Dancing the Maypole (33 page)

“Isaac Newton
would have been stumped,” said James. “You stared at me as though
you expected me to perform like an organ monkey. Those endless
months stretched my poor heart until I thought it would snap me in
the eye. At one point, I contemplated holding up some pompous Lord
in daylight, without a mask, just so I’d be arrested and condemned
to death; anything to end the agony. I liked to imagine you’d be
doing your needlework, when one of your cousins ran into the room
with tears in her eyes and announced I’d been hung after publicly
proclaiming undying love for you. The news would make your fingers
tremble as you were consumed with sadness that you’d refused
me…that you’d never taste my lips.”

“I’d have
thought you an idiot and said good riddance.”

“Bof! You’d
have cried yourself to death…shall I send Peter and his brats
away?”

“Heavens no!”
said Agnes. “Isabel would run sobbing to Uncle Louis who would then
shoot Peter and we’d end up as guardians of Cosmo and Robert. I
couldn’t bear it. Cosmo would always be staring at us as if
expecting us to do something unseemly. You should have seen him
eying John and Joan.”

“I noticed!”
groaned James. “Every time I glanced in your direction he was
scowling at someone. Robert’s a heartless lothario, but at least
one can understand what he’s talking about. Cosmo…” James shook his
head and sighed in exasperation.

“Cosmo is a
human sheepdog who instinctively herds other people towards the
table or out the door.”

“Is that why he
barks if we ignore him? He’s a good lad, if a little…”

Agnes raised
her eyebrows, “Odd?”

“At least he’s
not our son.”

“Merciful
heaven…”

James leaned
closer to the tempting earlobe. ”These past few weeks haven’t been
easy, but you’ve been such a good Egg. As soon as we persuade Peter
to run off with Isabel I’m taking you to London. We’ll run down a
few dark alleys, shoot a few villains, and make love wherever it’s
safe to draw breath.”

”You know I
want to, but I’d need to go dressed as a woman. You can’t drag a
masked harlot the same height as your wife around London. Think of
all the whispers. I might slip and say something rude…”

“My hardboiled
Egg? Slip? Bof! Hold out your hand.”

He placed a
tiny oval gold box into her palm. A mid-eighteenth century lady,
sporting a large powdered wig and black round spot on her cheek,
smiled up at Agnes. Lifting the tiny lid she peered at the
contents.

“A patch box
with patches?” She looked up at him, “Do you have some fantasy
about seeing your wife with little black moons on her face?”

“What do face
patches bring to mind?” asked James.

“Aging
courtesans.” Agnes snorted in amusement. “I can see the heart
shaped patch on your cheek, but we’re too tall.”

“Mrs Smirke,
how would you like to spend two weeks with your husband cavorting
as an aging Macaronis?” He sighed with pleasure as her eyes lit up
with admiration. “Wearing old silk suits and large powdered wigs;
after a thick layer of face paint and a few black patches no-one
will know us behind our perfumed fans. I’ll buy a couple of
weighted walking sticks and we’ll take the double-barrelled pocket
pistols. Mincing around London waving fans does raise the risk of
being pummelled for amusement by drunken idiots, but I know how
much you enjoy a skirmish.”

”Our goal?”
asked Agnes.

”Midas is being
blackmailed over his brother-in-law’s private activities. He wants
us to find the blackmailer, and discover some legal end, without
exposing the affaire. He doesn’t want his sister to learn her
husband has spent her dowry on his male lover. I wrote to Midas
we’d meet him in London as soon as we send Peter and Isabel off on
honeymoon. What say you good Egg?”

“I say I’m glad
Uncle Louis lectured me for two hours that I was too intelligent
and penniless to reject you. It’s just as well you weren’t ugly. He
was satisfied you’d be a kind husband…alors, voila! I was expected
to marry you.”

James smiled in
triumph. “Good old Uncle Louis.”

“Good? When
you’re not present he refers to you as Le Beau Fauteuil.”

“What?” James
was no longer smiling. “He calls me ‘The beautiful armchair’? The
horrid little frog…”

“Don’t ever let
him hear you refer to him as little, or he’ll challenge you to a
duel. The girls would be devastated if you died.”

James slid his
arm over the back of the sofa, and laughed in her ear. “As if you
won’t be wailing over my coffin.”

“Don’t be
morbid!” His wife glanced at him with adoring eyes. “How would I
replace you? Who else would buy me patches, encourage me to dress
up like a man milliner, and prance about London with a loaded
pistol in my pocket?”

“You can’t
replace me. There’s only one James Smirke.”

“So you enjoy
telling me. If the old clothes shops in Bath don’t have what we
need, I’ll take Frederick to Bristol. He’s about your height and
size. He can try them on to make sure they fit.”

“As long as the
Frederick doesn’t imagine you find his company stimulating. Did
Isabel tell you how much Lady Wessex offered to pay him? I think
he’s in love with you.”

Agnes looked at
him as if donkey ears had sprung from his head.

“What?” asked
James. “You’re a beautiful woman with a heart of gold. Why wouldn’t
he fall in love with you?”

“The only gold
associated with my steely heart is the gilding you’ve given
it.”

“Stuff and
nonsense!” exclaimed James. “Lesser women are considered saints.
You could be made Saint Agnes.”

“St Agnes is
the patron saint of virgins, gardeners, and engaged couples. Hardly
a fitting epitaph for the mother of your children; a woman who
views gardening and engaged couples with equal loathing.”

“Egg, you make
yourself sound like some sort of virago.”

“That’s because
I am a bad tempered woman of masculine strength.”

“Bad tempered?”
James scowled in contempt. “Rubbish! Just because you can fell a
man with one kick doesn’t mean you’re a virago. You’re an Amazon
with beautiful legs. Amazons always have beautiful legs.”

“That’s because
they’re always running around kicking men. I only kick men when
I’ve used up my shot.”

“Remind me to
order extra shot Egg. We’ll need it if we’re dressed as Macaronis.”
Leaning over James lightly kissed his wife’s cheek hoping to spend
the next ten minutes kissing his wife.

“James, have
you ever really looked at Frederick?” asked Agnes.

James scowled
in irritation at being asked to think of anything other than his
wife’s tempting charms. “No, why? Have you been admiring my
footman? Don’t tell me you think his manly parts superior to mine.
If I’m forced to call out my servant, I’ll replace my older brother
as the laughing stock of England.”

“Lucius made an
interesting observation last night…”

“Lucius?” James
sneered at the mention of his cousin. “I don’t like the way he
looks at you.”

“Frederick said
he had a brother named William who looks like Cosmo. Apparently,
Cosmo looks like your Uncle William! I think Frederick is a Smirke.
That’s what Lucius was implying.”

“Egg, have you
been drinking those foul potions your mother sends? Cook said she
gave one to a stray dog, and it went all foamy at the mouth. Your
mother hates you because she’s old and ugly. One day we’ll be old
and ugly. I can’t imagine we’ll hate younger people, though we’ll
probably hate their clothes. Sometimes I look around and think the
high street looks wrong without men wearing breeches and white or
black silk stockings. Heaven knows what we’ll be wearing in twenty
years time. No doubt something hideous.”

“If Frederick
put on one of your suits and sat down at the table he’d look like
one of the family.”

“Why, if he
knows he’s from the wrong side of a Smirke blanket would he want to
work for a Smirke?”

“Curiosity,”
said Agnes.

“He’s never
struck me as curious,” said James. “He always looks bored.”

“Being a
footman must be a mind numbing bore.”

“Don’t ask
Frederick if he’s a Smirke bastard come to lick our silver spoons.
If the man wants to torture himself, that’s his business. I pay him
to stand around and run errands; there are worse ways to earn a
crust.” Hearing a carriage pull up outside, James cursed his luck.
His plan to spend half an hour kissing his wife was now a pleasant
dream. “I think that’s Peter’s carriage.” James groaned as if in
pain. “How long must we endure Lucius?”

“He’s useful at
distracting Peter’s boys.”

“Useful?” James
snorted in contempt. “Lucifer would be more useful feeding Uncle
Louis’ grass. When he thinks no-one’s looking, he ogles you.”

“The man can’t
help his feelings.”

“Man?” snapped
James. “Lucius is a worm! He lusts after my life and my wife, but
he hasn’t the nerve to do anything about it.”

“What do you
expect your cousin to do? Kidnap me? This isn’t the Medieval
ages.”

“I expect him
to openly admit he’s in love with my wife, so I can call him out
and shoot him. That would end his visit.”

“As soon as
Peter’s married, Lucifer won’t have any reason to be in Bath. He
might even have to find new employment. Isabel doesn’t like
him.”

“Sensible
chit!”

“Sensible? The
woman dreams of being cast up on a desert island where Peter runs
around with only a loin cloth of banana leaves to cover his
nakedness…” Peals of laughter drowned out the clock, as the two
people on the sofa fell against each other in shared amusement.

James wiped
away his tears of laughter, “Imagine the look on Peter’s face if he
met us dressed as two Macaronis.” The couple were still laughing
when the door opened, and Cecil Smirke, with a grim expression, led
his brothers into the drawing room.

Cosmo followed
his older brothers into the drawing room, and purposely chose the
seat farthest away from his eldest sibling. Crossing his legs, he
resisted the urge to run out of the house and keep running until he
was miles from Cecil and his truth. He watched his two eldest
brothers lean towards each other, whisper something, and then roll
their eyes slowly in his direction. Ignoring their exasperation, he
looked away to find his Aunt Agnes and Uncle James smiling at him
as if he’d said something amusing. “What? Why is everyone staring
at me?”

Cecil groaned
as if the reasonable question caused him pain, “Here we go
again.”

Cosmo glared
back at his brother, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means
you’re a boring crackfart.”

“Shut up
Robert! You’re in a drawing room. There’s a lady present.” Cosmo’s
gallant defence of his aunt’s sensibilities caused the lady’s lips
to quiver with suppressed laughter.

“Exactly,”
Robert sneered back. “It’s a drawing room, not a boring room.”

“Then take your
boring infantile society away.”

“Red letter
day!” sneered Robert. “Cosmo made a repartee.“

“Enough!” The
acidic word announced the arrival of cousin Lucius. “Robert, go
open book one of the Principia and sharpen your wit on Newton’s
stone.” Robert glared at Lucius, but silently obeyed.

Cosmo watched
his brother leave the room, “Good riddance!”

“Poor cousin
Lucius…” Cosmo turned to watch his cousin’s lips curl up in a sneer
as Agnes verbally pinned him in a corner. “Playing nursemaid to
Peter’s brats must be fatiguing. You’ve barely said a word since
arriving in Bath. I was hoping you’d entertain us with some of your
clever bon mots.”

“Were you? I’m
deeply distressed that I’ve caused you disappointment.” The polite
words, as flat as a freshly ironed cravat, clearly conveyed the
opposite meaning. “I’m afraid I find Bath a bore.”

“Really?” said
Agnes. “I would have thought you found Bath a chore. Not many
people get paid to visit us. Peter must find you terribly helpful.
Speaking of whom, would you go and knock on my study door. Isabel
needs time to change for dinner.”

Lucius adjusted
his glasses further up his nose making it easier to see the
contempt in his grey eyes. “Are there any other chores you wish me
to undertake Madam?”

“It’s kind of
you to offer, but Frederick will cope.”

Cosmo smiled in
amusement as his cousin left the room; Lucifer had been verbally
bested by a woman.

A wave of warm,
heavy air wafted in through open windows, making conversation an
effort. “Tugging on his cravat, Cosmo sighed in irritation. “It’s
cursed hot in here. I wish I were at the seaside.”

Cecil Smirke
cracked open one eye and glared at Cosmo. “I heartily wish you were
at the seaside. I’ll give you ten pounds for room and board if you
leave tomorrow morning.”

Cosmo stiffened
on hearing his company was so undesired that he’d be paid to leave.
The constant loneliness deepened. “Maybe I’ll take it and be spared
your embarrassing fountain of truth.”

“My
embarrassing fountain?” exclaimed Cecil. “I’m not the one who makes
the ladies cringe.”

“You’re the
beautiful heir to a titled fortune,” reminded Cosmo. “You could
recite Johnson’s dictionary and the ladies would be enchanted.”

George Smirke
sighed as he shook his head. “Cosmo’s jealous.”

“I’m not
jealous!”

“That’s why he
keeps acting like a nincompoop,” said George. “We should pool our
resources and send him on an extended tour of the Continent. With
luck, we’d find brides before he returned to share his new found
facts.”

“If you want to
see a nincompoop, look in the mirror!” Cosmo’s older brothers
ignored the insult.

“We can’t send
him to France, George. He’d jump off the boat, and share his Madame
Guillotine statistics with a group of angry Royalists. He’d be
murdered his first day in France. Papa would be upset. Especially
if he had to go into mourning and wait another year to bed the
woman of his dreams.”