A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 32

Chapter 32
Fetch It


"Gerry!"  Gamilla stood up.

"What is it, Love?"

"Honey, she's got Vi!"

"That woman does?  Are ya sure, Love?"  Gerard asked.

"Yes."

"Lock the door behind me."  Gerard said.  "Don't let no one but His Grace or one of our own folks in."

"I won't."  Gamilla nodded.  

"I'm gonna come back as soon as I can.  But, I'm gonna send Georgie back to stay with ya.  So..."  Gerard began nervously.

"I'll open the door for him.  Honey, but ya gotta go to Vi."

"Not sure I can find her room."  Gerard shook his head.  "I don't know this place."

"You remember where Miss Lennie's room is?"

"Just down from His Grace's and His Lordship's."  Gerard nodded.

"Go to Miss Lennie's.  They're all in there.  Tell the masters and they'll guide ya to where Vi's and Maudie's room is. Hurry!"

"Has that thing hurt our Vi?"

"I don't know, Gerry."  Gamilla said quickly.  "But, I saw Vi's face.  I saw her screamin'.  That's why ya gotta go."

"Right."  Gerard leaned in and kissed his wife.  "I love you, 'Milla."

"I love you, too.  Now, you be safe.  Come back to me fast and see that our Violet is well."  Gamilla embraced him.

Gerard hurried from the room, waited to hear the click of the lock behind him and rushed to Lennie's suite.  

Once there, he knocked once before entering.  Gerard gasped when he saw Jackson still prostrate on the floor.

"Ah, Gerard."  Mr. Punch looked up.  "I've just dismissed the butler."

"Did ya kill 'im Your Grace?"  Gerard asked.

"Not yet."  Lennie answered for her brother.  

"Where is Gamilla?  Who is with Colin?"  Punch asked.

"Gamilla is in the nursery.  She and Dog Toby are with Colin.  I heard her lock the door behind me.  It's my wish to send George back to stay with her for protection."

"You think a boy can protect them?"  Jackson growled.

Lennie frowned.  "Jackson has just been telling us about another resident of the house.  One that he failed to mention when we arrived."

"The woman that His Grace warned us of?"  Gerard scowled.

"Yes."  Robert answered.  "Gerard is there trouble?"

Jackson  coughed and looked up.  "I hope she murders the lot of you."

"That's enough from you, old man!"  Gerard lunged forward.  

Jackson whimpered.

"You'll leave this house wrapped in calico if you speak like that again."  Gerard growled.

"That's the only way I'll leave."  Jackson hissed.

"Gerard,"  Lennie whispered.  "Don't bother with him.   He is utterly impossible.  Tell us...what's happened?"  

"Well, ya know how...Gamilla, she can see things."  Gerard began.

"Her visions."  Robert nodded.

"She said she saw that woman what Your Grace told us 'bout..."

"Morgana."  Punch said.

"It's got a name?"  Gerard raised his eyebrows.

Punch nodded. 

"Tell your beloved footman the rest, Duke of Fallbridge!"  Jackson howled.

"She's somehow related to me, or so Jackson has claimed."  Punch nodded.  "There's no evidence of that, per se.  Right now, all I believe is that she's called Morgana."

"Well, whatever she's called...she's got Violet.  Only I don't remember how to get to where Vi's room is."

"Violet!"  Lennie gasped.

"I can take you there."  Punch started for the door.

"We shall all go."  Robert followed.  "Come, Lennie.  We're not leaving you."

"What of Jackson?"  Lennie asked.

"He's coming with us."  Robert commanded.

"I thought I was dismissed, you Mary-ann."  Jackson spat, crawling to a spitting position.

"You're dismissed when we're finished with you."  Robert grabbed the old man's arm, pulling him up.

"Surely you must know a way to subdue Morgana."  Punch pleaded.

"I might."  Jackson sneered.

"Well?"  Lennie demanded.

"Why should I tell you?"  Jackson snarled.  "You're nothing!  I take my orders from Her Grace!"

"She's dead, you mad beast!"  Robert shouted.

"To you, perhaps."  Jackson retorted.

"Listen to me."  Robert clutched Jackson by the shoulders.  "How can we subdue Morgana?" Robert shook the man.

"The jar of heads!"  Jackson rattled.

"What?"  Robert shook his head.

"It's downstairs.  It's the only thing to which she'll respond."  Jackson said coyly.

"Fetch it.  Whatever it is."  Punch ordered, "And, then, join us at the old Huntsmen's quarters where you so conveniently put my staff."

"Fetch it?"  Jackson smiled.

"Yes!  Now!"  Robert shouted.  "We don't have time for debate!"

"Yes.  I'll fetch it now."  Jackson nodded.


Did you miss Chapters 1-31 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 33.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 32

Chapter 32:

Pour l'éternité   

Mr. Punch murmured, “Sure, puppy dogs.  I will like to pet your soft fur.”

Robert looked down at his sleeping companion who was contentedly dreaming, it seemed, about puppies.

“Nice puppies.” Punch muttered again in his sleep.

Robert chuckled, scratching his shoulder through his nightshirt, and propped himself up on a stack of pillows.  He reached over and stroked Mr. Punch’s hair, using his fingers to brush the long auburn strands from off of the man’s smooth forehead.

Punch snorted and opened his eyes into squinty slits.  “Where’d them puppies go?” He whispered.

“Back to dream-land.  Dog Toby’s here though.  Robert smiled, pointing to the foot of the bed where the terrier was curled up, snoring.

“Mornin’, Chum.”  Punch mumbled sleepily.

“Good morning.”  Robert nodded.

Punch opened one eye a little wider.  “Here, you stay in here all night, did ya?”

“I did.” Robert grinned.

“You—you who’s always makin’ such a fuss ‘bout havin’ to sleep in your own room ‘less Charles comes in and sees ya here in the mornin’ like he and Gerard don’t already know that you sleep in here?”  Punch rambled groggily.

“I changed my mind.” Robert shrugged.

“Good,” Punch snorted, burying his head in his pillows.  “Like when you do.  You always should.”  He closed his eyes and grinned broadly.  “There was puppies in me dream.  Lots and lots of ‘em.  All white, they were—with fine pointy ears.  Good puppies.  All of ‘em soft and smellin’ good.”

“I’m glad.” Robert chuckled.

“I were terrible sleepy.” Punch rubbed his eyes. 

“You must have been.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep that much—not since the night of the stable fire in Louisiana.”

“Cooooo…” Punch moaned.  “I forgot ‘bout that.  Hurt me-self, I did—and for what?  Tryin’ to get that terrible Iolanthe Evangeline woman outta there.  Shoulda left her to burn.”

“But, you didn’t.  And, you couldn’t.  For as awful as she was, you’re that kind.”

Mr. Punch mumbled something that Robert couldn’t understand and rolled over again.

“What was that, dear Punch?”

“Huh?”  Punch muttered.  “Dunno.  Puppies, I think.”

“Yes, Punch.  Puppies.”

“Bugger.” Punch laughed, sitting up.  “I gotta wake me-self up, I gotta.  Ain’t like me to be so tired.  Don’t usually need as much sleep as you do.”

“You are human, dear Punch.”

“Seems so.” Mr. Punch giggled.  “Never saw it comin.’”

“Go on,” Robert pressed gently on Punch’s shoulder.  “Lie back down and rest.”

“Nah—gotta get up.  Gotta go check on Charles.”

“I’m sure he’s still sleeping.  That opiate I gave him for the pain of his broken wrist is quite powerful.  I suspect he’ll be down all day.  And, I told Gerard, before we retired, not to come up until I rang today.  Miss Barrett is with Colin and we have nothing which requires our urgent attention.”

“Here, chum,” Mr. Punch smiled, “what’s got into ya, today?  Ain’t like you to want to lie ‘bout.”

“I wanted to spend a little peaceful time with you today.”

“Oh?”

“It is a special occasion, after all.”

“Is it?” Punch frowned.  “Did I miss somethin’?  Is it Easter?”

“No.” Robert laughed.

“Bank ‘oliday?”

“It should be, but, no.” Robert winked.

“Why should it be?  What’s special about today?”  He counted on his fingers.  “It’s just March 23.”

“Yes.” Robert nodded pointedly.

“And?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Nope.” Punch shook his head.

“Thirty-nine years ago today, you were born.”

“I was?” Punch’s eyes widened.

“Yes.”

“Oh!” Punch giggled.  “You mean Julian were born today!  That’s it…it’s the anniversary of Julian’s birth!”

“Your birth, too.”

“Is it?” Punch tilted his head to one side.  “I weren’t born like a people.  I just…well…I just appeared in Julian’s body.”

“Without Julian’s body, there’d be no Punch.  So, it’s your birthday, too.”

“I never thought of it.” Mr. Punch sighed.  “I ‘spose you’re right.  Still, it ain't really Mr. Punch's anniversary.  See, in that book what you gave me—it said that Punch were first seen by Samuel Pepys in Covent Garden in May of 1662.  That were a long time ‘go.”  He sighed.  “I went and confused me-self.”

“That was the puppet Mr. Punch—not the man.  Not this wonderful man who has taken me into his home, into his life, into his heart.  You’re no puppet.  Maybe you’re called ‘Punch’ and maybe you have a good many Punch-like characteristics.  But, remember, you’re Punch’s cousin—not the wooden-headed, red-nosed bloke himself.  Not now.”

“I really ain’t a puppet no more.” Mr. Punch smiled. 

“No.” Robert put his arm around his companion.  “I can attest that you’re not.”

Mr. Punch chuckled.  “Never had a birthday before.”

“Well, it’s high time that you did, I think.”

“And, thirty-nine, huh?”

“Yes.” 

“That’s kinda old, ain’t it?”

“Not at all.”  Robert smiled.  “Of course, no matter what, I’ll always be younger than you.”

“By two little years.” Mr. Punch frowned playfully.  “Here, you gotta be nice.  It’s me birthday, it seems.”

“It certainly is.”

“Will you sing to me?” Punch asked, wide-eyed.

“I will—‘For He’ a Jolly Good Fellow.’  Not just me—the entire household.  Speaight, Mrs. Pepper and I have been plotting, you see.  We’ve got a whole scheme.  There’s to be a party.”

“A party?”

“That’s right.  You and me and Colin and the staff.  We’re going to have all of your favorite things to eat and Mrs. Pepper has made you a grand, tiered cake.”

“Coo!” Mr. Punch chirped, his eyes filling with happy tears.  He choked a bit.  “A whole cake?  For me?  A cake in my honor?”

Robert wiped the warm tears from Punch’s cheeks.  “Of course, dear Punch.”

“Only…only I don’t deserve no such thing!” Punch sniffed, his tears flowing more heavily.  “I ain’t nothin’ special, I ain’t.  We should have a party for you—maybe, or Colin.  Or even Gerry or Charles, but not for me.”

“You most certainly do deserve it!” Robert said firmly.  “I don’t think you realize how special you are.  Can’t you see how every person in this house loves you?  Me and Colin most of all!”

Punch shook his head.  “Here, what’s gotten into me?  Cryin’ like this.”  He smiled.  “Only I never had a party for me-self nor even me very own cake.  Julian didn’t neither.  See, the duchess didn’t care for such things.  Our pa—he’d bring in presents and sneak ‘em past.  Only…”

“Now you shall.  And every year for the rest of our lives you shall.  I swear it.” Robert interrupted.

“You remember the other day when we went to Covent Garden to see the puppet show?” Punch mumbled.

“I do.” Robert smiled.

“Well, did ya see that nice lady with the blue eyes and the dark hair all pulled-back pretty under her bonnet?”

“The woman with the little boy?”

“Sure.” Punch nodded, his eyes filling with tears again.

“She were so nice to that boy.  She was smilin’ and playin’ with him and laughin’ at Punch and Judy.  And, she…”  Punch choked on his words.

“She had treats for him.” Robert nodded, crying a bit himself.  “She had a paper cone of sweeties.”

“Sure.” Mr. Punch sniffed.  “Why couldn’t we have had a ma like that?”

“I don’t know.” Robert coughed.  “Cecil and I didn’t either.  That’s why it’s all the more important that you and I do little things like this to celebrate our family.  That’s why we should sing ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ and eat cake and enjoy ourselves and that’s why we should do the same for Colin.  We’ve all earned it, I think.”

Mr. Punch wiped his eyes.  “Sure, Chum.”  He smiled.  “We’re a mess, we are.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Robert laughed.  He reached under the blanket and removed a small, grass-colored, shagreen box.  “I’ve gotten you a present.”

“Is it a toy?”  Punch asked brightly.

“No.” Robert laughed.

“You always get me little toys.” Punch winked.

“Well, yes, on a Tuesday or on a Saturday, but not on a special day like this.” Robert teased his companion.

“What is it, then?”

“Well, you’ll just have to open it.”  Robert nodded, offering the box to Punch.  But, then, he quickly pulled it back as Punch reached for it.

“Coo!” Punch squawked.  “Don’t tease me.”

“Before I give this to you, I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“I was…naughty.”

“How so?”

“Well, I had no choice but to go to one of your competitors.”

“Pardon?”

“I couldn’t very well commission you to design your own birthday present.”

“What is it?”

“So, I had to see a man at Garrard’s.”

“What is it?”  Punch repeated more excitedly.

Robert handed the box to Punch who ran his fingers over the bumpy texture of the shagreen.

“Can you ‘magine this is the skin o’ somethin’?” Punch mumbled.

“The box isn’t the present.” Robert laughed.

“Right, sorry.” Punch giggled.

“Go on—open it.” Robert urged.

“Never had a birthday present ‘fore.”  Punch chirped.

Robert nodded.

Mr. Punch opened the box and his eyes lit up when he saw what it held.  Inside was a band of gold set with several glittering gemstones.

“A diamond, an emerald, an amethyst, a ruby, another emerald, a sapphire and a turquoise.” Punch said softly, clearly moved by the gift.

“Dearest.” Robert smiled.  “The first letter of each stone…they spell ‘DEAREST.’”

Punch swallowed hard.  “This is for me?”

“Yes.” Robert smiled.

“Can I wear it?”  Punch asked emotionally.

“That was rather the point.” Robert answered.

Punch studied the ring.  “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Robert sniffed contentedly.  “Look inside the band.” 

Mr. Punch took the ring from the box and held it up to the morning light streaming through the window.  “There’s writin’.”

“I had it inscribed.”

Punch read the inscription aloud.  “P.M.  Pour l'éternité   R.H.H.  23 Mar. 1853.”

“Do you like it?”

“I never liked nothin’ more than I like this.  It’s the finest thing, Chum…”

Robert took the ring from Mr. Punch and slipped it on his companion’s left third finger.

“And, there’s gonna be a cake!” Mr. Punch whooped.

“A glorious cake,” Robert laughed loudly, hugging his friend.  “All you want.”

Did you miss Chapters 1-31?  If so, you can read them in the Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square Chapter Archive.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 33. 

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 32

“Whatever do you mean, Lord Fallbridge?” Nanny Rittenhouse asked, trembling.


“Me name is Molliner!” Punch spat.

“Julian, Sir,” Robert interrupted. “Now you’ve had your fun, but perhaps it isn’t kind to tease Miss Rittenhouse so.”

Punch growled, “I ain’t teasin’ no one.” He bent down to reach for the paperknife, but Robert stopped him by clamping a strong hand on Julian’s shoulder.

“Oh, Sir.” The woman blushed. “You’re playing that little game you used to play as a boy.”

“Ain’t no game.” Punch hissed.

“Isn’t this a memory?” Miss Rittenhouse fanned herself with her hands. “He always enjoyed make believe when he was a lad. Ever since he first saw the ‘Punch and Judy’ shows at Covent Garden. Oh, yes, how he loved to pretend to be Mr. Punch. It’s very sweet of you to remind me of your little follies.”

“Who’s pretendin’?” Punch retorted.

“Yes, he used to love those puppets. His father even bought him one. I would take him to the Punch shows each time we were in London.” Miss Rittenhouse rattled on.

“’Ceptin’ that one time. Yes? Remember the one time?” Punch howled.

“Julian, now, that’s enough.” Robert said firmly.

“I didn’t do nothin’!” Punch shouted. “I didn’t do nothin’!” Again, he bent down for the paperknife—again, stopped by Robert. “Cut, I was—cut in two. Torn and split, and…” Punch grasped Julian’s head in his hands and shuddered.

“That’s just what he did as a boy.” The nanny fluttered about.

The ink that blotted Julian’s eyes dissipated, and soon, he became aware of being in an unfamiliar place. Robert put his arm around Julian’s waist to support him. As if he were walking directly into the sun, the light in the cabin burned both Julian’s eyes and his mind. A spasm rocked Julian’s body.

“I’m dizzy.” Julian mumbled—back to the surface of his own thoughts.

“You’ve gone and gotten yourself overexcited.” Nanny Rittenhouse said sharply. “You were always doing that.”

Julian looked up at Robert who subtly shook his head. Lord Fallbridge straightened his back and distributed his weight on his own feet.

“You’ve dropped your paperknife, old chum.” Robert said, reaching down and picking up the icy silver object. He tucked it into his own pocket. “You must have absent-mindedly put it in your coat before you and I came down here to pay a call to your former nanny.” Robert spoke slowly, but casually, hoping that Julian would be comforted to be informed of his surroundings. The doctor knew instantly when Mr. Punch had retreated and Julian had returned. He had been learning to tell when the change had taken place, and hoped to discover what patterns triggered the transformation.

“Of course,” Julian responded with an eerie calm.

“You must forgive me, Nanny.” Julian continued. “I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you.” Julian rubbed his forehead as he sifted through the empty crate of his memory. The last thing he recalled was being alone with Robert and learning that someone else—something else—shared his body with him.

“You see, Miss Rittenhouse.” Robert spoke up. “Lord Fallbridge has been under a great deal of strain.”

“Sure he has,” The woman nodded, “He never did like to travel—not even a carriage ride to the city.”

“No, it’s not merely that.” Robert shook his head. “His Lordship received some unsettling and tragic news.”

“My father.” Julian said slowly. “I’m sad to say—the reality of it…it hasn’t even fully struck me—has been…” Julian gagged.

“Sir Collin Molliner has been murdered.” Robert finished the sentence.

“They didn’t?” Miss Rittenhouse gasped. “Tell me they didn’t.”

“Who didn’t?” Julian raised his eyebrows.

“I…” The nanny trembled. “I don’t…just… Oh! What horrible news. The poor, poor man. And Her Grace! How must she be taking this? With Barbara so far away…”

“Sir Collin was attacked by thieves, it seems.” Robert explained. “Jewels which he had just purchased had been taken.”

“He was in France?” The nanny asked.

“Yes.” Julian nodded. “How did you know?”

“You must have told me. Must have done.” The nanny stammered. “My condolences, Sir, to you and your Lady Mother.”

“Thank you.” Julian nodded.

Miss Rittenhouse began to sob.

Robert looked anxiously at Julian who nervously twisted the ring on his left hand.

“We’d best take our leave. My apologies for coming with such tragic tidings.” Robert said.

“Oh, oh.” The nanny rocked back and forth.

“Do call on me if you need anything.” Robert said. “I am in Cabin Twenty-Three.”

“I will, Sir.” Miss Rittenhouse coughed through her tears. “I just can’t believe it.”

With that, Julian and Robert slipped quietly out into the passage, quietly shutting the cabin door behind them.

“That didn’t go quite as I planned.” Robert sighed.

“What exactly are we doing?” Julian asked softly.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Robert patted Julian’s back. “Let’s just get you back to the floor above.”

“I’d like some air first if you don’t mind. My mind is still foggy.” Julian said.

“Very well, we’ll go on deck.” Robert said, gently pushing Julian toward the stairs.

“He was out again, then?” Julian asked as they walked. “The thing that lives in me? The thing that calls himself, ‘Punch.’”

“He doesn’t just call himself, ‘Punch.’ He is ‘Punch.’ He thinks and acts just as Punch would.” Robert answered gently.

“That paperknife?” Julian asked. “Was he going to…”

“I think he intended to use it for more than opening letters.” Robert smiled. “However, I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

“Isn’t this splendid?” Julian sighed as they reached the deck. “Not only am I possessed by a demon, he’s a murderous demon.”

“I don’t think he means to be murderous.” Robert said thoughtfully. “I don’t think it occurs to him that mortals are subject to death. Here’s something I never thought I’d say. But, he thinks as a puppet would. If a puppet could think. He has no sense of mortality, being immortal himself. How many times has Mr. Punch murdered his child and beaten his wife only to have them come back again an hour later? He doesn’t realize that the human condition is more permanent.”

“That doesn’t absolve me from the responsibility of what he does.” Julian leaned against the rail.

“That’s why you have me to make sure he doesn’t do anything.” Robert responded fondly.

“I don’t understand.” Julian shook his head.

“How could you? You have no memory or awareness of what Punch does.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Julian drew in a deep breath. “Why? Why are you suffering through this with me? You say we’re bonded because you also know great pain and tragedy. But, there must be more. No one is going to stand by and counsel and protect some lunatic puppet-man without expecting something in return.”

Robert chuckled. “You’re not a lunatic puppet-man. Julian, are you asking if I’m mercenary in my loyalty?”

“Are you?” Julian asked.

Before Robert could respond, a group of rough looking men passed by and guffawed at Julian. They must have remembered him from the scene at the Guignol show. They were followed at a close distance by a man dressed in black livery—his skin the color of sun-kissed earth.

He paused in front of Julian and Robert and smiled—his teeth large and white against the darkness of his skin.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” The man said in a polished voice with an unfamiliar accent.

“Good day,” Robert nodded.

“I have something you may be wantin’” The man said, reaching into his coat and withdrawing a small red felt satchel which was tied at the top with crimson ribbon.

“We’re not interested in buying anything,” Robert answered dismissively.

“No, Sir.” The man laughed. “This is a gift. Made by Marie Laveau from the direction of the gods.”

“We don’t want it.” Robert said sternly.

“But, it’s made for you.” The man looked at Julian. “It’s made for the ‘Great Man of the Rocks.’ I’m to give it to you.”

“Get away.” Robert stepped forward.

“You can’t deny it, Sir.” The man ignored Robert. “It’s for you.” He pushed the sack into Julian’s hand. “You’re the ‘Great Man of the Rocks.’ We knew of your coming. You are two men in one. One soft, one hard.”

Julian clutched the small bag in his hand. “What is it?”

“Gris-gris.” The man smiled. “It’ll tell you what it wants you to do.”

“Your Lordship,” Robert said to Julian, turning his back to the stranger. “Let us, please, return to the cabin. And, for God’s sake, give that thing back to…”

When Robert turned around the man was gone.

Julian held the sack in the outstretched palm of his hand. “It’s the color of Punch’s cap.”


Did you miss Chapters 1-31?  If so, you can read them here.