?”

“Don’t tease me.” Constance warned.

“I’m not teasing.” The countess’ eyes flashed with hatred. “Now, go do your duty. If I see no progress, I shall see to it that Fern finds her way to this household which you seem to find so charming.”

Did you miss Chapters 1-111 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 113.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 112

Adrienne gasped. “Mon Dieu. Je ne crois pas. La duchesse ne pouvait pas être ici. Chers Punch, séjour ici avec moi. Ne pas aller. C'est une sorte de truc.”


Mr. Punch shook Julian’s head and sighed. “Non. J'ai été attend son. J'ai longtemps avait le sens qu'elle est ici, j'ai. Je ne sais pas pourquoi elle est ici, mais elle est,” Mr. Punch responded—rather surprised at first that he knew French. He shrugged, recalling that the things that Julian knew, he also knew. He added, “Don’t worry, Lady Chum. Remember, I beat the Devil.”

“Not alone, you don’t.” Adrienne responded.

“You want for me to take the baby?” Meridian asked.

“Yes, please, Meridian.” Adrienne nodded, gently placing Fuller in the woman’s arms. “Will you see to it that he’s fed?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Meridian smiled. “Your Lordship, I done put that lady in the front parlor.”

“Thank you, Meridian.” Mr. Punch said softly.

“I can tell her to go away.” Meridian said quickly. “I can tell her you’re not here. Just she was so insistent that she see you. Seems kind of wild, that one. Demanded that I let her in cuz she’s your mama.”

“It’ll be fine, Meridian.” Mr. Punch smiled weakly. “You did the right thing, you did.”

“Meridian,” Adrienne rose from the chair, “Will you send one of the men up to alert my husband and his brother that Her Grace has arrived.”

“Sure will,” Meridian nodded. “Will she be stayin’ here?”

“No.” Mr. Punch and Adrienne answered in unison.

Meridian chuckled. “If you need me, just ring the bell and I’ll come a-runnin’.”

“Merci.” Adrienne said.

Meridian left through the door at the rear of the room. Fuller cried and reached his arms out—wanting his mother. “It’ll be good in the end, Little Chum.” Mr. Punch smiled at the baby who stopped his crying. “Never fear. Here, you take Toby with you for company.” He looked to the dog, “Toby, go with Meridian and the little man.” Toby trotted off, following Meridian.

Mr. Punch glanced at the puppet which still happily sat at the dining table. “I ‘spose we’d better leave me wooden chum here.”

Punch and Adrienne stood silently in the dining room for a few seconds.

“You know I’m going with you.” Adrienne said finally.

“You don’t have to do that, Lady Chum.” Mr. Punch answered.

“I’m afraid you have no choice, chers Punch. I’m going whether you like it or not.”

“She’s going to chew you up.” Mr. Punch sighed.

“I’m not afraid of her.” Adrienne smiled. “Remember, you’re not the only one who can beat the devil. We’ve got the angels fighting on our side.”

“Gonna need a lot of angels.” Mr. Punch grumbled. “We’d better go. Her Grace don’t like to be kept waitin’.” He slid open the pocket doors.

“Punch, hadn’t you better speak as Julian might?” Adrienne asked as they walked into the hallway.

“Yes.” Mr. Punch answered quickly. “I hadn’t thought of that. It’d be worse if I use me own voice. Don’t rightly know what I’ll say to her. How’d she find us?”

“I’m not sure, my dear.” Adrienne responded softly. “But, we’re soon to find out.”

Very slowly, Mr. Punch walked through the tall archway into the parlor, followed closely by Adrienne.

The Duchess scowled from her perch in the small settee by the fireplace.

“What took you so long?” She hissed. “Always dawdling. Don’t you know I traveled a long way to get here?”

“I know, Mother.” Mr. Punch answered in Julian’s voice.

“That’s all you have to say to your mother?” The Duchess asked. “No greeting? No affection?”

“Of course, Mother.” Mr. Punch bowed his head. “Good morning. It’s always…” He searched for the right words. “…so interesting to see you.”

“You sound strange.” The Duchess frowned. “Stranger than usual. And who is this?” She glared at Adrienne.

“Adrienne Halifax, may I present Her Grace, Pauline, The Duchess of Fallbridge.” Mr. Punch said, still affecting Julian’s voice. “My mother.”

Adrienne curtsied. “It’s a pleasure, Your Grace.”

“Where’d you find this one?” Pauline sniffed. “Though I can’t say that I’m unhappy to see you with a woman.”

“I’ve been traveling with Adrienne, her husband, and her husband’s brother.” Mr. Punch explained. “They’ve been very good to me.”

“How grand of them.” The Duchess smirked. “I don’t suppose their kindness has anything to do with your enormous wealth.”

“I don’t think it does, Mother.” Mr. Punch said as Julian. “Cecil and Adrienne have a fair amount of wealth of their own. And, Robert—Dr. Halifax—has no need to be mercenary.”

“Likely.” Pauline coughed.

“Do sit, Adrienne,” Mr. Punch said to his friend. Adrienne sat—uncomfortably—in the chair across from Her Grace.

“How did you find me, Mother?”

“Do you think it’s difficult to find someone?” Pauline answered. “Well, I suppose you would. You’ve not had much success in finding your sister. Have you?”

“I’ve found her.” Mr. Punch answered. “I know exactly where she is and what she’s been doing. Do you?”

“Insolent boy!” The Duchess spat. “I did not sail to this God forsaken place to be abused by my own son!”

“Why did you sail here?”

“How many weeks have passed?” The Duchess growled. “How many weeks have passed with no word from you? I feared you’d both been murdered—like your poor father.”

“I see you’ve cut short the period of mourning.” Punch said, gesturing to the duchess’ deep blue gown and glittering jewelry of sapphires.

“Hold your tongue.” Pauline growled. “Go and pack your things. You’re coming with me.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Your place is with your family.”

“You’re correct, Mother. And, I’m with my family, I am. These people have been more of a family to me than you ever were.” Punch answered, his own voice creeping into his speech slightly.

The Duchess of Fallbridge raised her eyebrows. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“It’s ‘bout time someone did!” Mr. Punch shouted.

“Dear God, you are mad.” Pauline responded angrily. “And, you…” She turned to Adrienne. “You and your lot have only encouraged his lunacy!”

“We encourage him to be himself.” Adrienne said plainly. “We respect and love him for who and what he is. Isn’t that what a family does?”

“Listen, you trollop.” The Duchess of Fallbridge shouted. “You have no right to speak to me that way!”

“And, you have no right to speak to my wife that way,” Cecil said firmly as he entered the room, followed by Robert. Both of them had bits of shaving cream clinging to their ears as they obviously had hurried down the stairs.

“Look, it’s carnival time at the fairgrounds.” The Duchess moaned. “I suppose you’re the Misters Halifax I’ve heard of.”

“We’ve heard of you, too, Your Grace.” Robert said, going to stand next to Mr. Punch. “And, to be accurate, I am Dr. Halifax.”

“How nice for you, Doctor.” Pauline smirked. “How convenient to have a doctor so close at hand. Perhaps you can help me, Doctor. I think it’s time to ensure the safety of my son. Can you recommend a cozy little asylum to which I can commit this shameful creature who bears my name?”

Did you miss Chapters 1-111? If so, you can read them here.