Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 136

Chapter 136: 

The Others 


Mr. Punch didn’t feel his body hit the cold floor of his bedchamber. He didn’t hear the gasp which arose from Gamilla, nor did he see Robert scramble—a look of panic on his face—toward the limp form of his beloved companion. Robert’s shouts for Charles fell on deaf ears as did the frightened wail of Colin in the next room. Gerard’s feverish groans from the bed went unnoticed. Even when Dog Toby gently licked his master’s blank face, Punch felt nothing. That is to say, that the body that he shared with Julian felt nothing. To be fair, it was the body he shared with Julian and…the others.

With no one to command the functions of the body, the shell of the Duke of Fallbridge seemed lifeless except for the unconscious rhythm of the lungs and heart. Summoned by the others, Punch was helpless to remain in control. He was overpowered—a rare occurrence, but one of which he lived in fear.

“Kill him!” Scaramouche shouted.

Punch became aware of what had happened immediately. No longer was he seeing his bedchamber at Grange Molliner. No longer were the eyes that looked upon him those of Robert’s love or Gamilla’s respect and loyalty. The eyes which bore into Mr. Punch were those of the other entities which lurked beneath the handsome surface of the Duke’s body—those belonging to the ones which Punch had thought he’d quieted many months before.

“Coo.” Punch snorted. He looked around the ethereal space—the gray mist in which the others lurked. Robert would have said that the imaginary room was in the Duke’s brain. But, Punch knew better. Punch knew that the others lived in the Duke’s stomach and bowels.

“Kill him!” Scaramouche repeated loudly, extending his neck to grotesquely improbable lengths.

“Maintenant, alors, Scaramouche, nous allons donner à l'homme la possibilité de s'exprimer.” Guignol whispered.

“We don’t need to let him speak!” Scaramouche snarled. “We know what he’s thinking.”

“To be fair, gentlemen.” Julian said softly. “It’s only polite to hear him out. He is, after all, the captain of our little band.”

“Oui.” Guignol nodded.

At first, Punch hadn’t noticed Julian. His image was faint and small. The man who had originally been born into that body had been reduced to a mere wisp of smoke which hovered behind the others.

“Master!” Punch chirped.

“He’s not the master anymore.” Scaramouche barked, his neck growing even longer.

“I reckon you think you are?” Punch frowned.

“I am.” Scaramouche replied. “And as the master I say we should kill this clown. He’s good for nothing. Where’s your fight gone, Mr. Punch?”

“I’ve plenty of fight left in me, I do.” Punch scowled.

“Do you, now?” Scaramouche laughed. “You’ve become a simpering fool. All your talk of love. All of your cravings for gentleness and your base desires have made you weak. Look at what you’ve done. Eh? What have we got? A baby? A handsome face to tell us how cherished we are. Sycophantic servants to call you ‘His Grace.’ You’re useless.”

“M. Punch n'est pas inutile. Il n'est pas faible non plus. Il a fait une existence heureuse pour lui et nous devrions être reconnaissants pour la paix de tout cela.”

“Grateful?” Scaraouche scowled. “I never wanted a peaceful existence. I shan’t be grateful for something I never desired.”

“I desired it.” Julian interrupted, for a second, his image growing stronger. “And, as I recall, it is MY body.”

“It is our body!” Scaramouche spat.

Guignol sighed, “Peut-être que nous devrions voter. Oui? Une telle action semble être le plus juste.”

“Vote for what, you French idiot?” Scaramouche hissed.

“Guignol is simply saying that the only fair thing is to vote for who remains in control.” Julian mumbled.

“I know what he said,” Scaramouche growled.

“Well, then, state your case, Mr. Scaramouche. What would you provide for us that Mr. Punch cannot.”

“I’ll go out there and kill those who’ve damaged the household. I’ll see their heads bashed in—that Finlay and that Ellen Barrett.”

“Est-ce tout? Vous ne pouvez nous offrir la violence.” Guignol asked.

“Isn’t it enough?” Scaramouche grinned. “I’ll make them suffer for what they’ve done. What can Mr. Punch do? Perhaps he’ll take them on a picnic and try to reason with them over sandwiches. You’re a disgrace, Punch!”

“Killin’ ‘em seems like a fine idea, it does.” Punch nodded. “But, I learned that it ain’t the only way. Look what their killin’ done for us.”

Guignol made noises of approval.

“Where is the Mr. Punch who would use his cudgel?” Scaramouche asked.

“There’s all sorts of cudgels what can make a difference.” Mr. Punch suggested. “Don’t gotta beat someone’s head in to find justice.”

“Disgrace!” Scaramouche bellowed. “Disgrace! Can’t you all see it?”

“No, frankly, I cannot.” Julian spoke. “From my standpoint, Punch has made a success of my life.”

“It’s our life!” Scaramouche shouted.

“Let’s vote.” Punch said quickly. “Who wants me? Speak your answer.”

“Je fais.” Guignol responded.

“As do I.” Julian added.

“You’re outnumbered, Scaramouche.” Punch smiled. “Now, I shall return to my post.”

“Oh, I think not.” Scaramouche laughed.

“And, why?” Punch asked.

“Someone else will—not you.”

“Who else is there?” Punch asked. “Guignol and Julian won’t allow you to take over. You’re outnumbered.”

“Am I?” Scaramouche boasted. “Kasperl! Come to me now!”

“Who?” Punch narrowed his eyes.

Suddenly, before them, another figure appeared. He resembled Mr. Punch in a way. He, too, had a long nose, but his chin was not as hooked and pronounced and he didn’t have Mr. Punch’s humpy back.

“Who is this bloke?” Punch asked.

“You didn’t?” Julian gasped. “You couldn’t have?”

“I did.” Scaramouche laughed. “Mr. Punch, meet Kasperl.”

“What is this?” Punch demanded.

“He’s your replacement.” Scaramouche responded.



Did you miss Chapters 1-135? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 137.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 136

Adrienne shrieked. “Let me see her!”


“No.” Cecil held Adrienne back, trying to keep her from entering the darkened room in which Nellie had hanged herself.

“Mon Dieu! J'arriverai jamais pardonnez moi-même! J'ai laissé que pauvre fille dans ma maison! Elle avait accès à notre enfant, Cecil! Nos enfants! Maintenant, elle est assassiné elle-même! Avec notre enfant dans la prochaine chambre!" Adrienne screamed. “Cecil, Fuller’s in the next room!”

“He has no idea what’s happening, and he’ll never know.” Cecil said, trying to soothe his wife.

“The poor girl,” Adrienne sobbed, her head sinking to her chest. “This could have been prevented. I should have helped her escape Iolanthe when you rescued me. I should have made it my mission to help all of those girls find happy lives, too. Mon égoïsme! Je ne pardonneront jamais mon égoïsme. Mon cher, je pensais que seulement de moi-même! De notre bonheur! Je n'a pas fait assez. God forgive my selfishness!”

“You can’t rescue everyone, darling.” Cecil embraced his wife.

Adrienne broke free of her husband’s arms and rushed into the room.

“Adrienne!” Cecil called after her.

“Adrienne, my dear,” Robert said softly, “please, don’t come in here.”

“Where’s a lamp?” Adrienne asked. “It’s too dark. She hated the dark. Lorsque nous avons vécu à cette terrible chambre ensemble, nous avons partagé une chambre. Elle a toujours maintenu une chandelle allumée par son lit de nuit. Elle avait en horreur ténèbres.”

“Adrienne, être encore. Permettez-moi libérer de la corde dans l'obscurité.” Robert responded softly. “I can’t reach her. I don’t know how she managed this. There’s nothing from which she could have jumped.”

“What?” Adrienne said.

“I’m trying to get her down. But, there’s no chair, nothing to step upon. I don’t know how she could have gotten to a height from which she could have hanged herself.”

Cecil entered the room, “Let me help you.”

“Une lampe! Nous avons besoin d'une lampe!” Adrienne stumbled around the darkened room in search of a lamp. She found one on the mantle and lit it with a long fireplace “noiseless match.”

The three of them slowly peered up at the woman hanging from the center of the room.

“That’s not Nellie!” Adrienne said, cupping her hand over her mouth.

“Dear God,” Cecil groaned.

“Who is it?” Robert asked, stupefied. “I can’t see her face well.”

Meanwhile, Mr. Punch scrambled through the servant’s hall in search of Marjani.

He knocked on the door to her room and, upon, hearing “Come in,” entered—not realizing that the voice was not Marjani’s deep, sweet tone.

“Here!” Mr. Punch shouted, “we got trouble…”

“I’d say you do.” Iolanthe Evangeline smiled at him from Marjani’s bed.

“Bollox!” Mr. Punch shouted. “I shoulda known you’d have some hand in this!”

“In what, maniac?” Iolanthe grinned.

“How’d you get in here?” Mr. Punch asked.

“Your servants, Lord Fallbridge, may be loyal, but they aren’t very intelligent. You wouldn’t think they’d leave the door to their quarters unlocked—not with such important guests staying in their home. Yet, they did. Foolish, don’t you think?”

“Where’s Marjani?” Mr. Punch asked.

“So many questions.” Iolanthe sighed. “And, you—all dressed up in your costume. Don’t you look adorable? Are you some kind of harlequin?”

“You know what I am.” Mr. Punch spat.

“I do!” Iolanthe growled. “I know exactly what you are. So, does your mother, Her Grace. Tell me, what are the others in your party dressed as? I’ve not seen them. I suppose I’ll see them at the ball—you know I’ll be there, my invitation is unspoken. This is a divine surprise. I hadn’t counted on being found just now. But, I’m so glad that I was. I got a little preview of your darling little outfit before I slipped away.”

“If you’ve done somethin’ to Marjani, I’ll twist your bleedin’ neck!” Mr. Punch shouted.

“You’re worried about your slave?” Iolanthe laughed.

“Marjani ain’t no slave. She’s a free woman. A person! So’re all the folk what work here. They’re our equals, they are. Ain’t a one of ‘em anybody’s property. That’s not somethin’ you’d understand—you who make your livin’ by makin’ by ownin’ other folk!” Mr. Punch answered. “Now, where is she?”

“Don’t worry.” Iolanthe sighed. “I’ve not done any harm to any of your precious ‘equals.’ They don’t even know I’m here. Your Marjani is with that priest—Naasir—or, what’s left of him anyway. The other woman is with the girl who seems to be sick. As for the men, they’re enjoying some wine in the courtyard. No one saw me come in. But, I think it’s sweet how you worry for them. I don’t want you thinkin’ that I don’t. If only…”

“What?” Mr. Punch said.

“If only you’d worry more for your own family.”

“I worry plenty ‘bout me family!” Mr. Punch said.

“Do you?” Iolanthe grinned. “I mean your real family, Lord Fallbridge—or whatever it is you call yourself when you’re out of your mind. Your sister and your mother.”

“Ain’t got neither!” Mr. Punch shouted. “Both are dead to me!”

“How little you know.” Iolanthe laughed. “You have no idea how accurate that statement is.”

Upstairs, Robert balanced on a chair, cutting through the rope with a knife that Cecil had found in the writing desk. Cecil stood below him, supporting the woman’s body as best he could, hoping to catch her before she fell to the floor.

Adrienne watched the scene in horror.

“I’m almost through…” Robert grunted.

Cecil suddenly felt the weight of the body in his arms. Robert hurried off the chair and helped Cecil carry the woman to the bed.

Adrienne brought the lamp over.

The three of them gasped as they got a good look at the woman’s face—recognizable though distorted by death and agony.

“La mère de Julian,” Adrienne croaked.

“The Duchess of Fallbridge.” Robert whispered.



Did you miss Chapters 1-135? If so, you can read them here.