A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 70

Chapter 70
Theater


"Chum?"  Punch whispered in Robert's ear, gently moving a curl of his companion's dark hair with his index finger.  Listening to Robert's deep, steady breathing, Punch knew that he was asleep.  As quietly as possible, he rolled out of bed so as not to disturb Robert.  He knew he couldn't get past Dog Toby's watchful eyes and ever-alert ears.  From the foot of the bed, the terrier looked up quizzically.  Punch shook his head.  "Sorry, little fella.  Go back to sleep."

Toby continued to stare at his master.

"It's somethin' I gotta do."  Punch shrugged.  He looked over as Robert stirred slightly, rolling over and burrowing deeper into the down of the bed.

"I can't talk 'bout it anymore."  Punch whispered to the dog.  "I know I keep sneakin' outta bed.  This'll be the last time.  It's...it's theater, little one.  That's all."

Punch crept to the over-stuffed chair where Charles had left his dressing gown and silently put on the garment as he slipped his bare feet into his soft, red velvet night shoes.  

Dog Toby continued to stare.

Punch shook his head.  "You stay."  He mouthed as he slowly opened the door and bowed into the passage, closing the door behind him with barely a sound.

Instead of looking forward into the dark labyrinth of the passage, lined as it was with grim portraits, he looked at the ceiling--studying the intricacies of the vaults and the painted patterns.  He recalled how Julian would sometimes hide amongst the pedestals and busts in the galleries and copy those patterns in his sketch books as a boy.  Some of the very first brooches he'd every designed repeated those patterns.  Those were the ones he had most hated--they had most hated.

"Better watch where I'm goin',"  Punch muttered to himself as he started to veer toward a long, low console.  Still, he thought, bumping a knee was better than seeing that door.  He loathed the approach of that door--the door to Julian's old rooms.  

Nevertheless, he knew he had to go.

He knew she was waiting there for him.

That was why he'd gone when they first arrived at Fallbridge Hall.  That was what had led Gamilla all the way to those rooms--rooms she'd never even known before.  Gamilla had known that something wicked was there, something was waiting for him.  Then, it was just the hint of something horrid.  Now, she'd been released.

How many times had poor, unsuspecting Julian walked into his rooms to find his mother waiting for him--fuming?  Slightly drunk?  Irrational?  She'd fly into a rage and pounce.  

This time, the same body was going, but he wasn't Julian.  He was Mr. Punch.  This time, he wasn't unsuspecting.

Yet, she was waiting.  He knew it.  After all, she had yet to appear to him, and, wasn't he the one she most wanted to destroy?  She had no cause to haunt Lennie.  Not really.  The duchess had given Lennie away at birth.  They'd never met.  Similarly, his mother never knew Morgana.  Taunting Robert, Charles and Gerard--that was just the sort of amusement the duchess would enjoy.  Yes, that made sense.

However, her grand return from the dead wouldn't be complete without a scene with her most despised child, and, Punch knew he had to make his entrance.


Did you miss Chapters 1-69 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 71.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 70

Chapter 70: 

All the Truth 



“Ach,” Mrs. North sputtered in her thick brogue as she studied Colin, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say the poor orphan child was a Molliner. Aye, but he looks just as His Grace done when he were a wee bern.”

“Well…” Gamilla said quickly, hoping to change the subject away from Colin’s parentage, “he ain’t an orphan no more. He’s got two daddies now.”

“Two daddies?” Mrs. North narrowed her eyes. “What a thing to say!”

Gamilla looked across the table at Gerard and Charles, hoping for some help with Mrs. North. But, the two men were engaged in a conversation with Finlay. Gamilla sniffed loudly, hoping to attract their attention, however, they were so absorbed in Finlay’s loud tales of his life at Grange Molliner that she knew there was no hope in getting them to break away.

Gamilla looked around the servants’ hall, wishing that she’s stayed in the nursery. She thought perhaps that the Duke might like some privacy while he prepared for his hike, and since the nursery was just off of his bedchamber, she decided that she’d take Colin to see Finlay, Mrs. North and the others who lived at the grange—with the Duke’s permission of course.

Mr. Speaight was not in the servants’ hall, but had taken to his room with a sick headache after already having a rather heated argument with Mrs. North about who would be planning the details of the next day’s picnic luncheon. Meanwhile, Mrs. Pepper was in the kitchen, slamming pots and pans about in an effort to prepare dinner. All the while, she complained bitterly about the lack of a decent kitchen maid, moaning that she missed Ethel and Jenny (a shock in and of itself) and passionately saying that the permanent cook at the grange—who resolutely refused to be of any service to this interloper—must, indeed, be completely mad or daft or both.

Gamilla’s only hope for a distraction from Mrs. North’s relentless gaze was to get the attention of the boys. She sniffed again.

“Aye, girl…” Mrs. North narrowed her eyes at a helpless Gamilla. “You’re not sick, then, are ya?”

“No.” Gamilla shook her head.

“Why, then, do you keep sniffin’?” Mrs. North continued.

“I’m just getting’ used to the air here, Mrs. North.” Gamilla smiled.

Mrs. North continued to stare. “Ain’t ne’er seen the likes of you before.”

Gamilla nodded.

“What’s your skin feel like?”

Gamilla widened her eyes in amazement at the question. “Like yours, I’d guess.” She answered, wishing she could add, “except younger and firmer.”

“But, it’s so dark.” Mrs. North squinted.

“I’m African.” Gamilla replied. She could see the old woman’s fingers twitch and feared that Mrs. North would begin to paw at her face.

Mrs. North nodded.

“The young master seems to like you.” Mrs. North smirked.

“Colin and I have known one another since he was first born.” Gamilla grinned. “We’re good friends.”

“Only, then, you’re not the governess?”

“No.” Gamilla answered. “You met Miss Barrett. She’s the young woman who…”

“I know.” Mrs. North snapped. “Somethin’ about that one…”

“She’s a very kind woman…” Gamilla continued.

“Why’s she not with the babe, then?” Mrs. North asked. “It’s her place. Isn’t it? Not yours. Yet, since you been here, I seen you with Master Colin more than I seen her.”

“Miss Barrett has just been getting settled. You know, she’s Scots? You like her, I’m sure.”

“Don’t you be tellin’ me what to think.” Mrs. North snapped. “So, Camilla…”

“Gamilla. With a ‘G,” Mrs. North.” Gamilla smiled.

“What sort of name is that?”

“African, Mrs. North.”

“Aye…” the woman shook her head. “I’ll never get used to it.” She grunted. “Whatever your name is, then. Tell me, His Grace—his letter said he’s been ill. He don’t look ill. Looks quite well, in fact.”

“His Grace done gotten much better over the last few days.” Gamilla explained. “We’re all very thankful.”

“Why, then, does he travel with his physician?” Mrs. North asked.

“Oh, it’s not because he’s ill, Mrs. North.”

“Why, then?”

“His Grace and Dr. Halifax always travel together. Ummm…” Gamilla paused.

“Why?”

“Dr. Halifax lives with His Grace.”

“Pardon?”

“Dr. Halifax lives at the townhouse in Belgrave Square.”

“Why?” Mrs. North squinted. “Is His Grace often that ill?”

“No.” Gamilla squirmed. “They’re friends, Mrs. North.”

The housekeeper was silent for a moment. Gamilla could tell that she was thinking. Finally, she sighed. “So, that’s how it is?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs. North.” Gamilla smiled politely.

“His Grace isn’t likely to take a wife, then?”

“Ah…no.” Gamilla shook her head. “He done got the family he wants already.”

“Is that how it is?”

“Ain’t our place to say how a man should be happy, Mrs. North.” Gamilla said firmly.

“Aye—you’re a shrewd one.” Mrs. North grinned. “I like ya. You got fire in yer blood!”

Gamilla nodded. “Oh…” She responded with slight confusion. “Good.”

“So, you speak of happiness? His Grace seems happier than I remember him.” Mrs. North muttered. “I’m glad of it. Even if it weren’t what I expected.”

“I believe he is a very happy gentleman.” Gamilla replied. “You…you’ve known him a long time, then.”

“Sure, but I have.” Mrs. North chuckled. “Since he was no bigger than this one here.” She looked at Colin again. “Are ya sure he ain’t really His Grace’s son? But, how could he be? Not with what you jus’ told me. You know…”

“He is adopted, Mrs. North.”

Mrs. North’s eyes widened. “Dear God in Heaven. He’s the child of Lady Barbara.”

Gamilla coughed nervously.

Finally, Gerard and Charles looked up from their conversation with Finlay.

“Everything all right there, Gamilla?” Charles asked.

“I…I…I’m jus’ talkin’ with Mrs. North, Charlie.” Gamilla snorted.

“Look at Colin,” Gerard smiled. “I think he likes it here.”

“Of course, he does!” Mrs. North sputtered.

Gamilla looked pleadingly at Mrs. North.

“Aye, but do the men know?” Mrs. North squinted.

“Know what, ma’am?” Charles asked politely.

“’Bout the parentage of the child?”

Finlay interjected. “Mrs. North—we shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout the masters.”

“Sure, but we should, Finlay Donnan! It’s ours to know what goes on in the main house so that we can protect the master from harm. If we don’t know all the truth, how are we to shield the master from what might come?”

“Gamilla,” Charles barked. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothin’!” Gamilla shook her head.

“Ah, the girl didn’t have to tell me nothin’! I can look at a babe and see if he’s a Molliner or not. I was in this house when the old master, bless his soul, was a boy. Don’t ya think I can see a Molliner face when it’s in front of me? Even if it is clouded with Fallbridge blood. Now, you tell me, Girl. Is this the child of Lady Barbara?”

All eyes turned to Gamilla.

She took a deep breath. “Mrs. North.”

“Gamilla.” Charles warned.

“I…”

“Come on, then, Girl!” Mrs. North snarled.



Did you miss Chapters 1-69 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 71.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 70

Robert awoke and slowly opened his eyes. For a moment, the room was unfamiliar to him and he felt a sense of dread wash over his fatigued body. He shut his eyes again and thought. “Where I am?” Opening his eyes again he took in his surroundings. The room was papered in a pattern of red flowers on a taupe background, heavy walnut moldings surrounded the doors and windows. A fire was dying in the shockingly white marble hearth. Red flowers—red, the color of the earth on that hill. Robert slowly began to remember where he was and how he’d gotten there.


“Julian must experience this every time he awakens from Mr. Punch.” Robert thought to himself. “What a terrible feeling it must be.”

Robert breathed in, as deeply as he could without coughing. He was able to take in more air than he had the previous day, but he could still feel the fluid in his chest. He shivered slightly and attempted to pull the blankets further to his chin. He found, however, that there was resistance as if they were weighted down.

He sat up slightly and squinted into the dim light which crept in through the narrow openings in the thick, velvet curtains which shut the daylight from the room. At the foot of his bed, he saw Julian—or was it Mr. Punch—curled up in a ball near his feet. Robert smiled. “It’s Punch.” He gazed at the sleeping figure, knees pulled up to his chest, looking for all the world like a loyal dog slumbering obediently at the feet of his master.

“Punch,” Robert whispered.

“Sleepin’” Mr. Punch mumbled.

Robert laughed before coughing a little. “Dear Punch, it’s morning.”

“Here,” Punch yawned, scrunching up Julian’s face. He sat up and grinned. “You don’t look so sickly today.”

“I think I’m feeling a little better.” Robert nodded.

“Ya think?” Mr. Punch grunted. “Either you’re feelin’ better or ya ain’t. Doesn’t do no good thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“I’m feeling a little better, then. I know it.” Robert smiled. “In fact, I’m a trifle hungry.”

“Coo!” Mr. Punch whooped. “Naasir brought some vittles.” Mr. Punch leapt from the bed and hurried over to the tray Naasir had left the previous evening. “Only they’re cold, I’d ‘spose. Betcha’d be wantin’ fresh.”

“Probably.” Robert smiled.

“Broth it was,” Mr. Punch muttered. “Now, it rubbish. Say, I’m hungry me-self.”

The door to the room rattled. And, then, someone knocked softly.

“Lord Fallbridge?” Naasir whispered through the door.

“Come in,” Mr. Punch smiled, glad to hear the man’s voice.

“It’s locked, Sir.” Naasir said.

“Right.” Mr. Punch grunted. He looked at Robert. “Had a visitor, we did. That barmy girl what’s got the red hair and frightening eyes. Got a neck like a bloke, that one. Wide shoulders, too. Don’t like her. Locked her out so she wouldn’t come and pester us no more.”

“I think we can let Naasir in.” Robert smiled.

“That we can.” Punch said, hurrying to the door and unlatching it.

“I’ve brought some breakfast for you, Sir.” Naasir grinned despite his tired voice. “Some fine boiled eggs and streaky bacon for you, Mr. Punch and some good hot mutton broth for the doctor.”

“Fine!” Punch licked his lips.

“How are you feeling today, Dr. Halifax?”

“A mite stronger, Naasir.” Robert answered.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Naasir nodded.

Mr. Punch hungrily grabbed a fistful of bacon from the tray and greedily shoved it in his mouth. With his mouth still full he commented. “What’dya think, chum, maybe in a day or two, we can get outta this place and go back to Adrienne and Cecil’s what’s got the baby and all them lovely heads?”

“Let’s hope so.” Robert nodded as Naasir helped him sit up.

“Right!” Mr. Punch whooped. “That’s the way to do it.” He winked at Naasir. “Sorry, foreign chum, ‘bout lockin’ you out only we had that girl in here and I don’t like her much. Had to keep her out.”

“You mean Miss Ulrika, Sir.” Naasir chuckled. “She’s quite…unusual.”

“I’d say.” Punch nodded Julian’s head. He picked up and egg and studied it. “Here, it’s hard. Can’t eat that.”

Naasir politely took the egg from Mr. Punch and placed it back in the cup; he very carefully tapped the egg and removed the top. “I believe one is meant to eat the soft insides from the shell.”

“Interestin’.” Punch grunted, taking a spoon from the tray.

“Naasir, before I eat,” Robert said, “I wouldn’t mind changing into a fresh dressing gown.”

“Of course,” Naasir said. “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing some of your things over from Mr. and Mrs. Halifax’s place.” He walked to the wardrobe and retrieved a dressing gown and nightshirt for Robert. He helped Robert undress while Mr. Punch happily ate his egg.

“Say, this is good.” Mr. Punch grinned.

“Surely, you’ve had eggs before, Mr. Punch.” Robert said, shivering as the cool air of the room hit his skin.

“Probably. Only Julian does most of the eatin’ and he don’t eat too much. Kind of like it, I do.”

“Good to know.” Robert laughed.

Little did they know that from outside their door, someone was watching their cozy domestic scene.

Ulrika smacked her lips hungrily as she watched through the key hole. “The doctor’s not bad lookin’ either.” She whispered.

“He’s a butcher.” Barbara hissed in Ulrika’s ear. “What are they doing?”

“Your brother is eating with the manners of a field hand. He keeps referring to himself in the third person and the others call him ‘Mr. Punch.’” Ulrika whispered.

“That’s one of Julian’s little games. It’s all part of his madness.” Barbara hissed.

“Looking like that, he can be as mad as he wants.” Ulrika smiled.

“Keep your voice down.” Barbara growled softly. “You don’t want me to take back what we gave you, do you?”

Ulrika looked up and smiled. “Barbara, you can’t take it all back. Some things can’t be taken back.”

Barbara grabbed Ulrika by her hair and clamped her hand over the girl’s mouth. “Yes, they can.” She whispered fiercely.

Ulrika bit Barbara’s hand, and she withdrew it quickly, wincing. Ulrika gazed at Barbara viciously. “Don’t try my patience.” She whispered.

“Don’t try mine.” Barbara responded. “Come on, then. And, remember, do as you’ve been told.”

Ulrika rose to her feet and opened the door—walking brazenly into the room.

“Bullox.” Punch spat.

“I thought I’d see how our guests were doing.” Ulrika grinned. “My maid will tend to the fire. It’s so chilly in here. We wouldn’t want anyone to catch their death, would we?” She winked at Robert.

Punch slammed Julian’s fist against the table. “What kind of thing is that to say to a man what’s been so sick?”

“Really, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Ulrika cooed. “Did you both sleep well?”

“Once I locked you out, I did.” Mr. Punch grumbled.

“Lord Fallbridge,” Ulrika said, “Dr. Halifax, you know we have a big occasion on the horizon. Each year Edward and Corliss Cage hold a fantastic ball at their waxworks in New Orleans to mark the changing of the year. I’d like to invite both of you as guests of the Rittenhouse family. Of course, Dr. Halifax, your brother and his little French wife will be in attendance. After all, they’re going to unveil some of his sculptures at the museum.”

“We’re only goin’ back to New Orleans to get on a ship to go home.” Mr. Punch said. “And, when we do go, we aim to take back with us what we came for.” He narrowed Julian’s eyes at Barbara.

“How curiously you look at my maid.” Ulrika tittered.

“You know somethin’ you shouldn’t oughtta know.” Mr. Punch glared.

“Whatever could you mean?” Ulrika sighed. “Now, can I count on the two of you to come as our guests?”

“Already told ya, we ain’t goin’ to no ball. We’re gonna get on a ship, we are, and go back to England where we live. Don’t like it here.”

“We’d be delighted to attend,” Robert rasped. “Providing I’m well enough to go.”

“Here! Are you barmy, Chum?” Mr. Punch asked.

“No, Julian.” Robert said the name pointedly. “It would simply be impolite to refuse such a kind invitation. Besides, I would be interested in seeing my brother’s work on display.”

“Huh.” Punch grunted.

“I’m so pleased.” Ulrika smiled. “Come, Barbara, you can help me with my hair.”

With that, Barbara and Ulrika left the room.

Naasir locked the door behind them. “Might I suggest, Mr. Punch, that you hear the doctor out before you react?”

Mr. Punch frowned and hunched Julian’s shoulders. “Chum,” he said slowly to Robert. “Love you, I do, but I think you’re talkin’ out of fever. We ain’t goin’ to no ball!”

“Of course we are.” Robert coughed. “It’s the only way to get what we’ve come for. And, it’s the perfect way to make sure The Elegant Ogress is silenced forever.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-69? If so, you can read them here.