A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 99

Chapter 99
Barely Human


"Ivy!"  Quick rasped as he opened the trapdoor.  "Take these."  He handed down a large brown pottery jug first.  Ivy struggled with its weight, but managed to lower it to the cold stone floor.  Next, he offered her three tin cups before descending the ladder, closing the trapdoor behind him.  In the crook of his arm he held a basket filled with assorted flasks, tins and flannels.

"What's all this, then?"  Ivy asked.

"Never you mind."  Quick replied curtly.

"Only three cups?"  Ivy snarled.  "What of me?  I'm thirsty.  Hungry, too."  She reached for the jug.  

"That isn't for you!"  Quick answered quickly.  "Though why I should stop you escapes me," he added under his breath.

"Well, then?"  Ivy sighed.

"Very well,"  Quick grumbled, pointing to the ladder.  "Go up, if you wish.  Clean yourself up and go the kitchen if you must.  I'll need some time with these young men, and, I suppose I'd not wish to offend your...feminine sensibilities anyway."

"What of me?"  Morgana asked from the corner of the cavern where she still sat with George and Fred.

"You're neither feminine nor masculine."  Quick said.  "You're barely human at all.  You have no sensibilities."

"Don't you speak to her that way!"  George started.

Morgana extended her arm, gently placing a pincer on Georgie's shoulder to keep him from rising.  She quickly withdrew it, but was surprised that she didn't feel embarrassed.  It was the first time that she could recall that she had ever intentionally touched someone for a reason other than to protect herself.  She studied George out of the corner of her eye and thought that he looked grateful that she'd stopped him, and, not repulsed by her touch.

Quick, of course, what oblivious to the small miracle which had just taken place.  "I'll speak to anyone any way I like.  This is my house."

"It's the vicarage on my master's estate.  You're here because he lets you stay here.  And, he won't let you stay here any longer once he finds out what you're about."  George replied.

"When he finds out, lad," Quick laughed, "it will be from the lips of his own mother, and she will also inform him that he is no longer the master here.  Furthermore, I have no master other than our Lord, and He is guiding me in this."

"Lunatic."  Georgie mumbled.

"Ivy, go upstairs, but don't dawdle.  I'll call for you shortly."  Quick turned to the old woman.

"Can't I stay up there?"  Ivy asked.  "These three aren't going anywhere."

"I can't take any more chances after this morning."  He gestured to William's corpse.  "Besides, Ivy, we've already discussed why you shall stay down here."

"I told you I was sorry for killing the boy too soon."  Ivy huffed.  "And...about him...shouldn't we do something with him?  He's starting to get...messy."

"What do you propose we do with him, Ivy?"  Quick asked dryly.  "Though the Duke is preoccupied with his injured sister..."

"What's happened to my dear Lennie?"  Morgana called out.

"Quiet!"  Quick demanded.  "As I was saying, though the Duke is preoccupied, he and his...maryann...and their men will soon be sniffing around again looking for their lobster auntie and these lads, and, as we know their first stop will be here.  They've already said as much.  We have nowhere to put the little dead mandrake at the moment.  So, this is the best place for him.  It's also the best place for you.  Given that you're not meant to be on the estate at all!"

"Neither is Jackson, and, yet, you let him wander about."  Ivy snapped.

"And, look what that's gotten us."  Quick groaned.  "More trouble.  Lady Fallbridge poisoned.   That's only going to bring us more inconvenience from the Hall when the Duke and his nancy are out for our blood."

"Please, please tell me what's happened to Lennie!"  Morgana cried.

"Never mind."  Quick growled.  "I'll have no of this.  Ivy!  If you want to eat--go do it, then.  I've work to do."

"What's all that?"  Ivy pointed to the basket.

Quick narrowed his eyes.  "Life."

Ivy smiled.  

"Now, go."  Quick demanded.

Ivy nodded and climbed the ladder.

Mr. Quick waited until the trapdoor slammed shut, then, he walked slowly toward the trio who sat on the floor.  Carefully placing the basket in front of them, he knelt down.  From the basket he removed a candle in a dull, brass fitting.  Using a match from a matchbox in his pocket, he lit the candle, and inhaled.

Finally, he looked up and spoke.

"Fred Perkins, you will need to remove your clothing."  

Without another word, Quick began to unpack the other contents of the basket.  Flasks and bottles, squat jars, and small tins with all with vicious-looking, peeling paper labels, written in a cruel hand.  They'd been carefully packed into the basket, protected by the cushioning of flannels.  They had been resting, it seems, upon a thin blanket.  Quick removed this last.  He tossed it to Fred.

"You may cover yourself with this."

Quick reached for a bluish glass jar and un-did the top, releasing a peculiar aroma which was something like sharp mixture cloves, goose fat, bacon drippings and stale cheese.

"I told you to remove your clothing, Fred."  The vicar bellowed.

"I don't wish to."  Fred replied.

"If you don't do as I ask, I will cut off one of this monster woman's appendages and force you to eat it."  Quick said plainly.  "If you don't think I will do it, continue to disobey me and see."

"Do what he says,"  George whispered.

Fred nodded and began to undress.

"Now, that wasn't so difficult.  Was it?"  Quick grunted.  "All I intend to do is coat you with these lovely unguents and salves--just as I did with your friend George.  As you can see, it didn't harm George.  Come here, George.  You need to have more applied."

George closed his eyes.  "I can do it myself."

"I shall do it for you."  Quick answered, dipping his fingers into the jar of salve.  "Then, I shall  do it for Fred."

Morgana shuddered.  She looked at the jar and inhaled, knowing that this was the time for her to do what she'd told George she was going to do.

"Mr. Quick,"  Morgana said quickly,  "T...te...tell me about my niece.  How...how badly is she hurt?  What...what will become of her?"

"What has happened does not concern you any longer, Morgana."  Quick said dismissively.  "Now, George, remove your blanket, and come here to me."

"Tell me...Qui...Qui...Quick."  Morgana repeated, raising her voice.

"You had best calm yourself."  Quick frowned.

Morgana began to pant, launching into her former "wild woman" routine.  It was easy enough for her to do, not only because she'd done it for so long, but also because she was frightened, frustrated and, furthermore, genuinely upset and concerned to learn that Lennie had been hurt.  "T...tell...tell...tell...tell..."  Morgana screamed.

She rose clumsily, as best as her deformed leg could support her, and, stumbling a bit, lurched toward Quick.

"Stop that!"  Quick scrambled backward.

"Uhhh!"  Morgana growled.  "Unnnhh!"   She waved her pincers about, frantically.

"Don't...don't scratch me!"

"Miss Morgana!"  George hurried toward her.  "You musn't become overwrought."  He made eye contact with her, awaiting her signal.

She let out a low, horrid, hiss.

When she did, George knew what he was to do.  "There's only one thing..."  He muttered.

"What?"  Quick asked.

"Nothing, Sir, it's too late."  George shook his head.

"No, no."  Quick took Georgie's arm.  "We can't have her like this--her face contorted like a beast.  You know something.  Tell me what you know!"

"It's just...well, I'd heard His Grace say what calms Miss Morgana.  There's a thing what calms her."

"Oh...of course."  Quick exhaled.  "The 'Jar of Heads.'"



Did you miss Chapters 1-98 of A Recipe for Punch?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 100.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 99

Chapter 99: 

To Bits 


Robert looked up from his writing. He was seated on a stone bench under an arbor—heavy with vines which rustled gently in the breeze off of the moors. Brushing his wavy dark hair away from his eyes, he smiled when he saw Mr. Punch coming toward him, but the grin quickly turned to a look of alarm when he saw that Punch was frowning and rubbing his head.

Dog Toby, who was seated next to Robert upon the bench, jumped down and trotted to his master, wagging his tail slowly from side-to-side in an expression of concern.

“I’m all right, Dog Toby.” Mr. Punch said softly. “Ain’t no reason to worry.”

“What’s happened?” Robert asked, setting aside his lap desk and going to Punch’s side. He put his arm around his companion’s waist and guided him toward the bench, helping him to sit.

“Hit me head.” Punch smiled sheepishly.

“On what?”

“I was sittin’ under a table.” Mr. Punch answered.

“Let me see.” Robert said quickly, gently placing his hands on Punch’s head and parting the man’s shiny auburn hair. “You’ve given yourself quite a lump.”

“I know.” Mr. Punch answered.

Robert took Punch’s face in his hands and tilted his chin upward, gazing into Punch’s eyes.

“What ya doin’?” Punch asked.

“I’m making sure you’ve not been hurt.” Robert smiled.

“I hit me head all the time.” Punch shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Dear Punch,” Robert began, releasing Punch’s face and sitting beside him. Dog Toby lay down at Punch’s feet. “You must be more careful with your cranium. Remember, your head isn’t made of wood. Julian’s head is bone and flesh. It can’t withstand the blows that a puppet head can.”

“I didn’t purposely hit me head.” Punch chuckled.

Robert grinned. “Well, I know that.” He shook his head. “And, just what drove you under a table?”

“Baron Lensdown.” Punch sighed.

“Lensdown?” Robert frowned. “Was he here?”

“Yep.” Punch replied. “Came unannounced again. Wanted to tell me that his wife’s got friends here what she invited from London.”

“And, he wants to bring them to the ball.” Robert nodded. “Who are they?”

“Countess Hamish and Lady Constance.”

“Oh, isn’t that grand?” Robert scowled.

“I said he could bring ‘em. If I didn’t…”

“You don’t need to explain. The slight would have been more fuel on the fire of her hatred for me.”

“Sure would.”

“We’ll have to make the best of it, then.” Robert concluded. “I’m sure she’ll not wish to speak to me at all. I really should count my blessings. I imagine that the countess and her daughter will stay beside the Baroness Lensdown and, together, the three will criticize the whole affair.”

“I should think so.” Mr. Punch said.

“I’m terribly sorry that the baron upset you so much that you felt the need to hide under the table.”

“I don’t hide as much as I just find it comfortin’ to be under things.” Mr. Punch explained. “I took a figure with me to talk to.”

“Oh, well…that makes sense. Robert smiled.

“I broke it.” Mr. Punch whispered.

“That’s no tragedy.” Robert put his arm around Mr. Punch. “Which figure?”

“Little shepherd with his sheep and his doggy.” Mr. Punch sighed.

“I can’t say that I even remember it. Was it special?”

“Nah.” Punch shook his head. “Don’t even know who bought it. ‘Spose it were our pa. Were a Staffordshire piece. I’d reckon ‘bout ten or more years old.”

“Can it be repaired?”

“Possibly.” Punch shrugged again, he frowned.

“It’s not like you to worry about such things, my dear.” Robert said softly. “Are you concerned about it because you were talking to it? As if, perhaps, you hurt it?”

“No.” Punch shook his head. “I hadn’t even thought of that ‘til just now.”

“Ah.” Robert said quickly. “Well, don’t worry about it, then.”

“Do ya think I hurt it?”

“No.” Robert smiled. “Not all things are as sentient as you…”

Punch nodded.

“It’s not the figurine what’s worrying you. But, something is.”

Punch looked at Robert. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“I…remembered somethin’.”

“What?”

“But, I can’t be sure it really happened.”

“Dear Punch, you are the keeper of the memories. If you recalled it, I’m sure it happened.”

“But, we can’t be sure. It might be somethin’ what Julian thought up. Not only do I remember what were real, sometimes I remember them things what Julian dreamed. Like when I remembered the design for the brooch. Like how I know all them things ‘bout jewels. Every so often, one of Julian’s thoughts comes up and…well, it’s like a vision.”

“Can you tell me what the vision was?”

“I were on the tower.” Mr. Punch said quietly. “And, there were two blokes. One was a fella with dark hair what was as long as his chin. He were dressed in a dark suit and had his back to me. The other bloke was a young man—fair with freckles and green eyes. He were hangin’ onto the crenellations—his body over the side of the tower. And, he were screamin’. His fingers was all bloody and his knuckles white from hangin’ on. The dark man were shoutin’ at him and then, he smashed the fair fella’s hands so that…”

“He fell?”

“Yes.” Mr. Punch gulped. “I rushed to the side and…I saw him. He were all broken to bits.”

“What happened then?”

“The dark man came up behind me and grabbed me throat and said ‘You saw nothing, Julian! Do you hear me?’”

Robert took a deep breath.

“See? Dunno if it happened or if it were one of Julian’s nightmares. But, I could almost feel the chill around me when I thought of it—like the cold breeze were in me hair and me clothes.”

“You’ve not thought of this before?” Robert asked.

“No.”

Robert nodded.

“So, when I thought of it, I got scared and I jumped and hit me head and broke the little shepherd.”

“This happened after the Baron left?”

“Just after. I were sittin’ under the table and I were complain’ ‘bout the countess and her sharp-faced daughter and it just came into me head.”

Robert bit his lip and squinted.

“What ya thinkin’?” Punch asked.

“Dear Punch, I think that within you there are thousands of images and ideas which you must organize both for you and for Julian.”

“And, Guignol and Scaramouche and them others…” Punch sighed.

“And, for them, too.” Robert squeezed Punch. “I think you have a great task is categorizing all of those memories. I only wish that I could help you with them.”

“You do.” Punch smiled. “You let me talk ‘bout them.”

“But, I have no answers.” Robert sighed.

“Who does?” Punch grinned. “Nobody’s got answers when ya think of it.”

“That’s quite true.” Robert replied.

“Well, it’s come and gone, Chum. I s’pose I shouldn’t dwell on it.”

Robert was silent.

“Here, don’t let it worry you.”

“All things which concern you, concern me, my dear.”

“Look at this lovely day,” Mr. Punch said as brightly as he could. “Ain’t a day to waste on such things.”

Robert smiled.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“I want you to rest.”

“I can rest while we walk.” Punch stood up.

“That’s not quite what I had in mind.” Robert shook his head.

“Come on, Chum. I’ll tell ya all ‘bout the costumes and all.”

“You sure you’re well enough?”

“Never better.” Punch winked.

“As you wish.” Robert rose. “Come, Toby.”

As the terrier, the doctor and the Duke wandered toward the clearing, a dark-haired man stood atop the central tower and watched their progress.



Did you miss Chapters 1-98? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 100 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 99

Mr. Punch was startled as he heard the thunder of footsteps running through the upstairs corridor. He yelped as Agnes Rittenhouse flew past him, running down the stairs. She screamed as she ran. Robert was in fast pursuit behind her.


“You maniac!” She shouted as she reached the ground floor and ran to the door. “You’re all insane!” She struggled with the handle of the front door before finally flinging it open and running out into the cold.

“What happened?” Punch asked, grabbing Robert’s arm with his wounded hands as Robert hurried past him.

“That sour old hag…” Robert panted. “She was in your room. I wanted to kill her!” Robert leaned on the railing and coughed deeply, staggering for a moment.

“She wouldn’t tell me.” He continued to pant, his voice raspy. “I was so angry. I pushed her down. I wanted to throw her through the window. I wanted to hear her scream as she fell.”

“Chum,” Mr. Punch put his arm around Robert’s waist to support him.

“I couldn’t do it. I threw a chair through the glass. I wanted to show her what I was capable of, but I…” he coughed again. “She got away. I’ve got to get her.”

“No.” Mr. Punch said quickly. “We got worse problems. There’s been shooting. Cecil and Iolanthe Evangeline.” Punch pointed to the closed drawing room doors.

“She’s here?” Robert’s eyes widened. “I heard the sound, but I didn’t…”

“We gotta get in there.” Mr. Punch said quickly. “Come on.”

“Let me do it.” Robert said, hurrying down the stairs still breathing rapidly.

“Not a chance,” Mr. Punch followed.

“Go see if Adrienne…where’s Fuller?” Robert asked alarmed.

“I sent him and Toby with Gamilla. Adrienne’s safe in the servants’ hall.”

“How can you be sure?” Robert moaned.

They heard a struggle coming from within the drawing room.

Robert raced to the door, followed by Mr. Punch. Pushing open the pocket doors, they saw Cecil lying on the floor with Iolanthe standing over him—a pistol aimed at his heart.

“Stand back!” Iolanthe shouted at Punch and Robert. “Less you want me to shoot you, too.”

“Cecil!” Robert shouted.

“I missed the first time, but I’ve got him where I want him now.” Iolanthe growled. “I won’t miss again.”

“Please,” Robert said slowly. “He has a child.”

“Don’t matter to me!” Iolanthe shouted wildly.

Mr. Punch lunged toward Iolanthe, knocking her down to the floor. The pistol flew out of her hand and Robert grabbed it as it skittered across the wood floor.

Iolanthe writhed and screamed, trying to break free of Mr. Punch’s grasp. She kicked at him. Punch could feel the blood rising on Julian’s legs where he’d been burned.

She managed to free one arm and pounded Julian’s back and shoulders with her fist, finally striking him on the back of the head with such force that his body went limp and he fell on top of her.

“Dear God!” Robert screamed as he helped Cecil up.

Robert rolled Julian/Punch off of Iolanthe and pulled the man’s limp body toward himself. He knelt down and cradled his companion as Cecil lumbered toward Iolanthe.

“Give me the pistol, Robert, and I’ll finish this once and for all.” Cecil shouted.

Robert handed the pistol to Cecil.

Iolanthe ran to the corner of the drawing room, overturning tables and chairs as she went. She grabbed a large curio cabinet by its spindles and overturned it—sending glass shattering everywhere.

Cecil stumbled backwards, but caught himself on the leg of an overturned tea table. He aimed the pistol toward Iolanthe Evangeline who grabbed a lit oil lamp and flung it toward Robert and Mr. Punch.

“If I’m goin’, you’re all goin’. Let’s see if His Lordship can survive two fires!”

The lamp shattered to the floor and immediately started burning the Persian rug. Without getting up, Robert reached for a table cloth from the upset table closest to him and beat the fire with it. However, that only served to fan the flames.

Male voices signaled the arrival of Chidi and his son who had heard the commotion from the servants’ hall and been dispatched by Adrienne to investigate.

Ty Chidi grabbed a large urn filled with pine and winter branches and poured the water over the fire, stamping at it with his feet until it was out.

Gros Chidi rushed Iolanthe who screamed as he drew near. She rose her leg and kicked Chidi in the stomach, crumpling the man into a heap on the floor. She took that opportunity to rush toward the drawing room doors. Making her escape through the foyer and the already open front door.

“She’s not free. Not this time,” Cecil growled, chasing after her.

“Ty Chidi,” Robert said, still cradling Julian’s body. “Is your father terribly hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Gros Chidi coughed. “Just got the wind knocked outta me.”

“Are you certain?” Robert asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ty Chidi, follow Mr. Halifax.” Robert said quickly. “Gros Chidi, please tell Miss Adrienne that Lord Fallbridge is hurt and, then, have some of the other men go after Mr. Halifax as well.”

“Yes, Sir.” The men said in unison.

Robert ran his hands over Julian’s face. “Come on, then. Come back to me.”

Julian’s eyes opened. Robert immediately knew that it was Julian who had awakened and not Mr. Punch.

As the smoky tendrils of blackness swirled around Julian’s eyes, he squinted and looked around the room.

“What’s happened?” Julian asked. “I smell fire.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Robert said gently. “Nothing at all.”

Robert helped Julian to the settee.

“Can you see?” Robert asked.

“Yes.” Julian nodded.

“Are you in any pain?”

“My head. And my legs…” Julian answered.

“Don’t worry,” Robert said. He spotted the figure of Mr. Punch on the floor where it had landed when Iolanthe rampaged through the room. “We’ll protect you.” He picked up the puppet and placed it in Julian lap. “We’ll protect you.”

Meanwhile Iolanthe Evangeline ran through the sugar cane fields. She had a vague sense of where she was. She recognized the house as being that of Manuel Fontanals. She was familiar with Mr. Fontanals who had been a frequent patron of her establishment in New Orleans. Spotting a shack at the rear of the property, she saw her opportunity to hide. Racing toward the shack, she opened the door and hurried into the cold darkness inside.

She was startled by the sounds of wheezing and sputtering. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw two people crowded together in a narrow cot. Their dark skin was made sallow and pale by sickness. On a chair in the corner, she spotted Marjani, passed out from sheer exhaustion, wrapped in a fine quilt.

“Help me…” The woman in the bed groaned.

Tears rose in Iolanthe’s eyes.

“I’ll help you, Girl,” She said.



Did you miss Chapters 1-98? If so, you can read them here.