Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (17 page)

“Cosmo,
apologise to your b-brother. He was b-being polite, an attribute
you should emulate.”

“It was a
stupid question Papa.”

“Cosmo.”

“Charles, I
apologise for calling you an idiot.”

Cecil leaned
back in his chair and patted his bulging stomach, “Hopefully Uncle
John’s still in the land of the living this morning or Joan will
find herself the property of George Smirke; heaven help her.”

George blushed
and punched his brother in the arm, “Joan would be perfectly safe
in my care.”

“Not after you
fell in love with her and she refused to forget your wicked uncle.
I think you might be tempted to do something…unseemly.”

“Shut up
Cecil, before I do something unseemly to your pretty face.”

“George, men
do not p-practice fisticuffs at t-table. Robert, don’t eat so fast
or you’ll be exploring heaven before luncheon.”

Cosmo waved
his napkin, “Who here thinks Uncle John died last night?” Joan
gagged on her first bite of toast as the awful words paralysed her
muscles. “He looked dead to me. Nana certainly thought he was a
goner.”

“Papa, she’s
choking!” Joan didn’t see the large man jump out of his chair, but
she felt the heavy blow to her back. She sucked in air as a small
piece of toast flew across the table.

“Mr Smirke is
dead? And I wouldn’t kiss him goodnight?” Joan’s lips trembled as
her eyes filled with tears.

James Smirke
looked up from his eggs, “Don’t fret child, John has more lives
than Napoleon. He’s as dead as…Bonaparte.”

“Napoleon is
dead.” Joan turned towards Cecil her head spinning in
confusion.

“You’re an
idiot Cecil. Napoleon isn’t dead, he’s on Elba.”

“Same
thing!”

“Cosmo, Cecil
is not an idiot. You’ll apologise to your b-brother.”

“For pity
sake, is my Mr Smirke is dead or alive?”

“If you can
touch me I’m still alive.”

“Mr Smirke?”
The whole table turned to watch the scowling man shuffle from the
doorway to a chair and wince in pain as he slowly sat down. “Cosmo
says you died again.”

“I did.
Someone pass me the toast before Robert shoves it all down his
gullet.”

“You could say
p-please.”

“Please pass
me the blasted toast Peter before I die of hunger.”

Joan sniffed
away her tears and smiled into black marble eyes devouring her
across the expanse. “I’m glad you’re not dead Mr Smirke.” John’s
scowl softened, his stare intensifying. “What happened?”

“I fell over
and hit my head.”

“What was it
like?”

“It hurt.”

“No, what was
it like being dead?” The table fell silent as all leaned forward to
listen.

“It was
unpleasant.” John finished buttering his toast and took a large
bite and slowly chewed while he watched his family stare in fervid
expectation.

Cecil came to
the rescue, “Well? Do you remember anything about it?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you
going to tell us?”

“No.”

Cecil bunched
up his napkin and threw it at his uncle’s head. “You’re worse than
a novel with the last page torn out.”

“Cecil.
Gentlemen d-do not throw napkins.” Cecil ignored his father and
laughed as the offending cloth came hurtling back in his
direction.

“I have a
splitting headache, an aching chest and a stiff rump. I do not wish
to think about being dead or alive. Leave me alone!”

“If you’d
stayed home and read the banns…”

“Don’t make me
angry Cecil; I don’t want to end up back in hell.”

“Ah the truth,
Hell was too hellish for our wicked uncle.”

Joan scowled
at Cecil as her guardian covered his face with his sleeve, “Leave
my Mr Smirke alone!” Cecil merely winked at her and poured himself
another cup of chocolate with a satisfied smile. Joan’s insides
melted as John uncovered his face revealing sad wet black eyes. She
impulsively stood up.

“Where are you
going?” She bristled at John’s abrupt despotic tone and sat back
down as seven healthy Smirkes shook their heads in despair.

“If you’re
going to be horrid I won’t sit next to you.”

“I merely
asked you where you were going. How is that horrid?”

“You posed the
question like a horrid bully slave owner.”

“How was I
supposed to know you were standing up to sit next to me? Forgive me
Madame for being upset at the thought of losing your company;
you’re the only reason I left my bed.” The table was silent as
eight pairs of black eyes watched Joan’s face contort with emotion.
“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings last night. I was…”

“An
idiot?”

“I don’t know
how you can stand to look at me. I’m so…”

“Beautiful?”
Black marble eyes beamed sincere appreciation across the table.

“I’m hideous;
please say you’ll still marry me.” Joan blushed as her heart
studied pleading black eyes. If she refused him she’d suffer a
broken heart and life long misery. If she married him she’d have
kisses, laughter and adventures in between numerous horrid moments.
It wasn’t a difficult choice. Seeing John’s lips tremble at her
long silence she picked up her plate and traversed the circular
gauntlet of smiling Smirkes to the empty chair next to her
guardian. “May we leave for London as soon as we’re ready? Is that
agreeable Miss Lark?”

“I would find
that most agreeable Mr Smirke.”

Peter Smirke
sipped his chocolate to hide his grin, “I’m afraid neither of you
will b-be travelling today.” John’s lopsided grin faded into a
doubtful scowl. “Mamma and Belvedere are out b-buying you a wedding
gift. She made me promise you’d b-be here when she g-got back.”

John thumped
the table with his fist, “You can’t keep us here!”

“Mamma gave us
p-permission to tie you to the sofa if necessary.”

“I don’t want
a blasted wedding gift.”

“Mamma gives
excellent wedding gifts. Katie and I received a Sèvres tea service
that made the countryside d-drool with envy. People would call at
all hours of the d-day and night for tea. We had to hide away in
our chamber and p-pretend we were ill.”

“Hey Cecil,
you were conceived in between cups of tea. That must be why you’re
always the first to the nosebag.”

“You keep
laughing Cosmo. You were conceived in-between bouts of wind. That’s
why you stink like a…”

“Enough. This
is a t-table, not a stable.”

“When I
married Agnes, Mamma gave us two porcelain parrot candlesticks.
Agnes hates them, but they make her laugh because they remind her
of…well something amusing. Peter, if the boys are finished eating I
believe John needs a word with his ward in private.”

“I’m not
finished, I’m still hungry.”

“You’re always
hungry Robert. Out!”

“When I fall
in love I get to be the one left with all the food.”

“When you
f-fall in love Robert you won’t want to eat.”

“Love doesn’t
seem to have stunted Uncle John’s appetite.”

“Out; Cosmo,
stop punching Charles, you’re hurting his f-feelings…how many
times…have to t-tell…hates violence?” The door closed leaving a
peaceful vacuum. Joan pulled her chair closer to her companion and
absently smoothed his waistcoat, “I forbid you to die ever again Mr
Smirke, especially if you haven’t kissed me goodnight.”

“You sent me
away; you didn’t want my kisses.”

“Yes I did. I
waited up for my wicked guardian, but you didn’t come back.”

“I did come.”
John slid his bad arm along the back of his companion’s chair, his
throbbing heart compelling him closer to small hands fiddling with
his cravat.

“Liar!”

“Don’t choke
me, I’m not lying. When I fainted and hit my head I jumped up and
ran upstairs to your room. I called your name, but you kept chewing
your nails and watching the clock. I thought you were being
cruel…until my father told me to get back in my body.” Joan’s eyes
widened as her lower lip quivered.

“You died and
came to kiss me?”

“Peter said
you’d wait till morning to decide my fate. It…”

“Made you
faint?” Joan reached up and light stroked the freshly shaved cheek.
“I’m glad you wear your hair in that old fashioned way. With a bow
in your hair you look like a beautiful gift waiting to be
unwrapped.” Joan impulsively flung herself into red wool arms and
pressed her cold nose into his ear and giggled as the wicked man
moaned into her neck. “You smell delicious Mr Smirke; lemons,
violets and butter. I wonder if your lips taste half as…”

John eagerly
offered his lips to prove the theory, his intentions to be extra
good lost in a haze of desire. “Steady on John Sebastian, she’s
your ward not your wife.” John jumped in shock, his throat burning
from a sudden gasp of cold morning air.

“What’s wrong
Mr Smirke? Do you have toothache?”

“Never mind
your aching parts John Sebastian; stop kissing the girl and eat
your breakfast. You need your strength.”

Clutching
Joan, John looked over his shoulder and growled at his smiling
Probationary Agent. “I think you’re enjoying your work a little too
much.”

“I was the
only applicant for the post.” The beautiful shade made an elegant
bow increasing John’s irritation. “I enjoy working difficult
cases.”

“Who are you
talking to Mr Smirke? You’re not…you haven’t lost your mind have
you?”

“There’s a
poncy dead man at my shoulder.”

“A ghost?
Where?”

“You don’t
want to see him.”

“Tell her it’s
for the best. Tell her if she saw me she’d fall in love with me and
break what heart you’ve managed to defrost.”

“She’d never
fall in love with you, you poncy pest. Go away and leave us
alone.”

“Why would I
fall in love with him?”

“Tell her I’m
a pretty wit.”

“I’m not
telling her anything, Pest. Miss Lark, I believe we were making an
experiment…hmmm.”

“I think it
would be best if you stopped kissing the girl John Sebastian and
ate your breakfast; she’s your dependant not your doxy.”

“She’s in my
arms and she wants my kisses. Leave us alone!”

“What is he
saying now?”

“He says I
need to stop kissing you and eat. I’d rather chew on your lips than
wilted toast.”

“We can always
eat in between kisses.”

“Ugh! She must
be mad. What woman would want to kiss a man in-between mouthfuls?
She might see your teeth. Disgusting!”

“She isn’t mad
and there’s nothing wrong with the teeth I have left.”

“In my day one
did not show one’s teeth unless one wanted to purge one’s life of
friends, but then so few people at court still had them after
thirty. You should have seen Charles II trying to eat steak…he
missed a trick. He could have charged people to see him gum his
meat.”

“He thinks I’m
mad? He must be horrid…tell him to go away, I’m not finished
kissing my beautiful wicked fiancé.” John’s heart strained against
his skin, desperate to leap into smiling cornflowers. His hands
clutched warm black silk as he bent his head as a loud knock on the
door made him swear under his breath.

“It’s me
Peter. I’m g-going to open the door. I don’t want to see anything
that will make me jealous.” John reluctantly freed Joan and watched
her bounce back onto her seat and pick up her cup of chocolate. He
reclaimed his cold toast and sighed as he drank in the sight of
Joan winking at him over her rim. There was always the option of
returning to Bristol and trapping the Bishop Mansel with a loaded
pistol…another knock broke off his wicked daydream.

“Come in or
stay out, just stop knocking. I have a headache.”

“Ah, two
lovebirds pretending they haven’t b-been enjoying a prolonged kiss.
Can my wicked little brother be b-blushing?”

“Have you come
to ruin my digestion or fill the room with hot air?”

“Scoff down
your toast Miss Lark, we’re t-taking you shopping.”

“The devil you
are! You’re not taking her anywhere.” John’s scowl produced echoing
laughter as James appeared at Peter’s shoulder.

“Where are we
going?” Joan’s excited expression punched John’s aching heart into
his stomach. His intention to sit in front of a fire the rest of
the day holding Miss Lark was scrunched up and thrown away like a
bad sketch. Looking at Joan’s bright eyes he knew he’d have to let
her go; she’d sulk and withhold her kisses if he didn’t.

“Agnes insists
we take you to the Pump Room and introduce you to a few friends as
our future sister before taking you shopping to pick out a wedding
gift. You can have anything you like.”

“What about Mr
Smirke?”

“His opinion
doesn’t matter; he doesn’t want a wedding gift.”

“We can’t
leave him home alone…he might die!”

“He’ll be
fine.”

“I’m not going
to sit at home twiddling my thumbs while you encourage Miss Lark to
fill my home with hideous ceramics.”

“He makes us
sound positively wicked. As if I’d spend good money on anything
hideous. Agnes says I have excellent taste. She always tells me the
absolute truth. It’s one of the reasons I love her.”

John threw
down his toast, “She’s your wife. If she told you, your snuff box
was something the dustman would snub you’d never give her pin money
again.”

“Agnes says my
snuff box is a singular work of art.”

“Yes and what
she means is that it’s in cringe inducing bad taste. No one else
would keep a miniature coffin in their pocket.”

“It reminds me
to enjoy every hour of life. It’s an exact copy of the one I’ve had
made for when Papa comes to get me. It’s always good to be
prepared.”

“Must we dwell
on death? I’ve had a gutful of it. You’re not dragging my ward all
over Bath without me.”

Peter coughed
away a smile, “Should we let him come?”

“I think he
should stay home and soak his sore rump in a hot bath.”