Chapter One:
The Idol's Gossip
Rumors of the
Duke of Fallbridge’s strange behavior had flooded London Society since he had
returned from his long, mysterious voyage to America. Reports of the Duke’s peculiarities clung to
the lips of lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, viscounts, barons and even a
princess or two. New information was
shared daily and the topic of Julian, Duke of Fallbridge and his family
remained a fashionable pursuit throughout the spring of 1853.
Few people,
however, were eager to admit that they had neither seen nor spoken to the Duke
themselves since his return to his luxurious townhouse at No. 65 Belgrave
Square. To be sure, most of the tales
spread about the Duke—though somewhat based on fact, at first, at least (even
if most of the information came from the overeager mouths of servants)—were exaggerated
and pure hearsay. Still, a lack of solid
proof never prevented a baron from badmouthing a Duke and it certainly never
kept a baroness from gossiping about one of London’ most prominent households.
Even Their
Majesties Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were keen to learn of the odd conduct
of the Duke of Fallbridge. When still
just Lord Fallbridge, Julian, had been a favorite of the Prince and his regal
wife. Prince Albert considered Julian to
be one of the most talented jewelers in Britain and often sought out Fallbridge
to collaborate on projects. Lord
Fallbridge had, after all, created a good many of the garter stars for the
court, and, then, there was the stunning parure which he had created with the
Cambridge emeralds and some of the most perfect diamonds that the Royal Couple
had ever seen. Of course he was a
favorite. And, of course, Their
Majesties were interested to know if the Duke would be able to continue to
serve them.
Prince Albert
had no interest in baseless gossip. While
the Sovereign was more accepting of scandalous chatter, the Prince had no room
for it. He wanted facts, and, certainly
these facts were provided to him.
Perhaps because of this, the Prince Consort was one of the few people in
London to know only the truth (or what the Duke claimed was the truth) of the
Duke’s return.
As reported to
the Prince Consort, Julian, Lord Fallbridge explained his lengthy absence by
stating that he had gone to New Orleans, in America, to look for his sister,
Lady Barbara, who had fled England to avoid marrying a less-than-interesting
baron. Lord Fallbridge’s mother, the
Duchess of Fallbridge (always a thorn in Prince Albert’s side) had
followed. There, Fallbridge claimed, the
Duchess and Lady Barbara were felled by the virulent fever epidemic which had
caused havoc across the southern part of America. Fallbridge inherited his mother’s title and
the newly created Duke returned to Britain with a child that he had adopted
(the son of a family who had also been lost to the Yellow Fever) and a man
called Dr. Robert Halifax with whom the Duke had set up residence in Belgrave
Square. With them came two valets and,
several weeks later, an African woman whom the Duke and the Doctor employed as
a parlor maid. That was all that Prince
Albert needed or wanted to know.
Queen Victoria,
however, when the Prince was out of earshot, didn’t mind hearing the Baroness
Lehzan speak animatedly about the rumors that the Duke’s adopted son was really
the illegitimate child of Lady Barbara and the Duke’s late valet. The Queen gasped to learn that some believed
that the Duchess of Fallbridge had ordered the murder of her own husband, Sir Colin
Molliner, and that the Duchess herself had been murdered, and not lost to fever
as the Duke reported. Victoria blushed
at the whispers that the Duke and his new companion, Dr. Halifax, were more
than just friends, and she giggled nervously upon learning that it was
suspected that the Duke’s sister had not died at all, but was actually living in America where she
had become a prostitute.
Nevertheless,
The Queen, like much of London society, took these tidbits of gossip as being
just that—bits of fluff which served to entertain them in ballrooms and theatre
boxes. What was more troubling, at least
to the Queen, were the rumors of the Duke’s changed demeanor.
Before he’d left
for America, the last that anyone had seen of the newly created Duke, he had
fled from his London townhouse to return to Fallbridge Hall. His exodus had taken place after being
attacked by thieves. The Duke had always
been a shy and nervous sort who loathed loud talking and groups of more than
two people. He’d always been quiet and
reclusive, but after being attacked, it was said that he never left his rooms
at Fallbridge Hall. That’s what made the
news of his journey to America all the more surprising. Everyone who knew of the trip wondered how in
the world the man would ever function in such a wild place as America. Perhaps that accounted for the change in the
man. Perhaps he had to adapt in order to
survive.
To be sure, after returning, the Duke looked better than
he ever had. Somehow the journey had
agreed with him physically. He was more
robust and broad than he had ever been.
His face, still angular and pale, had a more relaxed look to it—framed by
reddish, chestnut hair. And, many
reported that the Duke’s almond-shaped brown eyes—which had long been without
any spark of life—once again flickered and shined.
Gone, however,
was the quiet manner in which he spoke—replaced with an excited, chattering
voice, peppered with bad grammar and a roughness which had never been there before. In many ways, he was said to act more like a
servant than a Duke and, certainly, more like a child than a man of nearly
forty years.
Then, there was
the strange bond with the doctor. Many
believed that few would object to their relationship had Dr. Halifax been born
into the upper class. But, the man was
of middle class origins (and the son of a woman who is said to have died in an
asylum). Certainly, he was not the
choicest companion for the Duke of Fallbridge.
No one could
recall the origins of the story. It had
been told to ladies by their maids since the Duke returned. From whom the first maid had learned it, no
one can be sure, but the rumor was that this Dr. Halifax—when they were home,
alone—referred to the Duke not as “Your Grace” or “Fallbridge,” as would have
been fitting, but as “Mr. Punch” or “Dear Punch.” Punch?
Mr. Punch—as in the red-nosed, hunch-backed puppet with the crimson suit
and scarlet cap? Mr. Punch—Judy’s
husband? Mr. Punch who killed his own
baby? That Mr. Punch? Why on earth would this man call a Duke by
such a name?
And, yet, if the
tales were true, wasn’t the Duke’s behavior—the rough speech, the exclamations
of joy, the curious and child-like nature, the quickness to anger—rather like
that of the famed puppet of Covent Garden?
Queen Victoria,
like many, was intrigued by the thought.
However, there were others who were made nervous by it—by the whole
thing!
One of those sat
in the front hallway of No. 65 Belgrave Square—three months to the day that the
Duke and the Doctor had opened up the grand mansion again. Ellen Barrett studied her surroundings. The house was assuredly elegant—perfectly-kept
and handsomely decorated in shades of turquoise , coral, gold and pale
green. The black and white marble floor
gleamed so much so that its intricate pattern seemed to vibrate. The dramatic staircase which rose majestically
in loose curves through the center of the house was illuminated from above by a
glass dome. Daylight streamed down the
steps, making the imported Persian runner seem to come alive with color:
sienna, rust, salmon, crimson, indigo, purple, azure, emerald…
Yes, it was a
handsome house. Ellen ran her fingers
along the gilt arm of the comfortable chair in which she sat, waiting for her
interview. The young man who had opened
the door and ushered her in was good-looking and charming. He had introduced himself as Charles, the
first footman and valet to His Grace, the Duke.
When Charles had disappeared behind the door which led downstairs to the
servants’ hall, Ellen wished to follow him.
She could see herself being happy in that house. Well, thus far at least.
Footsteps—a man’s
footsteps—on the stairs made Ellen stand.
She adjusted her black skirts and fidgeted with the folded references
she held in her hands. She stood as
stiffly and regally as she could and forced herself to smile.
“I’m terribly
sorry to have kept you waiting,” a man
smiled at her as he came down the stairs.
He was tremendously handsome with bright blue eyes and ebony hair which
curled around his long, strong neck.
Thin and trim, he wore a beautifully tailored suit of dove gray which
framed his broad shoulders. He smiled
genuinely.
“Your Grace?” Ellen bowed her head.
“No.” The man smiled. “I am Dr. Robert Halifax.”
“I see.” Ellen nodded.
“And you are?”
“Miss Ellen
Barrett.”
“Have you your
references?” The doctor asked.
“I have, Sir.” Ellen nodded.
She handed the folded pages to the man.
“Would you please follow me?” Robert asked, pointing to the staircase. “His Grace is waiting for you in the library.”
“Yes.” Ellen nodded.
“I know he’s
eager to see you.” Robert smiled again,
climbing the stairs. “We’ve had such a
time finding a governess for little Colin.
Our parlor maid, Gamilla, has been watching the boy since she
arrived. However, it’s not fair to her
to ask her to continue to do so.”
“A child should
have a proper governess.”
“I agree.” Dr. Halifax nodded. They paused at the landing and Robert
gestured toward a tall, cream-painted door adorned with applied gilt
moldings. “He’s waiting. Shall we?”
Ellen took a
deep breath and nodded. She was finally
going to see the man about whom all of London had been buzzing for weeks.
Come back
tomorrow for Chapter 2 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square. You will always be able to read all chapters of this story in the Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter Archive.
