A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 117

Chapter 117
The Center Ring


As the young men from the garden threw themselves into the folly door, slamming with all their might and using their work-hardened shoulders to splinter the door, Morgana listened--her face pulled back into a look of both supreme relief and fear.

She could return to Fallbridge Hall, to the arms of her newly-found family.  

With each crash upon the door, she could hear Punch's promise, repeated in his gravel-heavy, but excited voice.  "We'll all go back to London, to Belgrave Square.  Home.  Of course, there's a place for you there, Auntie!  Did you think we'd leave you here?  You're part of this family, it only makes sense, it does, that you'd come home with us.  There are lovely rooms for you there.  Just by Fern's.  When she comes home from school, I'm sure you two will be the best of friends.  She needs an older lady about.  Never had a good lady to teach her things, poor, sad, strange little Fern didn't.  With you and Lennie to guide her, now she'll have a chance, she will.  You'll like No. 65--that's our house.  It's grand, but cozy.  And, there's a huge library full o' all my father's old books.  Also, there's lots to do in London what'll keep yo entertained.  If you don't want to go out into Westminster, we can bring it to you.  Maybe, even, we'll take you to court to meet Their Majesties.  They've been so kind to me, and Robert and Lennie, too.  I'm sure Her Majesty will love you, too."

Home. Home?  Morgana hadn't really ever had a home.  And, in London, too.  Not just London, but Belgravia.  Best of all, she'd have a family.  Nonetheless, the thought of going to London frightened her.  Oh, sure, she'd been there many times.  She'd lived there, of course, as a child--there in Lambeth.  Yet, Lambeth in the 1790s--with its narrow streets thick with people and the raucous sounds of the circus--was nowhere near Belgravia of the 1850s.  

When had she last been in London?  Surely, it had been two years ago--the last time the curiosities show set up camp in the same, tired spot down from where Astley's Amphitheater stood--well, now it was...  Hmmm...  She'd heard that a man named Cooke had bought the land and restored the amphitheater after the most recent of many fires.  That had been just before Mr. Quick had found her.

Mr. Quick...

She panted as the excitement and relief gave over completely to the fear which had burbled inside of her.

Was she really free?  Were any of them?  With Quick and Jackson, Ivy and Gregory, Causer and Hargrave still roaming the estate--could they be free?  Would she be able to go home with Punch and Robert and Lennie?  Would any of them be able to leave Fallbridge Hall?

And, what of those young men from the garden.  They'd seen her from a distance, and, then, only saw her face.  What would they do when they broke through the door, shattered the lock, and climbed the tower to her rescue?  Would they recoil in horror at the sight of her pincers?  Would they gag when they first glanced upon her hunchback or her deformed leg?  Would they even take her with them or would they leave her to rot with William and Charlotte, and...and the grubby casket which held the mummified remains of her sister.

She would soon have her answer.  

The sound of the door giving way was followed by frantic, masculine voices.  

"There!"  One said.  "The stairs do be there!"

"Cripes!"  Another shouted.  "What's there?"

"Oh, it's that bad."  The third moaned.  "It's bodies.  Young William from up t' the house, and...Lord!  It's Miss Lottie!"

"No, it ain't!"  The second exclaimed.

"But, it is.  Poor Lottie.  She never done no one harm."

"We can't worry for the dead now, there's a lady up there!"  The first urged.

The sound of their muddy boots on the stairs made Morgana want to, at once, hide and scream for salvation.

"Saints preserve us!"  A young man with a sun-burnt face shouted when he saw Morgana.  "It's the duchess!  Alive again and before us!"

"Your Grace,"  The second bowed.

"I...I...I'm not..."  Morgana stammered.

"No, she ain't."  The third whispered. "Sure, it's the duchess' face, but, look..."

The three noticed Morgana's trunk-like leg poking out from the hem of the teagown--now torn and filthy--which Lennie had given her.

"You, poor soul, Miss."  The tallest of the men came forward.  "Who done this to you?"

"The Parson Quick."  Morgana answered.  "And, Mr. Jackson, Miss Blessum and Hargrave."

"Bleedin' bastards the lot o' em,"  The sunburnt man shook his head.  "Cor!  Your arms are bound.  He looked to one of his companions.  Give us your knife, then, Larry."

Larry, as he had been called, handed his knife to the man who cut the canvas strips from Morgana's arms.

"Oh, your poor, wretched hands.  Poor lady."

The one called Larry came forward and put an arm around Morgana's shoulder.  "Why'd them awful folk do this to you, Miss?"

"It's...it's too much to explain just now."  Morgana answered.  

"Who are ya?"  The red-faced lad asked.

"I am...t...the late duchess' sister."

"I see that you are."  He nodded.  "Poor, poor lady.  Come with us from this place."

"You saw the...the...William and Lottie, then?"  Morgana asked.

"Aye, and there's a casket, too.  Isn't there?  Who's in there?"  Larry asked.

"The remains of my sister, the duchess."  Morgana shuddered, for a moment, the image of the center ring of Astley's circus flashed behind her eyes.

"Oh, it's too much, it is."  The one who had given his knife said sympathetically.  "They're a mad lot Jackson and his criminals.  We all know it.  All of us on the land know it."

"We'll take 'er to the duke.  He'll know what to do.  Either him or that tall man with the kind face we saw come with 'em.  Or the pretty new lady Fallbridge.  We'll bring ya to the house, and, they'll look after ya."

"You'd all best leave here."  Larry nodded.  "There's nothin' here, Miss, but disease."

Morgana wept at their kindness.

"Now, now, Miss."  Larry smiled.  "Keep your tears for joy when you've been brought to the duke."

"I...I...don't know how to thank you."

"We don't want no thanks."  The man who had the knife shook his head.  "We only want to see them wicked folks beat at their own game.  Made this place a grave, a tomb, with their wickedness.  Sure and if I get kicked off the land tonight, I'll say it.  I'd rather take me wife and daughter out in the cold than be here one more minute."

"Can you walk, Miss?"  Larry asked.

"I th...think."  Morgana nodded.

"Only that leg o' yours don't look too strong, and..."  The sunburnt lad shook his head.  He glanced at his friends.  "Let's say we carry her.  She's small."

"No..."  Morgana began, but before she could protest further, two of them men had made a chair of their arms and gently lowered her into their grip.  

With no effort, they carried her down the stairs while Larry supported her back from behind.

As they came to the ground floor of the folly, Morgana gasped to see the frowning faces of Ivy and Jackson as they entered--in shock--through the battered door.

"What is the meaning of this?"  Jackson growled.

"Step aside, you ghoul."  Larry warned.  "We'll trample ya both!"

"Do you know to whom you're speaking?"

"From what I hear, I ain't speakin' to no one!"  Larry retorted.  "From what I hear, you're not even to be on the estate.  Sacked, weren't ya?"

"Let them by, Mr. Jackson."  Ivy smiled.  "Let her see what awaits her at the Hall."

"Oh, sure."  Jackson nodded.  "I trust the monster isn't squeamish."

"Such a sight, the house is just now."  Ivy nodded.  "When we crept in for our...tools...we saw it all, though they didn't see us.  All that blood!"

"Blood?"  Morgana winced.

"Yes, it seems your niece, Lady Fallbridge, had decided it best to take her own life.  Cut open her own veins with a paper knife."  Ivy grinned.

"Shut your gob!"  Larry snapped.  "Don't frighten this lady more than you have!  You--murderers!"

"Oh?"

Larry gestured with his chin to the pile of bodies.

"Yes, that."  Jackson sighed.

"Please, t...take me to the house."  Morgana pleaded.

"Of course, Miss."  Two of the three men said in unison, still showing no signs of struggling under her weight.

"Yes, do go back.  Perhaps your niece has life in her still--enough to gurgle farewell to her new aunt.  But, you won't find your nephew, the Duke, there, Morgana.  It's likely you'll never see him again.  Mr. Quick has seen to that."


Did you miss Chapters 1-116 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 118.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 117

Chapter 117: 
Trade 


“I don’t think so, Finlay.” Georgie Pepper shook his head.

“What wrong, George?” Finlay asked. “Can’t handle the your spirits?”

“I can ‘andle ‘em just fine,” Georgie replied. “It’s just that I’m lookin’ out for the girls. They’re young ladies and it ain’t right for ‘em to go off with two men to take drinks in private.”

“Their virtue is safe with me, George.” Finlay teased.

“It’s still not right.” George said emphatically.

“Come on, Georgie,” Ethel piped up.

“No.” George said. “I made a promise to Mr. Speaight and my mum. I told ‘em I’d look out for you two tonight. You heard what Mr. Speaight said. What we do tonight is a reflection of the household of the Duke of Fallbridge. His Grace gave us this night as a gift and let us be here with all these fine lords and ladies. What kind of gratitude would it be if we just went off to drink spirits with Finlay? It’s one thin’ to have a good time, but it’s ‘nother all together to be irresponsible. Don’t we owe it to the Duke and the doctor to act proper?”

“Georgie’s right.” Jenny said quickly.

“But…” Ethel began.

“No, Ethel. I’ll go right to Dr. Halifax right now.”

“Oi.” Ethel moaned. “Fine.”

“What’s the problem?” Finlay asked. “I won’t tell anyone. We’ll only be off for a mo’. Ain’t gonna make a difference to no one. I’ll bet His Grace would tell ya to go.”

“I don’t think so.” George said.

“Fine.” Finlay sniffed, adjusting the band around his head which held up his “horns.” “More for me, then.” He smiled. “Your loss. Enjoy your ladies, Georgie.” With that, he walked off.

Ethel frowned. “You know, you ain’t my dad.”

“Maybe so. But, I am goin’ to make sure that no harm comes to ya and that we keep the promise what we made to Mr. Speaight. I care ‘bout this job. I need it. But, most of all, I think we should show our respect to the Duke what’s been kind to all of us. No one ever treated my mum with such kindness as the Duke and Dr. Halifax and, well, even if the Duke treated me poor, cuz he’s good to ma, I’d fall on my sword for ‘im.”

“Well said, Georgie.” Jenny smiled.

“Thanks, Jen.”

“Fine, you’re right, then.” Ethel said. “But, can we least have some more wine?”

“I think so.” Georgie winked.

“Well, hurry up then.” Ethel laughed.

Meanwhile. across the Great Hall, Mr. Punch and Robert excused themselves from an rather dull and low-spirited conversation with two of the older aristocrats who lived at one of the nearby estates. They, like Countess Hamish, did not seem to approve of Mr. Punch’s speech and his toasts, and, clearly felt he was too friendly with his staff. Neither the Duke nor the doctor let themselves be bothered, but, as they walked to a quieter spot, Robert couldn’t help but notice that their child looked not only tired, but as if he was going to become a little fussy.

“I think our Colin has had all he can take.” Robert said softly.

“He’s been such a good boy,” Punch smiled, looking at the baby in his arms. “But, sure, I reckon he needs to get his sleep, our boy does. Pity. I’ll miss ‘im.”

“He has been an angel.” Robert smiled. “But, even angels need rest.”

“Me arms need a bit of a rest, they do.”

“You’ve been carrying for hours.” Robert chuckled. “I’m surprised you’ve not handed him off to me.”

“Oh, I like carryin’ him. He don’t weight nothin’ at all. It’s like holdin’ a bit o’ suchine, it is.” Punch replied.

“You’re really too lovely.” Robert grinned.

“Course, I am. Everyone loves Mr. Punch, what.”

“There’s Mrs. North.” Robert pointed.

The two walked over to Mrs. North who looked quite tall and strong in her fancy dress—her face still obscured by the many petals of her large bonnet.

“I think, Mrs. North,” Punch began in his best Julian voice, “that our boy should probably go to bed.”

Mrs. North nodded, reaching out to take the child.

Punch reluctantly handed the baby over.

“Perhaps,” Punch began, still speaking of Julian, “Dr. Halifax and I should take him up for you. We can prepare him for his slumber.”

Mrs. North shook her head, the fabric of her headdress glittering as it swished across her face, hiding her features. She said something, but neither Punch nor Robert could hear it.

“Now, now, Your Grace.” Robert smiled. “If I recall correctly, you told me that Mrs. North carried you up to bed more than once when you were Colin’s age.”

Mrs. North nodded.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Robert continued.

“I’m sure, too.” Punch sighed. “Thank you for looking after him. We’ll be up to wish him sweet dreams in a few minutes.”

Again, Mrs. North nodded, bowing her head slightly and, without a word, turning to walk to the grand staircase.

Robert and Punch watched as the housekeeper carried the baby upstairs.

“That thing’s all in her face,” Punch whispered in his own voice. “What if she can’t see where she’s goin’ and trips?”

“She won’t.”

“Charles tripped and he’s forty years younger than Mrs. North.”

“You mustn’t worry so, dear Punch.” Robert said softly.

“Right,” Punch nodded.

“Now, my dear, let’s go see how our guests are doing.” Robert smiled.

“Sure, sure,” Punch said, glancing up the stairs once more. Mrs. North and the baby had disappeared from view.

Punch took a deep breath and followed Robert, all the while wishing he had gone with his child and the housekeeper.

Had he done so, he would have seen that the woman in Mrs. North’s costume was not Mrs. North at all, but, rather, Ellen. Beneath her ornate bonnet, Ellen grinned as she walked toward an open window, holding the child tightly in her arms.



Did you miss Chapters 1-116? If so you can read them here. Come back Monday to read Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 118.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 117

Naasir squinted in the dim light of the dusty room into which Mala had led him.


“You’re to wait here.” Mala croaked.

“Of course,” Naasir nodded.

“Miss Iolanthe says I should make sure you’re comfortable. That’s what she says. Says I should give you whatever you want to eat. What you want?”

“I don’t care for anything, thank you.” Naasir said softly.

“No,” Mala shook her head, “you gotta have somethin’. Them’s my orders.”

“I don’t care for anything, thank you.” Naasir repeated.

“Gotta eat somethin’. Miss Iolanthe said.” Mala barked. “I’ll bring ya some chicken. Nice, fine chicken. You’ll like that.”

“If you insist.”

“You like the whisky?” Mala asked.

“No.” Naasir shook his head.

“You’re gonna have some.” Mala answered sharply. She paused and looked sympathetically at Naasir. “Listen, honey, it ain’t gonna be too bad. It’ll be over before you know it. Then, you’ll be free.”

“I’m already free.” Naasir replied quietly.

“You’re an odd one.” Mala grumbled. “Tried to be nice…” She scratched her hip, and walked away, locking the door behind her.

Naasir stood stiffly in the room and looked around. Even in the dim light, he knew where he was. It was the very same room—the dusty chamber with the low, wicked altar—that he’d been locked in before. This time, a long casket leaned against the farthest wall.

“My resting place…” Naasir sighed. “As it is written.”

He dropped to his knees and looked to the ceiling. “I do this for you, Great Man of the Rocks. I do this so that you may triumph. It is my destiny. I am not afraid.”

Meanwhile, two floors above him—atop the muffled laughter and hideous groans of the other inhabitants of the house, Iolanthe sat on her bed next to the limp body of The Duchess of Fallbridge. She sat cross-legged with a bowl of deep red liquid in her lap.

Grinning at the Duchess’ slack face, she cooed, “You’re gonna get your strength back. Just think of this as your atonement. Can’t spill blood without spillin’ a little of your own. I know. I don’t want you thinkin’ I don’t.”

Mala knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.

“I got him.” Mala said plainly. “Just as you said.”

“Did he struggle?”

“No.” Mala shook her head. “Came along like we was goin’ for an evenin’ stroll.”

“I’ll say this for the man,” Iolanthe laughed, “he’s cooperative.”

“Miss Iolanthe, ain’t my place, but do it quick.”

“It ain’t your place.” Iolanhe frowned. “Get out.”

“Yes, Miss.” Mala nodded.

“Feed the priest, as I instructed.”

“Already workin’ in it.” Mala replied curtly, scratching herself again as she walked out.

Once Mala had exited, Iolanthe grimaced and looked toward the Duchess. “She’s right. I should do it quick. Not for the sake of kindness—that ain’t my business—but because I know your lunatic son and his companions will be knockin’ soon enough.” She laughed, “Speakin’ of your offspring, I wonder how your sweet daughter has enjoyed her first day of work. Maybe she’d like a little rest. Yes, a nice little rest by the fire.”

At that very moment, Ulrika Rittenhouse met Arthur at a seedy tavern in the French Quarter. She wore a veil over her face, but the thin material wasn’t enough to mask her anger. “What’s taken you so long?”

“Don’t know my way,” Arthur responded blankly, still dazed from the St. Dymphna’s Root.

“Where are they?” Ulrika hissed.

“They’re leavin’. Goin’ out. Had their cloaks on an’ all. I had to leave less they saw me.”

“Where are they goin’?” Ulrika’s eyes widened.

“Don’t know.” Arthur shrugged. “Where’s Barbara?”

“Never you mind about Barbara!” Ulrika snapped. “You’re mine now. Barbara’s not your concern. I am!” She wrung her hands together, “You fool! You should have followed them.”

“You told me to come to you. I obeyed.” Arthur answered flatly.

“Must I do everything myself?” Ulrika grumbled. “Where could they be going?”

At the house on Royal Street, Adrienne grabbed her husband’s arm. “Cecil, mon cher,j'aime pas cela. C'est trop dangereux. Pourquoi ne pas envoyer l'un des serviteurs? Si vous allez à la chambre de Iolanthe, il y a aucune façon, vous aurez jamais revenir à moi. Pensez à votre bébé!”

“Adrienne, n'ont aucune crainte. Je vais retourner comme M. Punch et Robert. Iolanthe n'est pas de menace à tous les trois d'entre nous. Nous ne pouvons pas très bien laisser Naasir souffrir sa colère. Je le promets. Je reviendrai à vous et à nos enfant. Peut-être, je vais revenir triomphant.” Cecil responded reassuringly.

“Adrienne has a point,” Robert said. “Perhaps it is too dangerous.”

“Dangerous or not,” Mr. Punch said quickly. “We can’t let her hurt Naasir. We can’t! The man’s been nothin’ but loyal to all of us. This’ll be the third time she’s tried to hurt him.”

“We don’t even know that Iolanthe’s got him.” Adrienne cried.

“Where else could he be?” Mr. Punch said gently. “The other men saw him talking to an ugly girl and he went with her. They knew the girl, they did. They knew she was that little goblin what works for Iolanthe. The ogress has got the notion that our Naasir is some kind of threat to her. Course she wants to destroy him! And, in doin’ so, she thinks it makes getting’ to us all the easier. We gotta help him, we do.”

Adrienne sobbed. “It’s a trap. She wants to ensare the three of you, and then, she’ll come for me and Fuller. She’ll sell Fuller just as she did Barbara’s child. And, she’ll finally get revenge for my leaving and for Cecil…”

“My dear, we’ll be careful.” Cecil said, hugging his wife. “Now, honestly, don’t you trust us to return to you safely?”

“I trust you, my dear.” Adrienne said. “I trust all of you. It’s Iolanthe I don’t trust. Listen to me, she’s already gotten to the Duchess. Didn’t we all imagine that Her Grace was indomitable? Yet, we could tell by the way she spoke that she’d been with Iolanthe. Three good hearts are much easier to break than one wicked heart.”

“Or could it be that three good hearts got more power than what’s in one wicked one?” Mr. Punch smiled. “And, besides, we got a fourth…Naasir. Together, we’ll beat the devil.”

“I don’t know.” Adrienne wiped her eyes. “I wish…oh, I don’t know. We should have gone to England. All of us. We should have packed everything up and left here.”

“What’s it that Naasir’s always sayin’? Talkin’ ‘bout destiny an’ such. Well, it seems that this is our destiny. I don’t think we could do nothin’ to change it even if we tried. If we ran away, it would only follow us. So, isn’t it better to face it head on?” Mr. Punch said gently.

“I simply don’t know.” Adrienne began to cry again.

“My dear,” Cecil began, “the longer we wait, the more dangerous it becomes. Now, you go get Fuller and keep Marjani and Columbia company. She’ll be a comfort to you. And, you to her.”

Adrienne kissed her husband. “I love you.”

“And, I love you, darling.” Adrienne smiled.

“And, the two of you…” Adrienne began nervously. “You two are my brothers—more so than my own ever were. You will not deprive your nephew the pleasure of growing up without the influence of two such fine men. You will not. I don’t care if we have to beg and starve on the streets, we’ll be together. I demand it.”

“We’ll return.” Robert nodded.

“With Naasir.” Mr. Punch added.

“Go on, then.” Adrienne said. “Before I change my mind.” With that, she hurried off—sobbing—down the corridor.

“We’d best hurry,” Cecil said quickly.

Mr. Punch paused and looked around the house.

“Are you well, Mr. Punch?” Robert asked.

“I’m just lookin’.” Punch nodded. “So, I can remember this as it was—before it all changes.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-116? If so, you can read them here.