Chapter 21:
A Fine Day of
Rest
“Charles!” Mr. Punch exclaimed, bounding immodestly
across his bedroom toward his valet—his dressing gown flapping around his
legs. “Look! I took me bath already!” He ran his fingers through his wet hair and
then shook his head—sending water droplets flying around his shoulders. He whooped excitedly.
“On your own,
Your Grace?”
“Yes, on me
own.” Mr. Punch boasted. “And, I didn’t throw no soap neither—well,
hardly none. Only three pieces. But, I picked ‘em up me-self so you wouldn’t
have to do it.”
“That was very
thoughtful of you, Your Grace.”
Charles
smiled. “Let’s get you dressed, then,
shall we?”
“Yes!” Mr. Punch chirped.
“First, I
think,” Charles said quickly, gently putting his hand on Punch’s shoulder, “we
should just take care of this.” With a
large stiff brush, Charles deftly combed back the Duke’s wet hair. With one swift motion, he released Mr. Punch.
“I hate that!”
Punch grunted.
“I know,”
Charled grinned. “That’s why we’re
always quick about it.”
“Well
done.” Punch smirked, “but I’ll see ya
comin’ next time.”
“Perhaps,” Charles replied playfully, raising one
eyebrow. “How is Dr. Halifax this
morning?” he asked, looking around the
room.
“Still
sleepin’—in his own room.” Mr. Punch
answered. “Poor bloke had such a long
day yesterday, he did—what with Lord Glencaron dyin’ and all.”
“That reminds
me, Sir.” Charles nodded, removing a
folded and ironed newspaper from beneath his arm. “Dr. Halifax and Your Grace are mentioned in
the news this morning.”
Punch’s smile
quickly faded. “Here, what for?”
Charles handed
the paper to Mr. Punch who opened it frantically.
“There’s a
mention, Sir, that you and Dr. Halifax visited with Prince Albert. And, then, there’s a sentence that states
that the doctor was among those at the bedside of Lord Glencaron when he
passed. It mentions that Dr. Halifax was
the attending physician.”
“Is that
all?” Mr. Punch lowered the paper
nervously.
“Yes, Your
Grace,” Charles nodded—unaware of the reason for his master’s alarm. He walked over to the wardrobe and began
looking through the Duke’s suits.
“Why’d anyone
care ‘bout any o’ that?” Mr. Punch
mumbled.
“Well, Sir,
people of your station are always of interest to the public, especially when
you do something as exciting as visit the palace. Now that Dr. Halifax is associated with you,
you’ll find his name in the news more frequently as well.”
“Hope not…”
Punch grumbled.
“What was that,
Sir?” Charles asked, turning around with
a handsome deep green suit in his hands.
“Nothin’.” Mr. Punch wrinkled his nose.
“As you wish,”
Charles smiled pleasantly. “I thought,
perhaps, you’d like to wear your green today.”
“Nah,” Mr. Punch
shook his head, tossing the newspaper onto the unmade bed. “Don’t feel like a green kinda day.” His spirits began to improve as he hurried
over to Charles.
“Perhaps not,”
Charles nodded. “What would you like to
wear?”
“This!” Mr. Punch pointed gaily to his embroidered
dressing gown. “Ain’t got trousers. It’s them breeches what’s the problem.”
“I don’t
disagree.” Charles chuckled. “However, I think you’d best suffer through
the breeches, Sir. There are ladies in
the house.”
“True.” Mr. Punch sighed. “Very well—how ‘bout that brown one?”
“Brown,
Sir. Or tan? Or cream?”
“What’s the
difference?”
“Tone, Sir.”
“Well, I know
that,” Mr. Punch sputtered. “But, I’m
askin’, is there any difference if I wear one versus another.”
“Oh, no,
Sir.” Charles grinned.
“What do you
think?”
“Will you be
sketching today?”
“Yes.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Least after breakfast ‘til the doctor wakes
up.”
“Well, then, I
think the brown. That way, if you happen
to get any of your pastels on your clothing, they won’t stain as badly.”
“I do spill a
lot, don’t I?” Mr. Punch grinned sheepishly.
“You’re a
genius, Sir. You’re entitled to
spill.” Charles nodded.
“Am I?” Mr.
Punch asked, somewhat wild-eyed.
“Certainly you
are.” Charles nodded. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Your Grace, I
happened to look at the drawings you left on the library table. They’re really quite wonderful.”
“You think?”
“Yes, Sir.” Charles continued. “Are they for the commission you just
received from Prince Albert?”
“Yes.” Mr. Punch
smiled, letting Charles help him on with his pants and vest. “So, you really liked ‘em, did ya?”
“Very
much.” Charles answered. “Both lovely
pieces. A Necklace and brooch, Sir?”
“That’s it.”
“For Her
Majesty?”
“Yes.” Punch nodded, squirming a bit as he pulled up
his trousers.
“Is it a gift
for Her Majesty’s birth date or did His Majesty wish to make a present to the
Queen when she bears the child she’s carrying presently? If you don’t mind my asking…”
“It’s for her
birthday.” Punch nodded.
“Her Majesty
will love them, I’m sure. Pearls are
always so smart on a regal lady. I particularly
liked the use of Baroque pearls as indicated in your drawings.”
“They ain’t
pearls, valet chum.” Mr. Punch grinned.
“No?”
“No—they’re
teeth!” Punch laughed.
“Sir?”
“Ain’t me idea,
Charles.” Mr. Punch giggled. “That’s
what Prince Albert wanted.”
“Ah, well, he’s
German, Sir.” Charles sighed.
“Don’t I know
it?”
“Which scarf
today, Sir?” Charles asked, walking back
to the wardrobe after fastening the collar to Punch’s neck.
“Errrr…” Punch
moaned. “Dunno. The rust-colored one!”
“That’ll be
quite smart with your hair, Sir.”
Charles nodded, unfolding the cravat of the Duke’s choice.
“I’d like the
pin what Dr. Halifax gave me for Christmas.”
Punch continued. “The gold one
shaped like a leaf…with the diamond.”
“Excellent
choice.”
After a few minutes
more of fussing, Charles inspected the Duke/Mr. Punch and declared that he was
quite handsome and ready for the world.
“Coo!” Mr. Punch teased. “Don’t know if the world is ready for
me. But, no, we ain’t goin’ nowhere
today. So, you can tell Mrs. Pepper
we’ll both be in for all of our meals and that we’d like luncheon in the
drawing room.”
“Yes, Sir.” Charles nodded. “Dr. Halifax isn’t seeing any patients
today?”
“Not ‘less
somethin’ terrible awful happens.” Mr.
Punch shrugged. “But, he’s plannin’ on a
day of rest. That’s why he should sleep
as much as he can, I say. He deserves a
day of rest. I reckon we both do—a fine
day of rest. We’ll play, we will, with
Colin and Dog Toby and the puppet.”
Punch thought of inviting Charles, Gerard and Gamilla to play, too, but
he figured they’d have to say no.
Besides, he figured Speaight wouldn’t approve.
“I think that
sounds quite fine,” Charles nodded.
“Yes,” Mr. Punch
grinned. “Here, Charles, when’s your
afternoon out? You got one comin’, yes?”
“I do.” Charles
answered. “Thank you for remembering,
Sir. Mine is on Saturday.”
“Not today?”
“No, Sir.” Charles responded. “Today is Miss Barrett’s afternoon. Gamilla will watch Master Colin while Miss
Barrett is out.”
“That’s
nice.” Punch chirped. “I’ll bet he’s sleepin’ now, too. Huh?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Both me
boys—sleepin’.” Punch mumbled. “Even Dog Toby’s still asleep. All three boys. But, let ‘em sleep, I say. They need it.”
“So, I shouldn’t
send Gerard up for Dr. Halifax?”
“No.” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Let me chum ring for Gerard when he wants
‘em. He were up late—thinkin’ o’ things,
he was. We both was only I don’t need as
much sleep as he does.”
“I shall inform
Mrs. Pepper to keep some breakfast warm for Dr. Halifax, then.”
“Make sure he
gets lots of them kidneys what he likes.
He can have me own share if he likes.”
Charles
chuckled.
“If there’s
nothing more, Sir, I’ll take my leave.”
“Sure,” Mr. Punch nodded. “Here—you ate, didn’t ya?”
“We have
downstairs breakfast very early, Sir. So,
we’ve all eaten. Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Good.” Mr.
Punch smiled. “I like that.”
“Well, then,
Sir, good morning.”
“Mornin’,” Punch
nodded.
As Charles
opened the door to exit, both men were surprised to see Speaight on the other
side—his hand raised to knock. Speaight,
too, looked a bit startled.
“Your Grace,”
Speaight bowed his head.
Punch quickly
changed his expression to look more aristocratic. He and Robert had decided that, for the sake
of the other staff, he would only act Punch-like in front of those who already
knew of his personal idiosyncrasies.
Punch didn’t much like having to act the Duke in his own home, however,
he knew it was necessary, so he agreed.
Speaking as he
thought Julian might, Mr. Punch began, “Good morning, Speaight. As you can see, Charles has already attended
to me.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Speaight nodded. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude on you so
early, however, there’s a man here to see you.”
“Here?” Punch asked—more Punch-like than he intended.
“Yes, Sir. He’s waiting in the vestibule.”
“Are you sure
he’s come to see me?” Punch asked,
regaining his composure. “Perhaps he’s come for the doctor?”
“No, Your
Grace.” Speaight sighed. “He asked
specifically for you. He’s quite
insistent.”
“Did he give a
name?”
“Yes, Sir,”
Speaight nodded. “He had no calling
card--which I found quite queer, however, he called himself Victor Geddes.”
“Geddes?” Mr. Punch asked, still trying to sound like
Julian. “Scotch?”
“Yes, Your
Grace.”
“No title?”
“No, Your
Grace. He’s well-dressed, but clearly
not a peer. My first thought was to send
him away, however, his plea was so impassioned.
He insisted that it was a dire matter and that only you could assist
him.”
“I don’t know
the man.” Mr. Punch responded.
“Nor I, Your
Grace.” Speaight shook his head. “I like to think that I know all of the
families in Belgravia and Mayfair. There
was once a Geddes family on this street.
They moved to Grosvenor Square when the man of the house was created
Fourth Baron of Lensdown. If you’ll
recall, that was the family for whom Miss Barrett once worked.”
“Yes,
certainly,” Mr. Punch nodded though he did not remember. He figured that that was the sort of thing
which Julian might have recorded, so he pretended to know.
Charles
squinted—an expression which did not escape Punch’s attention. Punch wondered why his man was looking so
puzzled. Little did he know that Charles
was remembering the flowers which had been left for Miss Barrett by a man named
“Victor.” Charles wondered if Mr.
Speaight—inscrutable as he was—had thought of the same thing.
“Speaight,
you’re certain this man is not the Baron of Lensdown?” Mr. Punch asked, still using his best Julian
voice.
“Most certain,
Your Grace. This man is fair whereas the
Baron is dark. Furthermore, the Baron of
Lensdown would have presented a card and announced his title.”
“Yes.” Punch nodded.
He turned around and pretended to study something out the window so that
Speaight would not see the nervousness on his face. “I had not intended to receive anyone today,
Speaight.”
“I shall send
him away, then, Sir.” Speaight nodded.
“Yes, thank
you.”
Punch turned
around and smiled, but his smile turned to a frown as he saw Gerard trot into
the room.
“Oh, no, Gerard,
let’s let Dr. Halifax sleep,” Punch said quickly, finding it more difficult to
maintain Julian’s manner of speech. He
wasn’t accustomed to speaking to so many people at once—especially when some of
them knew he was both Mr. Punch and the Duke and others did not.
“Pardon me,
Sir,” Gerard replied. “I’ve come to tell
you someone is here to see you.”
“I’ve already
taken care of that, Gerard,” Speaight growled.
“No, Sir—not the
man. There’s a Lady here to see His
Grace as well.”
“A lady?”
Speaight asked. “This is highly
irregular.”
“Here’s her
card, Sir.” Gerard offered a calling
card on a small silver salver to Mr. Punch who took it.
“The Lady
Constance Hamish.” Punch read aloud.
“Daughter of the
Countess Hamish, Sir. They reside at
Number Seven Two.” Speaight explained.
“That explains
why they call it Hamish House, then,” Mr. Punch tried making a joke.
No one laughed
and he could feel the sweat rising on his forehead.
“I brought her
into the morning room, Sir.” Gerard
explained. “I figured a lady shouldn’t
wait in the vestibule, especially with a strange man.”
“Perhaps you
should awaken Dr. Halifax,” Charles suggested softly.
Speaight
glowered at the man for speaking out of turn.
“No, Charles,”
Punch shook his head. He sighed
quickly. “Gerard, the man is still in
the vestibule?”
“Yes, Sir.” Gerard nodded.
Punch cleared
his throat to stall for time. How would
Julian handle such a situation? He
wondered. Punch concluded that Julian
wouldn’t be able to handle the situation at all—after all, wasn’t that why he’d
retreated to the safety and quiet of the interior of their shared body and
allowed Mr. Punch to take over.
“Gerard,” Punch
began, “Please show the gentleman to the library, but keep an eye on him. Make work for yourself in there until I
arrive. I shall see Lady Hamish in the
morning room first.”
“Are you sure,
Sir?” Charles whispered. “Mr. Speaight
certainly can send him away. That’s not
a bad idea.”
Again, Speaight
stared daggers at Charles.
“I am sure,
Charles.” Punch replied softly. “I think.”
Did you miss
Chapters 1-20 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?
If so, you can read them here.
Come back tomorrow for Chapter 22.
