Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (22 page)

Robert Neilson
was lying down on his bed with a cold stone over his sore eye when
a servant came to report Joan’s attempted escape. Grinding his
teeth he stomped downstairs in his dressing gown, his habitual calm
smile twisted into a snarl, “I told you to treat my home as your
own and this is how you repay me? You try to burn down my house?
Are you a half-wit? You could have killed half my household.”

“I don’t care.
What’s the point of living if I can’t be with Mr Smirke?”

“I have
rescued you from that vile satanic worm and you will learn to be
happy and content in my care so help me God.”

“God isn’t
going to help you, you’re evil. I love Mr Smirke…I want to be his
wife…”

“Put her in a
different chamber, but don’t leave her any fire or lit candles.
She’ll have to be content with three hot water bottles. One more
outburst today and she’ll go without dinner.”

“Choke on your
dinner; I’d rather starve than live in your care…Mr Smirke has
never once hit me and he’d certainly sack any servant who pushed me
to the ground by the hair.”

Neilson’s sore
nostrils turned white as he struggled to contain his temper. “How
dare you compare me with that vermin? You will apologise this
instant.”

“Or what,
you’ll beat me black and blue? That will prove my theory you’re a
monster. I wouldn’t be surprised if you ordered your footmen to
strip me naked and chain me to your bed.”

“You have a
lurid imagination Miss Lark. Unlike your insufferable guardian I
don’t force myself on unwilling women, and I’ve certainly never had
to chain a woman to my bed. If I don’t rescue you, you will be
devoured body and soul…”

“I’d rather be
devoured by Mr Smirke then rot here with you.”

“Take her
upstairs to her new room and don’t hurt her or I’ll sack you.”

Joan screamed
as rough hands pulled to her feet by her upper arms, “You can’t
keep me here; I’m the legal property of Mr Smirke.”

“Not for long
Miss Lark. As you insist on being a hoyden your next meal will be
breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t want
food; I want my Mr Smirke…” Her sobs echoed off the high ceilings
as she was forcibly dragged up the stairs causing a hesitant ripple
of unease in her captor. Robert Neilson held a cold stone to his
aching eye and returned to his bed. Miss Lark would be sailing out
of England as soon as he had the proper paperwork; he certainly
wasn’t going to run the gauntlet of the girl’s teeth on a daily
basis. Imagining the girl somewhere far away with deep oceans
in-between made him smile with pleasure as he tenderly examined his
nostrils. Yes, they stilled ached. If she shoved her fingers up his
nose one more time he’d take her over his knee. John Smirke was
either mad, desperate or being blackmailed. No sane man would
willingly chain himself to the harpy still screaming at the four
footmen escorting her to her new room. Robert had the whole plan
mentally arranged; he’d acquire guardianship of the harpy and then
send her far away to the Colonies where he’d never be accosted.
Neilson smiled at the thought of ruining Smirke’s plan to ruin the
girl. Revenge had never tasted so sweet, even if it meant he could
only see out of one eye for a day or two.

Joan managed
to kick and bite several footmen before being thrown into a cold
lifeless bedchamber. She landed on her backside and sat there
crying into her pink sleeve until shivering; rage pulled her to her
feet. There had to be something she could do to escape. She pulled
several blankets off the bed and wrapped them around her shoulders.
Her breath steamed the windows as she stared at a boring side view
of the next house barely more than six feet away. The windows were
shuttered, the house obviously unoccupied. She looked down and
wondered how far it was to the ground. If she had a rope she could
climb out the window and escape. She looked back at the bed linen
and down at her pink silk and wiped away her tears. If she died
trying to escape, at least her Mr Smirke would know she’d tried to
return to him. The comforting thought gave her courage.

Neilson was
using his own chamber pot for a more conventional use when his one
good eye caught sight of something falling past his window.
Buttoning his trousers he ran to confirm his suspicion. Yes, he had
seen a mattress falling from the sky. He looked up and watched a
thinner mattress flap its way to the ground and then a wool
blanket. He ran from the room shouting for a servant, “Is Miss Lark
in a room above mine?”

“Yes…” The
servants had to chase after their master.

“Where’s the
bloody key?”

“It was left
in the lock…maybe John footman has it…”

“I thought
Mary the chambermaid had it…”

Neilson turned
sideways to the door and heaved himself against the wood cursing Mr
Smirke under his breath as he bruised his shoulder. The lock tore
through the wood and Neilson was inside. His rescued harpy was
bending over the bed in her chemise and stays frantically knotting
a makeshift rope of pink silk and bed linen to the bedpost.
Momentarily stunned by fired lust, Neilson ogled the young woman
who suddenly resembled the several blonde Grayson women he’d bedded
over the years, except she was exquisitely perfect as if one of his
most lurid dreams had come to life to taunt him. The undressed
Meissen shepherdess who had one shapely leg out the window before
her captor came to his senses. “What the devil are you trying to
do, kill yourself? Give me that…” Neilson grabbed the expertly
knotted concoction of torn cloth and yanked Joan back into the
room. She fell to the floor with a scream, displaying an expanse of
silk stockings. “You pretty little idiot, you can’t climb out of
the window dressed like that. In the unlikelihood that you survived
the descent you’d be dragged into some dark lane and
deflowered.”

“I don’t care.
I want my Mr Smirke.” Joan covered her chest with her arms as large
decorative tears spilled from her eyes. “It’s forty past ten. We
only have a common license; we must marry by noon or we have to
wait till tomorrow. Please let me go to Mr Smirke.” Conscious of
the large audience of servants, Neilson overcame his fear of being
bitten and masterfully grabbed Joan by the upper arm and pulled her
to her feet as if she were a rag doll.

“What you need
is to be bent over my knees and spanked like a child. Accept your
deliverance and show some gratitude before I’m persuaded you’re mad
and treat you accordingly.”

“You steal me
away from my Mr Smirke and threaten me with Bedlam? You’re a
monster…a fiend…a fork tongued ugly devil and I hate you.”

“Mr Smirke has
doubtless had you mesmerised. In a few weeks you’ll be grateful for
my intervention and come to adore me as much as the next
woman.”

“Never! My
heart is breaking…”

“Save your
hysterics for future amateur theatrics.” Neilson turned his
attention to the crowd of servants near the door, “Prepare the gold
reception room; remove the curtains and extinguish the fire. It’s
high enough that if she jumps she’ll only break her leg unless she
lands on her head. Give her one thick wool blanket, a chamber pot
and a pitcher of water. Ask Alice, the parlour maid, if she’ll sell
me one of her best dresses for Miss Lark.” Neilson choked back a
scream as Joan’s teeth savaged his left hand holding her arm. “You
vicious little harpy…” Neilson snarled at Joan’s blood covered lips
and flung her over his shoulder. She pummelled his spine as she was
transported to her new prison and dangled upside down from her
uncomfortable perch while the room was made safe and then dropped
onto a gold sofa. She found her feet and flew at the departing
beautiful giant intent on leaving teeth marks on his leg, but she
was slapped hard to the floor where she lay sobbing long after the
door was locked.

With his
brothers’ hands on his shoulders John could stand on Robert
Neilson’s doorstep with dry eyes and a tenuous hope that his little
lark was somewhere nearby, but his chest felt as empty as his
pockets. He would have felt more confident with a brace of cocked
pistols weighing down his coat, but his brothers wisely refused
their teary sibling a loaded weapon for fear he’d shoot himself in
the foot. John was too distressed to argue. The hairline crack in
his heart was threatening to fracture. He had to find Joan. The
front door was opened by footman cradling a bandaged hand. John’s
intention to demand entrance was ruined by Peter holding out his
calling card. “Could you b-be so g-good as to…”

The footman
sighed and rudely interrupted, “I’ll see if Mr Neilson is at home.”
The door was slammed shut leaving the three brothers shivering in a
north-easterly wind.

Robert Neilson
was back in bed, his newly bandaged left hand throbbing in time
with his sore nostrils and swollen eye. Every throb demanded he
revaluate his judgement if not his sanity. The girl clearly didn’t
wish to be rescued nor did she appear to be worth rescuing, but
Neilson couldn’t dismiss his long standing hatred for Smirke and he
couldn’t walk away from the girl just because she was mentally
unsound. If anything his intervention was even more necessary. He
was tempted to throw the harpy back into the arms of the smirking
devil, but his injured pride remained an allusive ache. For the
first time in his life his latent vanity had been striped bare.
Miss Lark’s venomous rebuffs to his person gave birth to a
poisonous determination to win her admiration. Given time she’d
forget about Smirke and fall in love with her rescuer. If he
survived the first few months as her guardian he felt sure she’d
cover the scars from her bite marks with kisses and beg him to take
her in his arms. He hadn’t seen flawless porcelain skin covering
perfectly formed flesh in a virgin for years. The thought of
peeling off her silk stockings made his injuries throb faster. He
took a deep breath and cooled his desire with the thought of his
vulnerable flesh at the mercy of the harpy’s teeth. She’d probably
pretend to love him and once he was naked… A knock on the door
interrupted his unpleasant train of thought. “I beg your pardon
Master Neilson, but you have visitors. I believe they’re here about
the harpy, I mean girl. The short one tried to rescue her, though
he moved like a cripple.”

“Do not refer
to Miss Lark in that derogatory manner. She is to be treated like a
princess is that clear?”

“As clear as
my bandaged hand Sir; shall I let them in?”

“Not until
you’re all armed to the teeth, one of them is bound to have a
pistol.”

Neilson
scowled at his footman’s bandage. “If you’d kidnapped her gently we
wouldn’t all be nursing bite marks.”

“Very good
Sir, the next time I’m asked to kidnap a vicious princess I shall
take a potion of mercury that will make her teeth fall out.”

“Don’t be
impertinent and keep in mind the three men are dangerous. They’re
Smirkes; there’s no telling what they may have up their
sleeves.”

***

John blew his
nose on his handkerchief and shoved it back up his sleeve as the
door finally swung all the way open. The three brothers were
escorted to Neilson’s study where they found him enthroned behind a
desk that dwarfed his muscled six foot five inch frame.

“This must
surely be an honour; all three Smirkes paying a visit together, and
to me? I hope you’re not here to ask me to smooth your way in
society or borrow money. Agnes may be my cousin, but…”

“Where is
she?” John bit his trembling lip as he struggled to retain control
of his emotions in the face of Neilson’s calm superior smile.

“Which she
might you be referring to Mr Smirke?”

“Where’s my
ward, you bastard?”

“Do not use
that word in my house Mr Smirke. Civility…”

“Grabbing a
woman and shoving her head first into a carriage is hardly
civil.”

“You should
know.”

“In my days of
blackmailing females I allowed them the dignity of climbing into my
carriage. My little Lark went head first kicking and
screaming.”

“I don’t see
what that has to do with me.”

“It has
everything to do with you, you bastard.”

“John…that
isn’t a g-good way…”

“My father
would be most displeased to hear you denigrate my mother in that
fashion.”

“I don’t care
about your maypole mother.” John’s fist smashed against the desk.
“I know you have my ward. You’re jealous she loves me…admit
it!”

“Steady on
John, let’s b-be civil.”

“I know he has
her hidden somewhere; I know it.” John thumped the large desk
again, “I want my…” He choked as he struggled to control his
emotions.

“You appear to
have lost your self-possession as well as your bird Smirke.”

Neilson’s calm
habitual smile wavered as John’s pretty features drained of colour,
his black eyes bulging as he leaned across the desk, “I don’t want
revenge. I want my bride…” John covered his eyes with his left hand
as he lost control and sobbed causing Neilson’s eyebrows to
rise.

“I had no idea
you could cry Smirke. If I could capture the image of you bawling
like a baby I’d sell tickets and make a fortune. If your intention
is to convince me you have a heart you’ll have to try harder.
Doubtless there’s an onion in your pocket…either that or you forgot
to wash your armpits on your wedding day…or both.”

James Smirke
put his arm around his little brother and glared down at the seated
man, “You’ll be the one bawling when I’m done with you. Tell us if
you have the girl or not. We don’t wish to waste time pummelling
you if the girl is being transported out of Bath by some other vile
libertine. A yea or a nay will suffice.”

Neilson’s lips
resumed his habitual calm smile, “It just so happens that I have
heard something of your little bird on the grape vine.”