A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 17

Chapter 17:
A Proper Sunrise



"Did you have time for a nice rest, M'Lady?"  Violet asked as she brushed Lennie's hair.

"I did."  Lennie smiled.  "Well, at least I was able to lie down for awhile."

"You didn't sleep?"

"No."  Lennie shook her head.

"What a pity."  Violet sighed.  "Still, that just means you'll sleep all the better tonight."

"That's right."  Lennie agreed.

Violet studied Lennie's reflection in the mirror as she brushed Lennie's long, dark blonde hair.

"M'Lady, there's worry in your eyes.  What's troublin' ya?"

"Well, Violet, to be honest, I had a rather...upsetting...well...unsettling encounter with Ivy."

"I doubt there's any other kind."  Violet frowned.  "What'd the old cow do?  Do I need to slap 'er 'round?"

"No, I don't think that's necessary."  Lennie laughed.  "She was in here when I came up from the library.  Just over there in the dressing room.  She claimed she was returning a gown of my mot...of the late Duchess'...and that she's been working to restore all of them.  She went on and on about my...my mother and spoke of her as if she was still living."

"Odd."  Violet clucked her tongue.

"She showed me a memorial brooch that she wears with a lock of my mother's hair in it."

"Well, that, at least, ain't too strange."  Violet shrugged.

"Only she said she plaited the hair after my mother died."  Lennie added.

"How could she have?"  Violet frowned.  "Your mum died in America and there she stayed."

"Ivy claims she took the hair from the Duchess' brush.  It seemed a lot of very smooth hair to have collected from a brush."  Lennie shook her head.  "Show me, if you would, my brush."

Violet offered the brush over Lennie's shoulder.  

"You see, the hair is all matted and tangled.  There's no way that it could be rescued and made into a perfectly smooth braided curl."  Lennie grimaced.

"Not likely."  Violet shook her head.  "But, them folks what work with hair like that--they got ways o' treatin' it."  

Lennie offered the handle of the brush back to Violet.

"Now, M'Lady, don't you worry 'bout it.  Everyone here is a bit peculiar.  If anything, it let's us all see why His Grace stays in London.  Let's not let these things spoil your holiday.  You're goin' t'ave a wonderful dinner with your 'andsome brothers and before ya know it Lord Cleaversworth'll be 'ere.  Tomorrow, His Grace'll show you more o' the estate, and you and he and Lord Colinshire can go ridin' and maybe take Colin out for a pic-nic with Dog Toby.  All the bad is gone, M'Lady.  And, them folk downstairs--they're odd, yes, but, you're Lady Fallbridge.  They can't bother ya.  I won't let 'em, and ya know your brother won't."

"Quite right."  Lennie smiled.  "Thank you."

"The most you should be worryin' 'bout is what dress you want to wear with which jewels tonight."

"I think I'd like to wear the jasmine yellow silk."  Lennie said brightly.  "The mandarin diamond earrings which my brother made for me.  The matching lavaliere.  And the coral and gold bangles over the creme gloves."

"Which slippers?"  Violet asked.

"Let's be daring."  Lennie replied.

"Orange, then."  Violet grinned.

"Oh, I think so."  Lennie answered conspiratorially.

"Miss Lennie,"  Violet began, slipping into the more familiar form of address she had enjoyed with Lennie before the Queen had created her Lady Fallbridge, "wouldn't those slippers look right lovely with them paste clips on 'em?  Ya know?  The ones with them yellow pastes?  Did we bring 'em?"

"We didn't, Vi."  Lennie shook her head, joining her friend, and also falling back into their more casual patter.  "Remember how Punch feels about pastes."

"Right."  Violet laughed.

"But, I do have those buckles with real citrines in them.  Remember?  We packed those!"  Lennie continued.

"Oh!"  Violet squealed.  "Those will look a treat!  Like a right sunset!  I'll go get them slippers, Miss."

"I'll get the jewelry box."  Lennie chirped.  Lennie grabbed the jewelry box and hurried over to the bed where she sat down, sorting through the many, impressive jewels which her brother had made for her since they'd met.  Punch had confessed he was pleased to have a woman in the family for whom he could design opulent and completely decadent jewelry, and, Lennie did not object in the least.

Violet returned from the dressing room carrying the orange slippers, yet, the gleam was gone from her eyes.

"Vi, what's happened?"  Lennie asked.  "You've lost your enthusiasm."

"M'Lady,"  Violet began,"  "Looks to me that someone's been in your things."

"What do you mean?"

"Your dresses and slippers and your...lady's things...they ain't as I left 'em.  Did you rearrange 'em?"

"No."  Lennie shook her head.  "I wouldn't dare.  I know how you prefer to organize the wardrobe yourself.  Just as Charles prefers to do it for His Grace and Gerard does for Lord Colinshire.  We all stay out of it."

"Well, it ain't how I left it."

"Is anything missing?"

"No, but it's all been rearranged."  Violet shook her head.  "And, I know who done it.  That Ivy."

"There's no reason that she should have.  The wardrobe we're occupying was empty.  None of my mother's things were in there.  So, she has no excuse."  Lennie scowled.  "Unless she was just trying to be helpful.  I suppose she is accustomed to being the maid to the lady of the house.  Not that that's any excuse."

"It ain't no excuse.  I'm your maid.  Her lady is dead.  If you'll pardon me."

"I'll talk with His Grace about it before dinner, you can be assured of that, Violet."  Lennie said.  "It will not happen again.  I'll see to it.  No one will invade upon your territory again."

"Oh, Miss Lennie.  Ain't so much that.  Just bothers me to think that that strange old cow had her bony fingers on your pretty things."  Vi shook her head.  "You may not 'ave noticed, but, we're all rather protective o' ya."  She smiled.

"I have noticed."  Lennie nodded.  "And, I appreciate it."

"You ain't just a sister to His Grace and Dr. Halifax...er...Lord Colinshire."  Violet continued.  "It's like you're a sister to all of us from No. 65.  Me, and Gamilla and Charlie and Gerry, and George.  The girls, too.  Well, you're a daughter to Mrs. P., I s'pose., cuz she's older."

"I feel the same.  About being a sister to all of you, not about thinking that Mrs. Pepper is old."  Lennie replied.

Violet laughed.

"Tell you what,"  Lennie continued.  "After you've gotten me dressed, why not have you run over to the men's suite and tell either Charles or Gerard that when the lads are dressed they should meet us in here before dinner and we can talk to them about Ivy together?"  

"Good thinking, M'Lady."  Violet smiled.  "Now, let's get you dressed.  Your new corset, then?"

"If we must."  Lennie laughed.

"If you're wearin' that yellow dress, we must."

"Very well."  Lennie smiled.

"Oh, you'll look like a proper sunrise with them mandarin diamonds and them orange slippers miss.  A proper sunrise!"


Did you miss Chapters 1-16 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 18. 

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 17

Chapter 17:

The Language of Flowers

Ellen Barrett smiled as she felt her way down the staff staircase.  She tiptoed into the servants’ hall and listened as Speight read to the group.

“Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.”

She squinted, coming deeper into the dimly-lit room—illuminated only by the light of the fire, two oil lamps and three candles by which Vi and Gamilla sat with their mending.  Mrs. Pepper sat in the plushest chair by the fire, her tired feet raised up on a poof, a cup of chocolate nestled in her hands.  Gerard and Charles sat at the long dining table which they’d covered with an oil-cloth.  They buffed the masters’ boots, in unison, in the light of one of the oil lamps.  Gerard wasn’t looking at his work, his eyes were fixed on Speaight, absorbing every word from “The Adventures of Oliver Twist.”

At Speaight’s feet, in front of the fire, Jenny and Ethel sat cross-legged, like children, drowsily hearing the words of Boz.  Ethel slowly munched a butter biscuit.  In a dark corner, Tom, the page, sat in a small wooden chair—Ellen couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

Ellen’s grin broadened—it was a happy family scene.  Mrs. Pepper and Mr. Speaight—the mother and father—protecting their “children.”

Quietly, Ellen took a seat next to Gerard.  Gamilla looked up and smiled from across the servant’' hall.

Speaight paused in his reading, causing Gerard to grunt.  Looking up, Gerard noticed that Ellen had sat next to him.  He nodded a friendly greeting.

“Will you be joining us this evening, Miss Barrett?”  Speaight asked gently.

“If you don’t mind.”  Ellen replied.

“Of course not, we welcome you.”  Speaight answered.  “Is the little master asleep?”

“Yes,”  Ellen nodded.  “Master Colin is quite soundly asleep.”

“Shall I go stay with him?”  Gamilla asked.  She took her duties as Nursery Maid quite seriously for she loved the child very deeply.

“I wouldn’t want you to miss your rest,”  Ellen shook her head.  “I’ll return to him in a few moments.  I just thought I’d like to hear Mr. Speaight read for awhile.”

“We just begun ‘Oliver Twist,’ Miss.”  Gerard informed the governess.

“So, I heard.”  Ellen nodded.  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’ve not,” Speaight replied, taking a sip of his chocolate.  On the small table next to Speaight’s rocking chair, a small vase of fresh spring flowers sat.

“What lovely flowers.”  Ellen smiled.

“Glad you think so,”  Mrs. Pepper said dryly.  “They’re yours.”

“Pardon?”

“Sure,”  Ethel spoke up, “Jenny found ‘em.”

“I don’t understand.”

Shyly, Jenny explained.  “When I went to answer the service door earlier, a young man was there.  I ‘xpected the butcher.  But, it weren’t him.  It were a young man, handsome, too.  He handed me them flowers and said I should give them to you.”

“Me?”  Ellen’s eyes widened.

“Yes, Miss.”  Jenny giggled.  Ethel giggled, too.

“Did he leave a name?”

“Victor, miss.”  Jenny whispered.

“Victor?”

“Looks as if you got an admirer, Miss.”  Charles teased.

“There’s jonquils.”  Jenny giggled. 

“Means someone wants you to return their affection, Miss.”  Ethel added seriously.

“And, Iris,”  Jenny continued. “What means good news.”

“And lavender,”  Mrs. Pepper growled.

“That stands for devotion, Miss.”  Jenny said.

“Or distrust…”  Mrs. Pepper added.

“Miss Barrett, do you know this young ‘Victor’?”  Speaight said.

“I think that I do.”  Ellen nodded slowly.

“Perhaps you should tell him that’s it’s not proper for a gentleman to visit the servants’ hall door to leave tokens of affection for the young governess.”

“If I see him, Sir, I most certainly will do so.”  Ellen replied firmly.

“Are we gonna hear ‘bout Oliver Twist, then?”  Gerard asked softly.

“Patience, my friend,”  Charles whispered.  “It’s not every day that our governess is courted by a young man.”  Charles grinned slyly.  “What’d he look like, Jenny?”

“Ginger.”  Jenny replied.  “Ever-so covered in handsome freckles.  Fine, broad shoulders and a nice…”  She stopped.  “Even in the dim light, they could all see that she was blushing.

“Did you say he was ginger?” Ellen asked. 

“Yes, miss.  Bright ginger.  Not like His Grace’s hair what’s dark.  But, bright…”

“Like a carrot, no doubt.”  Mrs. Pepper chuckled.

“And he told you that he was called ‘Victor’?”

“Yes, Miss.”  Jenny nodded resolutely.  “Had a bit of the Scotch in his voice, like me pa.”

“Is this not the man you thought?”  Speaight asked.

“No,” Ellen muttered.

Gerard sighed.

“I’m sorry,”  Ellen nodded.  “Mr. Speaight, do carry on with your reading.”

“Shall I?”  Speagith grinned.

“Oh, yes, Sir.”  Gerard spoke up.

“Sure you don’t want to hear more of Miss Barrett’s Scottish lad?”  Charles teased.

Gerard drew in breath impatiently.

“Charles…”  Speaight warned.

“Sorry, Sir.”  Charles smiled.

“I’d best return to Master Colin.”  Ellen rose from her chair.

“Don’t you want to take your flowers, Miss?”  Jenny asked.

“No, let’s leave them here for all of us to enjoy.”  Ellen answered quickly.

“Oh, how nice.”  Ethel chirped.  “Thank you.”

“Good night, all.”  Ellen nodded. “Enjoy your story.”

“We will.”  Gerard snorted.

“Good night, Miss.”  Gamilla added.  “I’ll come up shortly to check on you both.”

“Thank you, Gamilla.”  Ellen said—with that, she hurried up the stairs.

“Queer.”  Mrs. Pepper muttered.

“I should say so.”  Speaight nodded.  “Now, where was I?”  He looked at his book and began again.

“For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child could survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred…”

Once upstairs, Ellen paused in the opulent front hall.  She tried to catch her breath but her heart was racing.  She steadied herself by sitting briefly on one of the French gilt chairs which were nestled in the dramatic curve of the grand staircase.  Then, suddenly, she heard a rustling from outside.

At first she thought the sound was coming from the vestibule which separated the foyer from the front door—the little space with its marble floor and walls of brightly-colored stained glass.  But, surely, there was no one there.  All that stood in the vestibule was a fine, ebonized, mirrored hall tree and a low, deeply-carved bench.

She rose, walking to the ebonized wood and stained glass door of the vestibule and opened it.  Someone was outside the front door.  Slowly and cautiously, she placed her hand on the large, bronze door handle and with her other hand unlatched the door. 

Ellen flung the door open quickly.  She found no one there.  Yet, on the steps to the street lay a peculiar thing—a cream-colored envelope bound with black ribbon which held to the paper a single flower—a yellow carnation.

“Disappointment.” Ellen whispered to herself as she picked up the parcel.

Holding the envelope up to the lamp above the door she saw there written in a childish hand, “Julian, Duke of Fallbridge.”

Ellen’s hands shook so that she could hardly hold it. 

Did you miss Chapters 1-16 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back on Monday for Chapter 18.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 17

“Good day, Mr. Punch.” Robert calmly nodded to Julian who looked up at him wide-eyed from the narrow bed.


“You may call me Mr. ‘Punch,’ doctor, however to be exact, as I’ve told you before, my surname is Molliner.” Punch said through Julian’s mouth.

“Very well.” Robert nodded.

“I remember you,” Punch said, making Julian’s body sit up. “Oh, yes, I remember you. Julian doesn’t. But, I do.”

“Do you, Mr. Punch?”

“Of course, foolish man.” Punch forced Julian’s mouth into a wide grin which looked to Robert as if it might hurt Julian’s face. “You were the physician what attended Julian when those men jumped ‘im in Covent Garden. I remember you because you weren’t so rough with him. You see, I was there. I was there twice, you might say.”

“Twice?” Robert asked, remaining quite level-headed despite the odd scene that played out before him.

“Sure enough. My brother…you know, in the theater.” Punch grumbled.

“I see.” Robert nodded.

“Julian doesn’t remember so much about that day. But, I do. I remember everything. Even the first time—long, long ago with Nanny. Only, Julian doesn’t like to think about it. I know about it. I think about it all the time.”

“Mr. Punch,” Robert began, “you say you remember my attending His Lordship when he was beaten in Covent Garden that day. I, too, remember you. You introduced yourself to me at the time.”

“I know.” Punch widened Julian’s eyes.

“I also knew that the body of the man who was injured belonged to Julian, Lord Fallbridge. Not to Mr. Punch.”

“Yes, it’s his body—so much as it is. Believe me, Julian’s isn’t so special. But, it’s the only body we’ve got between us what with mine being taken from my nice spot in the cabinet.”

“Who took you?” Robert asked.

“Now, I can’t very well see, can I? Not without Julian’s eyes. And, Julian was using his eyes at the time.” Punch spat irritably. “It can’t be helped that he’s got to use the body, too. Though he’s no good with it, he isn’t. Always so overwrought and upset. Always in such pain. It makes all of us hurt.”

“All?” Robert asked.

“Never you mind about that.” Punch spat. “If you please, I’ll be asking the questions.”

“I would prefer to do my business with Julian.” Robert said gently. He rubbed Julian’s shoulder lightly to try to elicit some response.

“Julian doesn’t like to be touched, you know.” Punch smirked. “’Sides, he can’t cope very well with much of anything. I’m the sharp one. Don’t you know I always win? I always kill the Devil!”

“So I understand.” Robert couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t you laugh at me.” Punch warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Robert nodded.

“You are! You’re laughing at me. How dare you? Now, listen to me. I’m lost! I’m in pain. I’m the one what wants finding. Not that cow, Barbara. And, what’s more, if we find my body, maybe I won’t need to use Julian’s. Did you think of that? No. I’m trying to save me-self, and, you’re laughing. I’m lost! Lost, lost, lost, lost.”

Julian’s body rocked back and forth.

“Mr. Punch, do calm yourself.” Robert said soothingly.

“Go to Blazes, Mr. Halifax!” Punch shouted.

And, then, Julian’s body went limp.

“Julian?” Robert patted Julian’s face. “Julian?”

Julian, however, would not be roused.

Robert hurried to the basin to fetch some water, but the pitcher was empty.

“Damn fool, that Arthur.” Robert grumbled. He opened the cabin door to call for a porter.

Rushing down the hallway, he spotted Arthur on his way back, carrying a silver cloche-covered tray. The man, however, wasn’t alone. Next to him stood a woman in a large, veiled hat. Arthur spoke to her softly. She was clearly a lady.

“Impertinent man!” Robert shouted down the corridor, “Leave that lady alone. You’re needed here at once. Your master’s ill.”

Arthur frowned, but did as he was told.

“Pardon me, Miss,” Robert nodded at the lady who turned on her heel and left.

“I thought you said His Lordship were sick.” Arthur cooed from inside the cabin.

“He is,” Mr. Halifax said, following Arthur into the cabin, his eyebrows rising at the site of the empty bed.

“Well, he ain’t in here, Sir.” Arthur grinned.



Did you miss Chapters 1-16?  If so, you can read them here.