Punch's Cousin, Chapter 26

As is its habit, time trod on—sometimes on soft tiptoes, sometimes tromping over brittle, weary souls. The Hyperion cut through waters both angry and relenting. The passage of nine days saw Julian and Robert grow hesitantly closer—the one man fearful of everything, the other, fearful of himself.


Robert was able to tell when Punch would be making an appearance, and he tried his best to ensure that his dealings were mostly with Julian. Lord Fallbridge rarely left his cabin, preferring to take his meals in the safety of the small room. Robert always joined him. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes they would sit in silence. Yet, they were together, and Julian was growing to depend on the doctor—always wondering if they’d met before, but never quite sure that they hadn’t.

Arthur had fallen into a pattern, showing up at exactly the same times each day. He would come to the cabin to fulfill his duties as valet, often smelling of gin, other times smelling of desiccated roses—always with his amber smile and an obsequious bow. Julian was strangely still and submissive around Arthur, prompting Robert to do most of the talking. Soon, Arthur’s contempt for the doctor grew palpable and Robert knew that, in time, the footman’s rage would boil over in a scalding froth which would burn all of them.

Unaccustomed to gentleness, Julian continued to be reserved with Dr. Halifax. He never requested the man’s presence, but always knew he could rely on it. He infrequently offered any information of his own. They did not speak of Barbara, they never talked of “The Elegant Ogress,” or Louisiana or anything related to the darkness which hung over them on threadbare twine which could snap at any moment. When they did speak, they conversed about art, about museums and music—the present and nothing more.

When the ocean reflected the blackness of night, Robert would retreat to his cabin, hoping that the following morning he would be greeted at the door by Julian and not Punch. Together, they did well, until the tenth day…

Robert knocked on the cabin door. There was no answer. He waited, and knocked again.

Finally, Arthur opened the door. His yellowed eyes were ringed in weary pink, the lids drooped lazily, yet his smile was golden and bright.

“His Lordship isn’t here, Sir.” Arthur beamed.

“Where is he?” Robert asked.

“Gone out for some sun, I ‘spect.” Arthur flashed his grin.

“You let him go on deck unattended?” Robert demanded.

“Who am I, Sir, to tell His Lordship what to do? If my master wishes to take some air, I can’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t.”

Robert bounded into the room and looked around. The bed was unmade and on the writing table, paper had been shredded—strewn about like jagged snowflakes.

“What’s that?” Robert asked, pointing to the desk.

“Dunno.” Arthur shrugged. “Only we had a letter from Her Grace which I had delivered to His Lordship. Picked it up when we docked, you know.”

“How exactly was the Duchess of Fallbridge able to get a letter to her son?”

“How should I know, Sir?” Arthur bared his teeth. “Only I picked it up when we docked. Who’s to say how our betters do things? Mine is only to do what I’m told.”

Robert shook his head and walked toward the cabin door. “Never! Never, let Lord Fallbridge leave this cabin without me again!”

“Begging your pardon, Sir, but I take my orders from His Lordship, and him only.” Arthur smiled.

“Tidy this room!” Robert spat as he headed out into the passage.

He found Julian on deck amidst a small crowd of people watching the French puppeteers perform a Guignol show.

Robert could deduce by the hoots and cheers coming from Julian’s mouth that Punch was present. He braced himself for the encounter.

“Mr. Punch,” Robert whispered into Julian’s ear.

“Oh, it’s the doctor.” Punch winked. “Come to watch my cousin, have you?”

“I’ve come to find you.” Robert answered.

“Well, here I am.” Punch laughed. “Look at ‘im. Got a hand up his back—the lucky devil!” Punch pointed Julian’s finger at the puppet. “Don’t have to think for himself, that one.” Punch hooted, “Bloody, lucky fool!”

The others in the crowd guffawed.

“Mr. Punch, wouldn’t you like to return to the cabin?”

“No, Doctor, I would not.” Punch frowned. “I want to talk with my cousin.”

“About?”

“Julian got a letter today. Seems our father is dead. Killed in France by a thief. Cut his throat and took the jewels what he just bought from some bloke. I want to see what Guignol knows about it.”

Robert blanched and stood blankly for a moment.

“Sir Collin Molliner is dead?” Robert asked after a time.

“Looks like.” Punch answered angrily. “Whore of a sister has gone off to America, Father is dead, Julian’s mother is what she is. The man’s got nothin’ but me now, and I aim to take control of the situation, you see.”

“Mr. Punch, you are not the only person Lord Julian has. He has me.”

“Lot of good you are! Look at me—my head split open, right down the middle. Did you mend it? No!”

“Mr. Punch,” Robert whispered, “Your head may be split, but Julian’s isn’t. Right now, you inhabit his body. There’s nothing for me to fix.”

“Leave us alone, there’s a pet.” Punch hissed.

“I can’t do that.” Robert shook his head.

“You’re just as bad as she is.” Punch grumbled.

“Who?”

“That Nanny what smells like roses. Me mother!” Punch answered. “She was all palms and fingertips just now—grabbing and begging. ‘Come with me, Lord Julian.’ Sow’s just lucky I didn’t push her into the sea. Only I couldn’t with all these people starin’, starin’. But, she’ll get hers—right after I see my cousin.” Punch widened Julian’s eyes. “Which I aim to do presently.”

Punch propelled Julian’s body through the crowd and directly for the collapsible puppet stage. With one swift motion, Punch grabbed the Guignol puppet from the hand of the performer and held it aloft.

“Come with me, Cousin!” Punch screamed. “You’re gonna answer me some questions, and, then we’ll hack our way through the sugar cane together!”

Did you miss Chapters 1-25?  If so, you can read them here.

Goal for the Day: Celebrate Change

Soon, autumn will be upon us. For those of us in areas that have been blasted by relentless heat, this is a welcome change. However, it’s also a reminder of the passage of time. Children will go back to school; before we know it, the holidays will be upon us, and, soon, another year will pass. Some of us fear change. Many of us want to stay just as we are, but change can be a glorious thing.


With change comes growth. And, with growth, new opportunities present themselves. Learn to embrace change and the beauty of new beginnings. For every leave that falls, in time, a new one will bud in its place. Time has no end, and neither does possibility.

So, today, as you go about your business, look forward to what’s ahead of you. Whether it’s the sandwich you’re going to have for lunch or the fact that with each breath, you’re one step closer to realizing your dreams, you have much to celebrate. You are in control of your destiny, and you have the power to make your life truly beautiful.

Object of the Day: A Painting by W.A. Young

Autumn leaves glint amber and gold in the fading light of day, reflecting against the still waters of a stream. A woman in a silver robe—lined in brilliant crimson, and hemmed in ebony—raised a violin to her peach-hued cheek. She is about to play, to serenade nature. At her feet, a tangle of wild flowers breathe the last gasps of Spring. Her song signifies the changing of seasons and the passage of time. Her countenance shows her resolve that things are fleeting, and, yet, she celebrates the morphing of the world around her.

This painting by W.A. Young is at first, a bucolic genre painting. However, on closer inspection, it is a startling study of contrasts. The statuesque beauty of the woman is a counterpoint to the fading majesty of the napping trees. The stillness of the water juxtaposes the life in her limbs. It is a moment in time, captured for eternity.

Dating to the 1870’s, there’s some mystery as to who W.A. Young is. My research indicates that this is most likely the work of the English Artist/Historian, W.A. Young who famously worked in cataloging the collections of the Victoria and Albert Museum in the late Nineteenth Century. Influenced by the monumental works of the late Eighteenth Century, this painting is rendered with a heavy, deliberate hand and clearly shows influences of earlier great English painters. Regardless of the artist’s identity, this work is quick to tell us that time is fleeting.

Song of the Week: "Jerusalem" by Hubert Parry

And did those feet in ancient time.

Walk upon Englands mountains green:

And was the holy Lamb of God,

On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

Hubert Parry (1848-1918) is often considered the greatest English composer since Purcell. He is most famous for his works: “Repton,” the coronation anthem, “I Was Glad” and his masterpiece, “Jerusalem.”

Women's Suffrage Meeting from Punch Magazine, 1911

“Jerusalem” is based on the poem, “And did those feet in ancient time” by William Blake. The poem tells the apocryphal tale of young Jesus and Joseph of Arimathea traveling to England and likens itself to the idea of “The Second Coming” wherein a new “Jerusalem” is founded—a metaphor for Heaven.

In 1918, Parry conducted “Jerusalem” at a “Fight for the Right” Suffragette Rally at Queen’s Hall. The song became embraced by the National Federation of Women’s Institutes as an anthem to underscore their struggle to earn the vote in Britain—their own “Jerusalem.”

Beloved to this day, “Jerusalem,” is a popular hymn which is still associated with not only women’s rights, but the right of everyone to find their own piece of Heaven.

The Belle Époque Today: The Paintings of Richard Foster, RP

Interior by Richard Foster, RP

A member of the Royal Society of Portrait Painters since 1976, Richard Foster, is, doubtless, one of the finest portrait and landscape painters of his generation. With commissions by the Royal Family, and notable celebrities such as Sir Anthony Hopkins and the Corsini Family, Foster is highly in demand. His expert work is marked by a gentle hand and a masterful use of media. His brushstrokes are bold, yet sensitive, imbuing his work with a sense of immediacy which creates the overall effect of a candid snapshot. With an impeccable sense of color and skillful control of light, Foster gives life to his subjects.


I would recommend browsing his Web site. His work is most exceptional. At once modern and traditional, the art of Richard Foster shows us that we are still capable of creating works of exquisite beauty.

Person of the Week: Diana, Princess of Wales

Portrait by Richard Foster, RP

What would have been a “fairy tale” was a life shadowed by pain and doubt. Though some will debate the nature of her true character, no one can deny that Diana, Princess of Wales, was one of the most beautiful and fascinating women of the last century.


August 31 marks the anniversary of her tragic death in 1997. If you’re reading this blog, chances are you remember her wedding to the Prince of Wales. I recall sitting downstairs in our family room as a child, watching her in her magnificent dress on that day. Since then, I’ve always had a soft spot for Diana, and I was terribly saddened to learn of her death.

We all know all of the tabloid junk. Let’s look past that now. Here was a woman who came from the wealthy, aristocratic Spencer family—rooted in centuries of power and prestige. She married the Prince of Wales. Here’s someone who could have been vain and vapid—intolerant and shallow. Yet, she wasn’t. No matter what life threw at Diana, she soldiered on. She was human—subject to the same highs and lows that all of us are, and, so she reacted as any human would. However, she was undeterred in her missions. She put two priorities above all else—protecting her children and helping humanity.

Her visits to patients with AIDS and Leprosy were not the stuff of photo-opportunities. She touched, she talked, she genuinely cared. She made it her goal to try to make people feel better, to make them feel wanted, loved and important and to try to give them some of the things that she seemed to feel she lacked in her own life. Diana worked with the homeless, the elderly and the lost. Through her efforts, she looked after soldiers, people battling addiction and people who felt they had nowhere else to turn.

She was effortlessly beautiful whether in couture or khakis. Draped in diamonds or wearing a helmet, her beauty came from within. Hers was a light that could have been extinguished by circumstance, yet she kept it burning as brightly as she could. For that, we can still learn from her today. And, so, one week before the anniversary of her death, Diana, Princess of Wales, is our person of the week.

Treat of the Week: Marble Pound Cake

Just as glass rods are sliced to create beautiful millefiori, this stunning marble pound cake is sliced to reveal an equal gorgeousness. This week’s glimpse at some of my mother’s masterful handiwork, is a luxurious sour cream pound cake—marbleized with luscious chocolate. Dense, yet moist, this cake has “a good crumb” as they say in the baking world.

The top of the cake has been dusted with confectioners’ sugar which, by the next day, softens the delicate top crust to a creamy, sweet layer. My mother has been making this cake for as long as I can remember. It’s a family favorite. Whether you have a piece for breakfast or with a cup of tea later in the day, one bite will remind you that life can be beautiful. Add some whipped cream to make it utterly decadent.

And, as an editorial note, while doggies are not to have chocolate (for their own good), they do enjoy licking the beaters after the cream is whipped.