Couldn’t Have That
Ellen Barrett scowled in her dark room. Even with a fire roaring in the hearth and with candles lit on the small tables flanking her bed, the room seemed dim and cold. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and grumbled. Rolling over in her bed, she reached for the stoneware hot water bottle which, before going to see Gamilla in the nursery, she had filled with boiling water from the kettle on the hearth. It was now cool. She wanted to throw it against the wall, knowing that she’d take delight in the sight and sound of it bursting open on impact. Instead, however, she set it in the bed next to her and hoped there was some heat left in it. Thankfully, it had still been warm—warm enough, at least—when she was given those few moments of privacy to change into her dressing gown. Speaight and Dr. Halifax had left her with Gamilla before examining her. Thinking quickly, Ellen had asked for a glass of water, sending Gamilla from the room before being examined by the doctor. Ellen had laughed silently as she held the warmer to her face and bosom—feeling the perspiration rise on her face.
She’d done a good job of feigning her fever, she thought. Her ramblings and thrashing had been enough—when combined with the heat from the bottle—to convince the doctor that she was truly ill.
Still, her victory seemed somehow hollow and empty—alone in that dim, cold room. She wondered for what the room had originally been used. It wasn’t a servant’s room, she knew that. However, it wasn’t as grand as the state bedrooms in the rest of the castle. It was probably always the room of some secretary—someone who was not quite a servant, but not quite a gentleman or lady. Just like her…
Listening for a moment, Ellen could hear the staff scurrying up and down the passage. Masculine footsteps, at first—they must have been Speaight’s or Finlay’s. She knew, of course, that Charles and Gerard would be busy dressing the masters. Lighter steps—one set pausing outside her door for a moment, much to her horror—must have belonged to Gamilla—on her way back up to the nursery. How inconvenient, Ellen thought, that that fool Mrs. North had put the baby in the dressing room adjoining the Duke’s bedchamber. That wouldn’t afford any privacy whatsoever. That’s why Ellen knew she had to find a way to keep to herself. Unlike the house in Belgrave Square with its private suite of nursery rooms, the arrangement at the Grange would have kept her near the Duke and the Doctor at all times. She couldn’t have that.
Assured that no one was coming, Ellen reached under the blankets where she had hidden the stack of rumpled papers and the small, leather-bound journal which she had stolen from the hunting cottage.
Ellen shook her head. What a lot of trouble that was-having to crawl through a window. It had taken more time than she had allotted to her task. She knew that the “boys” (as the Duke, the doctor, Speaight and Mrs. Pepper so affectionately, and, Ellen thought, disgustingly, referred to Charles and Gerard) would quickly be on her trail. She’d barely had enough time to rummage through the place. She’d have to go back. But, when? How?
“I won’t worry about that now,” Ellen frowned. A few passes with a paper knife were enough to pop open the latch on the journal. With shaking hands, she opened it and studied the first page.
The Private Diary of
Ellen Barrett scowled in her dark room. Even with a fire roaring in the hearth and with candles lit on the small tables flanking her bed, the room seemed dim and cold. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and grumbled. Rolling over in her bed, she reached for the stoneware hot water bottle which, before going to see Gamilla in the nursery, she had filled with boiling water from the kettle on the hearth. It was now cool. She wanted to throw it against the wall, knowing that she’d take delight in the sight and sound of it bursting open on impact. Instead, however, she set it in the bed next to her and hoped there was some heat left in it. Thankfully, it had still been warm—warm enough, at least—when she was given those few moments of privacy to change into her dressing gown. Speaight and Dr. Halifax had left her with Gamilla before examining her. Thinking quickly, Ellen had asked for a glass of water, sending Gamilla from the room before being examined by the doctor. Ellen had laughed silently as she held the warmer to her face and bosom—feeling the perspiration rise on her face.
She’d done a good job of feigning her fever, she thought. Her ramblings and thrashing had been enough—when combined with the heat from the bottle—to convince the doctor that she was truly ill.
Still, her victory seemed somehow hollow and empty—alone in that dim, cold room. She wondered for what the room had originally been used. It wasn’t a servant’s room, she knew that. However, it wasn’t as grand as the state bedrooms in the rest of the castle. It was probably always the room of some secretary—someone who was not quite a servant, but not quite a gentleman or lady. Just like her…
Listening for a moment, Ellen could hear the staff scurrying up and down the passage. Masculine footsteps, at first—they must have been Speaight’s or Finlay’s. She knew, of course, that Charles and Gerard would be busy dressing the masters. Lighter steps—one set pausing outside her door for a moment, much to her horror—must have belonged to Gamilla—on her way back up to the nursery. How inconvenient, Ellen thought, that that fool Mrs. North had put the baby in the dressing room adjoining the Duke’s bedchamber. That wouldn’t afford any privacy whatsoever. That’s why Ellen knew she had to find a way to keep to herself. Unlike the house in Belgrave Square with its private suite of nursery rooms, the arrangement at the Grange would have kept her near the Duke and the Doctor at all times. She couldn’t have that.
Assured that no one was coming, Ellen reached under the blankets where she had hidden the stack of rumpled papers and the small, leather-bound journal which she had stolen from the hunting cottage.
Ellen shook her head. What a lot of trouble that was-having to crawl through a window. It had taken more time than she had allotted to her task. She knew that the “boys” (as the Duke, the doctor, Speaight and Mrs. Pepper so affectionately, and, Ellen thought, disgustingly, referred to Charles and Gerard) would quickly be on her trail. She’d barely had enough time to rummage through the place. She’d have to go back. But, when? How?
“I won’t worry about that now,” Ellen frowned. A few passes with a paper knife were enough to pop open the latch on the journal. With shaking hands, she opened it and studied the first page.
The Private Diary of
Pauline, Duchess of Fallbridge
Anno Domini 1820
Grange Molliner, Aberdeenshire
Scotland
Ellen felt an odd shiver shoot through her arms as she turned the page.
She began reading.
Ellen grinned. “And, so shall I.”
Meanwhile on the other side of the castle, Mr. Punch smiled as Charles helped him tie his cravat.
“Here, Charles, I’m almost dressed, I am, and you’ve not told me what’s got your brow all furrowed like it is. You said somethin’ ‘bout the safety of me family, so if you got somethin’ to tell me, I’d like to know what it is.”
“It’s a rather uncomfortable topic, Your Grace.” Charles replied, swallowing.
“Oh?” Punch asked. “If it’s ‘bout human nature, I’m ‘fraid you come to the wrong party. I don’t know much ‘bout that, I don’t.”
“It is, in a way, Sir.” Charles shook his head.
“You know what I mean by ‘human nature’?” Punch squinted nervously.
“Not exactly.” Charles replied.
“You know—like how…like how we got Colin.” Punch answered sheepishly.
“Oh—no, nothing like that.” Charles blushed.
“Good.” Punch nodded. “What’s it all ‘bout, then?”
“Miss Barrett, Sir.”
“Took to her room with a fever.” Punch sighed. “But, not to worry, she didn’t get close to Colin and he shows no signs of feelin’ bad.”
“No. I’m not concerned about that.” Charles answered quickly.
“What is it, then?”
“Well, Your Grace. I don’t believe that Miss Barrett was in her room that whole time we were looking for her.”
“I see.” Punch shook his head. “It does seem a bit strange. But, that’s what she says. I can’t imagine where else she would have gone.”
“What about the hunting cottage, Sir?”
“Why?” Punch raised his eyebrows. “What would she want in there? Ain’t nothin’ in there but ol’ trophies and guns and a whole lotta plaid furniture. Besides, I’m told the place is locked.”
“It is, Your Grace.” Charles said. “Finlay unlocked it for us when we were looking for Miss Barrett. But, when I was inside, I noticed that a candle had recently been lit. Very recently—the wax was still soft and I could smell the scent of burnt wick.”
“Were probably one of the maids or Mrs. North what were in there cleanin’ in case we wanted to use the place.”
“I suppose.”
“Ain’t no way Miss Barrett could have gotten in there.” Mr. Punch smiled. “And, she’s all feverish. I don’t see how she could have.”
“Is she really fevered, Sir?”
“Dr. Halifax examined her.” Punch shrugged. “I s’pose he knows his business.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Charles sighed.
“Charlie,” Punch began. “Do you really think that Miss Barrett is ‘bout somethin’ strange?”
“It’s just a feeling I have, Sir.”
“I know you don’t like her much.”
“I do not, Sir.” Charles replied.
“Why?”
“I find her selfish and arrogant. Secretive.”
“She’s so good with Colin.” Mr. Punch answered thoughtfully.
“Is she?” Charles asked. “Since she’s been employed, it seems to me that Gamilla has spent more time with Colin than Miss Barrett has. Miss Barrett is more concerned with her brother and her family drama.”
“But, she came so highly recommended.”
“From the Baron Lensdown? Sir, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but you’re aware of the rumors about Miss Barrett and the Baron.”
“I…” Punch began. “Well, yes. But, there’s rumors ‘bout me, too. And, most of ‘em ain’t true. Mostly.”
“It’s one thing to spread gossip about a member of the peerage. Sir, you’re a known figure—a friend to the Crown and one of the wealthiest men in England. It’s only natural that there’d be talk about you just as there’s talk about Their Majesties. But, a governess—why would anyone spread gossip about her? Who would care?”
“I hear what you’re sayin’, Charles. I really do.” Punch responded. “I also know that Dr. Halfiax feels much as you do. I’ll talk with him ‘bout what you said…”
Punch paused when he heard the door to the adjoining room open. He craned his neck to see into the nursery. Gamilla had entered and took her place next to Colin’ cradle.
“I will talk with Dr. Halifax.” Punch said softly. “I promise.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Charles answered. “I’m only trying to protect you and the doctor and Colin.”
“I know it.” Punch nodded.
“I’d best go downstairs, Your Grace. Mr. Speaight will be wanting us to take our places for dinner.”
“Go on.” Punch smiled. “And, thank you.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Charles replied.
Once Charles had left, Punch walked into the nursery and smiled at Gamilla.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Gamilla replied. “I had a nice plate just now. Mrs. Pepper was ever so nice for to make one up for me early.”
“Good. We’ll be in after dinner, Dr. Halifax and I, to say good night.”
“Yes, Sir.” Gamilla nodded.
“Oh,” Punch said as he walked to the door. “Should Miss Barrett wish to come into the nursery, would you, please, gently ask her to stay in the passage.”
“If you wish.”
“I just don’t want Colin to get sick.” Punch smiled.
“I sure don’t either, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Gamilla.” Punch responded. “We…we just want ev’ryone to be well. ‘Specially Collin.”
“I promise, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to Master Colin while I’m ‘round.” Gamilla said brightly.
“I know that to be true,” Punch nodded. “And, I’m grateful.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-77 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. We will be taking off tomorrow, for the Fourth of July, so come back on Thursday, July 5 for Chapter 79.
Anno Domini 1820
Grange Molliner, Aberdeenshire
Scotland
Ellen felt an odd shiver shoot through her arms as she turned the page.
She began reading.
24 March 1820
Terribly cold. I have not felt the cold so deeply since 1814 when I carried Julian. Julian—I fear he is too weak. Pale and thin with that awful Molliner ginger hair. Thankfully, he has the Fallbridge brow and nose. Perhaps he’ll be intelligent if anything. Nanny, I hope, will make a man of him.
How I loathe it here. Colin has been insufferable—acting as if he’s doing me some great justice. He knows I despise him. I wish he’d leave me be. Yet he hovers over me like some damned cheerful spirit… I had so hoped that my announcement would break him. Perhaps this simpering kindness is his punishment. He won’t best me. I shall have my day.
Ellen grinned. “And, so shall I.”
Meanwhile on the other side of the castle, Mr. Punch smiled as Charles helped him tie his cravat.
“Here, Charles, I’m almost dressed, I am, and you’ve not told me what’s got your brow all furrowed like it is. You said somethin’ ‘bout the safety of me family, so if you got somethin’ to tell me, I’d like to know what it is.”
“It’s a rather uncomfortable topic, Your Grace.” Charles replied, swallowing.
“Oh?” Punch asked. “If it’s ‘bout human nature, I’m ‘fraid you come to the wrong party. I don’t know much ‘bout that, I don’t.”
“It is, in a way, Sir.” Charles shook his head.
“You know what I mean by ‘human nature’?” Punch squinted nervously.
“Not exactly.” Charles replied.
“You know—like how…like how we got Colin.” Punch answered sheepishly.
“Oh—no, nothing like that.” Charles blushed.
“Good.” Punch nodded. “What’s it all ‘bout, then?”
“Miss Barrett, Sir.”
“Took to her room with a fever.” Punch sighed. “But, not to worry, she didn’t get close to Colin and he shows no signs of feelin’ bad.”
“No. I’m not concerned about that.” Charles answered quickly.
“What is it, then?”
“Well, Your Grace. I don’t believe that Miss Barrett was in her room that whole time we were looking for her.”
“I see.” Punch shook his head. “It does seem a bit strange. But, that’s what she says. I can’t imagine where else she would have gone.”
“What about the hunting cottage, Sir?”
“Why?” Punch raised his eyebrows. “What would she want in there? Ain’t nothin’ in there but ol’ trophies and guns and a whole lotta plaid furniture. Besides, I’m told the place is locked.”
“It is, Your Grace.” Charles said. “Finlay unlocked it for us when we were looking for Miss Barrett. But, when I was inside, I noticed that a candle had recently been lit. Very recently—the wax was still soft and I could smell the scent of burnt wick.”
“Were probably one of the maids or Mrs. North what were in there cleanin’ in case we wanted to use the place.”
“I suppose.”
“Ain’t no way Miss Barrett could have gotten in there.” Mr. Punch smiled. “And, she’s all feverish. I don’t see how she could have.”
“Is she really fevered, Sir?”
“Dr. Halifax examined her.” Punch shrugged. “I s’pose he knows his business.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Charles sighed.
“Charlie,” Punch began. “Do you really think that Miss Barrett is ‘bout somethin’ strange?”
“It’s just a feeling I have, Sir.”
“I know you don’t like her much.”
“I do not, Sir.” Charles replied.
“Why?”
“I find her selfish and arrogant. Secretive.”
“She’s so good with Colin.” Mr. Punch answered thoughtfully.
“Is she?” Charles asked. “Since she’s been employed, it seems to me that Gamilla has spent more time with Colin than Miss Barrett has. Miss Barrett is more concerned with her brother and her family drama.”
“But, she came so highly recommended.”
“From the Baron Lensdown? Sir, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but you’re aware of the rumors about Miss Barrett and the Baron.”
“I…” Punch began. “Well, yes. But, there’s rumors ‘bout me, too. And, most of ‘em ain’t true. Mostly.”
“It’s one thing to spread gossip about a member of the peerage. Sir, you’re a known figure—a friend to the Crown and one of the wealthiest men in England. It’s only natural that there’d be talk about you just as there’s talk about Their Majesties. But, a governess—why would anyone spread gossip about her? Who would care?”
“I hear what you’re sayin’, Charles. I really do.” Punch responded. “I also know that Dr. Halfiax feels much as you do. I’ll talk with him ‘bout what you said…”
Punch paused when he heard the door to the adjoining room open. He craned his neck to see into the nursery. Gamilla had entered and took her place next to Colin’ cradle.
“I will talk with Dr. Halifax.” Punch said softly. “I promise.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Charles answered. “I’m only trying to protect you and the doctor and Colin.”
“I know it.” Punch nodded.
“I’d best go downstairs, Your Grace. Mr. Speaight will be wanting us to take our places for dinner.”
“Go on.” Punch smiled. “And, thank you.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Charles replied.
Once Charles had left, Punch walked into the nursery and smiled at Gamilla.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Gamilla replied. “I had a nice plate just now. Mrs. Pepper was ever so nice for to make one up for me early.”
“Good. We’ll be in after dinner, Dr. Halifax and I, to say good night.”
“Yes, Sir.” Gamilla nodded.
“Oh,” Punch said as he walked to the door. “Should Miss Barrett wish to come into the nursery, would you, please, gently ask her to stay in the passage.”
“If you wish.”
“I just don’t want Colin to get sick.” Punch smiled.
“I sure don’t either, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Gamilla.” Punch responded. “We…we just want ev’ryone to be well. ‘Specially Collin.”
“I promise, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to Master Colin while I’m ‘round.” Gamilla said brightly.
“I know that to be true,” Punch nodded. “And, I’m grateful.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-77 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. We will be taking off tomorrow, for the Fourth of July, so come back on Thursday, July 5 for Chapter 79.
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