A Recipe For Punch, Chapter 93

Chapter 93
A Promise



"Come to me."  The Duchess called to Lennie.  "Come to me, and, all your pain will be over, Ellen."

"I do not answer to that name."  Lennie replied.  She blinked to focus her eyes, but could only see her mother's now familiar face as it seemed to float in a bluish haze.

"Come to me."  The mask repeated.

"What is this place?"  Lennie snapped.  She tried to move, to look around, but found that she was immobile as if her head was fixed in place, caught in some kind of vice.

"Never mind that, Ellen."

"I shan't tell you again."  Lennie replied.  

"I could almost like you."  Pauline answered through unmoving lips.  "You are sharp.  You inherited some of my fire.  You remind me a bit of myself.  It's a pity you're so plain."

"I am nothing like you.  I have nothing of you in me."  Lennie answered angrily.

"You have much of me in you.  You are half me, and half of that Scottish Brute.  I think that is where you've gotten your unfortunately broad nose and chin.  Pity.  What's appealing on a man is not so desirable on a woman.  Now, Barbara--the daughter that I kept--she's a beauty.  She's got the fire, too.  She lacks, however, your intellect.  If only she had gotten that, she wouldn't have fouled everything up so dreadfully and I'd still be alive.  I cannot help but blame her for my having been insanguinated and hanged by that terrible woman in America.  Ah well, these things happen!  It shall soon be rectified.  You can be part of it, Ellen, if you come to me."

"Do not refer to me by that name!"  Lennie screamed.

The specter continued to ignore her.

"Believe me when I tell you this, Jackson's little fairy tale reenactment was not part of our careful plans.  Still...it could work to our mutual benefit."

"Answer me--where am I?"

"The Romanists would call it Purgatory, I think.  I don't know.  Theology never interested me.  You are not quite dead.  Limbo?  Who knows?  You are in that blissful state between life and death, Ellen.  The decision is yours to make.  You can join me now and save yourself a great deal of suffering, or...you can wait..."

Lennie laughed.  "Do you truly think I would follow you anywhere?"

"I am your mother."  The vision chuckled.

"You're as much of a mother to me as a rock."  Lennie growled.

"Have you any idea what they're planning on doing to you?"  Pauline's phantom continued.  "I can hear them.  Your dear, dear, lunatic brother and his lover?  Just now, they've carried your limp body to the house--they and that Italian valet--and they're talking about draining your blood from your body and replacing it with the blood from your brother's own living body.  It sounds positively grotesque."

"You are one to judge what's grotesque."

"You see?  You are sharp."  Pauline continued.  "Ellen...spare yourself that indignity.  I can release you.  I can make you whole.  All you need to do is make a promise to me.  A simple promise."

"I would burn in Hell first."

"That can be arranged."  The Duchess answered.

"You are nothing but smoke and noise."  Lennie replied.  

"As you are so fond of telling me."  The strange face hissed.  "I've tried to be kind to you, but you've given me no choice.  Now, I must make your decision for you."



Did you miss Chapters 1-92 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 94.  

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 93

Chapter 93: 

The Task at Hand 



“Blimey,” Ethel cooed as their carriage approached Grange Molliner. She took Jenny’s hand. “It’s a storybook.”

Jenny nodded. “Just needs a prince.”

“We got a Duke and that’s just the same thing.” Ethel smiled.

“Sure, but he ain’t gonna ask for our hands.” Jenny giggled.

Ethel guffawed like a mule.

“Stop it, you two.” Violet snapped. The long journey from London had made her irritable and tired.

Aw, let ‘em have their fun, Vi.” Georgie grinned. “This is a holiday.”

“Is it?” Vi frowned.

“Well, yeah.” Georgie nodded. “The Duke brought us out here to go to the ball.”

“And, to work.” Vi sniffed. “Ain’t like he shut up the whole of No. 65 just so we could come here to dance.”

“They got a staff of their own here,” Jenny scowled. “They don’t need us to work.”

“Look at the place,” Vi pointed. “Do ya think they’re not gonna put extra hands to work?”

“My mum says we should count our blessin’s.” Ethel grumbled. “In all here years, she ain’t never heard of no master never bringin’ a scullery maid, a house maid, a kitchen maid and a page all the way to Scotland just for a ball—just to be kind. We’re lucky, we are. The Duke is good to us.”

“Dunno why you gotta spoil ever’thin’.” Jenny added. “You’re just a sour girl, Vi.”

“I know why she’s poutin’.” Georgie grinned. “She misses Hutchinson.”

“I do not!” Violet frowned.

“That ol’ man?” Ethel laughed. “What’s she missin’ ‘im for, then?”

“I think our Vi fancies ol’ Hutch.” Georgie grinned.

“Georgie Pepper, you’re a cad.” Violet snarled.

“I’m right, ain’t I?” Georgie teased. “Didn’t you cry when Hutch told ya he wasn’t gonna come?”

“No!” Violet spat. “I didn’t.”

“Sure ya did. I saw ya sulkin’ in the master’s library when you was puttin’ the dust covers out.” Georgie contorted his face into an expression of mock mourning. “’Woe is me! My old love ain’t comin’ to Scotland!’” He said in falsetto.

“You shut your gob, Georgie.” Violet snapped. “I don’t care if Mrs. Pepper is your mum, I’ll smack your face good. Sure, you think you’re that clever, but you don’t know nothin’!”

“He’s old ‘nough to be your pa.” Jenny giggled. “And, he’s losin’ his ‘air.”

“Old ‘nough to be her grandpa, no less.” Ethel added.

Violet’s eyes filled with tears.

“Aw, let’s leave her be, Girls.” Georgie laughed. “Ain’t Vi’s fault if Hutch don’t care ‘nough ‘bout her to come to Scotland.”

“He wanted to go!” Violet sniffed. “But, he’s loyal to the masters and he was right to stay behind to look after the house—what with them newspaper men tryin’ to get in all the time and them folks always ringin’ the bell. He was right to stay! You’ll see, the Duke will be proud, he will! Prob’ly even give Mr. Hutchinson a rise in wages.”

“We’ll see.” Georgie nodded.

The carriage rolled to a lurching halt and the driver climbed down to open the door. “Grange Molliner,” he barked. Meanwhile, the driver’s companion began to toss their baggage down.

“Easy!” Georgie grunted as he got down. “Them girls got cologne in there.”

Ethel and Jenny giggled.

When the central door—a monumental gothic arch of wood and iron—of the castle opened, the girls tried to look more respectable, but seeing that it was Gerard and Charles who emerged, they squealed with delight.

Charles shuddered at the girls’ giddiness, but Gerard couldn’t help but smile.

“Ain’t it grand, Gerry?” Jenny chirped.

“However have you been?” Ethel talked over her friend. “Is it wonderful here?”

“It’s very nice, girls.” Gerard nodded.

Gerard and Charles picked up the girls’ cases, allowing Georgie to carry his own.

“Where’s Mr. Hutchinson?” Charles asked, looking around.

“He didn’t come.” Georgie responded. “Thought it best to stay back and watch the ‘ouse.”

“His Grace will be surprised.” Charles shrugged.

“Are we goin’ in the front?” Ethel’s eyes widened as she strained to look through the door.

“Certainly not.” Charles laughed. “Follow me.”

Ethel looked disappointed, but obeyed. The happy group followed Gerard and Charles.

“How is His Grace?” Jenny asked. “Is he well?”

“Quite recovered.” Charles nodded as they walked.

“And the doctor and the baby?” Ethel asked.

“And, Gamilla?” Jenny continued.

“And my mum?” Georgie asked.

“All are well with the exception of Miss Barrett.” Charles interrupted.

“What’s wrong with her?” Violet asked, finally speaking.

“Got a fever on the way.” Gerard responded. “Dr. Halifax is makin’ her stay in her room.”

“Who’s lookin’ after the boy?” Georgie wondered.

“Gamilla.” Gerard replied.

“Oh.” Georgie sighed.

“Look smart, then.” Charles grumbled. “Entrance to the Servants’ Hall is just here. Don’t want to keep the masters waiting. Mr. Speaight went to tell His Grace and Dr. Halifax that you’ve arrived when we saw the carriage.”

“Ain’t this fine?” Ethel mumbled as they entered the Servants’ Hall.

“Hullo.” Mr. Speaight greeted them warmly. “I’m glad you all arrived well and sound.”

“Mr. Hutchinson stayed back.” Charles said quickly.

“Oh?” Mr. Speaight narrowed his eyes.

“Them men from the papers kept comin’ to the house.”

“What for?” Gerard asked.

“Still wantin’ to talk ‘bout the murder of Mr. Stover.”

“Her Majesty put a stop to that.” Charles shook his head.

“Perhaps with the upstanding newsmen, Charles.” Mr. Speaight sighed. “But, there will always be vultures looking for a scandal.”

“Bastards.” Charles muttered softly enough that the girls couldn’t hear him.

“Now, clean yourselves up,” Mr. Speaight said. “And be quick. The masters expect all of us from Belgravia to join them in the Great Hall. They want to greet you personally to Grange Molliner.”

“Where do we…”

“Over there…” Speaight pointed to a door to the left of the kitchens. “Quick, quick.”

“Where do we put our bags, Sir?” Georgie asked.

“Leave them in the vestibule for now.” Speaight replied. “After you the masters welcome you, you’ll meet the Grange’s staff and the housekeeper, Mrs. North. Then, you’ll be shown your rooms.”

“Georgie!” Mrs. Pepper shouted from the kitchens. “My boy!”

“Mum!” Georgie said cheerfully.

“No time for that, then.” Mr. Speaight sighed.

Nevertheless, Georgie went to greet his mother.

Speaight and Charles exchanged glances, each shaking their heads as Gerard grinned.

“Gerard,” Mr. Speaight grumbled. “Would you be good enough to ask Finlay to prepare the cordial tray for Dr. Halifax? He’ll want it brought up after the masters speak to us.”

“Sure, Mr. Speaight.” Gerard nodded. He scanned the Servants’ Hall. “Where is he?”

“He was just over by the hearth a moment ago.” Speaight frowned.

“Ain’t there now, Sir.” Gerard shrugged.

No. Finlay wasn’t there. He’d, moments before, crept up the service stairs and climbed into the central tower of the castle where he waited to light a candle—the agreed-upon signal for the Baron Lendsown to enter the Grange.

The baron awaited, shivering, hidden in the hollies which lined the lane leading up to the estate. He fumbled with something in the breast pocket of his long coat. The knife felt cold and heavy. The weight of it made his body shake. Lensdown could see the silhouette of Finlay behind the diamond-paned glass of the window.

Taking a deep breath, the baron tried to think of reward he would soon garner and not about the task at hand.



Did you miss Chapters 1-92? If so you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 94 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

Punch’s Cousin, Chapter 93

Mr. Punch looked at Robert with tears in his eyes, “Did you know ‘bout this?”


Robert smiled, “I did.”

“Let me help you,” Adrienne said, removing Fuller from Mr. Punch’s Lap. Toby rose and sniffed the box that sat in front of Mr. Punch on the floor. The dog wagged his tail as he sniffed.

Mr. Punch moved aside the tissue paper and studied his gift.

“You made this?”

“We did,” Cecil nodded. “I’m afraid you’ve already seen part of it. That’s my contribution. I painted it myself based on memories of Covent Garden. Adrienne made the rest herself.”

“I’m afraid that it may not be exactly as your old one.” Adrienne said. “Remember, I grew up with Guignol, so I’m not sure if I made the costume quite right, but I worked from a drawing that Cecil made for me.”

“Me hands, Chum,” Mr. Punch sniffed. “Would you help me with him?”

“Of course,” Robert knelt down next to Mr. Punch and removed his gift from the box.

Robert held the puppet up the light of the bay window.

“He’s beautiful!” Mr. Punch whooped. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course, Mr. Punch,” Robert said, gently placing the puppet in Mr. Punch’s lap. “He’s yours.”

“He’s me.” Mr. Punch sniffed. He cradled the puppet and examined it closely. “There’s me head—just as it once was. Me nose all hooked to me chin and me big red smile. My eyes—all wide and blue, just like they was. And me body! Lady Chum, you made me body!”

“Cecil made the hands.” Adrienne smiled. “But, I sewed the rest of the body.”

“Look at him in his red suit with his ruff! And his hat! With a bell and all, just like the one I had before. Gold trim, and…look, there’s little buttons on the front an’ all!” Mr. Punch murmured excitedly.

“We thought that since your own body has been lost, you might like to have this one.” Cecil said. “We do hope you’re pleased.”

“I am. Oh, yes, I am.” Mr. Punch whispered. “Reminds me o’ what I was, it does.”

“Perhaps you can talk to him the way Julian once talked to you before the two of you…” Robert began, unsure of how to continue.

“Before the two o’ us shared a body.” Mr. Punch nodded. He sighed. “What a lark it must be for the other Mr. Punchs. Sittin’ up in the tent with their sticks, talking through their swazzles. ‘That’s the way to do it!’” Mr. Punch wiped Julian’s eyes on the bandages on his hands. “He’s a big one, too. Bigger than I was. I was from a toy shop. I wasn’t this big. This is a right proper Mr. Punch.”

“Well, you’re a big man now.” Cecil grinned. “Of course you should have a big portrait.”

“A portrait of me.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Like I was. There’s portraits of me master, there are—at Fallbridge Hall, hangin’ on the wall all flat. Never had one of me. And, mines not flat at all. Mines got arms what move and a head that’s round what you can touch.” Mr. Punch looked up with a helpless expression. “I promise I’ll love him always, I will.”

“I’m so glad.” Adrienne smiled.

They all watched as Mr. Punch stroked the puppet for a few seconds. “When me hands get better, I’ll make him talk. And, then, when Julian’s usin’ the body, maybe he can make him talk for me. Right?”

“Right.” Robert nodded. “Shall I help you put him back in the box for now?”

“Oh, no.” Mr. Punch shook Julian’s head. “He don’t wish to be in the box.”

“Very well.” Robert smiled.

“Here, I got things for all of you, too.” Mr. Punch said. “Over there—see them things by the tree?”

“I do.” Robert nodded.

“Would you mind giving the envelope to Adrienne for me?” Mr. Punch asked.

“I’d be happy to.” Robert said. He fetched a crème-colored envelope and handed it to Adrienne.

“Open it careful. There’s somethin’ inside. Then, there’s a note, there is. Naasir helped me write it.”

Adrienne opened the envelope and held it over her palm. Into her hand, a glittering green stone fell out.

“It’s what’s called an emerald.” Mr. Punch said as if Adrienne might not know. “Me master’s been carryin’ it ‘round in his jewel case waitin’ to find the right place for it. He wants you to have it. Maybe he can make it into somethin’ you can wear sometime.”

“It’s stunning.” Adrienne said softly.

“Color of your dress.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Color of Springtime and good things like the things what you brought to us. Here! Open the note. That’s the bit what’s from me. It’s what’s called a poem. I thought it up. Naasir wrote it down for me. Go on, read it.”

Adrienne read aloud.

Songs what talk about angels and beauty
Do not know that they have failed their duty.
For the true angel what comes from prayin’
Is me new sister, lovely Adrienne.


Happy Christmas. 25 December, 1852


From Julian Lord Fallbridge and Mr. Punch Molliner

Adrienne’s lip quivered. “Thank you, Mr. Punch.”

“I made them words up me-self.” Mr. Punch said proudly.

“They’re beautiful.” Adrienne nodded. “So very…”

“See, then, there’s a little box for Cecil.” Mr. Punch pointed.

Robert retrieved the box and handled it to Cecil who opened it slowly to reveal a silver handled folding knife. On the handle, the initial “M” had been engraved.

“This is from me master and me both.” Mr. Punch said. “It’s a knife what folds into itself so you can carry it in your pocket. I figured since you carve things, you might could use it.”

“It’s quite handsome,” Cecil grinned. “I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“And, you’ll use it?” Mr. Punch asked.

“Often.” Cecil nodded appreciatively. “Thank you.”

“One more!” Mr. Punch whooped. “This one’s for you, Chum, the leather case there.”

Robert opened the case and smiled. “It’s a gold pen.”

“That shiny blue rock on the top is what’s called a sapphire. I was thinkin’. Bein’ as you’re so smart, you should write a book. Smart fellas like you write books, they do. You could write a book ‘bout medicine with that. Maybe you could write a book ‘bout you and me. I’ll wager there’s other folk like me and me master—folk what got two people inside ‘em. Maybe you could write somethin’ down ‘bout us that might help them other folk know that it ain’t no pantomime, but a real thing what happens. You could use the pen, you could, to write with.”

“I think that’s a fine idea.” Robert said, his voice catching in his throat.

“There’s more.” Mr. Punch added. “See, there’s a paper in the bottom of the box. That’s from me.”

“Ah, yes.” Robert said, composing himself. He withdrew the paper, unfolded it and read aloud.

25 December, 1852


Dear Chum,


Knowing you made all this worthwhile. Goes to show that sometimes lovely things grow in the hardest of rocks.


With affection,


Mr. Punch Molliner on the occasion of Christmas morning.

Robert lowered his head and trembled for a moment.

“Here, not feelin’ sick are ya?” Mr. Punch asked.

“Not at all…just the opposite.” Robert responded.

They sat in contended silence for a few seconds.

“This is, I think,” Adrienne said after awhile, “the loveliest Christmas anyone could have.”

Little did they know, but Agnes Rittenhouse was climbing the stairs to their front porch. Her hand on the bell would signal an end to their peace.



Did you miss Chapters 1-92? If so, you can read them here.