A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Specifications

Punch, with considerable restraint considering his anger, took in his hand the handle of the massive bronze door-knocker and pounded it soundly--its lion-face looking back tauntingly.

"I thought surely someone would have been out to greet us."  Robert whispered anxiously to Lennie who shifted her weight uncomfortably.  They were both aware that Punch had moved well past annoyed and into the territory of rage.

Behind them stood Gamilla and Gerard.  Gamilla held Colin and Dog Toby stayed close to her ankle, uncertain of this new location.  Ethel clung to Gamilla, lightly pressing her shoulder into the nanny's back.  Gerard, in  his usual manner, grinned--amazed by the lack of a welcome for the returning Duke--the master of Fallbridge Hall--and eager to see how Punch was going to handle the situation.

Charles and Violet stood nearby.  Violet looked peeved.

"Her Ladyship's hair's bein' blown all about, and she'll catch a chill."

"Not for long, she won't."  Charles winked at Vi with whom he'd been enjoying a recent flirtation.

Just to their left stood Mrs. Pepper and her son, George, and Maudie.

"Maybe we'd ought to 'ave gone around to the Servants' 'All."  Mrs. Pepper said softly.  "Don't seem right, us standin' at the front door o' this stately palace."

"Mum, his Grace told us that if they weren't ready for him, they're surely not ready for us downstairs."  George replied.

"I think His Grace is right.  Besides, I feel a bit better bein' near Himself and Lord Colinshire."  Maudie nodded her agreement.

They all jumped as Punch pumped the knocker again.

He turned to Robert and mouthed, "Bugger!"

Stepping forward, Robert put an affectionate hand on Punch's shoulder.  "I know this is quite unacceptable, my dear.  I'm not sure what else we can do besides wait."

"I can kick in that window there and bash in that bleedin' butler's skull."  Punch whispered.

"We can save that idea for later, dear Punch."  Robert teased.

Finally, the door opened--slowly and with a chilling groan.  And, there stood Jackson, the butler.  Gray of both hair and skin, the only bit of color on the man was a faint roadmap of veins upon his hawk-like nose.

"Sir?"  The man mewed.  "You're earlier than I expected."

"Evidently,"  Punch narrowed his eyes, speaking in his best imitation of Julian, the persona with which Jackson was most familiar.

"Oh, dear."  Jackson sighed, still not moving aside to let his master pass.  "Are these the servants you brought from London.  They should have been deposited on the south side."

"Since you were clearly surprised by my arrival, despite the six weeks' worth of missives I've sent you, I rather thought they'd have been turned away should they have appeared suddenly at the Servants' Hall door."  Punch replied.

"Of course."  Jackson nodded.  "They may go there now."  He opened the door wider, but didn't step aside.  Instead he called over his shoulder to a young man--a slender chap with fawn-colored hair--who stood nearby in livery.  "William!  Bring Lord Fallbridge's baggage to his old rooms."

"No."  Punch said firmly.  "William--you will stay where you are."

Stepping forward so that Jackson would move, Punch entered Fallbridge Hall.  As the sight of the vaulted marble passage struck him, he felt a bit dizzy, but his anger was enough to steady himself.

"Everyone follow me."  Punch said without turning around.

"The staff should enter through the south..."  Jackson began.

"Silence."  Punch said simply.  "They will enter through the door of my choice and I prefer to see where they are so that I can ensure that my guests are given proper treatment."

"Your Lordship,"  Jackson began again, but, again, was interrupted.

"To begin with, Jackson, I am the Duke of Fallbridge and to address me as anything less is insulting."

"Old habits, Sir."

"You will refer to me as 'Your Grace.'"  Punch continued.  "Furthermore, as I explicitly instructed in my many letters, I will not occupy my old rooms.  Lord Colinshire..."  He gestured to Robert, "and I will occupy the Turquoise Suite at the north of the house."

"Both of you?"  Jackson gasped.

"Both of us."  Punch replied.

"Those rooms are usually reserved for..."  Jackson started.

"For what?  I am the master of the house.  I will not be told where I shall sleep.  Nor will I be told with whom I shall share my rooms."

He paused and pressed his hands together.

"Now, if you'll recall,"  Punch continued, "I specified that Lady Fallbridge..."

"Lady Fallbridge?"  Jackson squinted.

"My sister."  Punch replied, indicating to Lennie.

"I imagine she will be put in Lady Barbara's old rooms."  Jackson nodded.

"Did you not read anything which I sent?"  Punch snapped.  "Also, you're to address my sister as 'Her Ladyship' as she was created as such by the Queen herself.  The Queen who is, I shall remind you, my dear friend."  He inhaled.  "Lady Fallbridge will occupy the Coral Suite."

"Those are Her Grace's rooms!"  Jackson exclaimed.

"Her Grace is dead."  Punch said plainly.  "My mother won't be needing the accommodations any more.  In fact, she's presently in a  borrowed vault somewhere in America.  This is no longer her house.  As I reminded you earlier, I am the Duke of Fallbridge.  I wish for my sister to occupy the Coral Suite."

"Yes, Your Grace."  Jackson said flatly.

"As for the nursery accommodations, I'll remind you, since you have no recollection of any of my instructions--Mr. and Mrs. Gurney will occupy the adjoining rooms near my son."

Jackson looked at Gamilla.  "Where is Mr. Gurney."

"Aye"  Gerard waved.

"You?"  Jackson scoffed.  "You are wed to an African?"

"You'd do well to stop speaking now,"  Punch spoke up.

"Very well, Your Grace."  Jackson said softly.

"First, I'd like William to bring my and His Lordship's bags to our rooms.  I shall show Her Ladyship to her suite.  Mr. Gurney and Mr. Iantosca will help William sort through them."

"Of course,"  Jackson nodded.  "William will serve as your valet while Your Grace is here."

"No he will not."  Punch shook his head.  "No offense to William,  but Mr. Iantosca will serve me while Mr. Gurney serves Lord Colinshire.  Violet will continue in her role as Her Ladyship's maid."

"Sir, Ivy has always been Her Grace's maid."

"Again, Jackson, my mother is dead.  She doesn't need her hair arranged."  Punch spat.  "If I were you, Jackson, I'd summon some other footmen to help with the baggage."

"What shall I do, then, Your Grace."

"You will take the staff to their accommodations.  I will inspect them before day's end, Jackson, and if my staff is not made comfortable, as I specified, I will have to take action."

Jackson stood flabbergasted.

"Do you understand?"  Punch asked.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And, Jackson...I know you've taken care of the estate in my absence since my mother's death, and I know you've given thirty or more years of your life to serving this family, but I shan't hesitate to dismiss you if my specifications aren't met.  You were given ample time and ample instruction.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Grace."  

"Now, we've wasted enough time on that nonsense.  Lennie, Robert, if you'll come with me, I'll show you to our rooms."

"Good show."  Robert whispered.

Lennie nodded silently.

Punch turned and addressed his staff, his friends.  "All of you should feel free to come to me with any problem while here, and, do believe me when I say I'll be checking on your rooms shortly."

They smiled back at him.

"Tea will be at four, Your Grace, in the Drawing Room."  Jackson said weakly.

"It will be at five."  Punch sighed. "In the library.  Jackson, do go back and read my letters.  My specifications are quite simple to follow.  Or, at least, I thought they were."

Come back tomorrow for Chapter 3 of A Recipe for Punch.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

His Grace, Duke of In-Between

The library of No. 65 Belgrave Square glimmered with the same opulence that Miss Ellen Barrett had admired in the grand front hallway.  The two side walls of the room were inset with tall bookcases of partially gilt mahogany, surmounted by grand pediments.  The farthest wall, of cerulean, white and gilt plaster, was anchored by two long windows—draped in frothy sheer fabric beneath a medium blue silk damask.  Between the two windows a pier mirror of gold in the Chinoiserie style reflected the huge, glittering rock crystal chandelier which hung in the middle of the room.

Appointed with masculine furnishings upholstered in boldly-striped silk of coral, cream and turquoise, the room was as warm and inviting as it was grand.  As formal as the library was, it had, also, a casual air about it.  Heavily framed landscape paintings had been suspended from the bookshelves and large portraits leaned at the rear of important-looking tables which were artfully cluttered with crystal paperweights, small bronzes and porcelain figurines.  A multi-paneled screen of mother-of-pearl inlaid papier mache stood at the corner of the room, partly covering a bank of shelves and blocking what appeared to be a door to another chamber.

At first, as Dr. Robert Halifax ushered her into the room, Ellen was so overcome with admiration for the handsome decorations of the library, she didn’t notice that the room seemed to be empty.  Only after a few seconds did she realize that the Duke was not evident.  She took a deep breath and looked politely at Robert, not meeting his eyes.

Robert chuckled.  “Your Grace, a Miss Ellen Barrett has come for an interview.”

“Oh!”  A voice responded from a far corner of the room.

Ellen raised her eyebrows as a well-dressed man appeared from behind the papier mache screen.  If the doctor could have been described as tremendously handsome, then, certainly, the Duke could have been so described as well.  Yet, he was attractive in a different sort of way.  While the doctor was graceful and polished, classically beautiful with his sky-blue eyes and dark hair, the Duke carried a more earthy, slightly rumpled, beauty.

His Grace grinned sheepishly at Ellen, still staying close to the screen from which he had emerged.  Ellen studied him.  His hair was a wavy mane of dark auburn which fell over his forehead.  He had made an effort to tuck the fringe behind his ears, but his chestnut locks still remained charmingly unruly.  The Duke’s clothes were as fine as the doctor’s, if not finer.  He wore a dark rust-colored suit of velvet which matched his hair, a deep green waistcoat and a cravat of cream silk, anchored by a gold pin set with a ruddy stone which, queerly enough, shone with the same hue as his eyes which—like his tresses—weren’t entirely brown nor entirely red.  They were wide eyes—almost too wide as if he were caught between a moment of surprise and a moment of joy.  His eyebrows, too, were slightly raised as if in mid-thought.

In fact, Ellen thought in that awkward moment of silence, the gorgeous Duke seemed entirely like a man caught in the middle—forever in between two thoughts, two emotions, two reactions, two worlds.  Even his smile—friendly, yet cautious--seemed to be frozen in the middle of two ideas.

“Hullo,”  The Duke said quickly.  He pressed his hands together before fiddling with a glittering diamond ring which he wore on his left index finger. 

Ellen smiled at this simple greeting—not the typical salutation of an aristocrat of a rank as high as the Duke of Fallbridge.

“Your Grace,” Robert grinned at the Duke.  “This is Ellen Barrett.  Miss Barrett, this is His Grace, Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge.”

Ellen bowed her head, but did so in a way that enabled her to continue to watch the two men.  Even at a distance, their affection for one another was palpable.  Ellen could feel a sense of protection radiating from the doctor.  She always had a way of knowing how other people felt.  Her mother had the same instincts.  Ellen exhaled, feeling comforted by the shared respect and love the two men seemed to feel for one another.

“Welcome, Miss Barrett.”  The Duke continued.  “Do please sit.”  He gestured awkwardly toward an elegant armchair of carved walnut and that crisp, striped silk which she had admired upon entering the room.

“Such a lovely home, Your Grace.”  Ellen began.

“Thank you.”  The Duke replied simply.

His manner of speaking was not, at first, strange.  He spoke with the same formal cadence peculiar to the nobility.  Yet, Ellen noticed, it seemed forced as if the Duke was struggling to pronounce each word correctly.  He appeared to be speaking with a voice that was not comfortable, not his own.  Beneath each word, there was another word which wanted to come out—like a lid forced over a pot of boiling water.  Yes, she thought to herself, he’s a man caught between two worlds.

“I have, Your Grace, Miss Barrett’s references.”  The doctor said, walking to the Duke and guiding him toward a settee across from Ellen.  The two men sat together, facing her.

“Have you read them, then?”  The Duke asked his companion.

“I’ve glanced at them.”  Robert smiled.  “Perhaps Miss Barrett can tell us a bit about herself.”

“Certainly.”  Ellen nodded.  “I’ve spent the last ten years in the employ of the Baron of Lensdown.”

“And, why did you leave?”  the doctor asked.

“The last of the children was married and I was no longer needed.  That’s the tragedy of being a governess.  After awhile, you become useless.  However, I do so love children, and I’m still quite young.  I would like to be able to be of some service to another child.”

“We got a boy.  His name is Colin,”  The Duke blurted out excitedly.  “He’s a good boy, he is.”  He paused, seeming to have caught himself saying something he hadn’t intended.  He fixed his face in a serious expression.  Lowering his eyebrows, and eyelids to conceal the jubilant expression which had overtaken his face, he added.  “A fine boy.  I adopted him whist we were abroad.  I think you’ll find him most charming and obedient.”

Ellen smiled, charmed by this man—this powerful man, caught in a perennial state of confusion.  “How old is Colin.”

“Here,” The Duke murmured, looking at his companion.  Again, he caught himself.  “How old is he, Dr. Halifax?  Exactly?”

“He’ll be one year old in three weeks.”  Robert responded.

“I see,”  Ellen smiled.  “What a lovely age.”

“Indeed,”  the Duke nodded politely.  Despite his restrained response, his eyes were wild with joy and excitement—as if he would much prefer to romp about the room over sitting there and talking with her.

“What sort of accommodations have you for the nursery?”  Ellen asked.

“We have both day and night nurseries as well as a school room.  However, we won’t be needing that for awhile, will we?”  the doctor answered.  “These are located on the third floor.  There is an en suite room for the governess.”

“Perfect.”  Ellen nodded.

“Do you like dogs?”  The Duke interrupted.

“Sir?”

“Dogs—do you like them?” 

“I do.”  Ellen chuckled despite herself.  “Very much.”

“I’m glad to know it.”  The Duke grinned widely.  “We have a dog.  He’s called Toby.  He’s what’s called a terrier.  He’s ever-so intelligent.”

Ellen tilted her head to one side, giggling slightly.  “As a girl, I had several dogs.  All terriers.”

“I like this one, chum,”  The Duke tapped his companion’s shoulder.

“As do I, Your Grace.”  Dr. Halifax nodded.

Being referred to as “Your Grace,” seemed to act as a reminder to the Duke who once again affected a manner more befitting an aristocrat.

He added, “Many of the governesses whom we have interviewed have appeared, to me, to be…” He sighed and looked to the doctor.

“I think His Grace is stating that we have been unimpressed with the over-serious, even military, nature of some of the others with whom we’ve spoken.”

“Yes,” The Duke nodded eagerly.  “We are a…different sort of household.”

“I can see that, and, if you’ll pardon my frankness, Sir, I appreciate it.  A child should be raised in a joyful home.”

“We are very joyful,”  The doctor chuckled.

“I’m glad.”

“Miss Barrett, I think we’ve seen all we need to.  If you’d like to meet Colin, we’ll ring for Gamilla, our parlor maid.  She’s been looking after Colin and would be pleased to introduce you to him and show you the quarters upstairs.”

“I’d like that.”  Ellen responded.

“So, you want to work here?”  The Duke asked, clapping his hands.

“If you’ll have me.”

The duke looked at his companion who nodded in agreement.

“Yes,” The Duke of Fallbridge said gaily.

“Well, then, yes, Your Grace, I would be honored.”

“Good!”  The Duke grinned, leaping from the settee and hurrying over to the bell-pull.  

Within seconds, it seemed, an African woman appeared from behind the screen from which the Duke had emerged.  Ellen gathered that the hidden door led to a servants’ entrance.

Ellen had never seen an African before.  She found the young woman to be quite pretty and knew immediately that they’d get on well.

“Miss Barrett, this is Gamilla, our parlor maid.  Gamilla, Miss Barrett has agreed to begin as Colin’s governess.”

Gamilla nodded, smiling.

“Will you take her to Colin and, then, show her around the house a bit?”

“Yes, Sir.”  Gamilla answered.

“When you’ve finished, bring her back here, please, and we’ll work out the particulars of the arrangement.”

Gamilla nodded.  “Come with me, Miss, please.”

Ellen followed Gamilla who led her toward the main exit.  As they walked out into the passage, Ellen could hear the Duke and the doctor talking.

“How’d I do, chum?”  The Duke asked.  “I know I slipped a bit, I did, but I think I got it right.”

“You did brilliantly, dear Punch.”  the doctor responded.

“Coo!”  The Duke whooped as the door closed behind Ellen and Gamilla.  “I think she’ll be awful nice here.”

Once outside the library, Ellen and Gamilla exchanged glances.

“I reckon you got some questions,”  Gamilla winked.

“Quite a few,”  Ellen chuckled.

“They’re fine gents.”  Gamilla said sincerely.  “You’ll like it here.”

“I have a feeling that I will.”  Ellen responded.  “I suspect I’ll be here for a very long time.”

Did you miss Chapter 1 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read it here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 3.  

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 2

The air seemed cool as Julian drew in a long, deep breath. Arthur had left. Julian was glad of that. He wasn’t too fond of his valet. The man had an unctuous quality that left something to be desired. He smiled too knowingly for a valet. Julian sighed, resolved that there was little he could do about it. Arthur was the “first footman” and therefore was assigned as valet to the eldest son of the household. Not only was Julian the eldest, he was the only son of the household. To be more accurate, for a long time he was the only child. He had lived twenty-two years before Barbara came along. Barbara’s birth, in many ways, had been a relief. At least she took Mother’s attention away long enough for Julian to leave for the townhouse he had leased in Belgrave Square. How long ago that seemed. What had happened to all of those plans?


Julian twirled the diamond ring on his left index finger—the first he had designed. Would there be more?

The clock chimed the half-hour. Julian knew he’d best hurry downstairs before Jackson came looking for him. It wouldn’t do to leave the Duchess waiting. Her Grace looked favorably on promptness. That, at least, Julian knew he could provide. He couldn’t think of much else he could do that his mother would look at with favor.

Julian took one last look in the glass. He smoothed his wavy, chestnut hair and paused to study the lines of his face—pale alabaster planes at sharp, almost Roman, angles. He looked just like his mother. When he was a boy, she declared him, “All Fallbridge” and took pride in the fact that he didn’t favor the Molliner side of the family.

Something glimmered behind Julian—a fast flicker reflected in the glass. Julian turned around. The door to the curio cabinet was ajar. Had he opened it? Walking quickly to the cabinet, Julian shut and locked the glass door with one swift motion.

“Sorry to shut you in, Punch, old pal.” Julian said under his breath. “Can’t have you wandering into the Drawing Room during tea. Mother wouldn’t approve.”

Julian shut his eyes and sighed again. “Talking to a puppet…”

Why had the curio door been opened? Julian studied the array of artifacts and objects inside. Nothing seemed out of place.

Punch grinned at him from behind the panes of the cabinet’s door.

“I’ll be late.” Julian said briskly and rushed out of his room.

For some reason, Julian found the sound of his own footsteps echoing throughout the long passage to be unnerving. His heart raced. Leaving his rooms was becoming increasingly difficult. Suddenly, he found himself longing for the comfort of the aubergine chair by his fireplace, the familiarity of the paintings on his walls, and, yes, even the company of Punch.

“Steady on.” Julian thought to himself. “You’re still in your ancestral home.”

When did the Drawing Room get to be so far away? The walk seemed interminable. Julian paused on the stairs, looking over the balustrade to the gleaming marble floor below.

His hands were sweating.

Click, click, click…Julian rushed down the stairs.

Arthur stood stiffly outside the Drawing Room door.

“Lord Fallbridge,” Arthur smiled as he opened the door.

Julian tried not to grimace.

“You’re late!” The Duchess of Fallbridge bellowed as Julian entered.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mother.” Julian said bowing his head to his mother.

“Six minutes late…” His mother continued. She waved her hand to Jackson who stood attentively in the corner of the room. “Take the tea away, Jackson, no doubt, it’s cold. I simply can’t abide cold tea. Bring fresh!”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Jackson said quickly, taking the tea tray.

“And remove the sandwiches and cakes. I’m sure they’re dry.” The Duchess sniffed. “Bring new.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Julian, do sit down.” His mother hissed. “I won’t have you standing there like some gaping buffoon.”

“Yes, Mother.” Julian sat.

The room grew silent, and cold despite the roaring fire in the hearth.

“Rather difficult to take tea when the tea is ruined, don’t you think?” The Duchess of Fallbridge growled.

“Yes, Mother.” Julian nodded. “I am terribly sorry.”

“You’re just like your father.” The Duchess said breathily. “So ready with apologies.”

Julian nodded.

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’ve been asked down here today?” His mother said after a few painful moments.

“Well, you do usually prefer Barbara’s company at teatime.” Julian replied softly.

“I did, yes.” The Duchess frowned. “Here!” She held up a letter. “Take this.”

Julian rose and took the letter. He returned to his seat and read it with ever-widening eyes.

“What do you think of that?” His mother demanded.

“It’s too terrible.” Julian replied quickly.

“What do you intend to do about it?” The duchess barked.

“I?” Julian asked.

“Yes, you. She’s your sister. You want her to make a smart marriage, don’t you? Surely, you want this for your family!”

“I do.” Julian answered, “but…”

“Your sister has run off. And, you’re to find her!”

Julian read the letter again.

Dearest Mother,


I do not to wish to be disagreeable, however, circumstances necessitate my abrupt departure. I cannot marry Baron Marsden. I will not.


I shall leave. Do not seek me out. You will be unsuccessful.


Your Barbara

“Find her how?” Julian asked.

“That’s rather your concern, isn’t it?” His Mother laughed. “You will return her to me within the week!”

Julian sat and looked at his mother.

“Stop staring!” The Duchess spat. “Now, go!”

Julian rose, pausing long enough to bow his head to his mother and hurried to the door, reaching for the high, bronze knob with shaking hands.

The door opened before he could turn the knob. Jackson had returned with a tiered tray of teacakes and sandwiches and Arthur followed with the gleaming silver tea service.

“Lord Fallbridge will not be staying for tea.” The Duchess purred as Julian raced up the stairs.

Once inside his room, Julian leaned against the door—his heart pounding in his chest. He shook his head.

“I can’t.” Julian said aloud, nervously turning the ring on his index finger. “I can’t.” His mind raced with thoughts…thoughts that stopped when he noticed something curious toward the rear of the room.

The door to the curio cabinet was open again.

Did you miss Chapter 1?  Read it here.