A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 31

Chapter 31
Morgana



This wasn't the first time Morgana had been free in the house.  Once before she'd gotten away from her cell in the attics and wandered the passages of Fallbridge Hall.  The first time, she had only been there a few days.  That pointy-nosed man--Quick--had been speaking to her, telling her about God and salvation and how fortunate she was to be in a "good" home and how blessed she was to have been given a chance by such "kindly" people.  She didn't care for that man, that Mr. Quick.  He wasn't as bad as Mr. Jackson, but he was still a terrible bother.

As Morgana hobbled about Fallbridge Hall, she recalled that first night of freedom.  She knew that they wondered if she could understand them.  The spoke to her as if she was a child or a deaf-mute.  She could understand them.  She knew quite well what Mr. Quick and Mr. Jackson were talking about when they spoke in hushed voices about their impending voyage to America, and she also knew they'd not been paying close enough attention when they secured her chains.

That had been the first time she'd gotten out.  Yes, she remembered it fondly.  Well--almost.    She recalled the sense of liberty fondly.  It was one of the only times in her life she'd been free.  

Morgana whimpered. 

How could she have known that the old housekeeper was going to react so badly?  Morgana just wanted the woman to be quiet.  How could she have known that holding someone's neck so tightly would kill them?  What had been her name?  Mrs Foster, that was it.  

And, then, when the man came at her, she had to defend herself.  He had been called William.  Morgana didn't want to kill him either, but she had to.

Morgana paused for a moment.  They had a new William now.  A different William.  The new one was nicer.  Why didn't they ever let him come to see her?  She only heard his voice through the door.

Why, Morgana wondered, did she only get to see Jackson, Ivy and that horrid Gregory?  Ivy was the best of the lot, and that wasn't saying much.  At least Ivy was gentle--sometimes.

She sniffed the air.  Who were all these new people?  The house was filled with new people.  What had they brought with them?  Food?  Pretty things?  Disease and fever?

Fever.

Morgana snorted.  She recalled how Jackson told Ivy that they'd say Mrs. Foster and the first William had died of fever.

Did these new people bring fever?

It had been a fever that had been responsible for making her this way.  Partly.

She sniffed again.  No, they smelled clean, good and clean.

Despite her screaming, the lady in the bed seemed very nice.  She was clean, and pretty, and she had on such a lovely sleeping gown.  Morgana had just wanted to touch her soft hair and skin.

The two men were pretty two.  The one with the dark brown hair had fine, broad shoulders and a sturdy torso.  His eyes were blue like she remembered the sky to be.  But, still, he was a doctor.  Doctors had to be watched out for.

What of the other man?  The one with the dark auburn hair?  His face was very kind and his eyes were warm.  He had a bit of a wild look to him, too.  He also looked strong, but not like he'd hurt a person.  And, he spoke so gently.  Could he be trusted?  The other two seemed to rely on his judgment.  They looked at him so fondly.

Maybe those three weren't bad.

But, there were others.

Morgana looked up.  She felt as though someone was watching her, looking at her, seeing her.

It was not a good feeling.  She tried to cover her face with her pincers.

She wanted to hide.

Who was looking at her?

She couldn't see anyone.

Where could she hide?

Looking around, Morgana realized she'd gotten to a part of the house in which she'd never been before.

A door.

She grasped the handle firmly between her pincers.

Oh...there was another girl.  Two girls.

Young, they were.  One younger than the other.

They were sleeping.  

One had light brown hair.  She was the younger one.  Freckles on her face.

The other was blonde.  Her hair reached only to her shoulders.  She was so beautiful.  The blankets had slipped off of her a little and Morgana could see her hands.  Such sweet hands--delicate, long fingers.  Pretty hands.

Morgana trembled.

She wanted hands like those.

Glancing over at the brown-haired girl, Morgana crept as quietly as she could toward the blonde.

Pity that the blonde started screaming as Morgana scooped her up.


Did you miss Chapters 1-30 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 32.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 31

Chapter 31:

Nasty Stuff, I Know

Gamilla flew into the dining room, panting, “Pardon me, Your Grace. Sir.”

“What’s happened?” Mr. Punch asked, rising from his chair.

“Charles done fell down the stairs,” Gamilla said.  “There’s blood.  We need Dr. Halifax.”

Robert quickly pushed his chair away from the table and followed Gamilla—Mr. Punch, Gerard and Speaight hurrying behind.

“Careful on the stairs, Sir.” Gamilla cautioned Dr. Halifax as he pushed open the door to the service staircase to see Charles in a crumpled heap below.

“Coo!” Punch muttered as he gazed down at Charles who was surrounded by a sobbing Jenny and a wailing Ethel as well as Violet and Tom, the young page, who stood back at a distance.  Mrs. Pepper could be heard shouting in the background.  “This is your fault, Ethel!  You careless thing…”

Robert carefully raced down the stairs.  “Ladies, please, stand back.”

“Girls…” Speaight said as he came further down the staircase.  “Please.  Jenny go to the kitchen and boil some water for rags.  Violet, would you clear a space by the fire for Charles?  Move the poof and the little table and put some cushions on the floor.  And, Ethel!  As for you, girl, you get to the scullery and wait for me!  I told you someone would hurt themselves on these wet stairs!”

As if on cue, Ethel’s wailing burst into nasty, snorting tears and she tore out of the passage, retreating to her scullery.

Robert gently stepped over Charles and knelt beside him on the stairs.  Mr. Punch hurried to the man’s other side, sitting on the step above the injured man.

“Charles, can you hear me?”  Robert asked softly.

“Yes,” Charles sputtered.  His nose was bloodied and a red stain grew on the white shirt-front of his livery.

“Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”

“My hand.” Charles whimpered.  “Well, really, my wrist, Sir.”

“Which one?” 

“Left, Sir.”

“Punch, can you help me get him to his feet?”  Robert asked.

Speaight looked around nervously.  The women had left to carry out the duties that Speaight had cleverly assigned them so that the Duke could speak freely. Only Tom lingered nearby and, Speaight thought, he was too dim to notice that the doctor had called His Grace by a different name.

“Tom!” Speaight barked, just to be sure, “Get out of the way, Boy.”

Tom shuffled off to one side.

Mr. Punch and Robert gently helped Charles to his feet.

“Now, hold him by the waist a moment,” Robert said calmly.  “Speaight, can you take his other side, please?”

“Yes, Sir.” Speaight nodded, joining them on the landing.

“Charles, I’m going to check your back for injuries.  If anything hurts you as I examine you, you must call out.  Yes?”  He paused to study Charles' eyes for signs of head injury.

“Steady on, mate,” Gerard called from over the railing.

“Are you ready?” Robert asked.

“Yes, Sir.” Charles replied softly.  He cringed as Robert ran his hands over his back, expecting there to be pain, but, thankfully, there was none.

“You’re a lucky man,” Robert smiled.  “Now then, let’s have a look at your wrist.  Come sit with me at Mrs. Pepper’s table.”

Punch and Speaight helped Charles to the kitchen table. 

“Thank you, Jenny,” Robert nodded as the girl placed a large bowl of hot water and a stack of flannels on the table.

Mrs. Pepper came out of the larder with a small plate of butter biscuits.  “I got a cup of tea for ya, too, Charlie.” She said sweetly.  “Jenny,” she added.  “Why don’t you go wait with Gamilla and Vi, then?”

Jenny nodded.

“Thank you,” Charles forced himself to smile.  “Thank you, Mrs. Pepper.”

“Poor lad,” Mrs. Pepper clucked her tongue.  “Let’s clean you up.  Can’t have you sittin’ there with blood on your face, getting’ all down your front.  May I, Dr. Halifax?”

“Yes, of course.” Robert smiled.  “In fact, would you look after him while I run upstairs to get my bag?”

“I can fetch it for you, Sir.” Gerard volunteered, still peering nervously over the railing.  “Is it in your study?”

“It is, Gerard,” Robert nodded.  “However, it’s in a locked cabinet.  I always lock it up.  Just habit.  But, especially with Colin crawling, we don’t need him getting into any medicines.”

He smiled at Charles.  “You sip your tea and let Mrs. Pepper take care of you.  I won’t be long and when I return, we’ll get that wrist set.”

“Yes, Sir.” Charles nodded.

“You’ll have to pardon me, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pepper began respectfully.  “This might not be somethin’ you wish to see.”

“I’d like to stay with Charles,” Punch replied, remembering to speak as Julian would. 

“You’re a good man, Your Grace,” Mrs. Pepper grinned.  “Most men of your rank and station wouldn’t care so much.”

“May I help?” Punch asked.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Mrs. Pepper nodded, wringing out a warm, wet cloth.  “You might help me get ‘im outta that waistcoat and shirt and collar.”

“No.” Charles shook his head.  “Not here.  Not with the girls around.  They might come in.”

“I’ll fix that.” Mrs. Pepper nodded, winking.  “Hold your ears, Your Grace.”

“I’ll speak with them…” Speaight began, but Mrs. Pepper narrowed her eyes at him and he backed off.

Mr. Punch squinted at Mrs. Pepper, but did as she said—placing his hands over his ears.  He wanted to giggle, but thought better of it.

“Girls!  Don’t you come in here now!  Stay out in the servants’ hall!  Charlie’s gonna take off his shirt.”

“Mrs. Pepper, I could have told them that.” Speaight muttered.

“Already done, Mr. Speaight.” Mrs. Pepper nodded proudly.

Punch helped Charles off with his waistcoat, shirt and bloodied collar as Mrs. Pepper dabbed at his bloody nose.

Gerard joined them and looked helplessly over Charles’ shoulder.

Punch wanted desperately to chatter soothingly at his friend, but knew he couldn’t with Mrs. Pepper there.  For a moment, he felt very self-conscious and noticed that Tom was peering around the corner of the kitchen door, staring at him.

Tapping Speaight on the elbow, Punch pointed to Tom.

“Here, boy!  Get out!” Speaight barked.  Tom skittered off, but not as far as Speaight thought.

“There you go, lad,” Mrs. Pepper smiled.  “All clean.  I ‘spect your nose is gonna be sore in the mornin’.  Hope it don’t swell.  I’ll go get ya somethin’ cool to put on it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pepper,” Punch smiled.

“No, thank you, Your Grace.  You’re not at all like other men of your station.  No, Sir, you’re so much kinder.  We’re so fortunate…” She continued to mutter as she wandered off to the larder in search of something cool for Charles.

Alone with Charles, Gerard and Speaight, Punch sighed with relief.  “Now, valet chum,” Punch said softly.  “My Robert’ll be back in jus’ a minute and he’’ll get ya all patched up, he will.”

“That’s right, Charlie,” Gerard nodded, patting his friend’s shoulder.  “You’re gonna be jus’ fine.  Just like Mr. Punch said.” 

Though he understood the momentary lack of formality, Speaight looked around nervously, making sure no one was listening.   He should have, however, taken a moment to peer around the corner of the service opening to the kitchen where Tom was crouched.

“We’re all gonna make sure you’re not in no pain, Charles.” Mr. Punch continued.

“I really am all right, Mr. Punch,” Charles responded—unware that Tom was still lurking around the corner, listening to every word.  “Don’t fuss over me.”

“Ain’t fussin’.  We’re all in this together, we are.” Punch nodded.  “Besides, gonna need ya to get well.”

“Sir?”

“Can’t dress me-self.” Punch teased.

Charles smiled slightly.

“And, we’re gonna need ya at Colin’s christenin’.  Right? After all, it were you what came up with one of his names.”

“Yes, Sir.” Charles finally grinned.

A frightened gasp interrupted the moment.  Punch, Speaight and Charles looked up to see Ellen leaning over the railing of the service stairs.  “Bless my soul!  What’s happened?”

“My shirt…” Charles whispered as Ellen came down the stairs and around the pillars into the kitchen.

“Charles took a tumble on the slick stairs, Miss Barrett,” Punch explained.  “Only he’s gonna be fine, he is.  Ain’t no reason to worry.”  Punch wrapped Charles’ bloody shirt around the man’s bare shoulders. 

The sight of the blood made Ellen gasp again.  She staggered backward.  Gerard hurried to her side, placing his arm around her shoulders.  “Steady on, Miss Ellen.”

“I’ve always been made queasy by…”  Ellen panted.

“Take her out to the hall,” Speaight nodded at Gerard.

“Come on, then.” Gerard said cheerfully as he guided Ellen out of the kitchen.  He was so focused on the woman, he didn’t see Tom duck behind the orange crates in the corner.

Gamilla watched as Gerard helped Ellen over to the fire.  Gamilla, for a moment, could feel the blood rising in her face.  She clenched her hands into fists, and, then, she felt terribly guilty.  Nevertheless, the sight of Gerard with his arm around Ellen had bothered her terribly.  She felt ashamed of herself for being jealous—especially of the woman who’d so quickly become her dear friend, the woman who stopped in the middle of a personal crisis to bring her flowers.

“What’s wrong, Miss?” Gamilla asked quickly, trying to cover her brief moment of jealous anger.

“She saw the blood on Charles and it made her feel a bit sick is all,” Gerard winked.

“Come sit by me, Miss.” Gamilla said gently, helping Gerard seat the woman in Speaight’s comfortable chair.

They looked up as Robert trotted into the room with his large, black leather doctor’s bag.  He immediately went into the kitchen.

“You’re looking better already,” Robert said cheerfully.  It was at that moment when Charles realized why Dr. Halifax had quickly become such a popular physician in Belgravia. 

“Charles,” Robert continued.  “I’m going to set your wrist with this stiff bit of board and some bandages.  Keeping it still will allow it to heal properly.  And, then, I’m going to give you a draft of this suspension which will help kill the pain.”

“I couldn’t, Sir.” Charles shook his head as Robert withdrew a yellow bottle from his bag.  “I’m not good with those things. They don’t set well with me.  I don’t have the stomach for them.”

“This is mild enough.  It will help you.  You must do it, Charles.”

“It doesn’t hurt too badly, Sir.” Charles winced.

“Come on, then,” Punch whispered.  “Do as he says.  It’ll be all right.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Charles sighed.

Robert winked at Punch and pointed to a large spoon which Punch handed to him.  Robert poured a bit of the medicine into the spoon and held it up to Charles’ mouth.  “I think maybe we’ll start with this.  It’ll make the setting of your wrist easier on you.”

Charles’ nose tickled from the scent of the medicine, but he swallowed it all the same, shuddering as the mixture trickled down his throat.

“It’s nasty stuff, I know.” Robert smiled.

Charles nodded.

Robert began to look around the kitchen.

“Do you need something, Sir?” Speaight asked.

“Scissors.”

“Uhhh…” Speaight squinted.  “There must be some in the servants’ hall.”  He walked to the kitchen entrance and peered out in the hall.  “Tom!  Bring us a scissors, then.”

“Tom ain’t here, Mr. Speaight.” Gerard answered.  “But, I’ll bring ‘em.”

“Where’d Tom go?”  Speaight asked.

“Dunno, Mr. Speaight,” Jenny shrugged from her spot by the fire.  “Saw him slip out the area door jus’ a few minutes ago.”

“Maybe, he done went to bed, Sir.  He’s just a boy.” Gamilla suggested.

“Maybe.” Speaight sighed, brightening a bit as Gerard handed him the scissors.  Before going back into the kitchen, Speaight paused to peer at the window which looked out onto the area—that space below street level which was accessed by the exterior service stairs.  He couldn’t see Tom.  Muttering irritably, Speaight returned to the kitchen.

Little did Speaight know, Tom hadn’t just slipped out to go to his bed above the stable in the mews.  He’d gone out to meet his mother and did so with a happy heart—knowing that he had all sorts of things to tell her of the Duke who was called “Mr. Punch.”

“There’s me Tommy…” Eudora Stover grinned as Tom met her in the mews.  “What ya got for your mama tonight?”

Tom took a yellow pear from his pocket and offered the fruit to his mother.

“What else?” Eudora asked her son.  “You know what I want.  What news have ya got?”

“All sorts, Ma,” Tom grinned.  “All sorts.”

Did you miss Chapters 1-30 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 32—a very special chapter, indeed!

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 31

Punch grinned broadly as he and Robert hurried down the narrow staircase to the row of spartan cabins on the deck below. Unadorned compared to the passage where Julian’s cabin sat, this corridor yawned in grim, metallic dissatisfaction. The smell of tobacco and gin permeated the whole of the passageway. The aroma made Robert’s eyes water.


Robert glanced back at his companion, catching the bright twinkle of glee that Punch projected through Julian’s velvety, brown eyes.

“You’re looking rather pleased with yourself.” Robert said cautiously.

“Pleased as Punch.” Punch responded in Julian’s voice, adding his own brand of laughter to the end of the sentence.

Robert groaned.

“Come on, then,” Punch guffawed, “you know I’d have to say it eventually. And why shouldn’t I be pleased with me-self?”

Robert chose not to answer that.

“It’s not like Julian’s ever happy with his-self.” Punch continued to mutter. “Seems to me that one of us should have a little pride.”

“You may want to settle down a tad, Punch, old chap.” Robert warned the creature which walked on Julian’s legs beside him.

“Maybe I will. I want what I want, Doctor. And, I aim to get it.”

As they strode through the passage, they heard, from within one of the cabins, the faint cry of a baby.

Punch shuddered. “Don’t like babies, I don’t. Droolin’ little buggers—all wet and hungry.”

“As I recall, you’re not fond of infants, no.” Robert nodded, remembering all of the times he’d seen Mr. Punch in puppet shows in the park—committing horrific acts of infanticide before beating his puppet-wife with unparalleled glee. Robert paused, suddenly filled with dread. What was he doing? Who was he dealing with? Surely, no matter how suppressed, some of Julian’s sensibilities would be present even if Mr. Punch was the prominent persona. Surely!

“Does anyone else think it’s kind of funny that Julian’s sister went and got herself with child?” Punch asked.

“Funny how?” Robert asked.

“All them folks at Fallbridge Hall—all of ‘em ‘cept Julian—they’re so hungry and greedy. Just like babies themselves. Makes me what to smack the whole lot of ‘em.”

“You can’t do that.” Robert said firmly.

“Can if I want.” Punch grumbled.

“Only it’s not so easy once they’re grown. A baby, it don’t know what’s coming. Little boys do. Little boys know what’s comin’. They trust the big people to help ‘em. Only the big people don’t help. No, they don’t. They only worry about what’s gonna hurt them.”

Suddenly, Robert became overwhelmed by fear. “This must be what Julian feels, each and every moment,” he thought to himself. “How dreadful for him.”

Robert gently pushed Mr. Punch against the wall of the passage. He had a great desire to put his arms around this thing that looked so much like Julian, hoping that, once again, the warmth of his touch could return Julian to him. But, he knew he dared not.

“Here! What’re you doin’?”

“Listen to me, Mr. Punch.” Robert said plainly. “We are two men on a mission. We cannot be diverted from it.”

“Ain’t a man.” Punch grinned.

“You are!” Robert hissed. “Your mind may not be, but you are in the body of a man!”

“Me head!” Punch moaned. “Me head is split and empty.”

“Stop it!” Robert ordered.

Punch’s eyes widened in animal satisfaction. “Givin’ me orders, are ya?”

“Yes.” Robert put his hands on Julian’s shoulders.

“You want to be avenged for whatever harm has been done to you. Yes?”

“Yes.” Punch nodded Julian’s head.

“You want to see that the people who ‘split your head’ are brought to justice. Similarly, you want to ensure that Julian is avenged for whatever it is that’s been done to him. Yes?”

“Yes.” Punch whispered.

“We want to do all of that and return Lady Barbara from the clutches of that wicked woman who so abused my brother’s wife. That and we want to ensure that Julian can be free to live a life of his own—doing what he loves.”

“I ‘spose.” Punch answered.

“Our goals are legion! Too many to leave them to chance and sloppiness. We must execute this with dignity and calm. Do you understand?”

“I do.” Punch winked. “Only you said ‘execute.’”

“Miss Rittenhouse’s cabin is there.” Robert pointed, letting go of Julian’s shoulders. “We shall go now and do this and you will follow my example and speak the words we agreed upon—as His Lordship would.”

“I ‘spose you’ll be wanting to have me call you, ‘Master’ now.”

“No. Julian is your master. And, don’t you ever forget it.” Robert answered forcefully.

“I’m me own master.” Punch mumbled.

Robert narrowed his eyes.

“Very well,” Punch shook his head, answering in Julian’s voice. “Let us, forthwith, pay our respects to the lady.”

“Good.” Robert grunted.

They walked a few yards further and Robert knocked on the narrow door of the cabin.

Nanny Rittenhouse opened the door quickly, as if she had been standing in front of it waiting for them.

They entered. The cabin smelled of roses.

Without her hat and veil, Robert could see the woman’s face clearly for the first time. Her countenance was quilted with the lines of pain and worry. Her steely eyes, shrouded beneath valances of crepe-like skin, had no luster. A “V’ of crags pinched her forehead just above the sharpness of her nose. Topped with an upswept mass of gray curls, she had the look of a decayed paper cone of sugar-dusted sweets.

“Your Lordship,” She bowed her head toward Julian, “Dr. Halifax, I was most surprised to receive your message.”

“Well, then, Miss Rittenhouse,” Robert said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, “It would have been rude of us not to pay a call on a woman who figured so prominently in Lord Julian’s upbringing.”

“My friend is most correct,” Punch added in Julian’s manner. “We have so much about which to reminisce.”

“Yes,” The nanny responded nervously.

“You know, Nanny,” Punch continued. “I can’t help but notice your scent. Every year at the Hall, just as the roses are fading and their aroma is thick throughout the gardens, I do think of you.”

“Oh, well, Sir.” The nanny nodded.

“I understand that you also took care of young Lady Barbara when she was a girl?” Robert asked.

“I did. Ah, but she was a beautiful and headstrong lass.”

“You mentioned earlier,” Robert began, “that you knew of Lady Barbara leaving Fallbridge Hall to set sail for America. In fact, you mentioned that you saw her on the docks as we departed.”

“Yes, sir.” The nanny nodded. “I shouldn’t have said that. You know as one ages, her mind plays tricks on her. I must have had Lady Barbara in my thoughts and seeing a similarly lovely woman put me in mind of young Barbara. I regret mentioning it. My deepest apologies for bothering you with it. Sometimes, even I, can be influenced by the idle chatter of people around me. That’s been weighing on my mind ever since I said it. I’m so glad that you have come here today so that I might offer my sincere apology for having uttered such nonsense.” She spoke quickly and with considerable effort.

“So, you’re saying you should have kept your observation a secret?” Punch asked, though his tone and cadence was still that of Lord Fallbridge.

Robert looked at him cautiously.

Punch continued despite his friend’s warning. “Doctor, you see, nannies, by their general nature are very good at keeping secrets. That’s part of their craft. Or, craftiness, I should say.”

“Whatever do you mean, Sir?” Nanny Rittenhouse asked, her withered gray of her cheeks soaking in the pinkish hue of anxiety.

“Don’t you recall?” Punch asked, still impersonating Julian.

“Well, of course, you and I had our little secrets when you were a boy. Like the time that you broke the handle on the vase in the drawing room. Or, when you would sneak extra teacakes from the server.”

Punch raised Julian’s hand and reached into his coat.

Robert noticed the glint of the paperknife’s cool silver.

“Yes, dear, dear Nanny, many secrets.” Punch continued, the harsh sound of his own voice creeping into his speech. “So many secrets. Bleedin’ many…”

“It’s only natural,” Robert said, casually walking toward Punch/Julian, “that growing up, a nanny and her ward would have some small confidences.”

Robert hooked his arm around Punch’s.

“You know,” Robert said quickly, “you did a fine job raising this man. I’ve grown awfully fond of him.”

Using the strength of one arm, Robert pressed firmly against Julian’s elbow.

The paperknife clattered to the floor of the cabin.

“Oh, dear, what is that?” Nanny Rittenhouse exclaimed.

“Don’t you know?” Punch asked, his own voice clear as day, “You are familiar with all manner of knives, aren’t you?”



Did you miss Chapters 1-30? If so, you can read them here.