A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 97

Chapter 97
Mara


"You try my patience, Ellen."  The specter growled--its rigid countenance inches from Lennie's.

In fact, Lennie was unsure exactly what she herself was.  She was keenly aware that she was unable to move.  Much like the visions she'd had of her late mother, she felt that she was just a mask-like face unattached to a proper body of any sort.  When she spoke, she could not feel  her lips move, nor her eyes blink, her tongue in her mouth, her...  She felt nothing really.  Nothing physical.  Where was she?  What was she?  

What had happened?

Lennie did her best to remain as present as possible.  

The last she could recall, she'd been scratched, or cut.  They were in the crypt.  She'd been with Violet and Maude and Ethel.  They'd spotted Jackson and challenged him.  He'd offered her a jeweled comb which had fallen to the floor of the crypt--likely from the wig which he'd used to dress the corpse of her mother.  The teeth of the comb had been somehow poisoned--probably by the very preservatives he'd used to keep the corpse.  

Lennie replayed these events in her thoughts--over and over again.  She did so to drown out the insidious chatter of her mother's spirit.

What was going on outside of their shared limbo?  Surely, by now, Punch and Robert had come to her aid--Matthew, too.  They'd carried her back to the Hall.  Yes, that's surely what had happened.  Likely, Robert was working on some means of restoring her to health.  She tried to convince herself that this would pass like waking from a nightmare.  She would soon realize that it was just...just...

When Lennie was a little girl, in fact, well into her adolescent and young adult years, she suffered from a nightmare wherein she felt as though she could not move.  She was paralyzed as if a horrible goblin or hag were sitting upon her chest.  She could not scream or do anything and thought she would surely die.  Of course, eventually, she would awaken.  When she did, she told the woman who raised her--her aunt, though, at the time, Lennie thought her to be her mother.  

"Aye, Mara--the hag.  She sucks the breath from your wee body, Mara does."  Mrs. Barrett replied.  "That's what she'll do to ye.  She'll take the breath from yer body.  And, there's nothin' ye can do 'bou' it."

That didn't help.

This--this was no different than "Mara."  

This--this situation, whatever it was.  This confusion.  

This was just a trick of her mind, Lennie thought.  There was no "hag" who sat upon Lennie's chest to suck the life from her whilst she slept as a child.  Mara, the sleep hag did not exist, then, and she did not exist now.

Lennie kept thinking.  "I have been wounded.  Likely I have been poisoned.   This poison is making my thoughts play tricks on me, and I am unable to have clarity.  My brother and Robert are helping me, and soon I shall awaken and be well.  Whatever I hear--this voice which calls itself my mother--is no more danger to me than 'Mara' was to me as a child."

"What makes you think that?"  The Duchess laughed.

Lennie tried to ignore the voice.

"Ellen, I know all about Mara.  Mara was just one more part of me."  Pauline continued.

"How could she have been?"  Lennie replied finally.  "When I had those dreams, you were very much alive.  You only died last year.  I had those dreams when a child."

"Mara...whatever you liked to call her...and all those like her--all powerful feminine beings.  We are all part of the same being.  You don't think she was some simple goblin?  Some 'sleep hag' meant to tease a little girl?  Do you want to know what she really was, Ellen?"

"Why do you..."

"Bother you?  Why do I know what you're thinking?"  Pauline laughed.  "Ellen, you have no private thought.  Not now.  The longer you are away from life, the more of you I take.  The more of you I possess.  Let me help you, Ellen.  At present, you are nothing.  You can be one of those great women.  You can be like Mara."

"And torture and tease children?"  Lennie scoffed.  "I think not."

"You make it seem so silly.  She was not some foolish fairy.  Mara was a succubus, as am I...as you shall be.  We shall be all powerful."

"Your desperation is palpable."  Lennie answered.  "If you are all powerful, then, why do you require me?  Furthermore, why do you wish to be reborn in a human body?"

The light around the duchess' face faded slightly.  

"You are pathetic."  Lennie continued.

"I was once like you."  The duchess continued.  "With the exception that I was exquisitely beautiful."

"I'd much rather be intelligent."

"I possessed both intelligence and beauty."

"Release me from this nightmare."  Lennie demanded.

"I have already told you that I cannot.  I cannot until you give me the promise that I need.  You are correct, my power is not as great as I insist, but it is still great enough that I can hold you to me until I get what I want or until you are dead, and, then, we shall both be lost."

"I would rather be lost than offer you any assistance."  Lennie responded.

"Then, lost you shall be."  Pauline answered.  "Yet, you do not even know the nature of the promise."

"There is no promise I could make to you that would not be too much."

"So be it."  The duchess shrieked--her face engulfed in flames which burned quickly and brightly in a hideous flash.  "I leave you here, then--in nothingness!"

With that, Lennie was alone in her limbo.  She could not quite decide if it was worse.


Did you miss Chapters 1-96 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 98.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 97

Chapter 97: 

Fancy Dress 

“Mornin’, Sir.” Ethel smiled.

“Good morning, Ethel.” Mr. Punch nodded, speaking as Julian. “Good morning, Jenny.”

Jenny blushed and looked at her shoes.

“Do come and sit across from me, please.” Mr. Punch continued.

“In here, Your Grace?” Ethel asked, looking around the palatial parlor with its pine paneling and massive maple gothic furnishing carved with hunt scenes.

“Well, certainly.”

Hesitantly, Ethel and Jenny walked across the parlor toward the two plushly upholstered chairs which stood in front of the Duke’s handsome desk.

“You may sit.” Mr. Punch nodded

They did as instructed.

Smiling, Mr. Punch began, “I’ve had some very nice discussions this morning with some of the others about their ideas for their fancy dress.”

Ethel and Jenny nodded blankly.

“Have you given any thought to what you’d like to wear?”

Ethel started to speak, but, stopped herself.

“Go on, Ethel.” Mr. Punch said with as much friendly encouragement as Julian’s voice would allow.

“Well, Your Grace.” Ethel smiled sheepishly. “I always dreamt of som’thin’.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s foolish.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. Remember, a fancy dress ball is a time to enact your fantasies. It’s a time to be what you normally cannot.”

“I’d like to be a princess, Sir.” Ethel replied softly.

“A princess?”

“Oh, it’s foolish.” Ethel blushed.

“Not at all.” Mr. Punch shook his head. He quickly began to sketch on the wide piece of paper in front of him. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I do like rose, Sir.” Ethel said, trying to look over the impressive bronze desk set—adorned with figures of stags—which sat between them.

Mr. Punch reached for a stick of pink pastel.

After a few moments, He raised the page from the desk and offered it to Ethel. The drawing showed a young woman with a face much like Ethel’s in a lovely Eighteenth Century sack-back gown of rose silk—trimmed with lace, ruffles and a fringe of cream and black passementerie.

“Oh!” Ethel squealed.

“Something like this?” Mr. Punch smiled.

“Sir!” Ethel chirped. “I…”

“Do you approve?”

“Very much.” Ethel nodded. “But, how…”

“After we’re finished, I will send Finlay to the tailor with all of our sketches and they will produce the costumes for us.”

“I don’t know what to say, Your Grace.” Ethel tittered.

“I hope it pleases you.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Now, as for your hair, Gamilla will help you dress your hair. She used to dress my sister-in-law’s hair and does a very nice job of it.”

“Your sister-in-law, Sir?” Ethel asked.

“Oh.” Mr. Punch paused. “I suppose she’s not actually that. Adrienne Halifax…Dr. Halifax’s brother’s wife. Gamilla was her maid.”

“I understand, Sir.” Ethel nodded.

“Furthermore,” Punch continued. “I’d like to loan you something to complete your ensemble.”

“Sir?”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I had a sister, Lady Barbara, who is now…gone. However, I noticed the other day, in her former bed chamber, that the last time she was here she left behind some of her jewels. There’s a fine necklace of aquamarines and paste in silver. And, there’s a lovely chalcedony and chrysoprase hair ornament which, I think, would look quite smart on you. You’re welcome to borrow them for the evening provided that you’ll take good care of them.”

“I couldn’t, Sir. I’d be scared.” Ethel shook her head. “What if I were to lose them?”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Punch waved his hand. “I trust you. Mrs. Pepper will be dressed as Queen Charlotte and I’ve also decided to loan her some of the jewels which once belonged to one of the late Duchesses of Fallbridge. I’m sure these items will be quite safe with you.”

“I never…” Ethel began, her voice catching in her throat. “I never knew anyone so kind before, Your Grace.”

“If I am kind,” Punch smiled. “It is because all of you show me, my companion and my son such kindness.”

Ethel wiped away a tear. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“As for you, Jenny…” Mr. Punch grinned. “Have you thought of what you’d like to wear?”

“Oh, Sir. I couldn’t think of nothin’.” Jenny whispered.

“No matter.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Tell me. Are you enjoying your visit to Grange Molliner?”

“Oh, yes, Your Grace.” Jenny replied, becoming more animated. “I slept like a tot. The room what Mrs. North give us is so comfortable and fine.”

“Have you had a chance to see any of the estate this mornin’?” Mr. Punch asked, slipping a little and letting his natural speaking voice intrude upon the end of the sentence. He winced for a moment and mentally chided himself to be more careful. Still, Jenny didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, Sir.” Jenny nodded. “Mrs. Pepper said that we could go for a walk as long as we were back to see you in time. So, Ethel and me—we walked out around a bit.”

“And, what did you see?”

“All them flowers, Sir.” Jenny smiled. “I liked them special. I wanted to pick some.”

“You may, if you like. You can ask Mrs. North for a vase so you may keep some in your room.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Jenny grinned. “See, I was lookin’ at ‘em up close cuz I thought maybe we could decorate the cake with sugar flowers. Mrs. Pepper, she says we’re gonna start on the grand cake this afternoon so it’ll be ready for the ball. She never let me help her with a cake before and I’m terrible thrilled. It’s gonna be butterscotch.”

“I know.” Mr. Punch smiled. “What else did you see that you liked?”

“The horses, Sir.” Jenny replied thoughtfully. “So big and beautiful, they are. Sweet, too. They let me pet them.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Punch nodded. “Even at home, you like the horses. I’ve seen you go with Vi to the mews to see the horses when Mr. Hutchinson is grooming them.”

“I love the horses, Sir.” Jenny nodded.

“I like them, too. They look like very tall dogs to me.”

Jenny and Ethel giggled, thinking that the Duke was joking.

Punch, again, silently reminded himself to be more careful.

“What is it that you like about the horses?” He asked.

“They’re sweet and smart and soft, but strong.” Jenny replied. “When I was a girl, my uncle had a horse and he’d let me ride.”

“You enjoyed that?”

“Yes. I liked to pretend that I was a lady or even Joan of Arc.”

“Ah.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Perhaps you’d like to dress as Joan of Arc for the ball.” He began to sketch.

“Really?”

“I don’t see why not.” Punch nodded, not looking up from his drawing. “I’m sure we could make something like this…” He held up the drawing for Jenny to see. “We can supplement it with bits and pieces from the armory.”

Jenny gasped happily. “Do you think I could?”

“I think, most assuredly, that you must.” Mr. Punch said firmly.

“Oh, thank you, Your Grace.”

“Very well, then.” Punch said finally. “I think we’ve gotten that settled.”

“What will you be, Your Grace?” Ethel asked.

“Dr. Halifax and I won’t be wearing fancy dress.” Punch shook his head.

“Why not, Sir?” Ethel asked.

Punch paused. “I think, really, because we want all of you to be the focus of the ball. The night is yours, not ours. The celebration is for you, our guests of honor.”

Both Ethel and Jenny grinned.

Punch was about to speak again when Finlay entered the parlor.

Mr. Punch looked up. “Yes, Finlay?”

“The Baron Lensdown is here to see you, Sir.” Finlay answered formally.

“He’s not expected.”

“No, Sir.” Finlay bowed.

“Have you told him that I’m otherwise occupied?”

“I have, Your Grace.”

“Well, then, he should be on his way.”

“He insists upon seeing you, Your Grace.” Finlay answered.

Mr. Punch took a deep breath. Forcing himself to smile he looked to the girls. “Ethel, Jenny, thank you so much for taking this time with me this morning.”

“No, Your Grace. We should thank you.” Ethel replied.

“And, so, you just have. I hope you enjoy the rest of our morning and, Jenny, you must tell me later how the preparations for the Grange Molliner cake are progressing.”

Jenny nodded. “I will, Your Grace.”

“Now, then, if you’ll excuse me.” He rose. The girls followed his lead.

Punch looked toward Finlay. “Please lead the baron to the Hunt Room. I shall receive him there.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-96? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 98 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 97

Mr. Punch sat up and cradled the baby in his arms. Toby rose to his feet and pulled his ears back, growling at the female figure which loomed above them.


“Here!” Mr. Punch said angrily. “You don’t belong in here, you don’t.”

“I belong wherever I wish to be.” Iolanthe Evangeline answered sharply. “Is that Adrienne’s child?”

Mr. Punch held Fuller tightly. “You’re not to look at him.”

“He’s a fine looking little boy,” Iolanthe grinned.

“You can’t have this one.” Mr. Punch spat. “This one ain’t for sale. Go see that Barbara Allen if you’re wantin’ more babies to sell.”

“I’ve not come here for babies, Lord Fallbridge.” Iolanthe said coyly.

“Why have you come here, then?” Mr. Punch asked.

“It’s Christmas. I’ve come to pay a call on old friends.”

“No one here’s a friend of yours, Ogress.” Mr. Punch growled. Toby barked.

“Don’t call me that!” Iolanthe spat. “That is an unkind name. I don’t like it and I don’t want you thinkin’ I do. What makes me a monster? Hmmm? Just because I’ve got a good head for business? On a man, they’d call it brilliance. On me, they call it devious.”

“You are devious. You’re a devil, you are. And, I always beat the devil.” Mr. Punch said firmly. “Every time.”

“You won’t beat me, Lord Fallbridge.” Iolanthe winked. “No one can. Besides, you have no reason to beat me. I’m your friend. We’re not so different, you and I.”

“Yes, we are.” Punch frowned. “And, I’ll tell you why you’re called ‘ogress,’ it’s cuz you hurt people what’s done nothin’ to ya!”

“I don’t deny that I’ve hurt people. But, only those who’ve wronged me first.”

“What about me pa?” Mr. Punch asked. “Had him killed, you did. He didn’t do nothin’ to ya!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you lunatic.”

“Sir Colin Molliner. Had him killed! You’re the reason he’s dead!” Mr. Punch cried.

“Well, then, is that what you’ve been told?” Iolanthe smiled. “That clever little witch. I suppose your sister has told you that. Well, you fool, I had nothing to do with Sir Colin Molliner’s death. I must confess that his murder was convenient for me, but it wasn’t at my request.”

“You’re a liar!” Mr. Punch said.

“Am I?” Iolanthe laughed. “I suppose I am. However, I’m not lying about this and I don’t want you thinkin’ that I am.”

“Just get yourself out of this house.” Mr. Punch demanded.

“Not until I’ve paid my call upon my former associate and her husband. Who knew that a sculptor could be such a good shot? I suppose he’d have to have steady hands. I see you have a new toy for yourself.” She pointed to the puppet in Mr. Punch’s lap. “Did the sharp-shooting Mr. Halifax make that for you? It’s quite fine.”

“He’s none of your concern.” Mr. Punch frowned.

“You’re rather like a child yourself. Aren’t you?” Iolanthe said. “I’ll tell you a secret, Lord Fallbridge. I rather like children. I have one of my own. A boy. I don’t get to see him very often, but I like knowing that he exists.”

“Didn’t sell him?” Mr. Punch asked.

“Not my own son, no.” Iolanthe smiled, but her smile quickly faded. “Besides, his is a face that…” She paused. “He’s different, let’s say.”

“Who’s his father?” Mr. Punch asked coldly. “In your trade, I ‘spose, it’d be hard to know.”

“Yes, you are a child.” Iolanthe frowned. “A child in a man’s body. You’re sharp, I’ll give you that. What a strange creature you are.” She walked across the room, “Where’s Adrienne?”

“I wouldn’t tell you. Not never!” Mr. Punch said.

“You know I’ll find her. We have a score to settle. Several, in fact. First Adrienne, and then her English husband. Speaking of which…” She grinned again. “Where’s your companion? Usually he’s glued to your side—watching over you to keep you from becoming too wild.”

Mr. Punch swallowed hard as he recalled Robert who had gone upstairs in pursuit of the nanny.

“Not talking?” Iolanthe smirked. “No matter.” She sat down on the settee by the piano. “I shall wait here.”

A terrible anger rose in Mr. Punch, but he tried to suppress it since he was still holding the baby. Toby continued to growl at Iolanthe.

“Isn’t it interesting how everything is so loyal to you?” Miss Iolanthe chuckled. “Your dog, your companion, his family, even your servant—that Voodoo priest. Yet your own family could not care less about you. You should hear the things your sister has said about you. The names she’s called you. And, her husband! He positively loathes you. What makes one group of people so loyal to a man while his own kin abhors him? Perhaps it’s because you’re mad. Perhaps it’s because you’re wild—like me. You know, Lord Fallbridge, you don’t have to return to England. With Leon dead, I need someone to help me. You’re clever, but foolish enough to be destructive. It’s the perfect combination. Just like ‘The Professor.’ Just like me.”

“I ain’t nothin’ like you and neither is me master!” Mr. Punch whispered angrily.

“Your master?” Iolanthe chuckled. “Who’s your master?”

“Julian!” Mr. Punch blurted out without thinking.

“Aren’t you Julian?” Iolanthe smiled. “No, you’re not, are you? You’re someone else. You really are one of those lunatics, aren’t you? You think you’re two different people.”

Mr. Punch began to tremble, holding the baby tightly.

“Now, now,” Iolanthe grinned. “You’re shaking. Perhaps you’d best let me hold the child. I’ll take such good care of him. Just as if he was my own.”

Mr. Punch’s eyes widened in rage.

At that very moment, upstairs, Robert was grabbing Agnes Rittenhouse by her bony arm.

“I told you not to come back to this house or you’d suffer the consequences.”

“I came to leave a gift for His Lordship!” Agnes said—frightened.

“So, that’s why you were coming out of his bedchamber?” Robert asked viciously. “Why didn’t you give it to him personally when you visited this morning?”

“I forgot it,” Agnes lied.

“Show me this gift.” Robert said, flinging the door to Julian’s room open. He pulled Agnes inside.

Cleverly, along with the note that Ulrika had given her—the note which Agnes had tucked into the pocket of one of Julian’s coats—she had thought to bring along something to use as an excuse.

On the writing desk, sat a wind-up toy—a furry bear with a worn body and tattered face.

“It’s Ursula.” Nanny Rittenhouse trembled. “She was His Lordship’s when he was a little tyke. He took it everywhere with him until Sir Colin gave him that figure of Punch. I’ve kept it all these years. I found it amongst the things I brought with me from England and I thought he might like to have it as a reminder of his youth.

Robert drew in a deep breath and hissed. “His Lordship doesn’t much care to be reminded of his youth! Did you know that?”

Agnes shook her head.

“Something makes him not wish to remember.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Nanny Rittenhouse began to sob. “It wasn’t my fault. Please, let me go!”

“What wasn’t your fault?” Robert snarled.

“Let me go, Sir.” Agnes pleaded.

Robert pulled the woman to the window. “What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Agnes sobbed.

Robert pushed Agnes against the cold glass of the window.

“Tell me or I’ll push you through this glass.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-96? If so, you can read them here.