Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 185

Chapter 185
A Father’s Love 


Johnny Donnan lumbered into the stables—his boots caked with mud so thick that he seemed taller than usual. He was wet to the skin from the monstrous downpour and the stiff winds had arranged his graying black hair into a wild, dripping mane.

Ellen, with the help of Lennie, rose from the spot in the hay where she’d been recovering from the blow to her head.

“What is it?” Ellen asked her “father.”

“Finlay.” Johnny barked.

“Oh.” Ellen rolled her eyes. “What’s he done now?”

“He’s dead.” Johnny bellowed.

Lennie stepped back, pressing her hands together as she watched the two interact. She could feel, in the pit of her stomach, the strange emotions which poured forth from the man who had fathered her. The feelings frightened her and she felt, for a moment, as if she might vomit. She recalled Mr. Punch’s pleas to stay at the castle and began to doubt her decision to get the upper hand on Ellen.

“Did the Duke get him?” Ellen asked.

“No, Lass.” Johnny shook his head—sending droplets of cold water flying into the hay. “The African.”

“Oh…” Ellen wrinkled her nose. “You must be mistaken. Gamilla is powerless. She’d not hurt a gnat. She couldn’t. She’s too weak.”

“I saw her, Lass.” Johnny growled. “She had him by the hair. The lad broke away and flung himself into the well.”

“So he killed himself?” Lennie spoke up—immediately wishing she hadn’t.

“No.” Johnny narrowed his eyes. “No Donnan would ever do somethin’ so cowardly. Not even Finlay.”

“The African girl didn’t throw him into the well, then?” Ellen frowned.

“No.” Johnny grunted. “The lad tried to save himself and fell.”

“Father,” Ellen shook her head. “It sounds as if he did it purposefully. Let’s not fool ourselves. Finlay was not the picture of masculine bravery.”

“Yes he was.” Johnny glowered.

“Is that so?” Ellen laughed. “How many times did you take the strap to him to toughen him, to make a man of him.”

“And it did.” Johnny barked.

“Mr. Donnan,” Lennie spoke up. “I’m so sorry.”

“Aye.” Johnny nodded. “He were a good lad.”

“You never thought so before.” Ellen laughed. “Now that he’s dead, you can make him into anything you want.”

“Ach, now you’re gonna be cruel to me? What of your brother’s memory?” Johnny snapped.

“Memory?” Ellen shouted. “The man was useless.”

“How could you say that?” Johnny spat. “He was your kin, Lass.”

“He was a burden. You, of all people should recall the troubles we had with him.”

“I loved him!” Johnny growled.

“You loved him so much that you brought his blood out with your strap!” Ellen countered.

“I made a man of him.”

“Did you, then?” Ellen giggled. “Was he a man? Was that the work of his father’s love?”

“You’re heartless. I see that now.”

Lennie began to feel quite nervous. “Sir, many feel grief so deeply that they must hide their true emotions in order that they not be carried away.”

“Aye.” Johnny nodded. “You’re a sensible lass. Would that my own girl was as such.”

Ellen narrowed her eyes and looked at Lennie who blushed.

“This one understands.” Johnny wagged his finger at Ellen. “This one is clever. I’d wager, then, she knows what we must do.”

“We must not let this distract us. Surely, we’re better off without his bumbling.” Ellen snapped.

“Ach. Sometimes I can see in you so much of your mother. She was a cruel wench, too.”

“I don’t endeavor to be cruel, Father. Simply practical.”

“For all your practicality, you seem to forget what matters.” Johnny bellowed.

“And, what’s that?”

“Kin.”

“Kin?” Ellen scoffed. “You weren’t so concerned about your kin when you beat Finlay with your belt each day. You didn’t worry about kin when you handed your daughter to others to raise!” She looked at Lennie. “Isn’t that right?”

Lennie sniffed. What could she say? How could she agree without revealing her true identity to Johnny?

“Your life was not an ordeal, it seems. You had food in your belly. You had warmth and you learned to read. You even had a fine maid—this very girl here—to look after you.” Johnny scowled. “I done the very best by ya. You should be thankful to me.”

“Thankful? For casting me aside, for lying to me?”

“Ellen, please…” Lennie whispered.

“This is not your concern.”

“Aye, it is!” Johnny snapped. “Would this girl were mine own. She’ll help me. Won’t ya, Lass?”

“Help you, Sir?”

“Avenge me son’s murder!” Johnny groaned.



Did you miss Chapters 1-184 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 186.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 185

The phantom room around Punch and Julian grew dim as a bright light shone on the proscenium which had emerged from the rear wall when Julian turned the key.


“What’s this?” Punch whispered from his chair beside Julian.

“I suppose we’ll have to see.” Julian smiled.

“Should we clap?” Punch asked. “People clap at the theater.”

“No.” Julian shook his head, “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

A figure appeared on the stage. A little boy with chestnut hair and wide, wet eyes stood very still in the center of the proscenium. He was dressed in fine clothes, the sort of handsome finery in which the Duchess had insisted that Julian be dressed when he was a child. At first glance, the child appeared to be quite solid and real, and for a moment, Mr. Punch wondered how he’d gotten inside their shared body. Punch grunted in concern.

As he studied the figure of the child, Punch realized that he wasn’t at all solid, but rather appeared to flicker as if he was a creation of light and color. In fact, Punch could even see a bit of the background through the boy’s torso.

“Here, what is that thing?” Punch asked. “Is he a ghost?”

“You could say that,” Julian replied softly. “Don’t you recognize him?”

“I do.” Punch nodded. “It’s you.”

“It’s us.” Julian whispered.

“He’s all alone,” Mr. Punch said quietly. “It’s sad.”

“Is it?” Julian smiled through the darkness between them. “Look again.”

The figure of young Julian raised his hand and upon it sat a puppet—Mr. Punch himself—far too big for the child’s small hand and arm.

“Coo!” Mr. Punch whooped. “It’s me.”

“Yes.”

“Whole again.”

“We’re both whole at the moment.” Julian nodded.

“Will he speak?” Mr. Punch asked.

“We shall see.” Julian whispered.

The child walked downstage and stood in the bright light, facing out toward Punch and Julian.

Mr. Punch wondered if the spirit boy could see them.

“Mr. Punch,” The child began speaking.

Punch almost answered, but he quickly realized that the wee actor was speaking to the puppet on his almost translucent hand.

The child manipulated the puppet so that it appeared to nod.

“Mother says I must take a trip,” The boy continued.

The puppet nodded.

“I don’t want to go. I like it here. I like the Hall and playing in the folly. Even if Mother is harsh sometimes, Father is here and we have the staff to play with us. They’re all so kind. Aren’t they? Except…”

The air in the room around them filled with the aroma of dried roses as another figure appeared on the stage. Dressed in a pale pink gown, the shape of a woman shimmered into visibility. Her face was obscured by a mask. Or was it? Perhaps she had no face at all, no features that would identify her as human. However, her identity was unmistakable.

“Master Julian,” the woman croaked in a rusty voice which both Julian and Mr. Punch recognized as being that of Agnes Rittenhouse, Julian’s one-time nanny.

“Yes, Nanny.” The child Julian answered meakly.

“Whatever are you about?” The woman chided. “Standing here and talking to yourself. You don’t want to grow up to be mad, do you? You know madness runs in your family—your father’s side anyway. You know that your mother is terribly concerned that you’ll be soft-headed, too. Now, straighten up and be a man. Remember that you are a Fallbridge. Make Her Grace proud.”

“Yes, Nanny.” The child repeted.

“A young gentleman should be excited about a journey to London. Aren’t you a young gentleman?”

“Yes, Nanny.”

“Then, where’s your smile?”

“My smile is outside in the folly and in the thistle and hidden behind the trees where the dirt has worn away to show the sparkling rocks that glitter in the sunshine. My smile is in the statues on the great hall and in the colors of the paintings in the banquet room. My smile is here, in this house, Nanny.”

The female figure raised her hand behind her head and swiftly lowered it—slapping the child across the face.

“Insolent!” The woman shouted.

A third figure appeared on the stage in a puff of smoke and the sharpness of fire. Her face, too, was missing or hidden, but, again, her identity was clear. Her lavish red gown and shining red satin slippers told Punch and Julian that his mother, the Duchess, had appeared in their little private panto.

“Nanny!” The Duchess bellowed. “That’s no way to treat the future Duke of Fallbridge!”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” The nanny mewed.

“You should treat his little lordship like this!” The Duchess laughed, raising her leg and kicking the child swiftly in the stomach.

The child fell to the ground, clutching his puppet to his chest.

“Master,” Punch said to Julian in the audience. “Please, look away.”

“I’ve looked away long enough, haven’t I?” Julian sighed.

On the stage, the misty, flickering figure of the Duchess shrieked with laughter. “Get up, boy!”

In the audience, Julian mumbled, “It’s time for me to get up.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-184? If so, you can read them here.