A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 116

Chapter 116:
Philip Astley's Legacy




As Morgana painfully made her way up the twist of crumbling stones, she remembered something she had not let dance through her thoughts for years.

She'd been on public display since her infancy--between the painful surgeries she had endured at the hands of curious doctors and butchers of all walks of life to the times when the people she'd first thought to be her parents would accept a penny from dirty-faced children who wished to see the "little lobster baby."

In fact, one of the earliest moments she could recall--the moment she realized that she was a living creature of her own, whatever she was meant to be--was being gawked at by a sickly-smelling bunch of urchins from the Female Orphans Home who had peered at her through the tall iron fence of their asylum.

"You gals wanna better look?"  "Father" had asked as he grabbed her by the wrist.  "She be gentle, she will.  If'n you don't poke at her or summat."  He had dragged her over to the fence and pressed her against it--the cold bars pressing against her belly and making her shiver.  The orphan girls had jumped back, squealing so loud that surely their voices could be heard across Lambeth to Carlisle House and, even, the Thames which burbled under Westminster Bridge.

"Father" had laughed as tears sprung up in Morgana's eyes.  Sure, those girls were also unwanted--orphans whose best chance at life was to learn a little needlework and how to mend, but they were...pretty.  Even the ones with the plainest faces, even those with thin hair and bony bodies--they were pretty.  Prettier than Morgana on the whole.  They'd be wanted one day, by someone.  

Morgana knew she would not.

That was the day "Father" had pulled her to Astley's Amphitheater.  As her stinging eyes cleared, she remembered looking up at the place with its long, fluttering banners.  He pulled her inside where her nostrils filled with the heavy, meaty scents of dung, sweat and sawdust.

Philip Astley was charming, Morgana recalled, even though she could see his eyes widen when he first looked at her.  He was a loud, stout man with a wide smile and a booming voice.    "No, no, good sir.  Astley's Circus does not...does not feature such...attractions."

"I need to do summat with her."  "Father" growled.

"Such a pretty face the lass has.  'Tis a pity about the rest of her.  Look!  John!"  Mr. Astley called out.  

A handsome man with broad shoulders and strong arms looked absently up from the center of the amphitheatre.

"Come here and behold this little lady."  Astley waved.  He leaned forward to Morgana and her "father."  "My son, John..."

"I've seen 'im, Sir."  "Father" nodded.  "'Im up there on those horses--standin' like he's on the solid ground.  I seen 'im also at the fireworks for King George's birthdays."  He added proudly.

Mr. Astley grinned.

The word "lass," led young John Astley to presume that he'd been summoned to gaze upon some comely creature.  His eyes flashed approval when seeing Morgana's bright face, but his handsome countenance contorted to one of revulsion when he looked upon the rest of her.

"Ugh..."  John winced.  "We don't take that kind here."

"Now, John."  Mr. Astley barked, a bit of scolding creeping into his bravado.  "We're all God's creatures."  He paused.  "Listen, friend," he looked upon "Father," there's a traveling show what comes past Westminster Bridge.  Sometimes we let them set their camp on the field's behind Hercules Row.  They're here just now.  Why not bring your girl to them."

"They'll take her."  John Astley sniffed.  "Odd to say, they got worse than her."

"They're in Lambeth?"  "Father" asked.  "They do be here now?"

"Oh, yes.  Came late last night.  Bring this lass to her,"  Philip Astley nodded.  "I'm sure they'll treat her well."

They hadn't.  Those days in Lambeth with the Curiosities Show were not the worst of Morgana's life, but they were certainly not the best.  It was the first step in a journey of agony.

The memory made Morgana feel an anger she'd not known since she'd met her nephew and niece and Robert and their lovely staff of gentle faces.

She suddenly felt stronger.

She thought of Mr. Astley--his wide shoulders and big belly and how he'd meant no harm, really, but how his words doomed her to a life in hell.

Morgana climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, feeling the stones shift under her feet.

Though it hurt her to do it, she pressed on the wooden planks of the trapdoor with her hunch, falling inward as the door gave way.  

Her lungs filled with fresh Yorkshire air and she coughed.

Rolling until she could find a position wherein she could right herself. Morgana began to laugh.  Rising clumsily, she hurried--bouncing, hoping that her bound arms would not throw off her balance again--to the side of the folly's tower.

"I'm here!"  She shouted with all her power.  "Help me!  I'm here!"

Several men who worked the gardens spotted her and pointed.

"Help me!"  Morgana called out.

"We're comin', ma'am!"  One of them dropped his rake and ran, grabbing the arm of another man and the shoulder of yet another.

"I'm free!"  Morgana shook with relief.  "I'm free!  I'll soon be back with you, Punch! Robert!  Lennie! Dear, dear Lennie--I do hope you're safe!  All of you!"

Morgana's relief would have quickly melted had she known that known of them, least of all Lennie, were safe.

She nodded.  "Thank you, Mr. Astley."


Did you miss Chapters 1-115 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 117.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 116

Chapter 116: 

In the Details 



Ethel and Jenny giggled loudly as they spun around to the pipers' music. Linking arms with Georgie Pepper, the girls whooped as the sound of the bagpipes grew louder and faster. When the music stopped, the three of them teetered off to the long tables of gleaming silver trays and gilt-tiered stand which held the opulent food which the Duke had brought in for the event.

“I never been so hungry,” Ethel laughed.

“You never moved ‘bout so much.” Jenny teased.

“Come on, then, Jenny.” Georgie interrupted. “Our Ethel is a very active girl. Just before we left for Scotland, I saw her climbin’ up and down the service stairs.”

“That’s right.” Ethel nodded her head emphatically.

“Course, she were stoppin’ for a wedge of cheese each time she passed through the kitchen, so she’d have somethin’ savory with all them chocolates what she nicked from the Duke.”

“I never.” Ethel pouted, feigning offense.

“Never stopped eatin.” Georgie grinned proudly.

“I don’t see you starvin’ yourself, George Pepper.” Jenny chimed in.

“I’m a man.” Georgie winked.

“No, you ain’t.” Ethel laughed. “You’re a boy.”

“I’m older than you.” George laughed.

“You’re an old boy, then.” Ethel smiled.

“Cor,” Jenny put her hand to her forehead and giggled. “Me head’s spinnin’.”

“How much wine have ya had?” Ethel whispered.

“Not any. Honest.” Jenny mumbled.

“Ha!” Georgie shook his head.

“Don’t go listenin’ to private conversations.” Ethel said firmly.

“What’s so private ‘bout it? You think you’re whisperin’, only you’re so drunk you’re shoutin’.”

“I ain’t never been drunk, Georgie Pepper.” Jenny replied.

“Me neither.” Ethel nodded.

“Nah—and I ain’t never eaten a whole chicken in one sittin’.”

“You’re disgustin’.” Jenny laughed.

“Least I ain’t drunk.” George grinned.

“I ain’t. I only had four cups.” Jenny snapped.

George laughed. “Thought you ain’t had any.”

“Well…” Jenny blushed. “Maybe a little.”

“I had five.” Ethel sighed.

“Seven.” Georgie chuckled.

“No, only five.”

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout me.” George howled. “I had seven.”

“Figures.” Jenny clucked her tongue. “I’ve a mind to tell your mum.”

“Who do ya think gave me the wine?” George winked.

The three laughed loudly.

“I say, but didn’t your mum make a good cake?” Ethel said finally. “It were like heaven. She’s…what ya call ‘em? One of them…”

“Cooks?” George asked.

“No.” Ethel shook her head. “Genius. That’s it. She’s a genius. Ain’t no one can make a cake like your ma.”

“Here, I helped her. She didn’t do it all on her own.”

“What’d you do? Break some eggs? And, not even when you was s’posed to.” Ethel teased.

“Only which of us broke the big brown bowl when she was washin’ it with her fat fingers?”

“My fingers ain’t fat!” Ethel laughed. “And, Mrs. North didn’t care none when I told her.”

“Mr. Speaight weren’t so pleased.” Jenny shook her head.

“Ain’t his bowl to fuss ‘bout.” Ethel tittered. “Mrs. North and Mrs. Pepper both told me not to worry one tick ‘bout it.”

“Sure,” Jenny looked up. “They’re so nice. You’re all such fine folk. Ain’t never knew such fine folk.”

“Me neither.” Ethel nodded. “We ought to make a toast to ourselves like the Duke done. See, we can toast that we’re friends forever. The three of us. Whew, Georgie—what’d we ever do ‘fore you came? That Tom were a pain, he were. But, you—you’re right nice. Gotta nice face, too.”

“You ain’t so bad neither.” Georgie raised one eyebrow.

“What ‘bout me?” Jenny asked.

“You ain’t bad yourself.” Georgie nodded.

“She’s pretty Our Jenny is. Ain’t she?”

“You both are.”

“I’ll toast to that, too.” Ethel chirped.

“I’ll get us some cups.” Georgie nodded.

“Hold on,” A voice came up from behind them. They turned to see a make figure dressed as the Devil.

Ethel gasped.

“Come on, it’s just Finlay.” Georgie laughed.

“Oh. Cor!” Ethel sighed.

“Look at our Finlay!” Jenny giggled. “He’s a proper devil! Are ya that wicked, Finlay?”

“I am.” Finlay grinned.

“What you after Finlay?” Georgie said protectively. “These ladies is with me.”

“You think I’m after your girls, Pepper?” Finlay laughed.

“Oh…right.” George blushed.

“I heard ya want a toast, then?” Finlay grinned.

“Maybe we do.” Ethel nodded.

“We’ll get our own wine,” George replied.

“I’m not suggestin’ wine, lad. You and your lasses deserve somethin’ stronger.” Finlay answered.

“What you thinkin’ of?” Jenny asked.

“I got some whiskey out in the Servants’ Hall.” Finlay nodded. “Come with me.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-115? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 117 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 116

“I’m comin’, Honey. Don’t cry no more, Chil’. Your mama’s comin’.” Marjani muttered in her sleep. “Don’t cry. Ain’t gonna be no pain no more.”


She awoke with a start and looked around the room with wild eyes. “Where am I? Where’s Columbia?”

Naasir smiled at the woman. “You’re in New Orleans, Marjani. Columbia’s quite safe. She’s with Mrs. Halifax, playing with Fuller and Mr. Punch. You collapsed. Dr. and Mr. Halifax brought you back to the servants’ hall. You’ve got your own room and everything. They figured that you’d have argued if they brought you upstairs.”

Marjani tried to get up from the narrow bed. “They was right.”

“What are you doing?” Naasir asked.

“I gotta go get my girl. Ain’t no way I’m stayin’ here and puttin’ those nice gentlefolk out like this.”

“No, you’re not.” Naasir responded gently. “You’re under strict orders from Dr. Halifax to stay right where you are. The doctor says you’re quite exhausted and need to rest. Meridian will bring you your supper shortly.”

“Supper?” Marjani asked. “How long I been sleepin’ here?”

“Several hours.” Naasir said softly.

“You been here the whole time?” Marjani asked.

“I have.” Naasir nodded. “Dr. Halifax asked me to watch over you.”

“I don’t need watchin’,” Marjani frowned. “But, I thank you for doin’ it.”

“You’re quite exhausted. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Now, you’ve got to rest. If not for you, then for your granddaughter. What good would it be to her for you to get yourself sick from exhaustion?”

“She needs me.” Marjani said.

“She needs you to be well.” Naasir grinned. “Besides, she’s perfectly content in the parlor. Mr. Punch and Toby are entertaining the children with a little puppet show.”

Marjani chuckled. “Strange, beautiful man.”

“He’s the Great Man.” Naasir nodded. “Which reminds me…you’ve got to rest so you can fulfill your destiny. You’re as much of a part of this battle as I am.”

“I know.” Marjani sighed. “But, I done fought so many battles.”

“And, you’ll fight so many more.” Naasir answered seriously.

“You’re a strange man, too, Naasir.” Marjani said, leaning back on the pillow—resolved to the fact that she needed rest.

“I am.” Naasir smiled.

“Tell me about yourself,” Marjani said. “You’re so different from your brother. Cephas ain’t a thing like you. He’s rough—kind, but rough.”

“Cephas was taken from my family when he was small. Even then he had a strong back and shoulders. I was weaker. It was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that I wouldn’t make good trade, so, it protected me from being taken—nameless—on a ship to a strange land. I was put in service when I was quite young. My mother had no choice. But, I was free and the English were kind to me. I had the freedom to learn. Cephas never got that chance. The great tragedy of it haunts me. He could have been a fine gentleman, my brother. Instead, he’s a pair of hands and a sweating brow

“He’s happy enough. Hannah’s made him a fine wife. He don’t want for nothin’.” Marjani shook her head.

“He doesn’t want because he doesn’t know what he’s lost.” Naasir sighed. “That, at least, is something of a kindness.”

“You’ve been all over the world?” Marjani asked.

“I have.” Naasir nodded. “I’ve seen many beautiful things. People and colors…”

“Colors.” Marjani smiled slightly. “That’s my great love. I done get lost in colors. I make them, you know—colors from the earth and I put them on cloth so that those fine white ladies can swaddle themselves in all of God’s colors. It’s my way of making the world for myself. Makin’ the world come alive and move all around us.”

“Then, that’s what you must do.” Naasir said firmly. “You must deal in life and not dwell in death.”

“But, I gotta dwell in death. Someone’s gotta nurse poor sick folk like…like my baby…”

“Can’t you do both?” Naasir smiled. “Can’t you achieve what so many of us seek? Balance—a perfect balance.”

“I done never thought like that.” Marjani yawned.

“You must rest now.” Naasir patted Marjani’s hand. “I will leave you to sleep. I’ll return with Meridian soon to check on you.”

“I don’t like lyin’ ‘round like this.” Marjani said quickly. “It ain’t my nature to be idle.”

“Idleness and tiredness are vastly different things. You must allow your body to repair itself so you can carry out your important work.”

Marjani yawned again. “I reckon you’re correct.”

“Rest well,” Naasir said.

“Thank you,” Marjani curled up on the bed.

Naasir left and walked across the yard to the main house. As he did, he heard a voice from the street. A truly homely woman limped along, crying in pain. Naasir recognized her immediately. How could anyone forget such a tragic face? She was Mala—the woman who had ushered him into Iolanthe Evangeline’s house so many days before.

“Oh…oh…I can’t walk no more.” Mala cried.

Naasir walked to her and gently addressed her. “Are you in pain?”

“Terrible awful,” Mala grunted.

Naasir narrowed his eyes. “And, so, it has come to pass—as it was written.”

“What?” Mala croaked.

“I shall escort you home, Miss.” Naasir sighed.

Meanwhile, in the house, Mr. Punch whooped with glee as he performed a puppet show for Columbia and Fuller—as well as Robert, Cecil and Adrienne.

“Now, now, Mr. Toby,” Punch exclaimed, whipping the puppet upward in a quick motion. “You can’t have me sausages.”

Toby wagged his tail and barked—unaware that he was performing in a show and, rather, thinking he was playing a game with Mr. Punch.

“Try as you might,” Mr. Punch continued. “Those sausages are mine! What say you, little girl?” He looked to Columbia. “Should I share me sausages with this little dog?”

“Yes!” Columbia said—her shyness gone—as she clapped her hands.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mr. Punch grinned. “I’m going to need me sausages. Awful hungry, I am!”

“You should share them, Mr. Punch!” Columbia called out.

“Should I, then!” Mr. Punch said shaking the puppet’s head. “But, what if this little dog doesn’t share? What if he wants to eat all me sausages?”

“Then you should let him.” Columbia said. “If he wants the sausages, you should let him have them. You can always get more, but he can’t.”

“That’s the way to do it!” Mr. Punch cooed.

Columbia clapped her hands as did baby Fuller.

“And, so,” Mr. Punch smiled, letting the puppet rest in his lap, “The wooden-headed Mr. Punch shared his sausages with the little dog because a smart young lady told him he ought to. And, the dog was happy and Mr. Punch was happy because he did somethin’ good for a change. The end.”

Columbia rushed toward Mr. Punch and looked with fascination at his puppet. “Can I see him?”

“Dunno,” Mr. Punch frowned. He raised Julian’s eyebrows. “You’ll be kind to him, will ya? Talk to him nice and treat him gentle?”

“I will.” Columbia said innocently.

“Fine, then,” Mr. Punch handed the puppet to Columbia. “But, he’s mine. I’ll want him back.”

Robert chuckled to himself.

“I’ll be good to him, Mr. Punch.” Columbia smiled.

“You got only a few minutes.” Mr. Punch winked.

Columbia sat cross-legged on the floor with Toby and the puppet. She muttered softly to the wooden figure.

Mr. Punch grinned. “I say, that is the way to do it. She’s a fine young lady, that one.”

“What a brilliant show, dear Punch,” Robert slapped his friend on the back.

“Here, I ‘spose that’s one thing I know how to do well—being a Mr. Punch meself.”

“You do many things well.” Robert smiled.

Meridian entered the parlor and announced, “Your supper will be ready in just a few ticks of the clock.”

“Here!” Mr. Punch rubbed Julian’s stomach. “And not a minute too soon.” He looked seriously at Meridian for a moment. “How’s Marjani?”

“She’s resting.” Meridian answered. “I just brought her a tray. Poor thing.”

“Naasir, too?” Mr. Punch asked. “Though I’ve not seen him eat never, don’t mean that he don’t. Did you bring him a tray, too?”

“I did.” Meridian nodded. “But, he’s not there. Don’t know where he went.”

“He must be somewhere in the house.” Cecil said, tilting his head.

“I done looked everywhere, Mr. Halifax. Prob’ly went out for a walk.” Meridian said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Now, I gotta go make sure everythin’s nice and hot for ya.”

“It’s not like Naasir to leave without telling us.” Cecil grumbled.

“No,” Robert shook his head. “It isn’t.”

Adrienne began to look worried. “Perhaps the three of you should go look for him.”

Mr. Punch closed his eyes. “I got a feelin’ I know where he is.”





Did you miss Chapters 1-115? If so, you can read them here.