A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 18

Chapter 18:
Fair


"You look just like a sunrise."  Mr. Punch exclaimed as he followed Robert into Lennie's room.

Lennie giggled.  "That's just what Violet said."

"Indeed that golden silk  is just the thing on you."  Robert agreed.  

Punch stepped closer to his sister.  "Lemme see those earrings."  He nodded, looking at the large orange-hued diamonds.  "Yes, they needed you."

"What's that, brother dear."

"A million years, them stones sat in the earth before they came to me.  Sure, I cut 'em and polished 'em and set 'em and gave 'em friends to glitter with.  But, they needed you.  Now, they're really, truly treasures."

"Oh, you are too much."  Lennie blushed.

"Isn't he just."  Robert affectionately put his arm around Punch's shoulders.  He gestured with his chin toward Charles and Gerard who had followed them into Lennie's suite.  "Our men said you ladies wished to see us."

"We do,"  Lennie nodded.

"If Your Grace doesn't require us any further,"   Charles spoke up.

"Actually,"  Lennie waved at Charles.  "Unless His Grace objects, I'd prefer you and Gerard to stay."

"I have no objection, I don't."  Punch replied.  He raised an eyebrow.  "Is somethin' afoot?"

"Well, we're not entirely sure."  Lennie answered.  "Violet, would you like to tell His Grace what you observed?"

Violet nodded.  "I don't like to complain, Your Grace, Your Lordship."

"We know that, Violet."  Robert smiled.  "We don't take anything you say as a complaint.  However, if something's happened that's bothered you, we should know."

"It's just that someone's been in M'Lady's things.  The whole of Her Ladyship's wardrobe's been rearranged.  All of it's been touched and moved about."  Violet said.

"Is that so?"  Punch frowned.  "We know who done that.  Ivy."

"She was in here when I came up from the library."  Lennie nodded.  "She claimed she was returning one of," Lennie paused, still uncomfortable with the word, 'Mother."  Instead she said, "One of the Duchess' gowns.  She said she's been working to restore all of the late Duchess' dresses for posterity.  She spoke of Pauline as if she were living.  Then--this is the queerest thing of all, she showed me a brooch containing a lock of...the duchess' hair which she claimed to have put in the locket after the Duchess died.  Claiming it was from her brush."

"That is odd."  Robert squinted.

"She all but begged me to take it--to wear it, so I might have my mother 'at my throat.'  I don't mind telling you that it gave me chills."  Lennie sighed.  "And, then Vi discovered that my wardrobe had been disarranged."

"After I already told Jackson that Violet wasn't to be bothered as your maid."  Punch scratched his head.

"They're an odd lot down there, Your Grace, if you'll pardon me sayin' so."  Violet said.

"I know they are."  Mr. Punch nodded.

"Gerard's already had some trouble with one of the footmen."  Robert frowned.

"We don't know that for sure."  Gerard shook his head generously.  "I might have misheard what he said."

"Well, we do know that Gregory gave Ethel and George a bad time."  Punch said firmly.

'Oh?"  Robert raised his eyebrows.  "When?"

"Earlier.  Seems Gregory made some advances toward our Ethel and George came to defend her honor and nearly got in a tangle, he did."  Punch shook his head.

"How do you know this?"  Robert asked.

"Gamilla told me,"  Punch confessed.  

"When?"  Robert asked.

"Oh, when you were nappin'."  Punch sighed.  "I shuffled off for a bit to look a Julian's old rooms.  Gamilla found me and told me 'bout it."

"Is Ethel all right?  What of George?"  Lennie asked.

"Both are quite fine.  But, it still shouldn't 'ave happened, it shouldn't."  Punch replied.

"We had a chat with William earlier,"  Charles began.  "He told us quite a bit about what went on here when he was brought on 'temporarily.'  It's an unusual place."

"That it is."  Punch nodded.  "And, Jackson's the leader o' 'em.  Mrs. Pepper's already had n'ough trouble with 'im an' we've only been 'ere one day.  Well, let's see if we can't get through dinner, and, then I'll 'ave a talk with Jackson 'bout his staff."

"I don't mean to cause a fuss, Your Grace."  Violet said.  "I just don't like the idea of someone touchin' M'Lady's things is all."

"I appreciate that,"  Punch nodded.  "And, you ain't causin' a fuss.  Not at all.  I just gotta put a stop to some things before they get worse.  I ain't lookin' to cause big changes 'ere.  If we was gonna stay 'ere forever, I would.  Only, we're gonna go home in a few weeks.  They can carry on as they wish.  But, for the time we're here, they just gotta be respectful.  It is my house, after all.  I just wish for a few weeks 'o peace, then they can do as they please.  Seems fair, yes?"

"More fair than they deserve, if you ask me."  Gerard grinned.

"No one asked you."  Charles teased.

"I asked all of you."  Punch laughed.  "Well, here's one good thing 'bout bein' here.  Least you two won't have to wait at table.  You can actually get a rest before your own dinner.  Gerry, you can go see your wife.  See if she's feelin' all right.  Make sure she rest for 'erself and that baby what's comin'.  And, Charlie--maybe you and Vi might like a walk before dinner?"

"Maybe."  Charles smiled.

Violet blushed.

"Lennie?"  Robert offered his arm.  "May we walk you to the drawing room."

Punch offered his arm as well.

"How could I resist being escorted downstairs by two such fine gentleman?"  Lennie smiled.

Mr. Punch looked over his shoulder.  "Thank you, all for takin' the time to tell us what you think.  And, thank you, Violet, for lookin' after our sister."

"It's me pleasure, Your Grace."  Violet nodded.

With the masters out of the room, Gerard clapped his hands.  "Think I will go check on my girl.  See you in the Servants' Hall?"

"Right."  Charles nodded.  "Our lot is going to meet by the fire.  We're gonna stay clear of the natives, then."

"Good thinking."  Gerry nodded.

Alone, Violet winked.  "So, Charles, are you taking me for a walk, then?"

"I am."  Charles grinned.

"Where?"

"How about Mr. Jackson's pantry?"


Did you miss Chapters 1-17 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 19.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

Communication

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…” Mr. Punch mumbled happily as he lifted the silver domes of the various chafing dishes which lined the sideboard in the morning room of his magnificent Belgrave Square home.  He lingered over each one, sniffing its contents and licking his lips as he imagined the many different combinations of foods that he could enjoy. 

“Sausages…” he muttered gaily.  “Sausages, sausages, sausages, sausages…and…oh!  Mushrooms.  Beans and mushrooms and eggs.  Nice, lovely soft eggs.”

He happily wandered to the end of the sideboard and quickly grabbed a bright white china plate-rimmed with gold and adorned in the center with the Fallbridge arms.

“Chum don’t know what he’s missin’.”  Mr. Punch sighed, shaking his head as he bemoaned Robert’s early appointment.  “How’s he gonna eat what with havin’ to doctor everyone in Belgravia?” He sniffed the air.  “Oh!  Toast.  Lovely, lovely, lovely.  Lovely buttered toast.  And marmalade.  Lovely marmalade.”  He giggled to himself.  “Fine, it’s fine.  Bein’ a Duke is fine.”

Our Mr. Punch was so engrossed with the task of filling his plate that he didn’t hear Ellen slip into the sunny room.  She paused, waiting for him to finish.  Ellen couldn’t help but smile as she watched her master pace back in forth and front of the sideboard—lifting one cloche after another, setting down and then picking up his plate.  He hummed softly to himself—some jaunty tune which one might hear at a country fete.  She didn’t wish to interrupt his joy—especially with the envelope which itched her hand.  Looking around the cheerful, gold-colored room, she continued to watch Mr. Punch until he grunted contentedly and grabbed a napkin to settle into one of the plush aubergine-upholstered chairs.

“Miss Barrett!”  Mr. Punch chirped, setting down his plate.  “It’s breakfast!”

Ellen nodded, glad to be noticed by the Duke/Mr. Punch—glad, yet filled with dread.

“It’s sausages and eggs and mushrooms and lovely beans and buttered toast.  And kidneys—only I don’t like them so much.  Me chum…Robert…Dr. Halifax does.  Maybe you do, too.  Would you like some?”

“No, thank you, Your Grace.”  Ellen shook her head.

“Don’t have to have kidneys, you don’t.”  Mr. Punch laughed.  “Have some fine sausages.  Mrs. Pepper don’t get ‘em from the butcher, she don’t.  Makes ‘em here her own self.  Wonderful, they are.  Have some!  Oh—and some eggs.  They’re yellow.  Quite nice.”

“I’ve eaten, Sir.”  Ellen smiled.

“Oh—good for you, then.  Don’t want to eat again?”

“No, thank you.”

“Here, has me boy eaten?”

“Yes, Your Grace, Colin has had his breakfast.  He’s upstairs with Gamilla, getting his bath.”

“That’s fine.”  Mr. Punch nodded, lifting a forkful to his mouth and gobbling it up happily.  

“Mmmm…”  He chewed and swallowed.  “Had me bath already, I did.”  Wrinkling his nose, he blushed.  “Maybe I hadn’t ought to say that to a lady.”

“I don’t mind, Your Grace.”

“Come talk to me!”  Mr. Punch chirped.  “At least have some toast.  Dr. Halifax has got a patient, he does.  Had to leave early.  Don’t like to eat by me-self.  Come, sit!  Tell me of things in the nursery.  I’d like that, I would.”

“Well, Your Grace, if you’ll pardon me, I have come to talk with you.  However, it can wait until after you’ve breakfasted.”

“Nah!”  Mr. Punch chuckled.  “Talk to me now.  I take a long time, I do.  I love breakfast.  It’s the meal what’s got sausages.  I like sausages.  All Mr. Punchs do and as I’m the one what’s got a real mouth, I gotta eat for all of us.”

Ellen nodded slowly, squinting for a moment as she considered the bit of sense in what he’d said.

“The others is puppets,” he added by way of clarification.

Ellen smiled.

“What’s that?”  Mr. Punch pointed to the envelope in her hand.  “It’s got a flower on it.  What’s it?”

“A carnation, Sir.”

“Pretty.”  Mr. Punch smiled, taking another forkful.  “Yellow--like this room, like the eggs!  Nice.  Ought to put it in water.  Who gave you a flower?  You got an admirer?”

Ellen shivered.

Mr. Punch put down his fork and tilted his head to one side.  “Here, you sick?  Come sit by the fire here.  It’s warm.”

“I couldn’t, Your Grace.”

“Don’t want you standin’ while I’m sittin’.  Ain’t nice.”  Mr. Punch smiled.

“As you wish, Sir.”  Ellen said, walking over to sit in the chair next to Mr. Punch.  She placed the envelope on the table.

“That’s me name!”  Mr. Punch pointed. 

“Yes, Sir, this is for you.”

“Who’d send me a flower?  Is it from Dr. Halifax?  Is it a present.”  He asked excitedly.  “I like presents, I do.  Dr. Halifax always brings me somethin’ when he goes out.  He’s such a good bloke.”

“It’s not from Dr. Halifax, Sir.  I don’t know who sent it.”

“Where’d you get it?”  Mr. Punch asked.

“I found it last night.  At the front door, Your Grace.”

“For me?”  Mr. Punch’s eyes widened.

“Yes.”

“Give it here, then.”

“Wouldn’t you care to finish your breakfast first?”  Ellen asked.

“I can do both!” Mr. Punch declared proudly. 

Ellen reluctantly pushed the envelope across the table.  Punch snatched it up happily.

“Sir, I feel there’s something I should tell you.”  Ellen began as she watched Punch break the envelope’s wax seal and open it.  “In my last place, Sir…”

"Nice," Mr. Punch removed a letter from the envelope, gently setting the yellow carnation on the table with the black ribbon which had bound the flower to the parcel.  He unfolded the letter and began reading.  As he did, his smile faded and his eyebrows raised.

“You see,”  Ellen continued awkwardly.  “I didn’t mention this when I interviewed with you.  I didn’t see…well, it’s very complicated, Sir…”

Mr. Punch looked up and said gently.  “Miss Barrett, I want to hear your story.  I truly do.  I like to hear stories.  Sometimes I repeat them—not to folks what talk, but to puppets and statues and such.  But, I like to.  Only, I think I’d better keep lookin’ at this first.  It confuses me.”

Ellen blushed, sitting silently as Mr. Punch finished reading the letter.  He grumbled irritably and set down the page, looking up at Miss Barrett.  “Well, this ain’t nice at all.”

“I can explain, Your Grace.”  Ellen whispered emotionally.

“Can you?”  Mr. Punch pushed the page across to her.  “Cuz I can’t make heads nor tails o’ it.  I’m glad you can help.”

Ellen quickly read the letter.  She’d never before felt such a sense of combined relief and dread.  The contents of the letter were not what she expected at all.  They had nothing whatsoever to do with her.  However, her employer was correct.  They weren’t nice at all.

“What’s it mean?”  Mr. Punch asked.

“Your Grace…”  Ellen began, unsure of what to say.

“It says that I’m gonna be ruined.  It says that all of London will know that I’m…what’s the word it says?”

“Dissipated.”

“Yeah—that.  And, it says I’m mad!  And, that they’re gonne tell Her Majesty!”  Punch stood up and began pacing the room.  “You don’t think I’m mad, do ya?”

“No, Sir.”  Ellen replied.  “I think you’re one of the sanest men I’ve ever known.”

“Who’d write such a thing?”  Mr. Punch whimpered, realizing the weight of the letter’s content.  “Why’d anyone want to hurt me?  And…and…it ain’t signed.  What sort of coward don’t sign a letter?”

“The sort of coward who would write such a letter.”  Ellen answered sadly.

“Who’d want to do that to me?”  Mr. Punch mumbled.  “I don’t know nobody.  I stay in the house.  I ain’t never hurt no one.  Well…not here.  I hit a policeman with a statue in New Orleans, but he lived.  And, I hit a mean lady with a lamp—or was it an umbrella?—in New Orleans, too.  But, she weren’t hurt.  But, I been a good Punch since I been here.  I ain’t dissipated.  I don’t drink spirits nor do nothin’ wrong, I don’t…”

“I know, Sir.”

“And, ‘sides that, who knows me well ‘nough to make such a threat?”

“Sir, I think the obvious answer is Hortence.”

“Hortence?”  Mr. Punch sputtered.  “What’s she got to do with anythin’?”

“Well, she did threaten Dr. Halifax when he dismissed her.  She said she’d go to the newspapers and expose you as…”

“Mad?”  Mr. Punch’s eyes widened.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Did she?  Why didn’t no one tell me that?  Why didn’t…”  He coughed. “Why didn’t me chum…”  He sat down again, looking terribly hurt.  “He’s ‘sposed to tell me all what happens here.”

“I’m sure that Dr. Halifax was only trying to protect you, Your Grace.”

Mr. Punch whimpered.  “Only that ain’t how it goes.  Can’t be protected from what I don’t know ‘bout.”

“I’m sorry to have brought this to you, Your Grace.”  Ellen bowed her head.

“Ain’t your fault.  You didn’t write it.”  Mr. Punch muttered.  “Don’t mean to be rude, Miss, only, I think maybe I’d like to be alone.”

Ellen stood up, leaving the letter on the table.  “Of course, Sir.”

“Thank you.”  Mr. Punch mumbled.

“Your Grace?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“May I offer you some advice?”

“May as well, then.”  Mr. Punch sighed.

“Perhaps you might…”  Ellen shook her head.  “Well, if I were you, Sir, I wouldn’t judge Dr. Halifax too strongly.  His motives were pure and based on affection.”

Mr. Punch nodded.

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist you with this situation.”  Ellen added.

“I will.”  Mr. Punch answered softly.

Ellen bowed her head and left the room without another word.

Alone, Mr. Punch began to cry.  Rising again, he walked to the window and peered out over Belgrave Square and waited…waited for Robert to come home.

Did you miss Chapters 1-17 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 19.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 18

Julian shivered as his damp shirt clung to his back. His raw throat scraped with each ragged pant as he ran—his body awkwardly bending around sharp corners as his fled deeper into the maze of the ship’s corridors. Spotting a narrow flight of stairs, he grabbed the rail to steady himself before hurrying down them.


When he reached the bottom, the tightness in his chest clawed deeper into his heart with the rough, acidic hands of panic. No, he didn’t want to be further below, closer to the tumble of the ocean. Yet his feet continued to carry him past rows of doors that were far plainer than the ones in the corridors above. Narrow metal pock marks—some open to reveal drably-dressed people with teeth like crooked tombstones. Some—worse still—were closed, hiding what could have been incomparable evil behind each.

Julian moaned between the rasps of his breath. His stomach churned with the sea—his own boiling ocean of bitterness and bile which would swell to tickle the back of his throat. Julian gagged.

“Here now,” a man’s voice taunted Julian from behind.

Lord Fallbridge stopped, pressing his back against the cold wall.

“I think ‘e’s got hisself lost.” The man said.

“Musta done.” Another man added.

The two of them walked toward Julian. Rusty tweed caps sat askew on their heads, covering curly mops of oily hair.

“No, no.” Julian said, still panting. “No.”

“Listen, Sir.” One of the men said. “This ain’t no place for the likes of you. Go on back up.”

Julian gasped for air. “I’m lost. Lost.”

The men looked at one another, and, then turned back to Julian with a strange expression in their eyes. Julian couldn’t tell what it was. Was it pity? Was it something more sinister?

“What’s yer name, Sir?” One of the men asked, he reached for Julian with his wide hands—calloused fingers tipped by chipped nails.

“I…” Julian shook. “I….”

“’E’s in his cups.” One of them laughed. “The fine gentleman likes ‘is drink.”

“What’s that, Sir?” The other smiled. “Such a pretty blue stone on yer hand.”

“Leave him alone,” a woman said curtly as she approached them. She wore a wide-brimmed bonnet with a rose-colored veil that covered her face.

“Aw, Miss. We’re only trying to ‘elp ‘im.” The taller of the two men winked.

“Sir,” The woman spoke to Julian from a distance. “The stairs are that way.” She pointed up the corridor, her hands gloved in clinging lavender silk. “I suggest you hurry back.”

Her voice was familiar.

“Go on, then.” She said sharply.

Julian bent forward, and then, darted past the two men, trying not to touch them as he brushed by. They smelled of sweat and gin, and Julian thought of Arthur.

Though perspiration stung his eyes, Julian could make out the shadow of the stairs. Feeling for the railing, he steadied himself again and in near-blindness fumbled up the stairs.

“Lord Julian,” Robert sighed with relief from above.

“Help me, please.” Julian cried.

Robert gently took Julian’s arm and led him back to his cabin. He helped Julian to the bed and lifted a glass of water to the man’s quivering lips. Julian tried to drink, but the water spilled down his chin.

“You mustn’t do that again, Julian.” Robert said softly.

“I don’t know why I did.” Julian shook.

“Rest now,” Robert said.

Julian lay back.

“That woman…” Julian began.

“What woman?” Robert asked, fetching a cloth to wipe Julian’s face.

“Below. In the violet gloves. She wore a veil.” Julian continued to shake. “I knew her voice.”

“How could you have?” Robert asked.

“I think it was Barbara,” Julian continued. “I think it was my sister.”

Robert froze. He inhaled deeply.

“No, Sir,” Robert smiled. “It couldn’t have been Lady Barbara.”

“I think I’d know my own sister’s voice.” Julian answered.

“Julian, I mean no disrespect, but I doubt you even know your own voice.” Robert said gently.

“Whatever do you mean by that insolent remark?” Julian said with uncharacteristic irritability.

“Julian,” Robert began.

Suddenly, Julian rushed toward Robert, pinning him to the wall.

“Oh, no!” Julian’s mouth formed the words of another. “Don’t you tell him. Not now. No. He mustn’t know now! Where’s my stick?”

Robert laughed, unfazed. He pushed Mr. Punch aside and carefully sat him down on the narrow bed.

“Very well, Punch.” Robert said courteously. “But, he will find out eventually.”

“When I say so.” Punch spoke through Julian. “I am in command.”

“But, Mr. Punch,” Robert smiled. “Is that fair?”

“I’ll make it worth your while to keep silent.” Punch narrowed Julian’s eyes. He removed the blue diamond from Julian’s hand, offering the ring to Robert.

“Really, Mr. Punch?” Robert grinned. “I’m listening.”


Did you miss Chapters 1-17? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday, August 16 for Chapter 19 of Punch’s Cousin.