Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (16 page)

“You’ll be
suffering my clutches daily as soon as we’re married; you’d be wise
to get used to them.”

“I can’t marry
you; you don’t love me…”

“What does
love have to do with anything? If you want a fairytale buy a book.
We desire each other; that’s more than most of my peers feel for
their arranged wives. It’ll be enough.”

“Well I no
longer desire to marry you. I thought you loved me. I must be the
biggest fool ever born.” Joan covered her face with her arms and
sobbed into her sleeves, “I love a pretty painting on a mouldy
canvas…I’ll die an old maid.”

An unbearable
ache glutted John’s chest with each sob. He knelt next to her chair
and lightly touched her hair, “Don’t cry, you know it makes me feel
like a worm. Please stand up and let me hold you. Please?”

Joan shook her
head, “You don’t love me!”

“What does it
matter? I want to hold you and kiss away your tears.”

“I don’t want
your loveless kisses.”

“Rubbish, you
love my kisses.”

“I’m tired, go
away.”

The unbearable
ache spread to John’s stomach. “Very well Madame, but don’t sit up
all night crying, we’re leaving for London first light. Don’t shake
your head at me; I’m in no mood for insolence.”

“Go away, you
horrid ugly man!”

“If you dare
refer to me in that insulting pert manner again…” His threat was
rewarded with a display of pink tongue. “For once…do as you’re
told!” Shaking with fury and hurt feelings, John hobbled downstairs
and reluctantly stepped into the cold empty study. Furious that
he’d have to spend another night alone, he slammed the door and
glared at the sofa already prepared for another awkward night’s
sleep. A clean nightshirt was laid out with a pair of woollen socks
on top of his dressing gown.

He was
supposed to be a husband untying feminine laces to the sound of
nervous giggles, not a bachelor who hadn’t had one measly kiss in
over an hour. Falling onto his uncomfortable temporary bed he
pressed his angry tears into the provided pillow.

“John
Sebastian, you are a fumbling blockhead with the romantic skill of
a slug. All you had to do was marry the girl.” Erie tingles raced
over John’s scalp and down his spine; the door was locked from the
inside. He slowly raised his head to find a beautiful slender man
with long curly brown hair leaning against the mantelpiece dressed
in clothes a hundred and thirty years out of date.

“Who the devil
are you?”

“I’m your
Probationary Agent. Unless you find your heart I’m going to lose my
job and you’re going to end up back in hell. It’s not all bad news;
I’ll get to see my wife before being reassigned to another
heartless idiot. I might even convince her to come dancing.”

Clutching his
pillow, John shook with fear as he realised the stranger happily
twirling in front of the fire wasn’t solid. Death grinned,
revealing sharp crooked teeth. “I’m being good!”

“Less bad does
not equal good.”

“I’ll do
better, I’ll be really good.”

“How?”

“I’ll marry
Miss Lark. I’ll become a Saint.”

“I hope that
isn’t your idea of wit.”

“I’m trying to
be good, but everyone is conspiring against me. They make me
horrid.”

“Are you a
dumb cog and wheel driven by another hand?”

“It’s not my
fault I get angry.”

“Of course
it’s your fault, and if she marries your brother that’ll be your
fault as well. John pulled his pillow back over his face and choked
in between sobs, “She can’t marry Peter; she doesn’t like tall,
dark, handsome men.”

“Women are
fickle creatures and Miss Lark does not have to marry you.”

“I’ll take
good care of her.”

“She’s your
legal dependant; you have to take good care of her.”

“She loves
me.”

“Not for
long.”

“Don’t say
that! She loves me. She’s just angry that I don’t like ugly women
and if she knew how much it hurt she wouldn’t rebuff my
kisses.”

“Ah yes, the
pains of love blossoming like a thorny briar.”

“I’m not in
love.”

“Why else
would it hurt?

“How should I
know? I refuse to discuss my feelings with a dead man.”

“Don’t be an
idiot. Do you want to marry Joan or endure solitary boredom until
you die and then end up back in hell?”

“I want Joan.
I need her so bad I can’t think of anything else…”

“Everyone
knows that; how does she make you feel?”

“She makes me
feel like a fool. When she touches me I can’t think straight. I say
stupid things and then she misunderstands me and ignores me and
makes me mad. It’s not my fault ugly people make me feel
uncomfortable.”

“Perhaps not,
but what has that to do with Joan?”

“Nothing,
she’s being an idiot.”

“I think she’s
being intelligent. I wouldn’t want you as a son-in-law.”

“She’s going
to marry me and we’re going to be happy. I don’t care what a poncy
dead man thinks.” The loud angry words were followed by a sharp
knock on the door.

“John? I have
a t-tray for you.” Peter knocked again.

“I’m not
hungry!”

“You need to
eat. Let me in.”

“Leave it
outside.”

“I’ve t-talked
with Joan; she says…d-do I have to talk to you about your ward’s
finer feelings through a door?”

John jumped up
and ran to open the door, his heart bursting with hope. “Has she
come to her senses? Has she asked for me?” Peter entered and
crossed the room to put the tray on the desk. John shut the door
and turned back to find himself alone with his brother. He sighed
in relief as his stomach rumbled with hunger. “Well? What did she
say?”

“She says she
won’t be hasty in d-deciding not to marry you. I think it’s
promising. She may even wake up and forget this evening ever
happened. She said…” John stopped and clutched the back of a chair
as the room started to spin. He could barely breathe; could his
Joan decide not to love him? Blackness suffocated the firelight as
John lost consciousness.

Joan listened
to John’s retreating footsteps and wondered how many minutes would
pass before the horrid man stormed back up the stairs and demanded
a kiss. Surely the wicked man wasn’t going to slink away without
even trying to snatch a kiss before bed? A gentle knock on the door
pulled her to her feet. “Enter.” She pulled her robe more tightly
closed and held her breath. It was best if she was already on her
feet, then she wouldn’t have to pretend she didn’t want to get up.
He could easily take her in his arms and… “Lady Jemima?”

A maid set
down the tray, curtseyed and hurried out leaving her alone with Mr
Smirke’s mother. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. You must call me
Mamma whether or not you marry mon petit mal fils.” Joan rushed
forward into the older woman’s open arms and burst into tears. “I
will not let Jean Sébastien drag you to the altar against your
will. I’m afraid it’s my fault he’s so bad. I think I love him too
much.”

“I thought he
loved me.”

“C’est vrai…he
does, but Jean’s heartstrings are so entangled with his physical
senses he can not tell them apart. I agree he was horrid this
evening, but he’s so susceptible to disappointment and he had his
heart making you his wife today. I was quite pleased to hear he
didn’t kill the Bishop…”

“What if I
can’t have children? What if I become a cripple? What if I get
smallpox and lose my looks? Is he going to hate me? I don’t want
him to stop loving me. He’s so wonderful…when he’s not being
horrid.”

“He does not
deserve you Chéri, but I hope you will marry him all the same.

“I want to
marry him, I love him.”

“I know
Chéri.”

“I should go
apologise for calling him ugly. He might not be able to sleep…”

“Non! Eat then
go to bed. Start over in the morning.” A brisk knock on the door
made Joan’s heart race, but it was the wrong Smirke. Peter joined
the two women near the fire and smiled at his mother.

“I’m going to
take John a t-tray. Are there any messages I could g-give our
gallant that might cheer him up?”

Joan wiped the
remains of tears on her sleeve, “Tell Mr Smirke that I won’t be
hasty in deciding not to marry him and tell him…tell him I don’t
think he’s ugly when he’s not horrid.”

“That should
cheer up our p-pretty Don Juan.” Peter hurried from the room before
Joan could change her mind.

“Eat your
supper, get some rest and don’t worry about Jean. J’espère mon
petite Jean will realise that the feelings in his chest are more
important than the feelings in his breeches. Try to sleep.” Joan
accepted a motherly kiss on her forehead and was soon alone
again.

Sawing her way
through a plate of cold ham and potatoes Joan wondered how many
minutes would pass before Mr Smirke would knock at her door. Surely
on hearing she didn’t think him ugly he’d come running to demand
one last kiss of the day? He’d looked hurt and unhappy at being
sent away without one, almost as if she’d broken his heart.
Footsteps rushed past her door. She jumped to her feet on hearing a
swift knock, but it was only a weary maid with a warming pan for
the bed. Alone again Joan chewed her nails and waited as more
footsteps rushed past her door without stopping. A high pitched
wailing echoed distantly from somewhere in the house; the twins
were probably being punished for putting blackcurrant preserves
into keyholes again. Did she dare go and see if her wicked guardian
was awake? She looked at the door and decided it was warmer to
remain in front of the fire and wait for the man to appear.

***

John was
insensible to the sound of his head hitting the marble floor, but
the noisy chatter in the room dragged open his eyes. He jumped to
his feet and wondered how so many strangers had come into the study
in so short a time. The irritating Probationary Agent was by the
fire flirting with a pretty blonde woman in a hideous blue dress.
He didn’t stop to ask for an introduction, the ache in his chest
pulled him from the room and back upstairs. He needed Joan. The
door handle seemed to evade his grasp. In frustration he kicked the
door and found himself falling into the room through the door.
There she was, hunched over in front of the fire looking miserable,
chewing on her nails. “Joan?” She didn’t respond. “Joan Lark, I
will not endure being ignored by a dependant!” She looked up at the
clock and wiped another tear from red eyes with a sigh. “Joan?” He
bent over and kissed her eyes and then her lips, but there was no
response, no warmth. “Joan, look at me.”

“She can’t see
you John Sebastian.”

John shivered
as he recognised the voice. “Papa?”

“Get back to
your body.” John looked down at his shaking transparent hands and
shrieked. He turned and jumped through the wall and flew back
downstairs and into the crowded study. He rushed through various
crying family members, but stopped short in horror. The pale limp
corpse in his mother’s arms was repulsive.

“Hurry John
Sebastian, your mother’s heart is breaking.”

“Papa, that
can’t be me! I can’t wear that. It’s ugly!”

“Your soul is
ugly. Now get back into your body and be a better man or you’ll
look like that forever.”

John took a
deep breath and cringed as he gingerly stepped into the hideous
skin. Sucking in a painful breath, his abrupt screams silenced the
room. Opening his eyes he could still see his father standing
nearby smiling. “Papa?”

“Stay in your
body or you’ll lose Joan.”

“Joan?” His
family ignored his dry mutter as his step-father calmly directed
various family members to fetch a doctor and other previously
unneeded supplies. He was pried from his mother’s arms and moved to
the sofa. “Joan, I need Joan. Please tell Joan I need to see
her.”

“Shhh, you
need to rest Jean Sébastien. Joan is sleeping. There’s no need to
alarm the child.”

“She’s not
sleeping! She’s sitting in front of the fire chewing her nails.
I’ve told her countless times not to chew her nails. She never
listens to me.” His family looked at each other and just shook
their heads. John was obviously concussed. “Please bring me Joan
Mamma. I won’t be horrid. I just need to see her. I need to tell
her…”

“You can see
Joan in the morning.”

“I need
Joan.”

“You need to
rest, you’ve been…malade.”

“I wasn’t
sick, I was dead. How can you love me? I’m so ugly! I don’t want to
be ugly Mamma…” The Smirke family looked at each other with wide
worried expressions and quietly shuffled from the room leaving the
sobbing man to the administrations of his mother.

Robert Smirke
jumped out of his chair and waved his arms, “Joan, come sit by
me.”

“You don’t
want to sit next to a drooling infant.” Cecil picked a piece of
toast out of his teeth. “Come sit by me Joan; I’ll tell you what
happened.”

“It’s not
faire Papa. She always sits by Cecil if Uncle John’s not
around.”

“That’s
because I’m a man and you’re a snotty infant.”

Joan blushed
with pleasure at being wanted and paused to examine the
possibilities; every male Smirke in Bath was sitting at the
breakfast table except the one she wanted. The temptation to sneak
off and kiss her sleeping guardian was hindered by Lady Jemima’s
strict orders not to enter the study until after John was dressed.
Joan impulsively walked around the table and sat next to the quiet
seventeen year old Charles Smirke who beamed his appreciation at
being chosen over his older siblings. “Did you sleep well Miss
Joan?”

Cosmo leaned
over his plate, “Of course she slept well you idiot; she spent all
day yesterday on horse back listening to Uncle John moan about ugly
women. A day of Uncle John’s company would tire a saint.”