A Recipe for Punch, Chapter 20

Chapter 20:
Staring


Jackson stood at the farthest end of the grand dining hall, framed by the architecture of the monumental room like a desiccated saint in a gothic reliquary.  He watched with pointed eyes as Gregory and William served the dinner, a dinner, of course, of which he did not approve at all.

Mrs. Pepper had prepared many of the Duke's favorite dishes in addition to those preferred by Lady Fallbridge and Lord Colinshire, hoping that familiar tastes and smells would make that strange and foreign place seem somehow more... livable.

The late Duchess would never have allowed such food to have been served below-stairs let alone in the banquet hall.  Chicken and turkey, rustic breads, compotes of berries and creamy sauces, sharp cheeses.  He wrinkled his nose.  Unrefined!

Lady Fallbridge and Lord Colinshire carried on as if they were not aware that the food on which they dined was wholly unsuitable.  Jackson studied the Duke.  Surely--mad as he was--he knew that his cook, this woman he had intentionally brought all the way from London...well...Her Grace would never have stood for it.

Jackson narrowed his eyes and waited.  Staring, staring.  He knew the Duke could feel his eyes cutting into him.

Finally, the Duke looked up and met Jackson's stare.

"Is something troubling you, Jackson?"  The Duke asked.

"I?"  The butler asked.

"Yes."  The Duke replied.

"Why do you ask, Your Grace?"  Jackson replied.

"Because you are staring at me."  The Duke responded dryly.

"I am only trying to anticipate your needs, Your Grace."  Jackson answered.

"I need not to be stared at."  The Duke replied.  "You are not serving any particular purpose.  Gregory and William are functioning well without you.  Why don't you retire downstairs for awhile?  After dinner, however, I would like to speak with you."

"You Grace, it is customary that I..."

"Jackson...please go."  The Duke sighed.

"Very well, Your Grace."  Jackson growled, turning on his heel and heading for the service stairs.

If only Mr. Punch had known that Violet and Charles were about to enter Jackson's pantry, he'd never have sent the man back so soon.


Did you miss Chapters 1-19?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 21 of A Recipe for Punch.

Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 20

Chapter 20:

Flowers for the Drawing Room

Gamilla knocked on the nursery door, and, hearing no response from within, walked into the room.  The day nursery was empty, so Gamilla peered around the corner into the door of the adjoining night nursery where she spotted the soft glow of an oil lamp through the slightly-open door.  On the low chest next to the night nursery door sat Miss Barrett’s dinner tray—untouched.  Gamilla lifted the tray and, using her foot, opened the door all the way.

“You’re gonna have ta eat some o’ this, Miss Barrett.”  Gamilla grinned as she came into the room.

Ellen looked up from the chair next to Colin’s crib where she sat working on her embroidery.  “I’m really not hungry Gamilla.”

“Now, I don’t believe that,” Gamilla shook her head.  “I done heard the noise from in here today and I know that Master Colin was none too happy not seein’ his pappy all day.  I reckon you done had your hands full.  That’s gotta make a girl hungry.  Don’t it?”

Ellen nodded.  “I just couldn’t.”

“You don’t want His Grace to hear you ain’t been eatin’.  You know how the Duke likes to make sure we all is well fed.  Even he, lowly as he was today, just ordered dinner on trays for hisself and for the doctor.  Mrs. Pepper’s already beside herself what with folk not eatin’ on time.  You ain’t gonna go an’ make it worse by havin’ me bring this tray full of perfectly good food all the way back down to her, is ya?”

Ellen chuckled.  “Maybe a bite.”

Gamilla set the tray on the poof in front of Ellen and cleared away the governess’ embroidery.

“Mind if I done sit wit’ ya for a spell while ya eat?”

“I’d hope you would.”  Ellen nodded, glancing over at Colin who slumbered in his crib.  

“However, there’s a price.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve got to help me eat this.”

“No, no, Miss.  I already done eat.  Ain’t no use in me getting’ fat.  Gerard says he don’t…”  She paused.

“Some extra rice and cheese straws won’t make you fat, Gamilla,” Ellen winked, lifting her plate to offer the food.

“Maybe a little,”  Gamilla smiled, reaching for the cheese straws.  “I did work powerful hard today.”

“I’m sure you did.”  Ellen nodded absent-mindedly.

“We missed ya downstairs.”  Gamilla continued, taking a bite of Mrs. Pepper’s cheese straws.

“As you said, I had my hands full today.”

“Things was funny today what with His Grace stayin’ all alone, not playin’ with the baby nor Dog Toby nor even his puppet.  Mr. Speaight done said that the master cheered right up ‘gain when Dr. Halifax came home.  Reckon he missed the fella.  They’re awful close, them two.”

“They are.”  Ellen smiled gently.  “I’m sure that was it.”  Ellen wanted to mention the threatening letter that the Duke had received, but she didn’t dare break the Duke’s confidence nor did she see any reason to frighten or upset Gamilla.  “I’m sure His Grace missed Dr. Halifax.”

“Must be nice to have someone to miss.”  Gamilla continued.

“You’ve never married?”  Ellen asked.  “In America?”

“No.”  Gamilla shook her head sheepishly.

“Such a beautiful girl?”

“Aw, well, thank ya, Miss.  Ain’t no men back in Louisiana wanted me.”

“What about Gerard?”

Gamilla’s eyes widened.

“I don’t mean to be too personal, Gamilla.”  Ellen said quickly.  “It’s simply that I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to have a soft spot for Gerard and vice versa.”

“He’s a nice fella.”  Gamilla said firmly.  “I like him, but, ain’t nothin’ there.  Wouldn’t be fittin’.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, Mr. Speaight—he don’t cotton to us havin’ romances downstairs.”

“But, you and Gerard have known each other for awhile.  Much longer than you’ve both worked here.”

“Still.  Wouldn’t be fittin’.”

“Because of your…different races.”

“Yes, Miss.”  Gamilla sighed.  “In Louisiana, it ain’t allowed for an African and a white man to marry.”

“I see.”  Ellen replied.  “Nevertheless…if you were Caucasian or Gerard were African…”

“Maybe.”  Gamilla looked away.

“You know, Gamilla,”  Ellen began softly, “it’s for the best that you and Gerard can’t…engage in a romance.  It’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Is it, Miss?”  Gamilla tilted her head to one side.  “Seems to me that it’s a fine thing.  Havin’ someone there to always count on.  Knowin’ that someone loves ya, that you’re safe…”

“That’s not always the way it works out,” Ellen shook her head.

“You ever had a fella, Miss?”

Ellen sighed.

“Maybe I shouldn’t ask.”

“No, you may ask.  We’re friends, you and I.”

Gamilla smiled.

“Yes, I’ve had a fella—as you say.  However, rather like you and Gerard, it wasn’t possible to…”  She trailed off.

“Was you in love with a man of a different race?”

“No.”  Ellen shook her head.  “But, I may as well have been.  You see, he was of a different class—which is much the same thing.”

Gamilla frowned in sympathy.  “Was it your master?”

“Let’s just say that it wasn’t meant to be.”  Ellen answered.

“I’m sorry.”  Gamilla nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Do you think of him much?”

“Every day.”  Ellen replied.

“What was his name, if I may ask?  I won’t tell no one.”

“I know that you won’t.”  Ellen took a deep breath.  “His Christian name is Victor.”

Gamilla thought about that for a moment.  “Wasn’t them flowers you done got from a fella named Victor?”

“They were.”

“Did he come here?”  Gamilla asked, wide-eyed.  “Is he lookin’ for ya?”

“I thought, perhaps.”  Ellen sighed.  “However, it wasn’t him.”

“How you know?”

“Jenny described him as being fair, ginger.”  Ellen explained.  “The man I knew was dark like Dr. Halifax.”

“Oh.”  Gamilla squinted.  “Don’t you know anyone else with that name?”

“No.”  Ellen responded.  “My brother, Roger, had a friend once, but…”  She shook her head  “I’m sure that it was just one of the boys from one of the staffs of another nearby household.  You know how everyone talks downstairs.  It’s the same in the other houses.  Everyone always knows everyone else’s business.  A new governess at a neighboring home, especially one of this caliber, is something to talk about.”

“Still, it’s sweet.”  Gamilla nodded.  “Ain’t no one bringin’ me flowers.  Every day, I go buy flowers for the drawing room and the library and the hall and the dining room.  The flower girl, she looks at me with them big sad eyes and we both know that even with all them flowers, ain’t no one buyin’ for us.”

“Gamilla,”  Ellen smiled.  “Tomorrow is my afternoon out.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Do you know what I’m going to do?”

“What, Miss?”

“I’m going to bring you back some flowers.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let ya, Miss.”

“I’ll do as I please,”  Ellen winked.

“I do like roses, Miss.”  Gamilla said quietly.

“Roses, it shall be, then.”

“See, now, eatin’ made ya feel better.  Didn’t it?”

“Yes, Gamilla, it did.”  Ellen grinned.  “Eating and your companionship.  Thank you.”

“Maybe we ain’t got fellas, but we got good friends.  It’s all the better.”

“I agree.”

“Now, you’re smilin’ and His Grace is smilin’ and everythin’s good here at Number Six Five.”

“Yes.”  Ellen nodded.

“And, we ain’t gonna let no one make it otherwise.”  Gamilla giggled. 

“No, Gamilla.  We are not.”  Ellen sighed.

                      

Did you miss Chapters 1-19 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square?  If so, you can read them here.  Come back tomorrow for Chapter 21.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 20

The woman knocked again. “Lord Fallbridge?”


Julian smoothed his chestnut hair which clung to his scalp from the heat of his own perspiration.

His stomach boiled.

“Who is there?” Julian croaked.

“Please, Lord Julian, you must let me in.”

On quaking legs, Julian walked to the door and turned the handle. The door would not open. He looked for the key and found that it was gone. He wasn’t aware that Robert had taken the key with him when he locked “Punch” in the cabin.

“The door is locked,” Julian answered in a voice that shook despite his attempts to mask it.

“Can’t you open it?” The woman asked, her familiar voice at once both a lullaby and a sharp slap across the face.

“No.” Julian responded. “I seem to be locked in.”

“Oh.” The woman whispered through the door.

“Will you tell me who you are?”

The woman did not respond.

Julian staggered away from the cabin door. He peered at the crack of light at the threshold, but could not see the shadow of the woman’s feet.

“She’s gone.” Julian sighed.

He sat down at the small wooden desk and cradled his throbbing head in his hands.

“Why am I locked in this cabin?” Julian moaned. “What’s become of me? What have I done?”

Julian thought of Punch and how, for years, he had sat, locked in the curio.

“Am I now just a curiosity? Locked away to be viewed? Displayed and disparaged…”

Where had that man—Robert Halifax—gone? Where was Arthur?

Julian rose and paced the room, and felt as though his frantic strides were making the ship rock more, and, more, and more…

The cabin swayed with the beating of his heart which thumped the rhythm of a song.

"If on your deathbed you do lie
What needs the tale you're tellin'?
I cannot keep you from your death.
Farewell," said Barbara Allen.

Lost in the song, Julian was startled by a scratching at the door of the cabin. To his frenzied ears, the sound was the roar of a dragon and Julian, for a second, thought of his childhood make-believe play of St. George. “I raise my sword aloft!” Only there was no sword. There was nothing.

Suddenly, a piece of bright white paper slipped quickly between the door and the threshold, shooting toward the middle of the cabin.

Julian gasped as the paper stopped at his feet.

He stared at it for a few moments—expecting the flatness to swell into something horrible, something with hands that could claw and scrape. However, it remained only paper.

Hands trembling, Julian reached for the paper cautiously and unfolded it.

In bright blue ink, a simple message was scrawled in the slanted hand of weariness.

“I am here.” Julian read aloud.

The note was not signed. However, Julian knew the writing. He let the paper drop to the floor and stood as still as a caryatid as if the whole weight of the ship rested upon his head and, if he were to move, the vessel would crack in half.

The air smelled of rose water, and, the scent made Julian’s head hurt. No, it was not the plain throbbing of a headache, it was the sensation of being struck repeatedly.

The scraping of the key in the lock was a surprising comfort to Julian who rushed to the door, ready to give entrance to whomever would free him. Even Arthur would be welcome. At least, Arthur was consistent.

“It’s you.” Julian sighed as the door opened. “Please, help me. She’s come for me.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-19? If so, you can read them here.