A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 5

Chapter 5:
Midnight Spider



"William, step back from the window, please."  Jackson snapped at the young footman.

"What'd I do, Mr. Jackson?  I was just watchin' the master and his guests."  William replied.

"Guests?"  An older woman snorted from a nearby chair.  She smoothed her severely pulled-back, graying hair.  "Most of them are servants just like the lot of us."

"Quite right, Ivy."  Jackson nodded.

"And, there's Lord Fallbridge, squirin' them around the estate like they're visitors from the House of Lords."  Ivy continued.  "And, one of 'em an African."

"Oh, don't forget," Another man chimed in as he entered the servants' hall.  "He's not to be called 'Lord Fallbridge' anymore.  He's a Duke, that one."

"He is a Duke, Gregory."  William spoke up.  "And, we ought to treat him as such."

"I'll tell you what 'e is,"  Gregory growled.  "He's a midnight spider."

"A what?"  William asked his fellow footman.

"A margery, a nancy."  Gregory spat.  "In other words--like you."

"Please,"  Jackson barked.  "Gregory, there are ladies present."

"Only Miss Blessum."  Gregory grinned, indicating Ivy.  "And, she knows as well what the little fey Duke is as the rest of us."

"His sainted mother, rest Her Grace's soul, always complained of it."  Ivy sighed.

"And, 'im, comin' in 'ere and takin' 'is Mary-Ann to stay in 'is rooms with 'im."  Gregory howled.

"There's nothing wrong with two men being close."  William argued.

"Here, you would say that."  Gregory laughed.  ""Furthermore, the bugger is mad.  Look at what 'e's done since he's been 'ere.  Cares more 'bout them servants from London than he does us.  You shouldn't be so quick to defend the madman, Willy.  Remember, he threw you over for his own valet."

"Wanting his own valet hardly makes him mad."  William replied.

"Oh, but he is mad."  Ivy nodded.  "Has been since a boy.  Terribly strange little person.  Such a disappointment."

"He's the master of this house and the Duke of Fallbridge.  He could sack the lot of us, so I think we'd best be kinder."  William replied.

"William, get off with ya."  Gregory snapped.

"Gregory is correct."  Jackson replied.  "The others will be in from their duties soon, and as soon as His Grace returns the cook to us, we'll prepare for upstairs tea.  Furthermore, I noticed some tarnish on the morning room candelabrum.  Look alive, lad."

"I'd best be getting to my mending, too."  Ivy stood up.  "I'm strengthenin' the beads on the gown which Her Grace wore to the Huntsman's Ball in '42.  Oh, it is lovely."

"Very good, Ivy."  Jackson replied.  And turned.  "And, you Gregory?"

"I think I'll wait 'ere for them Londoners to come back.  The blonde one's nice to look at."

"You'll do no such thing.  See to it that the drapes in the library are drawn."

"Yes, Mr. Jackson."  Gregory grumbled.

Jackson waited for everyone to leave before retreating to his pantry where he paused before donning a long white cloak over his uniform.

Removing a small silver key from the pocket of the cloak he unlocked a cupboard at the farthest corner of the dim room.

"Your Grace,"  He smiled.  "Forgive me for saying it, but for the first time today, I felt it best that you no longer have life in your lovely body.  If you saw what your son has become..."  He shook his head.  Reaching forward he smiled again.  "Oh, but you are so beautiful today..."


Come back next week when, on Monday, I'll post Chapter 6 of A Recipe for Punch.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Mr. Punch and the Baby

Rich coral-colored walls, trimmed with white and gilt plaster moldings welcomed Ellen Barrett into the Drawing Room of the Duke of Fallbridge’s palatial townhouse.  From the ornate wainscoting to the thick dentil of the crown molding which clung to the eggshell blue ceiling, the walls proudly boasted a dazzlingly impressive array of large, important-looking oil paintings ranging from landscapes to family portraits to tender genre scenes of innocent lovers and ruddy-cheeked children.  Above the handsome mantelpiece, behind a massive, black-slate, French clock and between a pair of silver girandoles—dripping with crystals—a particularly large canvas had been hung, displayed in an ornate lavishly gilt frame.

The painting above the mantel depicted a street scene, at the center of which was a red-and-white-striped tent-like booth in which a lively Punch & Judy show was being performed.  The spectacle was being observed by painted children, men and women who—forever frozen in time—gazed with delight at the hunch-backed, crimson-suited puppet.  In the scene, the puppet held his wooden-headed offspring and upon the play-board, to the right, a terrier in a pointed hat and bright yellow ruff looked on.

Ellen smiled at the cheerful painting before realizing, that once again, she had entered a room in the mansion without noticing that the Duke was nowhere to be seen.

“I got a puppet.”  A friendly, somewhat raspy, voice called out from the center of the room.

Ellen turned her attention to the middle of the Drawing Room where she spotted--under a japanned and gilt center table laden with a huge crystal vase of flowers--the Duke of Fallbridge.  On his right hand sat a tremendous puppet figure of Mr. Punch—expertly carved and beautifully costumed.  Young Colin lay on the floor on a blanket.  He gurgled gaily, reaching for the ears of the Dog Toby who say next to him.  Both seemed mesmerized by the Duke.

“I see that you have, Your Grace,”  Ellen nodded.  “And, a very handsome puppet it is.”

“It’s mine,”  The Duke answered proudly.  “Dr. Halifax’s brother, Cecil—he carved the head.  And, Mrs. Halifax—Adrienne—she and me chum Marjani made the little suit.”  He paused and scratched his chin with his left hand.  “I mean to say that my friend, Marjani, crafted the fine little costume.”

“It’s beautiful.”  Ellen nodded again, walking closer to the table under which the Duke, his son and dog sat. 

“You like it?”

“I do.”  Ellen replied.  “And, I must say that Master Colin and the Dog Toby seem to love him.”

“They do,” The Duke replied brightly.  “Everybody loves Mr. Punch.”  The Duke rolled on his side, coming out from beneath the table.  He did so without the puppet touching the floor—a feat which impressed Ellen greatly.

The Duke stood up and looked cautiously at Ellen.

“You like Mr. Punch?”  he asked.

“As you say, everyone loves Mr. Punch.”  Ellen answered.

“Hmmm…”  The Duke wrinkled his nose.  Once again, his eyes were wide and excited, yet he appeared to be thinking as his brows twitched.

“Your Grace?”

The Duke of Fallbridge grinned and extended his puppet-ed hand.  “You can hold him while I pick up Colin.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  She took the puppet from her employer.

“No--thank you.”  The Duke chirped gaily as he picked up his son.  “Come, Toby,” he called.  The dog obediently followed him as he carried the child over to a settee near the fire. 

“Come sit with us, Miss Barrett,” the Duke said absent-mindedly.  “The chair with the little pictures of people on it is the most comfortable.  You can have that one.”

Ellen sat.  “It is comfortable.”

“It’s fabric is what’s called toile. I learned that from me chum.”  The Duke mumbled.  He looked up and blushed, sighing, he repeated himself, using the more refined voice he had used the day of their first meeting.  “I mean to say that the pattern is toile.  Dr. Halifax has been quite helpful in identifying these things.”

“I suspect you knew them already,”  Ellen smiled, ignoring the Duke’s obvious discomfort.  “Being a famous jeweler, I’m sure you’re aware of most artistic terms.”

“You’d think,”  the Duke laughed.  “Only, I ain’t…I am not…famous.”

“But, you are.  You’re highly celebrated.  I remember seeing your work at the Great Exhbition in 1851 and I recall reading  many times how much Prince Albert adores your work.”

“Eh.”  The Duke shrugged.  “None of that matters.”  He looked down at the child in his arms.  “This is what matters.”  Looking up, he realized that Ellen was still holding his puppet.

“Oh!”  He exclaimed with wide eyes.  “You don’t have to hold him.  He likes to sit in chairs, he does.  You can put him in the other chair there.”

“I shall,”  Ellen nodded, rising for a moment and gently placing the puppet in the chair adjacent to her.  This seemed to please the Duke who grinned widely.

“Thank you,”  he smiled.  “Some folk don’t treat things with respect.  Even if somethin’ can’t talk, don’t mean they aren’t aware.  Most things want talkin’ to.”

Again he caught himself speaking in that odd, casual, rough manner.  He snorted and shrugged, resigned to the fact that it had happened.

“You had asked to see me, Your Grace.”  Ellen began.

“Sure,”  The Duke nodded, looking absently at Ellen.

They looked at one another for several moments.

“I imagine I should say something now,”  The Duke sighed.  “See, Miss Barrett, I’m not so very good with other people.”

“I think you’re doing very well, Sir.”

“Thank you.”  The Duke grinned.  “Here, listen, I wanted to talk with ya ‘bout Colin.”  He paused and frowned.

“Is something bothering you, Your Grace?”

“No,” The Duke answered.  “Errrr…well, I don’t think so.  Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Do you mind if I talk like this.  I know it ain’t the way a nobleman is ‘sposed to talk only it’s easier than what’s ‘xpected of me.”

“This is your home, Sir, you may speak however you like.”  Ellen replied.

“Coo!”  The Duke whooped.  “See, I told me chum that you’d understand!  I could tell, just by lookin’ at ya.”

Ellen smiled and nodded.

“Now,”  The Duke continued.  “Me boy, Colin—he’s a fine boy.  Next to Dr. Halifax, he’s the most ‘portant person in the world and I want you to know what he likes and what he don’t.”

“I’m glad to know.”  Ellen answered.

“Dr. Halifax—he helped me make a list.”  The Duke continued. He looked around.  “Oh, what’d I do with it?”  He yelped happily, “Oh!  It’s on the table—the black table with all them people’s pictures on it.”

“Shall I get it?”  Ellen asked.

“Sure, when you leave.  You can read it before supper.  Here, you gettin’ ‘nough to eat?”

“I am.  More than enough.  Mrs. Pepper has been very kind.”

“Good!”  The Duke shouted gladly.  He giggled loudly.  “Her name is Pepper what’s a spice.  And, she’s a cook.”  He howled happily. 

They were interrupted as the main door to the room opened and the doctor entered.  “Dear Punch, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that…”  he paused, realizing that they weren’t alone.  “Ah, Miss Barrett, excuse me.  I didn’t realize you were here.”

Ellen stood up and bowed her head. 

“No, please, sit.”  Dr. Halifax waved his hand.  He went to the settee and moved Toby—who was sitting up against the Duke—over so that he could be seated next to His Grace.  He paused to tickle Colin’s stomach.  The child cooed and gurgled in appreciation.

Ellen sat down, smiling.  She liked the warm interaction of this unusual family and found it most comforting and appealing.

“I was just about to tell His Grace that we received a letter from America—from my brother and his wife.”

“Here, how they doin’?”  The Duke exclaimed in excitement.

“Well, Your Grace,”  Dr. Halifax smiled, emphasizing “Your Grace.”

“It don’t matter, chum.”  The Duke shook his head.  “She don’t mind if I talk like this.”

Robert looked cautiously at Miss Barrett.

“As I told His Grace, this is his home and he may do as he pleases.”

“True.”  The doctor nodded.  “You’ll forgive me.  Some people, I’ve found, might judge His Grace harshly for something so simple.”

“I would never do so.”  Ellen replied.

“I’m happy to know it.”  The doctor smiled.  “The happiness of these two people outweighs everything else for me.”

Ellen smiled in appreciation and understanding.

The Duke tilted his head to one side.  He looked at Ellen.  “I’m called ‘Mr. Punch.”

“I noticed.”  Ellen answered.

Robert began to look nervous.

“Don’t fret, chum.”  Mr. Punch whispered to his friend.  “We can trust her.”

The doctor nodded, hesitantly, “I’m sure we can.”

“Only me chums call me ‘Mr. Punch,’ but I’d like it if you did.”

“I would be honored.”  Ellen replied sincerely.

“However, we must be careful…”  Robert began.

“I would never do so in front of the staff or visitors.  And, I would never mention it to anyone else.”  Ellen said quickly.

“It’s important that you don’t.”  Robert sighed.  “You see, there are some things that you don’t know.”

“I’m sure.”  Ellen said.

“Listen, chum.”  The Duke/Mr. Punch began.  “We trust this woman with our Colin.  If we can trust her that much, we can trust her with this. And, to be sure, it might help her to know, it might.”

“Yes, of course, dear Punch.”  Dr. Halifax nodded, putting his arm around the Duke’s shoulders.  “Miss Barrett, what we’re about to tell you must not leave this house.”

“You can trust me, Sir.”  Ellen nodded.

“I hope so,”  Robert sighed.  “I truly do.”

Did you miss Chapters 1-4?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 5—“Childhood Friends”-- of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.  

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 5

Julian’s cloak did little to protect him from the driving rain. He’d begun to feel the fabric grow heavier and heavier on his back as soon as he and Arthur rode away from the stables. The cold rain stung his face like sharp needles, and, yet, Julian felt overheated. His heart pounded in his chest as Fallbridge Hall grew smaller in the distance. They hadn’t even left the estate yet, but Julian’s panic was mounting. Behind every tree, he saw dangerous movement. In every shadow, a grim face glared at him. He could feel meaty, calloused hands on his throat—scraping as they milked the breath from his body.

Arthur seemed unfazed by the rain and the growing dimness of the evening. His cool eyes were ice above the butter of his smile.

They stopped outside an ivy-covered stone structure.

“Shall I help you, Sir?” Arthur asked.

“No. Thank you.” Julian said, dismounting. “I haven’t been here in years,” Julian muttered—not necessarily to his footman, but more to the building itself. “I used to bring Barbara here to play when she was a child. I’d hoped she’d love it.”

Built a century or more earlier, the folly was the whim of one of Julian’s ancestors—some Duke of Fallbridge of whom his mother never spoke and whose portrait had been removed from the Great Hall. Like a miniature abbey, it was a wide, squat building with Romanesque arches and a massive wooden door. Purely without function, the folly was erected simply as an ornament to the gardens. Yet, Julian found it a delightful place to play when he was a boy. He had hoped that Barbara would have also found the place to be as wonderful as he had. Julian had pretended to be St. George seeking out the dragon within. He’d made the place his own fantasy land. Barbara, on the other hand, preferred to sit inside and have the under-house-parlor-maid bring her oranges and little cakes to eat. Even as a child, Barbara liked being the lady of the house—no matter where she was. Julian recalled her six-year-old voice as Barbara called the place her, “wee castle” where she was the sole queen.

Perhaps, in her escape from her marriage to Lord Marsden, she’d retreated to the folly to, once again, be the queen. That, at least, was Julian’s hope. Surely, she was still on the grounds. Surely.

Julian pushed on the folly’s door which resisted him at first. With a loud groan, it finally gave in. Dust and cobwebs welcomed Julian back to his former fantasy land.

“No one’s been in here, Sir.” Arthur said abruptly.

“Steady on,” Julian said, sweating despite the cold. “We don’t know that.”

“Lady Barbara couldn’t have opened that door by her lonesome, if you’ll pardon me saying it.” Arthur continued.

“Well, we can make sure of it. And, at the very least, get out of this blasted rain for a moment so that I can think about where to go next.” Julian answered.

Julian stooped over to avoid hitting his head on a support beam as he walked into the folly. How much smaller it seemed!

Something scurried in the corner.

“A mouse, most likely.” Julian mumbled.

“Sir?” Arthur asked.

“A mouse.” Julian said. “I thought I saw a mouse in the corner.”

“Shall I kill it, Lord Fallbridge?” Arthur grinned.

“No!” Julian said firmly. “Leave it be.”

Arthur said nothing. He simply smiled.

Again, something full of breath and bravado darted past Julian in the darkness.

Julian coughed on the dust.

“Where’s that go, Sir?” Arthur asked, pointing to a splintering ladder.

“Up to the turret.” Julian answered. “I would go up there, you know, often. Thought I was a brave knight guarding my castle.”

“Really, sir?”

“As a boy, Arthur.” Julian added.

“Of course, Lord Fallbridge.” The footman smirked. “Shall I go up there now to look for Lady Barbara since you seem to think she’s gotten in here?”

“Yes.” Julian said, calling the footman’s bluff. “There’s a slight landing just before the trapdoor. Look there.”

Arthur paused, the smile fading from his lips for just a fleeting second.

Julian nodded.

“Is it safe, Sir?” Arthur asked.

“As safe as anything on this earth.” Julian answered.

Arthur hesitantly climbed the ladder, while Julian wandered deeper into the folly.

“Julian.” A faint whisper blew past Julian’s ear like a moth.

Julian’s stomach clenched, the surge of panic gripped his arms and shot into his legs.

“Who is it?” Julian asked, not moving.

There was no reply.

Julian blinked, straining to focus in the musty darkness.

A skittering sound in the farthest corner caught Julian’s attention. He squinted and saw a red flash.

“Punch!” Julian shouted.

And, then, it stopped—those eyes, those pink eyes and the ruby smile pulled back to his ears…

“Punch…” Julian croaked again.

Stumbling backward, Julian tried to catch his breath.

A loud crash from above made Julian spin, smacking his head on a thick wooden beam.

“Sir!” Arthur called from above. “Sir!”

The darkness around Julian began to spin as he tried to keep himself upright.

Numb everywhere except his throat—Julian felt his skin go raw.



Did you miss Chapters 1-4? If so, you can read them here.