Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 343

Chapter 343
Intentions


"I say, Your Grace."  Matthew smiled as he entered the drawing room of No. 65.  "I hope I've not made a nuisance of myself.  Seems I take my meals here more than I do in my own home these days."

"Not at all,"  Punch shook his head.  "After these last weeks, it would seem odd, it would, for you to not be at table with us for dinner."

Matthew smiled.

Mr. Punch, over the last two weeks, had gradually let Matthew hear his natural speaking voice and mannerisms.  Eventually, Lennie, Robert and Punch had taken Matthew aside, after a satisfying and comforting dinner especially prepared by Mrs. Pepper for the Earl's particular enjoyment, and explained that Punch was one body comprised of the minds of several different men.  They feared that Matthew would be nonplussed by the news, but, surprisingly, the gentleman simply nodded and said, "how terribly noisy it must be for you."  He then asked for a brandy and picked up the conversation as if he'd simply just been told that Punch had a tendency to developing canker sores.

"When I walked up just now,"  Matthew continued, taking a chair across from Punch, I thought I caught a whiff of a roast of beef coming from your downstairs.

"You got a fine nose on ya,"  Punch grinned.  "Mrs. Pepper's made a roast for ya, knowin' as she does how you love it so."

"With those fine swiss potatoes?"

"That's right."  Punch nodded.  "And, the carrots with the sugar glaze."

"Fine, fine."  Matthew swallowed.

"Pudding will be a surprise, however."  Punch winked.

"Oh?"  Matthew pressed his hands together.  "Do tell."

"No."  Punch shook his head.  "It's a surprise, like I said."

"Bother.  Now, I can't wait."

"You'll do."  Punch laughed.

"Will there be a savory as well?"

"Isn't there always?"  Punch laughed.

"Listen to me,"  Matthew shook his head, "I wouldn't want you to think that I come here only for Mrs. Pepper's cooking."

"I'd never think that.  No, no.  Happy, I am, that you come and that we can talk 'bout food together.  Robert, I fear, gets weary of my food chatter after a spell."

"Where is Lord Colinshire?"

"He'll be down in a tick.  Got a late start in dressing today.  He 'ad a patient...rather unexpectedly."

"Nothing too serious, I hope."

"Well..."

"I shouldn't ask."  Matthew said apologetically.

"I don't mind.  I'm sure Robert wouldn't either.  Only it's nothin' too pleasant.  Involved that poor child you saw when you walked with Lennie the first time.  The one called Marduk, and them ladies what's so cruel to us."

"I see."  Matthew sighed.

"Let's speak of happier things."  Punch said brightly.  "Lennie will be down shortly as well.  She's been 'elpin' our Gamilla this evenin' with somethings that only ladies know 'bout.  Ya know, our Gamilla is to be married to our Gerard in two days."

"I know."  Matthew smiled.  "Her Ladyship has kindly invited me to attend."

"Will you?"

"To be sure.  I've never attended the wedding of servants before.  Until meeting you, I've never thought of servants as being part of the...family.  However, I'm seeing that they are.  Furthermore, Her Ladyship is so delighted by the marriage that to witness her joy at the nuptials is enough enticement for me."

"And there's to be cake."

"That, too, is enticing."  Matthew chuckled.  "However, again, I don't visit only for the food."

Punch nodded.

"I very much like coming here, Your Grace."  Matthew continued.  "I've grown terribly fond of you and Lord Colinshire."

"And we of you, to be sure."  Punch nodded.  "Only, given our fondness, I do wish you'd call us Punch and Robert as we asked."

"It's difficult for me to break from protocol, Punch."  Matthew said.  "My upbringing was most strict."

"As was mine."  Punch sighed.  "Or...well...not mine as much as Julian's."

"I understand."  Matthew replied.  "Or, I'm beginning to."

"You've done well, you have."  Punch responded reassuringly.

"Yes, yes, I do enjoy the company of you and Lor...Robert."  Matthew said.  He paused.

"And, of Lennie?"

"Well, yes,"  Matthew  blushed.

"I believe she enjoys yours as well."

"I suppose since we have this moment to ourselves, I should make my intentions known, Your Grace...Punch."

"Oh?"

"Well, yes,"  Matthew continued to blush.  "I am quite taken with Lady Fallbridge...by her wit and intellect and keen spirit and bravery and her gentleness...and her beauty."

Punch smiled.

"I knew,"  Matthew went on, "that first moment that I saw her that she was not just a handsome woman, but one who would be a very fine wife and an excellent companion.  I...well..."

"Go on, Matthew."  Punch leaned forward.

"I do believe that I would like to ask for her hand in marriage."

Punch waited for Matthew to continue, and seeing that he wasn't going to do so, he smiled.  "Here, did ya think I'd be surprised by this?"

"No."  Matthew confessed.  "Still, you are the head of the family.  And, I cannot ask for her hand without your permission first."

"You've my permission and that of Robert's, I'm sure."  Punch said.  "Head of the family or not, I should tell ya, it isn't up to me, it's not.  Robert and me, we like ya and like havin' you 'round.  Only, it's Lennie what's got the final say."

"Certainly."  Matthew nodded rapidly.

"When were ya thinkin' o' askin' 'er?"

"Well..."  Matthew began.  He stopped as he heard the doors to the room open.

"Matthew,"  Lennie smiled as she swept into the room.  "Forgive my tardiness."

Punch and the earl stood as Lennie entered.  She studied their faces.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything."  Lennie raised any eyebrow.

"Just the chatter of gentlemen."  Punch answered.

"I see."  Lennie said.  "Well, then...may I be included."

"That ain't up to me."  Punch laughed.  "What say you, Matthew?"


Did you miss Chapters 1-342 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 344.

Punch’s Cousin, Chapter 343

The writhing, fiery, angry world outside of Julian’s body was obliterated by the image which stood before him in the calm, cool, private world within his own mind.

For once, the chatter of Mr. Punch, the resentment of Scaramouche, the nagging of Guignol and the other voices which usually weighed heavily in Julian’s ears (real or imagined) were silent and he was able to focus entirely on the regal figure which told him gently, “You may rise.”


“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” Julian began.

The figure raised one gloved hand and interrupted Julian. “Ask only what is necessary.”

“This, Your Majesty, seems to be a necessary question.” Julian replied.

“You wish to know how I am able to stand before you now?” The man smiled, his words thick with the molasses of a German accent.

“I do.” Julian nodded meekly.

“I am, as you might say, imaginary. I am a creature of your memory, and your expectations, come to offer you what I may because you require it. Any authority or status you assign me is of your own design for I am not really here.”

“I see.” Julian said, drawing in a sharp breath. “Since you are not real, what shall I call you, Your Majesty?”

“Albert.” He smiled. “Or Prince Albert. Whatever you wish.”

“You’ll forgive my impertinence, then,” Julian continued. “If I speak plainly.”

“There’s no impertinence,” Prince Albert frowned. “Your Grace, you are speaking to yourself. You may not wish to recognize it, but you are.”

“I’m not a well man,” Julian sighed.

“You’re more well than you realize.” Prince Albert chuckled. “You are given to fits of emotion. This is something I understand, you know. Recall, if you will, Your Grace, the moments we spent together at Balmoral or at the Palace. Did I not bellow and sigh just as you do? Was I not as entranced by the sparkle of the diamonds as you? Was I not as enthralled by the fire of the rubies. Do you recall how I shared—even briefly—memories of my brother, Ernest, and how I told you that I longed for his companionship—that deep oneness of understanding that he and I once shared and that, for a moment, the way we talked reminded me of the conversations that I wished I could have with him?”

“I do.”

“Though embarrassed, were you not comforted by the thought? You who have, until recently, had the companionship of no one, and certainly no familial connection?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, you answer your own question. I come to you as a source of comfort—a vision of your own creation to guide you.” Prince Albert responded.

“Guide me through what?”

“You must ask?” The prince frowned.

“Why then, did I imagine you and not Naasir or Robert?” Julian asked.

“You can answer that yourself.”

“I suppose I don’t wish to trouble Robert.” Julian sniffed. “Any further than I already have, I imagine. You know, I didn’t trust him at first.”

“I know. And now?” The Prince squinted.

“Now, I do. Wholly.”

“Yet, you feel guilt that you’ve led him to such confusion.”

“I do.”

“And what of Naasir?”

“Naasir was very loyal. He died for me, you know.”

“Of course, I know.” The Prince snapped.

“Yes, of course.” Julian nodded. “Yet, what he said often troubled me so. All of his talk of what was meant to be and his premonitions. I could never really accept them. Isn’t that sad and curious? A man who gave his own life for me, and yet, I don’t know that I trusted him fully.”

“The things Naasir said made no sense to you. You? A man who is occupied by so many others. A man who, for many weeks now, has allowed his body and mind to be controlled by the phantom figure of a puppet—another creature of your own making?”

“I suppose none of it makes much sense.” Julian sighed.

“In its way, it does.” Prince Albert shook his head. “Perhaps, Your Grace, you ask too much.”

“Perhaps.” Julian answered nervously, twisting the imaginary ring on his phantom index finger. “You say you’ve come to guide me. Through what?”

“More questions. You’re asking yourself more questions. Don’t you know?” The prince snapped.

“We’re in a spot of trouble again.” Julian replied, flustered.

“I should say so. Mr. Punch is frenzied and powerless. You’ve given control to Scaramouche. Not wise, Your Grace, not wise. Your friends and family are in peril. And, yet, you’re in here with an imaginary prince.”

“You make it sound ridiculous.” Julian scowled.

“Isn’t it?” The Prince replied disgustedly. “You yourself know the enormity of what’s ahead of you. And, yet, you’re unwilling to face it. Are you a coward?”

“I am not.”

“Aren’t you? How many times have the minds that you created within yourself tried to push you forward? How many times have you resisted?”

“I’ve…” Julian began. “I’ve tried to move forward. I have, earnestly. Why do you think I’ve given my life over to Mr. Punch? It’s Punch who now occupies the body predominately. It’s Punch who is living. It is Mr. Punch who eats and sleeps and feels and laughs.”

“And feels love?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you able to love, Julian?”

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

“Do you love the dog?”

“The dog? Toby?” Julian sputtered. “Yes. Very much.”

And, the infant? Colin. Your nephew?”

“I adore him.” Julian responded.

“And Fuller, Cecil and Adrienne?”

“Of course,” Julian replied, beginning to anger.

“And Marjani and Columbia?”

“I do.”

“What of Robert?”

“Yes,” Julian whispered.

“What of yourself?”

Julian didn’t answer.

“What of yourself? Julian, the Duke of Fallbridge?”

“I suppose I must.”

“You must or you do?” Prince Albert shouted.

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps, then, you’re not ready for my guidance.” Albert answered. “Farewell.”

“Wait!” Julian called out. “Your Majesty, please wait. I’m ready.”

“Then, follow me.” Prince Albert smiled.

“Where?”

“Backward, Your Grace. In order to go forward, we must first go back.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-342? If so, you can read them here.