A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 80

Chapter 80
Corruption


"This is wholly unacceptable!"  Punch shouted at Mr. Hargrave.

"Dunno what to say, Your Grace."  The estate agent replied.  

"You should say, Hargrave, that you will cooperate."  Punch replied.  Though exhausted, he was able to maintain an aristocratic air to mask his own speaking voice.

"I should like to very much, Your Grace, only I can't see going to ask the men on the farms to stop their work to search for two footmen who've gone off."

"It isn't just the two footmen,"  Robert interrupted.  "It's also His Grace's aunt."

"Honestly,"  Lennie chimed in, "you are impertinent to even suggest that you will not do as His Grace says."

"What you don't understand, M'Lady, and Your Lordship is that His Grace is asking these men to set aside their livelihood in order to serve those in the Hall."

"They do serve me!  They work this land because I allow it!"  Punch growled.  "Have they, and have you, forgotten the arrangement?  That is how these estates function!"

"These men have their pride, Your Grace.  Also...well, there's not a lot of good feeling for the...for them in the Hall."  Hargrave replied with a smirk.

Punch inhaled and studied the man--tall and lean with an air of impertinence permanently etched in the lines of his sun-browned face.  "That isn't my doing, Hargrave.  That owes largely to you and whatever edicts set forth by my mother in the past.  As I have had to explain to everyone here more than once since we have arrived--my mother is dead!  I am the master now."

Robert and Lennie exchanged an anxious look. Robert knew Lennie was recalling the horrible sight she endured when the specter of their mother appeared to her.  Dead, yes--she was.  Nonetheless, the late Duchess was still very present.

"Now, I insist that you go the the farms and gather the men to search the estate for my aunt and for William and George!"  Punch said firmly.

"I'll do as you say, Your Grace, only I can't think they'll be too keen on it--especially when I tell them what your aunt is."

"What is our aunt?"  Lennie stepped forward.  "No one has said anything about her other than that she's missing.  We've given you no description of her.  So, I'm curious, Mr. Hargrave, what it is that you think?  Will the farmers object because of the circumstances of her relationship to the family?"

Knowing he'd been cornered, Hargrave stiffened.  "No, M'Lady."

"So, you refer, then to the physical appearance of my aunt?"  Lennie narrowed her eyes.

"Yes."  Hargrave answered.

"What do you know if it?"  Robert spoke up.  

"We all know what she is, Sir."  The man smirked.

"How is that?"  Punch bellowed.  

Hargrave was silent.

"You are complicit with Jackson in this, aren't you?"  Punch demanded.  "You and Jackson and Ivy Blessum.  Who else, Hargrave?  What has Jackson told you?  Did you help him with his ghoulish crime when my mother died?  Did you assist in the purchase of another human being from a traveling show?  Did you?  What have you and Jackson been about?  Did you help keep that poor soul, my aunt, locked away.  Tell me all about what you and Jackson have been conspiring to do!"

"I haven't said a thing about Mr. Jackson."  Hargrave replied.  "All I know is that he's been dismissed from the Hall.  What business have I with Mr. Jackson?  It isn't as if my work requires that I converse with the butler of the Hall.  I'm the land agent.  My doings have nothin' at all to do with the great house."

"You're cut from the same cloth as Jackson."  Lennie frowned.  "Both full of too many words and no substance.  Have you forgotten that His Grace was raised in this house?  Have you forgotten that he knows how the lot of you function."

"M'Lady, I don't know what you mean.  I know that His Grace spent most of his life here.  I watched him grow from a young man to what he is now, and I know that he abandoned the estate for a life in London."

Punch sputtered.  "How dare you?  I didn't abandon anything!"

"Only I've not had any words with Mr. Jackson of late."  Hargrave continued as if the Duke hadn't spoken.  "Nor have I spent much time with the man prior to his dismissal.  The running of the Great House has nothing to do with the running of the estate.  What business had I with Mr. Jackson?  He looks at me as a dirty worker, that one--even though I outrank him here.  Whatever would he wish to tell me, looking down on me so?"

"I can think of a good many reasons Jackson would speak to you--especially given that you were both so loyal to my late mother."  Punch replied.

"He's trying to deflect us from our point."  Lennie grumbled.

"No, M'Lady, I am not."  Hargrave said.  "I'm only stating my innocence in the face of many accusations.  Whatever business Mr. Jackson had with His Grace's aunt is none of my concern.  He did not look to me for approval, after all."

"However, he has told you of His Grace's aunt?"  Robert asked.

"People talk on the estate.  The goings on in the great house are a source of entertainment.  Your Grace, don't you think that when the likes of your Aunt was set up in such a fine suite of rooms after seemin' to come from nowhere that the maids would talk?  They've seen her now, Your Grace.  They know what she is.  Maids talk.  They talk to the farm wives who tell their husbands."

"A weak answer."  Punch hissed.  "You have known well before this."  He looked to Robert.  "I don't know why I'm shocked that the corruption extends all the way to the ends of the estate."

"Go now, Mr. Hargrave, and do was you've been instructed."  Lennie waved her hand in disgust.  "Our own men will be following behind you soon enough to see to it that you've done what we asked of you."

"Mark my words,"  Punch added, "Every eye on this estate will be looking for my aunt and those two young men."

"Yes, Your Grace."  Hargrave smiled.

"Meanwhile,"  Punch raised a brow, "I'll look to meet you again today.  Let's say in an hour.  I shall be paying a visit to the vicarage.  I trust that you and Causer will meet us there."

"The vicarage, Your Grace?"  Hargrave looked away quickly, and, then, set his face into as bucolic an expression as possible for such a leathery visage. 

"Yes.  In one hour."  Punch nodded.  "Now, go."

Hargrave  nodded, squeezing his soft hat in his hand, and hurried off.

"They're all thick with the stench of their corruption."  Punch spat once the man had left.

"We can't trust him."  Lennie shook her head.

"No.  We can't trust any of those who served the Duchess."  Robert sighed.

"Once again, it falls on us, it does,"  Punch grumbled, speaking as himself.  



Did you miss Chapters 1-79 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back on Monday for Chapter 81.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 80

Chapter 80: 

History 

Ellen furrowed her brow as she read from the Duchess of Fallbridge’s journal:

28 October 1820 

Freezing. Johnny Donnan came to tend the grate. At first he would not speak to me. I imagine that Colin has warned him against it. Still, he could not resist me after a few moments. He turned and our eyes met. Had it not been for the intrusion of his son, Finlay, we would have, surely, been able to converse. I watched through the cottage window later as Johnny beat Finlay with a branch he had cut from a nearby pine. The thrill it gave me almost made me forget for a moment the terrible discomfort of all of this. I wished that I could have been nearby or, perhaps, close enough to smell the boy’s tears. There is a certain strength in the boy which I find appealing. Even at just ten years he shows some of his father’s strength. Would that he could spend some time with Julian, I think my son would be improved by Finlay’s masculine presence. Nevertheless, Colin would never approve of his son consorting with the children of the staff. I suppose that I should cast an eye of contempt of such a friendship, but history shows us that we Fallbridges have always had a weakness for the lower classes. 

Ellen closed the book angrily, wishing she could throw it across the room. She didn’t dare. To begin with, the sound might wake the others, and now that the castle had finally fallen silent, she was loathe to think of suffering the cheerful sounds of the others again. Similarly, she couldn’t risk any damage to that precious tome. She hugged the book to herself and grinned just as the door to her chamber scratched open.

“Miss?” Gamilla whispered, poking her head in the door.

“Gamilla…” Ellen rasped, trying to make her voice sound as if it was coated with disease.

“I done saw the light under the door. Are you still feelin’ poorly?” Gamilla asked, cautiously entering.

“Yes, terribly.” Ellen nodded.

“I could get ya some tea, Miss.” Gamilla smiled.

“Oh, no…that wouldn’t help.” Ellen replied softly. “But, thank you. Gamilla, I don’t know what I’d do…I’d just be lost without you. Sometimes I believe you’re my only friend.”

“That ain’t true, Miss,” Gamilla shook her head. “We all care ‘bout you.”

Ellen sighed.

“Are you readin’?” Gamilla nodded—pointing to the book. “Looks terrible old. What is it?”

“This?” Ellen coughed. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just reading…my journal.”

“Your very own journal?”

“Yes.” Ellen lied. “This one is…it’s one I’ve used. Sometimes I like to read my thoughts—what I was thinking or feeling at any given point.”

“Oh.” Gamilla smiled. “I always wanted to keep a diary.”

“You should. Oh, yes, you should.” Ellen replied. “In fact, look in my wardrobe.”

“Miss?”

“In the writing slope at the bottom of my wardrobe is a blank journal which I purchased before we left for Scotland. I want you to have it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t, Miss.”

“Yes, yes you could. It’s a very fine one, too. Leather-bound with gold on the edges.”

“All the more reason, Miss Barrett.” Gamilla said humbly.

“I insist. Your first journal should be special. And, Gamilla, you’ve been so kind to me.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ special.”

“Oh, you certainly have. I wish to thank you.”

“But, you brought me them flowers that time and…”

“Gamilla, I insist.”

“Yes, Miss.” Gamilla answered sheepishly. She went to the wardrobe and found the writing slope of papier mache inlaid with mother-of-pearl and hand-painted with roses and forget-me-nots.

“What a fine lap desk.” Gamilla grinned.

“It was a gift from my eldest brother when I first became a governess.” Ellen answered, faking a cough. “There—right under…yes…you’ve found it.”

Gamilla retrieved the journal.

“Miss, it’s too pretty.”

“You must have it.” Ellen insisted. “Take a pen, too. You’ll find three in there. Take the blue one. I’ve just changed the nib.”

“Yes, Miss.” Gamilla responded emotionally. “I just…I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You can thank me by using it.”

“I…” Gamilla said shyly. “I’m not so very good at writin’.”

“But, you read quite well. Gamilla, I’ve heard you reading to Colin.”

“You have?” Gamilla replied with palpable embarrassment.

“You forget my room is right off of the night nursery.”

“Of course.” Gamilla nodded. “Still, I ain’t so very practiced with writin’. Anyway, I wouldn’t know what to write.”

“Just write your thoughts. Write what you’re thinking and feeling. I often write about what I’ve seen and heard during the day and then let my thoughts develop from the events of the day.”

“I could do that.”

“For instance, what happened today?”

“We came here to this castle—like a storybook. And, the masters was so happy. I saw them together…they were talkin’ all close and smilin’. And, then they went for a walk. When I saw ‘em through the window comin’ back, they was holdin’ hands and lookin’ so sweet and glad.”

Ellen grinned. “That’s exactly the sort of thing you should write.”

“And, then, I could say how we all thought you was lost and how we all worried and how sad I was to know you was sick.”

“You’re too kind.” Ellen coughed again.

“No…” Ellen shrugged.

“You’re very dear, Gamilla. Too dear, in fact, to be up this late. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Well, Miss.” Gamilla sighed. “Since the masters done went to sleep, I didn’t want to stay in the nursery—what with it bein’ right next to His Grace’s chamber.”

“Are they in the same room?” Ellen asked.

“Well…” Gamilla looked at the floor. “The doctor’s room is so far away and I think he likes to be close to His Grace and Colin.”

“I see.”

“I hated to leave Colin, but I didn’t wish to intrude on the masters. But, what if Colin should wake and need me?”

“The Duke will hear him.”

“True.” Gamilla nodded.

“So, you can go to your room and rest.”

“I done.” Gamilla sighed again.

“Do you not like your room?”

“It’s a fine room.” Gamilla smiled. “Biggest room I ever had to myself. But, that’s just it, Miss. I never slept alone before. See, I always had another girl with me. Either my own sister when she was alive or, then, at Mr. Fontanals place, there was six of us in our cabin. When I worked for Mr. and Mrs. Halifax, I shared a room with Lena and, then, in New Orleans I was either with Meridian or Marjani. At home, I share with Vi. See, I’m used to havin’ someone next to me. So, I can’t sleep by myself.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I thought maybe I could borrow Dog Toby for some company. But, you know how His Grace likes to have Toby in his bed. I didn’t dare ask.”

“I understand.”

“So, I thought I’d go to the larder for a snack. Mrs. Pepper said she done left me some biscuits in there case I got hungry, and, then, I saw your candle and thought I’d see if you was feelin’ any better.”

Ellen nodded. “You know, I can think of one person who would like to keep you warm tonight.”

“Miss?” Gamilla’s eyes widened.

“Gerard.” Ellen winked.

“Oh…” Gamilla looked awkwardly at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Gamilla.” Ellen laughed. “I don’t mean to tease you.”

“That’s all right, Miss.” Gamilla smiled naively.

“If I wasn’t so very ill, I’d invite you to stay with me.”

“Oh, it ain’t nothin’, Miss. I’m ain’t a baby. I’ll fall asleep some time soon—if I get tired ‘nough.”

“You certainly will.” Ellen smiled. “You know, you might take your journal to your room and try writing in it. Maybe it will relax you. You can write about all you saw and heard today.”

“And, it’ll be good practice. My handwritin’ ain’t good. Looks like a child. I reckon Colin could write better.” She chuckled. “Have you see Dr. Halifax’s hand? It’s so beautiful. The Duke, too. But, I reckon that’s because he can draw so beautiful. I wish I could do that…”

“Yes.” Ellen nodded, slight impatience evident in her voice.

“Oh, poor Miss Barrett. Here you are, sick in bed, and I’m goin’ on.”

“It’s fine, Gamilla.”

“I’ll take to my room, then.” Gamilla nodded. “Thank you so much for this.” She held up the journal.

“And, thank you for being such a good friend to me.”

“Good night, Miss.” Gamilla smiled.

“Good night.”

Gamilla left, clasping the lovely journal to her breast.

After the maid had gone, Ellen scowled. “Little idiot.”

Again, she opened the Duchess’ journal and began reading. Without warning, her door scraped open again. She looked up in surprise, but the expression quickly faded to one of relief and, then, finally settled into a glare of irritation.

“I wondered how long you’d be!” Ellen snapped at the person who’d entered. “For once your tardiness served you well. That little African came in here without knocking. If she’d found you in here there’d have been Hell to pay. Lock the door.” She pointed. “And, you’d best have what I asked you for.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-79? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 81 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square. 

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 80

“Look what I’ve found.” Ulrika grinned as she pushed Naasir and Mr. Punch into the stable.


Iolanthe Evangeline strained to look up.

“A family reunion.” She groaned.

“Julian!” Barbara rose from where she knelt next to the wounded woman.

Mr. Punch took a deep breath and composed himself. He spoke as he thought Lord Julian might, “Barbara, this is no place for you.”

“Why not?” Barbara spat. “I’m with my own kind.”

Mr. Punch turned to Arthur and frowned. “Arthur, what a surprise to see you alive.” He said, continuing to speak in Julian’s voice. “I see you’ve found your friend.” He gestured to the professor. “He was quite worried about you when you went missing on the ship.”

Naasir breathed in sharply, pleased that Mr. Punch had kept his promise to Robert and was able to keep a level head.

“What’s happened here?” Mr. Punch asked.

“What does it look like?” Barbara growled. “The brother of your companion has shot Miss Evangeline.”

“Will she die?” Punch asked, a little of his own manner creeping in.

“I’m not gonna die,” Iolanthe grinned. “This will only strengthen me.”

“Girl, did you get something to staunch the bleeding?” The professor asked.

“You may not speak to me that way. You will address me as ‘Miss Rittenhouse.’” Ulrika demurred.

The professor grinned wickedly, “Miss Rittenhouse, did you find something to stop the whore from bleeding out onto your nice, clean hay?”

Ulrika scowled.

“Watch yourself, Leon!” Iolanthe Evangeline hissed. “Careful that your tongue doesn’t get you in more trouble.”

Ulrika handed a fistful of Spanish Moss to Barbara.

“Is this all you could find?” Barbara bellowed.

“I would have looked for more, but I found something better.” Ulrika winked.

“Use this.” Mr. Punch handed a handkerchief to Barbara. He recalled how Robert had stopped his cut hand from bleeding. “Tie it above the wound to stop the flow of blood.”

Barbara snatched the handkerchief from her brother’s hand. “Leave here, Julian. This doesn’t concern you.”

“I should think it does.” Mr. Punch answered.

“Leave!” Barbara screamed.

“Naasir,” Mr. Punch said, “There’s a pump outside. Please use that pitcher,” He pointed to the corner, “to bring something for Miss Evangeline to drink.”

“Yes, Sir.” Naasir nodded, doing as instructed.

“I would have asked you, Arthur,” Mr. Punch squinted Julian’s eyes, “only you’ve gone in the sea, haven’t you? Can’t ask a dead man to do no chores.” He couldn’t help himself. As his anger rose, he was having an increasingly difficult time pretending to be Julian. Mr. Punch continued, “How does this work, then? Are you still me footman? Or does the fact that you’ve died and come back set you free?”

“You’re barmy.” Arthur laughed. “How I’ve always hated you.”

“Not too fond of you neither, I’m not.” Mr. Punch grunted.

“Julian, if you’ve come out here to play your little pantomime game and speak in other voices, then, you’re wasting your time.” Barbara grumbled.

Naasir returned with a pitcher of water and grabbed two tin mugs from the table in the corner of the stall. The horses whinnied as Naasir turned his back to the group. He poured half of the red powder from the vial into the pitcher and carefully tucked the glass tube into his pocket.

Offering the pitcher to Mr. Punch, he asked. “Will you pour, Sir?”

“I will.” Mr. Punch pulled Julian’s lips back into a grin. He poured one beaker full of water and knelt down beside Iolanthe Evangeline. “Take a sip. You must be parched.”

“Why are you helpin’ me?” Iolanthe asked.

“Because you are alive.” Mr. Punch answered, regaining control and speaking as Julian again. “I’ve learned that we must protect living things no matter who they are.”

“Didn’t stop you from trying to push me into the angry sea!” Arthur shouted.

“Quiet!” The professor snapped.

Mr. Punch held the beaker to Iolanthe’s lips and she sipped. “Foul!” She sputtered.

“Gimme some o’ that.” The professor grabbed the cup and took a swig. “You’ve put somethin’ in this!”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Punch replied calmly. “The water in this place is vile. That’s all.”

“What have you done, Julian?” Barbara narrowed her eyes at her brother.

“Only tried to help.” Mr. Punch responded. “Why don’t you and your friend Arthur take a drink?”

“So you can poison us, too?” Barbara laughed.

“I’m not the one what poisons people.” Mr. Punch answered angrily, his own voice clear. “That’d be your mate, Arthur. Poisonin’ would be too good for him. I want him to live so he can suffer like what he did to me and me chum!”

“Arthur,” The professor said, rubbing his head. “Silence the man! His voice is cutting through me.”

Arthur rushed toward Mr. Punch, grabbing him by his wounded hand.

Mr. Punch yelped.

“Stop!” Iolanthe called out, trying to sit up. “I wish to speak with him.” She looked at Mr. Punch. “I don’t know what you are, but there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Miss Iolanthe, don’t.” Barbara said.

“Don’t be givin’ me orders.” Iolanthe Evangeline snapped at Barbara. “An awful lot of trouble you turned out to be.” She looked at Mr. Punch again. “Come here, lunatic, and everything will become clear. I knew that you and that dark priest would be a danger to me.” She sighed. “But, now, I don’t care.”

Mr. Punch knelt beside Iolanthe Evangeline. She grabbed him by his cravat and pulled him to her face. “Yes, now, everything will become clear!” She hissed.

Meanwhile, Marjani arrived at her cabin at Manuel Fontanals’ plantation. There, she found her daughter and her daughter’s husband, lying on a bare mattress. Both of them breathed noisily as if each intake of air caused them considerable pain.

“Nontle, honey, Mama’s here. Tell me what’s hurtin’ ya.” Marjani whispered to her daughter.

Nontle gurgled. “Where’s Columbia?”

“She’s safe, Sugar.” Marjani said, fighting back tears. “She’s done gone to one of the other cabins. Don’t you fret ‘bout her.”

“Take care o’ my girl.” Nontle rasped.

“Darlin’, what’s hurtin’ ya?” Marjani said, feeling her daughter’s face. She pulled back Nontle’s lips and saw the blood beginning to rise on her gums. Marjani gasped.

“It’s the Yellow Jack, isn’t it, Mama?” Nontle asked.

“Don’t you fret, honey. Mama’s gonna fix it.” Marjani said softly.

“Take care o’ my Columbia.” Nontle said, her chest rattling.

“Don’t need to.” Marjani shook her head. “You’re gonna do it. You’re gonna get well. This ain’t nothin’ to be worried ‘bout.”

Nontle shut her eyes. “Not true, Mama.”

Marjani rose and stood in the center of the cabin. “Holy Mother,” she began, “I need strength! There’s nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t trade for to make my children safe!”

She strained to listen to the air, awaiting some response—some sign. Yet, she received nothing.

“Holy Mother!” Marjani shouted. “I need you!”



Did you miss Chapters 1-79? If so, you can read them here.