A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 37

Chapter 37
M'Lady


"Mr. Jackson,"  Mr. Quick snorted as he opened the door to the parsonage.  "Have you any idea of the hour?"

"I do."  Jackson spat.

"Decent, God-fearing men should be snug in their beds, Wilmer."  Mr. Quick clucked his tongue.  

"Silas,"  Jackson frowned.  "When have you ever known me to be a decent, God-fearing man?"

"Has the arrival of the margery Duke got you so upset that you can't sleep?"  Mr. Quick ushered the man in.

"In a manner of speaking."  Jackson replied.  "I've been sacked."

"Sacked?"  The parson raised his eyebrows.  "When?"

"Just now."

"You've given your whole life to that family!"

"Don't you think I know it, Silas?"  Mr. Jackson replied.  "And, don't you look so comfortable in your quilted dressing gown.  No doubt you, Hargrave, Causer, Blessum and the whole lot will be next."

"Whatever did you do to get yourself dismissed?  The Duke only just arrived today."  Mr. Quick asked.

"Morgana got herself free."  Jackson smirked.  "Worried the illegitimate sister.  Drawn to her own kind, I suppose.  Then, carried off one of the London maids."

"Merciful heavens."  Mr. Quick sat down. "Were they killed?"

"Not to my knowledge.  Must have been by now."  Jackson sighed.  "I left as Gregory and Blessum went up to try to find the maid."

"You just left with Morgana wandering the hall?"

"What was I to do?  The margery and his maryann dismissed me."  Jackson snarled.

"But, we made a...we swore.  We have an oath!  Wilmer!  Did you...Did you leave her?"  Mr. Quick asked.

"I did."  Jackson inhaled.  "What was I to do?  How could I have gotten her out with the servants' hall crawlin' with people as it was and her in the cupboard in my pantry?"

"You can't just leave her in there!  She'll be found!  What if Morgana was to find her?  Worse still what if His Grace or Her Ladyship was to... They're bound to!"

"Only I have the key to that cupboard."  Jackson shook his head.

"It's His Grace's house.  In taking on a new butler, he's bound to open every cupboard to take inventory.  Wilmer, when he does, what's he going to see starin' in back in the face?"  Mr. Quick said.

"Well, Silas, I can't very well go back and get her now."  Mr. Jackson sniffed.

"You must.  She's your responsibility."

"Our responsibility.  We brought her here together, Silas."  Mr. Jackson laughed.

"And, you're just going to leave with her in a cupboard, after all we've tried to do?"

"Who says I'm leaving?"  Mr. Jackson roared.  "I may have been sacked, I may not be welcome in that house, but I'm not leaving.  I'll never leave not as long as M'Lady is here."


Did you miss Chapters 1-36 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 37.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 37

Chapter 37:

In Ruins

Charles and Gamilla chuckled as they entered the servants’ hall of No. 65 from the area.  Even before the door was entirely opened, they could hear Mrs. Pepper snapping at Jenny.

“No, ya daft l’il twig, you’re doin’ it wrong!  Do ya want the masters to eat flat, tough bread?  No, ya want it to rise.  You knead it like this!  How many times have I told ya this?  I’ve got to do it all me-self.”

“But, Mrs. Pepper,” Jenny sniffed. 

“Go on, then!  Go start chopping up them onions for the stuffin’, then.”

Mrs. Pepper spotted Charles and Gamilla, who was holding Colin, through the pass-through from her kitchen.

“Oy!  Back already, you two?  I thought you’d be gone for hours.”

“No, Mrs. Pepper,” Charles smiled.  “We did all we needed.”

“Did the masters enjoy the puppet show, then?”

“His Grace most of all.”

“Ain’t it sweet that such a great man wants to go out amongst the people and see somethin’ as common as a puppet show?  And, ain’t it somethin’ that he’s such a fine and gentle man that he enjoys it so—just like a sweet babe?  Speakin’ of babes, that one looks like he’s ready for his nap, then.”  Mrs. Pepper chattered.

“Sure does,” Gamilla chuckled.  “I’ll bring him up.”

“You do that, dear.” Mrs. Pepper said.  “I’ll tell Mr. Speaight you’re back and in the nursery.  Vi already did the drawing room, the library, the morning room and the doctor’s study.  Gerard set about tidyin’ the masters’ rooms.  So, you can stay up there with the little master ‘til Miss Ellen comes back.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pepper.” Gamilla nodded.  “How’s Gerard.”

“Oh, poorly, I’m sure.  Looked as white as a sheet.  Sent him back to your room, Charlie.  Let’s let him rest ‘til the masters return.”

“Do you think it’s influenza, Mrs. Pepper?”  Charles asked.

“I think it’s the champagne from the master’s party.” Mrs. Pepper chuckled.

“But, Gerry didn’t have none.” Gamilla shook her head.

“Oh—maybe that’s what he says, but ain’t no bloke I know what’s gonna turn his nose up at the master’s best wine.”  She laughed.

“Yes, Mrs. Pepper.” Gamilla nodded slowly.

“Now, you go on up, dear.” Mrs. Pepper smiled.  “I’ll have Vi bring nursery tea for ya when it’s time.”

“Thank you.”

“Nothin’, my dear.  Ain’t nothin’.”  Mrs. Pepper shrugged.

“I’ll see ya, Gamilla.” Charles waved with his good hand.

“Where’s Mr. Speaight?” Charles asked Mrs. Pepper.

“Gone out to the mews.”  Mrs. Pepper shook her head.

“Whatever for?” Charles chuckled.

“Goin’ through the stable books while Hutchinson’s out, I dare say.”

“Ah.”

“Charlie…what can I get ya, then?” Mrs. Pepper winked.  She had a special affection for Charles.  She’d once told him that he reminded her of her own brother. “I got some o’ them nice sausages from breakfast left.  Oh, and I got a bit of good tongue in the larder.  Saved it just for you.”

“I wouldn’t mind some of that,” Charles smiled.  “And, a bit of your nice chutney if there’s any.”

“For you there is.” Mrs. Pepper winked.  She turned around and shouted.  “Jenny!  Girl, bring me that tongue and the chutney.”

“Mrs. Pepper, I’m doin’ the onions like you said.”  Jenny moaned.

“And you shall return to them after you bring me the tongue and the chutney!” Mrs. Pepper snapped.  Turning abruptly again, she smiled sweetly at Charles, “Now, you just sit yourself down, my dear.  House is in good order and with the masters gone, we don’t have much to do today.  Silver’s all polished and all.”

“Right, Mrs. Pepper.”

After a few minutes, Charles settled onto a stool at Mrs. Pepper’s table and enjoyed the small snack she made for him.  She watched him eat—proudly, taking joy in his every bite.  She was so focused on Charles, in fact, that neither of them heard Speaight entered from the rear door.

“Hullo?” Mr. Speaight called out.  Finally, he spotted Mrs. Pepper and Charles in the kitchen.

“Have a look at the books, did ya, Mr. Speaight?”  Mrs. Pepper asked.

“Aye, I did.” Speaight nodded. 

“In ruins, I expect?”  Charles asked.

“No, surprisingly not, Charles.” Speaight sighed.

“Then, what’s weighin’ on ya, Morris?” Mrs. Pepper asked.  “Charles, if you’ll pardon me usin’ Mr. Speaight’s given name.”

“That’s fine, Mrs. Pepper.” Charles grinned.

“It’s Tom, Mrs. Pepper.” Mr. Speaight shrugged.

“What’s the little rotter done now?”  Mrs. Pepper frowned.

“That’s just it.”  Speaight grumbled.  “I don’t know.  I can’t find ‘im.  Looked all over.  He’s taken off again.”

“You really should sack him, Mr. Speaight.”  Mrs. Pepper clucked her tongue.

“I should.” Mr. Speaight nodded.

“What good’s a page, then, if he ain’t ‘bout when ya need him?”  Mrs. Pepper muttered.

“Mr. Speaight, where’d he come from?  He was already here when Gerry and I arrived with the masters.  I understand that the butler from Fallbridge Hall did a lot of the initial hiring, but I know that when the Duke hired you, you brought on your own people—like Vi and Hutchinson.  What about Tom?”

“Tom and Hortence were here.” Speaight sighed.  “They, along with Ethel and Jenny, were hired by Mr. Jackson.  It seems Tom is the son of a friend of Hortence’s.  That should have been enough of a clue.  That girl was trouble from the start.  Glad to be rid of her.  I’m not surprised that Tom’s a…”

“Now, now.” Mrs. Pepper interrupted.  “Don’t say her name.  Knock wood to keep the bad away.  Go on!”

Charles and Speaight exchanged glances and both knocked something wooden—Speaight the frame of the pass-through and Charles, the table.

“That’ll do.” Mrs. Pepper nodded in satisfaction.

“Thanks for the treat, Mrs. Pepper.” Charles rose from the table.

“Oh, come on, Charlie.  Have another cup of tea.” 

“No, thank you.  Maybe Mr. Speaight would like one.  I’ve got some mending of the Duke’s in my room.  I’d best go fetch it, and lay out my night livery.”

“Off you go, then, Charles.” Speaight nodded.  “Good work.  How’s the wrist, by the way?”

“Oh, it’s better every day, Sir.” Charles grinned.

“Good boy.” Speaight smiled.

As Charles climbed the stairs, he could hear Mrs. Pepper and Speaight continue to complain about Tom.  Something about Tom had always struck Charles as peculiar.  He was so sullen and quiet—too much so for a young boy.

Finally reaching the attics, Charles tapped gently on the door of the small room he shared with Gerard.  Hearing no response, Charles entered and found Gerard sprawled out on the bed, asleep.

“Poor fella.” Charles sighed. 

Charles wandered over the bureau the two men shared and retrieved the mending he wished to finish.  He suddenly realized that, with his broken wrist, he’d not be able to finish it.  He chuckled at his own lack of thought and wondered if maybe Violet would be able to help him that evening.  He looked around for something else to do until the Duke came home and noticed, on the corner of the bureau, a bottle had been tucked behind a stack of old newspapers.

Charles grabbed the bottle and looked at it.  As he feared, it was the medicine bottle that he’d asked Gerard to return to the doctor.  And, worse still, it was considerably emptier than when he’d given it to his comrade.

“Oh, Gerry.” Charles sighed.  “What’ve ya done?”

Did you miss Chapters 1-36 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 38. 

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 37

Julian awoke on the floor of his cabin. A throbbing in his head thumped him into alertness and he sat up slowly as he realized that his stomach was churning and tender. To his right, Robert lay stretched across the bed—face down.


Slowly, Julian crawled to Robert’s side and stared at the man who seemed utterly motionless. Hesitantly and carefully, Julian reached up and placed his hand on Robert’s back—the diamond on his left hand sparkling. For a moment, an image passed, ghost-like, past Julian’s eyes—moonlight on the sea.

“Thank God,” Julian sighed as he felt Robert’s breathing.

“Robert?” Julian whispered.

The doctor groaned and opened his eyes into slits.

“How are you?” Julian asked softly.

“I’m in agony, old chap.” Robert croaked.

“I think we were poisoned.” Julian replied.

“I know that we were.” Robert responded, trying to sit up.

“No, no.” Julian said quickly. “Stay there.”

At that moment, Julian noticed the crust of vomit which cut a rusty trail down the side of the bed to the floor.

“I need to get you a physician.” Julian said, looking Robert in the eyes.

“I am a physician.” Robert grunted.

“You can’t treat yourself.” Julian argued.

“Let me be,” Robert answered quietly. “I know myself. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to report this.” Julian rose cautiously. “We can’t let Arthur get away with this. Why would he do such a thing? I know he’s unpleasant, but I didn’t know he was a fiend!”

“I never thought I’d say this to you,” Robert smiled weakly, “but you’re talking too fast.”

“Sorry.” Julian sighed. He looked around the cabin. “The last I remember is taking a sip of that whiskey, and, then, you collapsing on the table.” He looked to the writing desk where Arthur had placed the tray. The tray was gone as was the bottle and the glasses. Only their uneaten dinners of tongue and tomato remained.

“The whiskey has been removed!” Julian exclaimed.

“Of course it is.” Robert growled. “All the more reason not to report this. We have no evidence.”

“I can’t allow someone to try to murder us without seeking justice. Would you have me not seek out the men who cut my father’s throat, too?”

“It’s not the same thing.” Robert answered slowly.

“Arthur needs to be brought to justice.”

“I think he already has.” Robert replied, again, struggling to sit up.

“Not without my assistance.” Julian shook his head, going to the man’s side and helping him to a seated position. Robert lifted the pillow and held it to his stomach. As he did, he revealed the red bag of gris-gris.

Julian grimaced at it. “A lot of good that did to protect us.”

“We’re both still breathing.” Robert answered.

“That’s true.” Julian nodded, placing his arm around Robert’s shoulders for a few seconds before quickly removing it.

Robert smiled at Julian’s unusual display of endearment.

Julian tilted his head to one side. “What did you mean just now when you said that you think Arthur has already been brought to justice?”

“My dear man, Punch already declared he was going to ‘kill the Devil.’ Don’t you remember?”

Julian’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

“You left and came back.” Robert continued, his voice rough with gravel. “Or, I should say, Punch did. He also saved my life. He got the poison out of me.”

“Surely, I didn’t…he didn’t.” Julian mumbled, trying desperately to remember.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Robert coughed.

“I must go find him.” Julian stood.

“No. You must stay here.” Robert shook his head.

“What if…”

“No.” Robert repeated.

A knock on the cabin door startled both of them.

“That’s the fiend now.” Julian said with relief. “Come for his morning duties. Most likely frustrated to have found us both alive when he removed the evidence.”

“It’s not Arthur.” Robert sighed.

“How can you be sure?” Julian asked.

“The knock was too strong.” Robert shrugged. “Go and see.”

Julian walked to the cabin door and opened it. There stood a heavy-set man with tremendous arms. His meaty face was cloaked in a thick, black beard which met in a tangle with the hair on his neck and chest. He wore a faded pink shirt and a black waistcoat.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir.” The man said gruffly. “Only I got a bit concerned when Arthur didn’t return to his quarters last night.” The man glanced quickly at the table, and, then, back to Julian.

“You’re a friend of Arthur’s?” Julian asked.

“Yes, Your Lordship.” The man squinted. “Don’t you remember meetin’ me last night when you came down to fetch your valet? They call me ‘Professor.’”

“Ah,” Julian nodded, trying to feign remembrance. The introduction had been to Punch, after all.

“You were a bit in your cups, I’d say.” The man said, peering around Julian to look at Robert on the bed. “Both of you were from what you told us.”

“And, you haven’t seen Arthur since last night?” Julian interrupted.

“No, Sir.” The professor replied. “Not since you came and took him.”

“I see.” Julian nodded. “Well, then, ‘Professor,’ when I see him, I’ll make sure that he checks in with you.”

“Much obliged.” The man grunted. “Good mornin’ to you.”

“Good morning.” Julian said as he closed the door.

“Well.” Julian turned to face Robert. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We wait.” Robert replied.

And wait, they did.

Julian washed and dressed himself and helped Robert to his own cabin where he assisted the man in changing his clothes and cleaning himself up. He left Robert to rest for a time and returned to his own cabin where he hoped Arthur would stumble in.

Arthur did not show up.

Two days passed. Julian continued to spend his time with Robert, keeping careful watch on the man who seemed improved, but also showed signs of great physical distress—symptoms which he denied as often as he could.

Punch was strangely silent.

Two more days passed. The professor returned twice more—asking for Arthur. Robert and Julian made excuses.

On the fifth day—three days before they were to dock—Robert advised Julian to report Arthur’s disappearance.

“You must not—by any means—imply that you know what could have happened to him.” Robert said forcefully—his voice still rough and pained.

“Robert, I could have killed the man.” Julian argued, tears welling-up in his eyes.

“You did no such thing!” Robert repeated. “You had nothing to do with this. If anyone did, it was Mr. Punch.”

“I AM Mr. Punch.” Julian cried.

“No, you are not. You are Julian Molliner, Lord Fallbridge. Punch is a being unto himself. He may use your body, but he is NOT you.”

“I have to be held accountable for what he does.” Julian protested.

“I refuse to let you. If you do, I’ll say you’re mad. I’ll say you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Julian looked at Robert with hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, dear Julian. I didn’t mean to imply that I think you’re mad.” Robert said softly. “I’m trying to protect you. If need be I’ll say I killed Arthur.”

“No.” Julian shook his head. “We’ll report his disappearance. And only that.”

Together, Robert and Julian went to the ship’s captain and explained Arthur’s disappearance. They explained that they hadn’t seen the footman in a few days and thought he was off somewhere on the ship enjoying an extended drunk. Or, perhaps he had gotten lost when they had docked briefly, three days earlier.

The crew of the ship searched the vessel thoroughly. No trace of Arthur had been found. The captain declared him lost and ordered Arthur’s belongings to be packed up. Yet, strangely, Arthur’s things had been removed from his quarters.

The following morning, Robert and Julian sat in Julian’s cabin. Julian rocked back in forth in one of the wooden chairs.

“He got no worse than he deserved.” Robert said firmly, pressing his hand against his stomach which ached.

“It wasn’t my place—or Punch’s—to be the judge of that.”

“You have no idea what happened. You don’t know that you…that Punch…had anything to do with this. It’s a mystery, and, frankly, one that’s best left unsolved.”

Again, a knock on the door interrupted them. This knock, however, was light and cheerful, if a knock can be such things.

Robert opened the door.

The dark-skinned man smiled at him—the man who had given them the gris-gris.

“Is His Lordship in?”

“Yes, however…” Robert began.

“Ah, there you are, Great Man of the Rocks.” The man stepped into the cabin.

Julian did not recall Punch’s encounter with the man on the night Arthur disappeared.

“May I help you?” Julian asked.

“No, Sir. It is I who shall help you.” He grinned pleasantly. “My name is Naasir. I am your new valet.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-36? If so, you can read them here.