Chapter 15:
For the Best
“Bloody rotten
teeth,” Mr. Punch grumbled as he counted out the contents of the little velvet
pouch which Prince Albert had thrown at him.
He looked up at Robert who sat nearby.
“Does he really think the Queen’s gonna want to wear a brooch all hung full of teeth?”
Robert smiled,
looking up from his copy of “The Illustrated London News.” “Didn’t you once make a bracelet for Her Majesty which included the milk teeth of Princess Victoria and Prince Bertie?”
“No,” Punch shook his head. He paused for a moment, “Or did I?” he scratched his head, frowning. “Coulda done.
To be sure, chum, I don’t remember all what Julian did—not with the
business. When he were doin’ jeweler
things, I tended to stop payin’ attention. ‘Spose I could look through his records.” He grunted.
“Wait a tick. No, I know we didn’t do that. I’d remember that. Musta been Garrard’s. No wonder Her Majesty granted them the task
of cuttin’ the Koh-i-Noor last year. They earned it with all them little infant teeth.”
“Ah,” Robert nodded, folding his paper and walking
across the luxurious library of No. 65 Belgrave Square to put his hands gently
on Punch’s shoulders. “I’m impressed
that you remember that. I didn’t even
know that about the Koh-i-noor.”
“Funny what I
remember and what I don’t, ain’t it? Long
ago I gave me-self the task of bein’ the keeper o’ information.” He sniffed.
“Sure, I’m certain I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that baby tooth
bracelet. It were a bracelet. I know it.
It were Garard’s.”
“I imagine one
would recall handling a sack of little royal teeth.” Robert joked, rubbing Punch’s shoulders.
“At least those
teeth woulda been small, they would.
These are big. Big and ugly.”
“Animal teeth
aren’t the most attractive.” Robert
nodded, reaching down to pick up one of them.
He studied it and chuckled, replacing it on the velvet cloth which Punch
had placed over the japanned table at which he sat. “How many are there.”
“Thirty-two.” Punch snorted. “How many stags did the bloke have to kill to
get all these teeth?”
“I’m not sure
how many teeth a stag has.” Robert
shrugged. “I didn’t study stag
anatomy. Only people.”
“All I know is
that there’s far too many for a brooch, less we want it to be drippin’ with the
things. And, I don’t think she’ll want
to wear that. Maybe I’ll make a
necklace, too. Poor woman, Queen or not,
she’s with child. Ain’t no woman with a
baby in her belly gonna want to wear a necklace o’ teeth nor even a pin.”
“She’ll have
borne the child by the anniversary of her own birth.” Robert patted Punch’s shoulder.
“Is that so?”
“I just read
about it, in fact,” Robert nodded, pulling out the chair next to Punch’s and
taking a seat at the table. “She should
give birth in early April.”
“Lot of
children, them two.” Punch nodded. He wrinkled his nose. “Here, you think Colin’ll want a brother or
sister?”
Robert
smiled. “Regardless of whether or not he
does, I highly doubt we’ll be having more children.”
“Oh…right.” Punch sighed.
“We can’t do that.”
“No.” Robert laughed.
“For the best,
then.” Mr. Punch replied. “That way, Colin’ll always get all our love
and ‘tention.”
“Yes,” Robert
nodded.
Robert watched
as Mr. Punch squinted at the velvet cloth covered in teeth. Very carefully and methodically, Punch
arranged five of the teeth into a cluster in one corner, and, then, with just
his index finger, dragged each of the twenty-seven remaining bits into an arc
in the center.”
“I think…” Punch muttered. “The necklace could be done in the Etruscan
style…with little drops in rose gold in between. Maybe garnets, too. Wee garnets. Or demantoid--them's green garnets. Her Majesty likes them, she does.” He looked up and nodded, smiling. “What you think?”
“Sounds
attractive.”
"Red or green?" Mr. Punch asked.
"Red." Robert smiled. "Punch red."
“Coo!" Mr. Punch chirped gaily. "And, then, at
the clasp, we could hang a wee gold oak leaf to match the pin.” Mr. Punch grinned.
“You’re quite
clever at this.”
Mr. Punch
shrugged. “Never thought so. It’s Julian
what’s clever. I just…you know…like I
did today. I’m parroting him.”
“But, Julian
didn’t just have that idea. Did he? You came up with that design on your own.”
“I did, I ‘spose. Only because that’s what he’d do.”
“So, you’re not
just parroting. You’re thinking independently.”
“If you say so,” Mr. Punch laughed.
Robert paused
for a moment to weigh his words—all the while he could hear his brother’s voice
in his head. “Robert, you must write
your book. Write of Mr. Punch. Tell his story so that others like him can be
helped. You can’t truly imagine he’s the
only one like him.”
Punch looked
up. “There you go, ‘gain, Chum. What you thinkin’ ‘bout so hard?”
“I was just
wondering about something.”
“What?”
“Do you ever…” He sighed.
“Do you ever wonder how it works?”
“It?” Mr. Punch widened his eyes. “What…it?”
“You. You and Julian?”
“And the others.” Punch raised an eyebrow.
“Well, they’ve
been very quiet since we returned, but, yes, them, too. You all live together in that body. You’ve told me that you can hear them
speaking.”
“Sometimes. Not all the time. Mostly Julian.”
“And, you recall
things that Julian saw and did.” Robert continued. “That’s how, in your own words, you’re able
to do what you’re doing now and how you were able to so brilliantly navigate
our interview with His Majesty this morning. And how you've been able to converse in French with Adrienne...”
Mr. Punch
nodded.
“So, how does it
all function? You’re in control of them
all.”
Mr. Punch
frowned. “I don’t know and I don’t much
like thinkin’ ‘bout it, Chum. Ain’t a
concern how it works long as it does.” His bottom lip began to quiver. "Ain't..." He gulped. "Ain't nothin' long as it works..."
With a snort,
Mr. Punch rose from his chair and walked away from the table, retreating behind
the papier mache screen in the corner of the room.
Robert rose,
too. His eyes feeling hot. He wanted to cry.
“Dear, dear
Punch,” Robert called out, following his
companion. He found Punch seated—his back
against the wall—behind the screen, his knees drawn up to his chest and his
face resting on his knees. He was crying
softly.
“Oh, my dear.” Robert knelt down next to Punch. “Forgive me.
I didn’t mean to upset you. I
truly didn’t. I’d never wish to do
anything to upset you. Please, forgive
me.”
Mr. Punch looked
up, tears running down his face. He
wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I
know. Only I don’t like thinkin’ ‘bout
it.”
“I’m sorry that
I asked. It’s just that I’m…well, I’m
curious. Remember, I’m a doctor. I’m a scientist. So, naturally, my mind becomes curious…”
“I un’erstand.” Punch nodded.
“Only…”
Robert smiled.
“Only I don’t
got no answers. I’m doin’ the best what I
can.”
“You’re doing
brilliantly—splendidly. I was so
impressed today. You were
exquisite. You always are.”
Mr. Punch shook
his head and frowned. “I ain’t though. I’m
an imitation. I ain’t really
Julian. I’m a fake.”
“No.” Robert said firmly. “You are no such thing. You’re your own man—clever and talented in
your own right. You’re loving and kind
and good.”
“But, I ain’t
Julian.” Mr. Punch answered, wiping his
eyes again.
“No.” Robert replied.
“Do you wish I
was?”
“No.” Robert took Mr. Punch’s hand.
“It were him
what you loved first. Not me. You gotta miss him.”
“I do miss him,
but I don’t love him more than you. I’d
say that I loved you both equally, but
it’s not true.”
“I thought so.”
“Hear me out,
dear Punch.” Robert said quickly. “I love you more. It’s a fact.
Honestly, dear Punch, my time with Julian was short. Most of this time has been spent with
you. It was you I was with mostly in
America and it was with you I came here to make a home. Julian is something of a memory now. You share a body with him, so, of course, you’re
similar looking. But, despite the shared
shell, you even look different. You’re
the one I chose to live with, to raise Colin with. It’s you that I love. When I ask questions it’s not because I want
Julian back, it’s because I care about you and I wonder how…it…how your mind,
how everything works for you. It’s
because I want to maintain your happiness and health. For no other reason.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Robert replied, rising to his feet and
offering both hands to Punch.
Punch took
Robert’s hands and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
Robert embraced
Punch. “Never doubt my affection and
loyalty. Nothing will ever change that
and I want nothing more than to share each moment with you—dear Punch.”
“Only it’s got
to be difficult for ya.” Punch pulled
back a bit.
Robert held on
tightly.
“I wouldn’t say
that it’s difficult. I’d say that it’s
exciting and interesting. And, I know I’d
not want it to be any other way.”
Punch chuckled
happily. “Sorry I were a actin' like a baby just now.”
“I’m sorry that
I upset you.”
“Nah.” Mr. Punch sniffed. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout. I ‘spose it’s already been a long day for
both of us. Maybe we're all on edge. First, you had to dismiss
that awful Hortence…”
“Yes,” Robert sighed, leading Punch from out behind
the screen and into the library.
“And, then, we
had the Prince who, let’s be honest, ain’t the most pleasant company.”
“No.” Robert laughed.
“You know what
we need?”
“What’s that?” Robert asked.
“Let’s take tea
in the nursery with Colin and Miss Barrett and Dog Toby.”
“I think that’s
a grand idea.”
“We can tell ‘em
both ‘bout the Palace and all them…” he frowned, glancing at the table… “teeth.”
“Let’s.” Robert nodded.
As they walked
from the library, Robert glanced up at the many books which lined the
walls. He resolved then that his own
would never be among them.
Did you miss
Chapters 1-14? If so, you can read them
here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 16
of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.
