Chapter 193
Knowing
Mr. Punch sat in his nightshirt, cross-legged, on his bed. Dog Toby snored loudly at the foot of the bed, on a pillow of his very own. In Punch’s lap, he held his Punchinello puppet and studied its face.
“How’d that bloke know?” Punch muttered, recalling Roger’s announcement earlier in the day.
He ran his fingers over the puppets face, tracing the cool lines of the figure’s long, hooked nose, his prominent chin and flat eyes. Next, Punch touched his own, well Julian’s face—the smooth brow punctuated by the two slightly-arched brows with their stiff hairs. He felt the outline of Julian’s sharp, almost Roman nose; the prickles of beard on his cheeks; the gentle slope of his chin.
Punch straightened his back and sighed loud enough to awaken Dog Toby who looked up sleepily at his master and smacked his lips as if to say, “Dogs are sleeping here, please.”
“Sorry.” Mr. Punch mumbled. He watched the terrier yawn and curl up again.
“Don’t look like Mr. Punch, not on the outside.” Mr. Punch whispered. “Maybe he’s like our friend Marjani who can see inside o’ folk and know what they are beneath.” He shook his head. But, hadn’t he known that Roger was different—like him—when they met. From the outside, Roger didn’t look any different than any other man one might see walking the streets of London. With his thinning strawberry-blond locks, pale skin and narrow face, he could have been anyone—a young parson, a merchant, a clerk. Still, Punch had known that beneath that façade bubbled more than one voice, more than one name, more than one man—just the same.
Perhaps, Punch considered for a moment, perhaps it was an ability that all of those like him had—the ability to recognize brethren. Robert always told Punch that there must be others like him, that there surely must be many people all over the world with the same…the same…circumstances…condition…mind-set…outlook. After all, that’s why Robert was writing his book.
Robert.
Where was he?
Punch knew that the household would not be as clockwork precise as it had been before they’d gone to Aberdeenshire. Speaight was still not quite himself yet. It would be weeks before Gerard could return to his duties. With Charles as the sole fully-functioning male member of the staff, there would, of course, be delays. Georgie had already proved himself helpful and assuredly secured himself a position better than that of page in days to come. But, still, Punch knew he’d have to be patient.
His patience proved to be worthwhile when, after several minutes, Robert appeared in his dressing gown.
“Hullo, Chum!” Punch said brightly.
“Dear Punch,” Robert smiled. “I’ve already been to the nursery and Colin is sleeping quite contentedly. I think he’s pleased to be home.”
“No doubt he is.” Mr. Punch nodded.
“I’ve looked-in on Gerard as well.” Robert continued, sitting down on the bed next to Punch.
“How’s the poor man?”
“Quite alert.” Robert answered. “In fact, he was chatting quite clearly with Gamilla.”
“She ain’t gonna stay at his bedside all night, is she?” Punch asked. “She’s not slept in I don’t know how long.”
“I’m afraid I was rather insistent that she retire to her own room.” Robert nodded.
“Will she?”
“That’s difficult to say.” Robert replied. “Charles mentioned he was going to play cards with Gerard for awhile before retiring, so, hopefully Gamilla will feel that he’s being looked after long enough to get some rest of her own.”
“Sure, Chum.” Punch nodded.
“Charles mentioned that you’d gone to the servants’ hall earlier.”
“I had.” Punch confessed. “I wanted to see for me-self that all were settled. Mrs. Pepper were asleep in her chair by the fire. Violet was sittin’ at the table tryin’ to make something outta her poor, ruined hair. Georgie was readin’ a Penny Dreadful. Speaight had already gone to his pantry. Everyone seemed quite at peace.”
“Let’s hope that it stays that way.” Robert sighed. “This afternoon was actually quite pleasant. I think Lennie rather enjoyed shopping.”
“I liked seeing her face when she were lookin’ at all them pretty fabrics. I ‘specially liked the cherry red and that sea blue she picked. They’ll make some fine dresses.”
Robert nodded. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I was very moved when you suggested that she call herself ‘Lennie Molliner.’”
Mr. Punch shrugged. “Makes sense, don’t it? Sure, she ain’t me pa’s daughter. But, we can’t call her ‘Fallbridge.’ She ain’t due a title, what with bein’ illegitimate. Takin’ the Molliner name is the closest we can give her to a family name.”
“You’ve been very generous with her.”
“Ain’t got a reason not to.” Mr. Punch replied. “She’s been through such an ordeal.”
“Some would look at her judgmentally, considering she handed her own name to that terrible woman.”
“She were upset and confused and scared. It’s something what we can all look to in our own lives. Ain’t a person what ever lived who ain’t felt the same. She made a mistake, but ain’t right to make her suffer forever for it as it were an innocent enough mistake.”
“I agree.” Robert smiled.
“I’m glad we’re home.” Punch sighed.
“As am I.”
“Do you think maybe we can have a few days to ourselves? Just to enjoy bein’ home?”
“Well, no.”
“What?” Punch raised his eyebrows.
Robert pulled a letter from the picket of his dressing gown. “Just as I was coming from my rooms, I met Georgie in the passage. Seems a page from the palace brought this moments ago.” He handed the missive to Punch.
“Royal seal.” Punch shook his head.
“Her Majesty or Prince Albert?”
“Albert.” Punch sighed.
“Shall we open it?” Robert asked.
“I s’pose. Only I already know what’s inside.” Punch replied.
Did you miss Chapters 1-192 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Chapter 194.
