A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 82

Chapter 82:

They Shall Protect Us



Hargrave stormed into the vicarage, giving Mr. Quick and Mr. Jackson a start.

"Damn it, man."  Jackson snarled.  "You have no respect for anyone, do you?"

"Now's not the time for gentility, Jackson."  Hargrave glowered.

"What if we had had Her Grace laid out here?"  Quick gestured to the table. 

"Vicar, there ain't a bit o' Pauline what I ain't seen."  Hargrave snapped.  "Besides, I'd hardly be looking at her with lust in her present state.  Now, would I?"

"One never knows."  The vicar replied dryly.

"What is it that you want?"  Jackson grumbled.  "Now that you've interrupted us, tell us why."  He smirked, looking to Quick.  "Convenient how Hargrave always appears when the heavy work has concluded.  We could have used you when we carried Her Grace here.  At least your beast of a bailiff helped us part of the way.  Nonetheless, it was tiring work to carry our lovely all the way from the crypt on our own.  We're quite exhausted now."

"Well, then, you're going to have to rally your strength, gentlemen."  Hargrave laughed.  "Because back she goes."

"Whatever do you mean?"  Jackson snapped.

"His Grace and Lord Colinshire have told me that they intend for me to meet them here in one hour's time."  Hargrave announced.  

"Why?"  Quick frowned.

"They're turning the estate on its head looking for the missing lads and that monster o' theirs."  Hargrave explained.  "I'm to tell the farmers to join in the search."

"Why would they wish to search my home?"  Quick sniffed.  "How could I be involved in any of this?"

"Vicar!  You've got two young men stripped, drunk on some potion and tied up in your cellar.  You've got the Lobster Woman detained here, and you got the duchess waitin'--I'm guessing in your very bed.  And, you ask me how you could be involved?"

"What I mean is why they would think that I'm involved.  What did you tell them?"

"I told them nothing, only they don't believe me.  They accused me of bein' a part of this.  Rightfully, they also concluded that you, me, and Jackson are workin' together.  I didn't say a word.  Came right here, I did, and I'm tellin' you, you got less than an hour to empty this house of what they're lookin' for."

"It would be easier just to kill them."  Jackson growled.  "It was one thing to carry the duchess from the crypt to the vicarage.  We had the cover of the pines.  But, where will we take Her Grace and...the others...without being seen in the middle of the day?"

"And, you, Mr. Jackson.  Recall, you've been banished from the estate.  Also, what of Miss Blessum?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen,"  Quick interrupted.  "Stop your panic.  There's no cause for alarm."

"Oh?"  Hargrave bellowed.  "The two of you are as old as dust.  If you go to gaol, you can die and release yourselves from that suffering.  I'm young."

"You're not so young."  Mr. Jackson spat.

"Please,"  Quick raised his hand.  "Silence.  There's no reason to worry.  No one is going to gaol."

"We abducted three people, and, Jackson is trespassing.  Not to mention whatever charge they'd force on us for movin' the duchess about."  Hargrave snorted.  "The law don't look kindly on that, especially when the person making the charge is a favorite of the Crown."

"The only Sovereign to whom you must consideration is God."  Quick answered.

"God don't got a hand in this."  Hargrave snarled.

"As much as it pains me,"  Jackson shook his head.  "I must agree with Hargrave.  We are in a bind."

"No, no..."  Quick smiled calmly.  

"Unless your God is about to sweep in on some heavenly machine and clear this house o' what them from the Hall are lookin' for..."

"We don't need God for that.  We have Her Grace."  Quick grinned.  "God has already filled the duchess' head with His love and knowledge.  Together, they shall protect us."

"What's he sayin'?"  Hargrave looked at Jackson.  "Last I saw Pauline she was dead.  She ain't in the place to protect anyone.  I know you both fancy that you can speak to her spirit, but..."

"Years ago,"  Quick grinned, "Her Grace put in motion a means by which we can escape this minor trouble.  Such was her wisdom, though she may not herself have even known it at the time."  He looked at Jackson.  "Don't you recall?"  Stamping his foot on the floor, Quick repeated.  "Mr. Jackson--don't you recall?"

"Of course!"  Jackson threw back his head.  "Oh, yes...how could I have forgotten?"


Have you missed Chapters 1-81 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 83.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 82,

Chapter 82: 

Grooming 



Mr. Punch smiled as the morning sunlight hit his back and shoulders. The Grange’s cheerful morning room was adorned with the bright, sentimental genre paintings that Sir Colin Molliner had collected throughout his lifetime. Scenes of cherubic maids engaged in domestic tasks, young men wooing their loves, children at play with their canine friends and farm wives preparing luscious meals lined each wall. Sir Colin systematically had replaced the ponderous Flemish still-lives of rotting fruit and rancid game which had long been displayed in that room, and Punch was glad of it.

He sat on the blue, gold and red plaid carpet of the room—cross-legged. Dog Toby lay in front of his master—his fuzzy stomach toward the ceiling and feet extended—as Punch groomed the dog with a stiff brush. This had been their morning routine for quite some time and both master and dog enjoyed the time together. As he brushed the dog, Mr. Punch chattered gaily, describing the paintings in the room for his four-footed chum.

“And, over there is a painting of a lady.” Punch continued. “She’s waitin’ for a letter, she is, and she don’t look so very happy ‘bout havin’ to wait. But, see, in the corner, you can notice her maid. Her maid’s got the letter already and she’s readin’ it her own self. Ain’t very loyal of her.” Mr. Punch smiled. “We’re lucky, we are. We got a loyal staff.”

Punch paused as the door to the room opened. He looked up brightly with wide eyes hoping that it was Robert who was coming in, or, perhaps Gamilla with young Colin. Seeing that it was Finlay who had entered, Punch fixed his face into a more noble expression—the slight smile and wise eyes which he affected whenever trying to imitate Julian. He nodded at the man in the manner which he thought befitted a Duke.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Finlay nodded as he came into the room.

“Good morning, Finlay.” Punch responded in his finest “Julian” voice.

“If you don’t mind, Sir, I’ve come to start to set the sideboard for breakfast.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Punch smiled.

“I trust Dr. Halifax will be down soon,” Finlay replied, arranging the silver serving pieces.

“Yes. He’s just with Gerard now.” Mr. Punch answered.

Finlay paused. “Sir, I can do that for you.” He pointed to the brush which Punch was using.

“That won’t be necessary, Finlay.” Mr. Punch shook his head.

“Still, Sir. It’s rather beneath your station.”

Mr. Punch squinted. “I don’t think so. Dog Toby and I enjoy the time together.” He wished that it had been Charles or Speaight who had entered—someone who already knew of his “Mr. Punch” side, someone with whom he did not have to pretend.

“As you wish, Sir.” Finlay nodded. “He does seem to be enamored of Your Grace.”

“We’re chums…” Punch chirped. He caught himself and added more seriously. “The dog and I have been very close for quite some time now.”

“How old is he?” Finlay asked.

“I can’t be sure.” Mr. Punch answered. “He’s been with me for a year. He was a gift.”

“From the doctor, Sir?”

“No.” Mr. Punch shook his head. “From a friend that we met in America.”

“Oh?” Finlay smiled.

“A very kind African lady.”

“Gamilla?” Finlay continued.

“Not Gamilla, but someone well known to Gamilla. Her name is Marjani and she’s a very fine lady. She was very good to us. She found Dog Toby and gave him to me.”

“How kind, Sir.” Finlay nodded. “Obviously, the dog is quite content with you.”

“And, I with him.”

“And, if you’ll pardon me sayin’ it, Sir, he’s a most lucky dog.” Finlay grinned.

Mr. Punch blinked rapidly for a moment, narrowing one eye. “Uh…thank you, Finlay.”

“Your Grace?” Finlay began. “Mrs. North told me that you and she had a talk this morning, very early.”

“That’s right.” Punch smiled. “Speaight as well.”

“I’m told that you’ve decided to resurrect the Servants’ Ball.”

“That’s correct. I hope to host the ball next week.” Punch answered.

“How very exciting.” Finlay grinned. “Will it be fancy dress?”

“Yes. That’s what I was thinking.”

“As what will you dress, Sir? No doubt some great handsome figure from history?”

Punch squinted again. “I don’t know that Dr. Halifax and I will don fancy dress. As hosts, I think we’ll come as we are. However, that’s not to say that the rest of you shouldn’t.”

“Oh, Sir. Think of it.” Finlay winked, stepping forward. “You could be anything you wish. Adonis, or Adam, or Bonnie Prince Charlie, or, even Beau Brummell.”

“I think not.” Mr. Punch shook his head. He didn’t wish to look up at Finlay, and, instead focused on brushing the happy dog. “I’ve only worn a costume once. At the end of 1852--at a similar fete while in New Orleans. I don’t care to dress so again.”

“As whom did you dress, Sir?” Finlay asked. “Someone quite dashing, I’m sure.”

“I was Punchinello.” Punch replied plainly. “Dr. Halifax was ‘the Doctor’—you know, from the puppet show.”

“How clever, Sir.” Finlay stepped even closer. “But why would you hide your face behind such grotesquerie?”

“Because, Finlay, grotesquerie is part of life. Every man is inhabited by something grotesque. There’s beauty in it, actually. I am not ashamed to admit that within me is something as magnificently flawed as Punchinello with his hump and great nose and chin. When we allow ourselves to be grotesque, then, and only, then can we be our most attractive.”

“It just seems a shame to me to place perfection in shadow.” Finlay grinned.

“Finlay, no man is perfect—especially not I.” Mr. Punch sighed.

“You are most wise, Your Grace.”

Mr. Punch shrugged. “More so than anything, Finlay, I’m hungry. I trust the doctor will be down momentarily. Perhaps you can see about the progress of breakfast?”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” Finlay nodded.

After Finlay had left the room, Mr. Punch looked at Dog Toby, scratching his belly. “Ain’t that odd? What a strange bloke. What’d you think, Chum?”

The dog rolled over on to his stomach and, lifting his hind quarters in the air, wagged his tail.

“You’re hungry, too, then.” Mr. Punch smiled, forgetting all about Finlay. “Here, let’s go find our chum, then. Maybe we can stop and see Colin on the way. By then, breakfast will be ready.”

Together, Punch and the dog bounded from the room.

From around the corner, Finlay watched as the Duke and Dog Toby sprinted up the monumental staircase.

“Poor, barmy fella.” Finlay muttered. “Thank God you’re as handsome as you are. I don’t think that doctor is takin’ care of you proper. That’s why you need your Finlay.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-81? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 83 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 82

With cruel, crackling fingers, the fire spread quickly through the stables. Mr. Punch hurried to the stalls and opened the gates, releasing the horses which ran into the pasture.


“Go on, big-eared dogs!” Mr. Punch whooped. “That’s the way to do it!”

“Arthur!” Barbara screamed. “You’ve got to do something.”

Arthur stood, paralyzed with fear.

“Arthur!” Barbara shouted again.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said finally. He gazed at Barbara for a moment and then ran from the stable.

“I have to get Mother!” Ulrika shouted.

“No!” Barbara ordered. “Would you have her discover Miss Evangeline?”

“What do I care?” Ulrika screamed, fleeing the stable.

“Leon!” Barbara spat. “Help me carry her to safety.”

Still dizzy from the powder, the professor shook his head. “Let her burn. That’s what she deserves.”

“He’s correct.” Iolanthe moaned.

“Naasir, run to the cabins and get some of them men to help put this blaze out.” Mr. Punch said quickly. “Go on then, if we don’t do somethin’, these humans are gonna roast in here, they are.”

Naasir narrowed his eyes. “They’ll burn the way they wanted me to burn.”

“We can’t do it, Chum.” Mr. Punch pleaded. “One thing I learned is that it’s not our place to say what’s to happen to people.”

From outside the stable, they heard Carling Rittenhouse screaming as Ulrika dragged her to the stable.

“Listen,” Mr. Punch continued, “You’ve got to.”

“What about you, Sir?” Naasir asked.

“I can take care of me-self.” Mr. Punch said. “Go, then.”

Naasir ran off to find help.

Mr. Punch hurried to Iolanthe Evangeline. “Part o’ me wants to see the fire eat you. But, I know that it’d haunt me master forever if I let it happen.”

He strained to pick up Iolanthe from the hay. His injured hand throbbed with pain.

“Leave me here.” Iolanthe groaned.

“No!” Mr. Punch shouted.

With Iolanthe Evangeline in his arms, he screamed at Barbara. “You fool, would you die in here? Get out!”

“I can’t!” Barbara said frantically as she darted from stall to stall—coughing from the smoke.

“You, too, Professor, or whatever name you’re callin’ yourself.”

The professor stood as still as a statue and grinned at the flames which rose to the roof of the stable.

“Can’t stay in here, I can’t.” Mr. Punch shouted as he carried Iolanthe from the stable. He deposited her gently behind the hedgerow in the Spanish moss which had fallen there in great tufts of fleecy gray.

“Right,” Mr. Punch coughed. “Stay there, you monster. If there’s to be any justice, you’ll find it from men and not from fire.”

Mr. Punch rushed back into the burning barn as Naasir and about a dozen of the field hands came charging toward the place with buckets in their hands.

“Are you daft?” Mr. Punch shouted to “the professor,” “Get out of here!”

The professor continued to grin, looking up at the ceiling which groaned as the fire licked at it.

Punch squinted into the smoke to find Barbara. He saw her digging frantically in the hay.

“I can’t find it!” She screamed.

“Doesn’t matter.” Mr. Punch raced to her side. He grabbed her around the waist so he could carry her out, but she beat him about the head and shoulders with her fists.

“Unhand me!” She screamed.

“Won’t let you perish in this, I won’t. Me master’d never forgive me even if you are a beast what stole from him.” Mr. Punch argued.

Barbara wriggled free. “He left me!” Barbara spat. “He left me in here to die!”

“Don’t worry none ‘bout Arthur. He’s no good! Barbara, we can make all o’ this right, we can. Just come with me! No sense in letting Julian lose his father and his sister, too.”

“I hate you.” Barbara growled. “You’re mad!”

“I’m comin’ back for you, I am.” Mr. Punch frowned. He next went to Leon, the professor. He tried to tackle the giant man, but the professor shoved Mr. Punch away.

“Leave me.” The professor snarled. “This will be the start of my Hell.”

With a hideous creak, the timbers of the roof began to give way and fell in glowing splinters around their shoulders.

“Don’t know what to do.” Mr. Punch moaned as he heard screams from outside.

With a monstrous crash, the entire ceiling fell around them in a heavy mass of orange, red and gold.

Mr. Punch fell to the smoking hay beneath him. He felt Julian’s body grow heavier and heavier as his lungs filled with smoke. Within seconds, the bright world around him turned black.



Did you miss Chapters 1-81? If so, you can read them here.