Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (10 page)

“I don’t want
to look at you ever again.”

“Don’t be
ridiculous.”

“Loving you is
ridiculous, you horrid beast…go away!”

John blinked
in shock as the room spun in uncomfortable circles. “You can’t
possibly be in love with me.”

She whipped
round to face him. “So, you’re an expert on women’s hearts as well
as civilized behaviour? Well press your lips to my aching heart and
tell it, it doesn’t want to be held in your arms. Tell it, it isn’t
happy to see you enter a room. Tell it, it doesn’t long to be loved
by you. Maybe it’ll listen to you; it certainly doesn’t listen to
me. Nothing anyone has said against you or anything you’ve done has
made one bit of difference. This stupid heart loves you and there’s
nothing I can do about it. I don’t want to marry your brother. I’m
not partial to tall men with curly black hair, I want you.” John
found his balance as his custard heart was steamed by the heat of
euphoria. “Don’t find me a husband. I’d rather return to
Bolingbroke and pretend that the picture of you will come to life
and love me.”

John sighed
with intoxicating relief. “I spoke in anger Miss Lark. I was the
drunken fool who agreed to be responsible for you. I’m not going to
throw you into the arms of some stinking Innkeeper. I don’t know
what’s come over me. I…” An unseen knuckle wrapped the other side
of the door.

“Are you
unwell Miss Lark? Do you n-need Agnes?” John bit back a curse on
nosey big brothers as the knuckle wrapped again. “Is John in
there?”

“Yes I’m in
here and she’s perfectly unharmed in every kind of way. Go away,
I’m allowed to speak with my ward in private.”

The door
creaked open and Peter stuck his head into the room. “Not in her
bedchamber old man. Not unless she’s d-d-dying. Are you dying Miss
Lark?”

“I’m in
perfect health my Lord.”

“That’s a
relief. Is something wrong John? You look d-d-dazed.”

John dismissed
his brother with an irritated glance, “If you wish to return to
Bolingbroke Miss Lark I’ll order the carriage, but I’m afraid
you’ll be forced to endure my company.” John relaxed as Miss Lark
smiled at him in adoration, her anger forgotten. “Change into
something more colourful and throw away that ugly bonnet. I’ll take
you shopping this afternoon and buy you a pretty one. Until then I
pray you’ll excuse me.” John made a reverent bow towards his ward,
pushed past his brother and closed the door confident he’d return
to find her still single. John put his hat back on and headed
downstairs shadowed by his brother Peter.

“Where have
you two b-been?”

“Walking.”

“You’re
g-going to exhaust yourself. You n-need to rest. Someone tried to
k-k-kill you, remember?”

“They did kill
me and I don’t need a nursemaid.”

“No, you
n-need a wife. Whatever happened to the Bloomswater chit?”

“If you
mention Lady Harriet or her wretched family in my hearing ever
again I’ll change my will and leave everything to Lucius.” John
rubbed his wounded shoulder as memories of Lady Harriet Bloomswater
deluged his brain in pain.

“P-perhaps
this next year’s batch of d-d-debutante’s will produce the one eh?
I could help. What sort of woman are you looking for? Do you want a
black haired Amazon or a b-brunette pocket Venus?”

“It’s none of
your business what kind of woman I prefer.”

“I bet you
d-d-don’t even know what you want.”

“I know what I
want.” A mental image of the woman he’d left upstairs unrolled
revealing an unpainted masterpiece.

“I d-doubt you
even know what colour of hair you p-prefer.”

“Leave me
alone, I’m not well.”

“It’s a p-pity
you can’t marry Cousin Mildred’s fifty thousand p-pounds.”

“Marry Mildred
yourself.”

“The last
t-time we visited she eyed me up as a p-possible husband and in
Cecil’s hearing mentioned that she d-didn’t want to d-die an old
maid. Cecil b-being his helpful self, b-butt into the conversation
and told her he’d heard there was a one armed b-blind man who was
desperate to court her. I’ve b-been since informed that she’d
rather d-die an old maid than marrying a Smirke, with or without a
head.”

John pulled on
his gloves revealing his feelings with a triumphant smirk. “Well
whoever you marry it won’t be Miss Lark. She doesn’t like tall men
with black hair.”

Peter covered
his mouth with his hand and coughed over his amusement. “Oh well, I
g-guess that’s my lot; what are you g-going to d-do with her?”

“None of your
business.”

“Don’t stay
out in the c-cold too long; you might c-catch a chill.” John
ignored his brother and sauntered down the street feeling like he’d
won a duel. He needed to buy Miss Lark a present, something
splendid. His heart’s suggestion of an engagement ring was only
half dismissed. He’d made a complete ass of himself, and all
because she’d threatened to marry his brother. The innocent Joan
Lark was by far the most fetching vexing creature he’d ever
encountered. When she wasn’t babbling irritating nonsense she was
punishing him with agonising silence. As each foot followed the
other he had to admit, if grudgingly, he far preferred the former.
He’d rather lose his mind listening to nonsense, the recipient of
adoration, than suffer a frigid shoulder. His heart kicked him in
the chest to punctuate the thought. He was stuck with her whichever
way he turned. He couldn’t get rid of her; she’d crept into his
soul and chained herself to the inside of his skin. He mentally
tasted the words, Mrs Joan Smirke. They were sweet with a hint of
cinnamon and black pepper. She’d drive him mad of course, but after
the morning’s scene it was clear he was already well on the way. If
he was going to end up a lunatic, he might as well have a woman to
hold. The thought of his arm around the slender waist increased his
pace. What was the point of having one’s sanity if one was
miserable and alone? With his heart racing and the decision made he
naturally chose the fastest coarse of action. She’d be his wife
before the ink dried on a common license. He needed a ring, money
in his pocket and a strong fast horse to reach the nearest Bishop
to purchase the said piece of paper. He turned to head for the
nearest jewellers when his path was blocked by an over dressed fop,
whose fake smile complimented the hatred in his eyes.

“I killed
you.”

“Yes, I
tripped over a hedgehog and you ran me through. I wouldn’t tattoo
the word hero on your chest just yet Mulgrave. Now if you’ll remove
your putrid person from my path I’ll kindly ignore the fact you
were ever born.”

“I’m not done
with you, you smirking severed limb of Satan.”

“Missed me did
you? Perhaps if you purchased some cologne instead of splashing
yourself with horse water…Ugh.” Mulgrave rubbed his right hand with
satisfaction as John clutched his chest. “You coward…Ugh.” Another
blow to his healing wounds momentarily robbed him of breath.

Mulgrave waved
a superior hand at his companions and swaggered into an alley. “Get
him inside.” The three men gulped down their fear and
apprehensively picked up the fallen Smirke by the arms and legs.
Five minutes later they dropped their cursing burden on the floor
of a first story room and stepped behind Mulgrave who was caressing
his chin with a loaded travelling pistol. “You’re going to wish you
died when I’ve done with you. First I need your cravat, coat,
waistcoat and boots. Percy, relieve Mr Smirke of his splendid new
rags.”

“What if he
refuses?”

“Then he’ll
get a piece of lead in his leg and a hole in his trousers. You’d
best hurry and undress before I decide you should meet your fate
naked.” John turned his back to the door as the pain in his chest
radiated into his stomach reminding him that he wanted his mother,
but she wasn’t expected for weeks. If Mulgrave murdered him, he’d
never get to see her again. He’d never get to marry Miss Lark and
taste her lips or feel his arm around her waist. He was going to
end up back in hell, all alone. He bit his quivering lips and flung
his clothes over his shoulder and shivered in his shirtsleeves.
“Acquaint yourself with the bed bugs John. You’ll be feeding them
in an hour or so.” John ignored Mulgrave and propped himself
against a wall. He couldn’t hear anything over the thought of a
heartbroken Joan Lark sobbing as she planted hollyhocks over his
grave.

Joan was just
leaving her bedchamber to join the family when the unexpected
arrival of Lord and Lady Belvedere threw the house into happy
confusion. Feeling like an interloper, she crept half way down the
stairs and watched through the banisters as the Smirke’s were
introduced to their new stepfather, but she wasn’t interested in
the quiet man. Her eyes devoured the beautiful woman larger than
life in acres of pink satin, white hair worn large and woven
through with pink ribbons and pearls. Joan bit her trembling lip as
she imagined herself running down the stairs and claiming a
motherly kiss.

Having greeted
her two eldest and their families Lady Jemima looked around for her
youngest son, “Where is Jean Sébastien?”

James shook
his head in despair, “The invalid has gone for another walk in the
cold.”

Peter slowly
winked at his brother, “The invalid is succumbing to our c-cunning
plan. You should have seen his face when I interrupted his t-tête a
t-tête. Don’t be surprised if he returns from the j-jewellers
humming a love song.”

“What plan?
Pierre Auguste, are you tormenting Jean encore? You know he detests
when you bande against him.”

“Don’t be
upset Mamma. We’re…Ugh.” Agnes’s elbow jabbed into Peter’s ribs.
The group followed Agnes’s eyes up towards the stairs where Joan
was sitting.

“Don’t mind
me…”

Agnes rolled
her eyes, “Don’t be a ninny child; you’re family not a house
guest.” Joan jumped up and floated down the stairs with a
smile.

“Ce…ci c’est
Jean’s dépendant?” Lady Jemima was momentarily struck dumb.

“Yes, John is
the new owner of a pretty truth-fairy.”

“Really Agnes,
you make Joan sound like some sort of t-toothache.” Joan felt a
strange peaceful feeling as Peter beckoned to her. She’d never seen
so many people smile kindly at her. “Come meet our Mamma.”

Joan made a
low curtsey and clasped her hands in excitement, “I’ve wanted to
meet you ever since I first saw your portrait of Mr Smirke. It’s
one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It’s as if you cut
out his soul and glued it to the canvas.”

“Which
portrait is that my dear?”

“The one where
he’s wearing the black and yellow striped waistcoat; it hangs in
the yellow gallery at Bolingbroke…well, it used to be yellow before
I repapered it pink.”

Black eyes
glimmered with outrage. “My son sent you to Bolingbroke?”

“Yes and the
horrid man didn’t come to see me once. I nearly died of
loneliness.”

Lady Jemima’s
black eyes warmed with amusement. “Jean can be rather horrid at
times.”

“Oh, I beg
your pardon My Lady; I didn’t mean to imply that your son is in any
way a bad guardian. He’s been most generous.”

“And you are
content to be in my son’s care?”

“Oh yes…well
except for when he’s being horrid, but he’s never horrid for long
and I couldn’t be angry with him for long anyway.”

Joan blushed
with pleasure as John’s beautiful mother took hold of her face and
kissed her cheek. “Welcome to ma famille; you are juste what I
prayed for.” The noisy group moved into the Drawing room where they
settled around the woman in pink and her quiet husband and eagerly
demanded to hear all about her wedding travels. Joan was so
enthralled it was several long minutes before she realised
Frederick was standing next to her chair holding a tray.

“For me?” The
footman nodded and tried to hide the fact he was also listening to
the arrivals’ adventures. Joan caught sight of the clock as she
reached for the letter, “Has Mr Smirke returned?”

“Not that I’m
aware of Madam.”

“Thank you
Frederick.” Joan turned from the footman to find herself the center
of attention. “Someone sent me a letter.”

“We can see
that Miss Lark…what does it say?” Cecil’s curiosity pulled him off
his seat and over to Joan’s chair where he leaned over her shoulder
as she broke the seal and unfolded the cheap piece of paper.

“Come away Son
and let the child open her letter.” Cecil ignored his father and
read the short note with raised eyebrows.

“Uncle John’s
fallen violently ill and has requested Miss Lark’s assistance.
Apparently Uncle John doesn’t want Miss Lark to tell anyone and to
come alone…” Cecil’s voice filled with insinuation, “…to the Dog
and Flea. I can’t make out the signature.”

“Oh no, he
must be in great pain. If you’ll excuse me I’d best go to him
directly.” Joan jumped out of her chair and ran out of the room
before they could try to dissuade her.

Cecil turned
to his father, “Would Uncle John ravage his ward? Any man with eyes
can see that he wants…”

“Really
Cecil…” James Smirke was horrified. “My brother would never do
anything so reprehensible. He’s probably fallen foul of some
blackguard.”

“Don’t dispute
the unknowns…” Lady Jemima’s black eyes burned with concern. “…go
make sure the girl is unharmed.”

Peter waved
his arm at the room, “James, Cecil, George, Charles, Cosmo; if we
leave now we can g-get there before the girl…d-did you want to join
us Belvedere?” The quiet man took one look into his wife’s anxious
eyes and stood up.

“I’m not
staying with Nana like a girl.” The fourteen year old Robert looked
heartbroken.

“We need you
to uh, follow the g-girl and make sure she gets to the Inn safely.
Stay outside and don’t take any c-coins from strangers. I don’t
want you sailing away on some stinking ship owned by the c-crown.”
The group of men quietly slipped out of the house while Joan was
still packing her basket. She threw on her ugly black bonnet and a
wool shawl and left the house without speaking to the family. She
didn’t want to alarm them with her fears. Her guardian had probably
spent an hour in the cold and fallen over from chill or fatigue. He
might have broken a bone or fainted and cracked his head. The
thought made her hurry, forcing the furtive Robert to follow suit.
She was out of breath when she reached the Dog and Flea.