Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (19 page)

“You win
Lovelace. I’ll send to London for the pair…tell James where to send
them.” The crowd cheered as Joan smiled with relief. “Peter…help me
to a chamber pot before I wet myself and die of shame. James, keep
Miss Lark safe until I get back. If anything happens to her…”

“She’ll be
fine, go.” John shuffled away agonised by his bursting bladder,
sore backside and fear that he’d return to find his Joan had been
kidnapped.

Agnes Smirke
sat secretly amused as her husband crawled around on his hands and
knees, his laughing daughters imperiously demanding their horse
gallop faster. The gold pattern on green silk walls glowed in the
wavering candlelight like an elegant backdrop cloth for a
theatrical display of Bedlam. “That’s enough horsing around, come
have your tea before it gets cold. James…”

“One more time
round the track and we’ll stable for the night.”

“No Papa
horse, you have to ride ten more times.”

“Yes, ten more
times. Gee up Papa horse!”

“Your Papa
horse is going to end up with a broken back with you two riding
him. Come have your bread and butter before your cousins’ return
and devour the tray. Joan, wake up my brother and ask him if he’s
going to eat again today. Joan dropped her embroidery as she turned
to admire the trim figure in red and gold lying on the
chaise-longue in his white stocking feet, his slack lips moving in
his sleep.

“He looks so
peaceful. You’d never know he spent half the day shouting every
twenty minutes for a clean chamber pot. Do you think he’ll speak to
me tomorrow? Do you think he’ll wait many days to kiss me?”

“He’ll
doubtless waylay you on your way to bed with or without your
permission; green tea?”

“Yes, thank
you Agnes.” Joan reached for the cup and saucer. “It was wrong of
me to wager his pistols without his permission, but I don’t
understand why he’s so upset. He told me himself that if he kills
one more person he’ll end up back in hell. I should have thought
he’d be glad to be rid of the things. He said if I tried to wager
his rapier he’d use it to make rags of my wardrobe. At least I know
what to do when I want a new dress…wake up Mr Smirke. It’s time for
tea. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’m starting to
get worried about you.”

John cracked
open one eye, “I’m not speaking to you.”

“So you say;
would you like some bread and butter?”

John sat up
and scowled at his shrieking nieces dangling from their father’s
arms. “Give me a piece before those brats eat it all.”

“Does this
mean you’re speaking to me again?”

“No.” John
took the plate of bread without glancing at Joan’s face.

“Are you going
to speak to me tomorrow?”

“Ask me
tomorrow.”

“I suppose if
I get desperate for a kiss I could ask Cecil or George to
oblige.”

Joan calmly
sipped her tea as John growled in rage, “You dare kiss any other
man while I’m alive and I’ll…I’ll…”

“You’ll drag
me into your arms and make love to me for the rest of the day as a
punishment?” Joan reached out and straightened his cravat as John
exhaled in relief. “You’re in need of a comb. You look like the
wild man I found living at the bottom of a rich man’s garden.
Apparently he was paid to sit in a grotto and contemplate…I hope
you’d never be so silly as to hire a man to think for you.” John
leaned in the direction of the hand brushing crumbs off his lips,
“It’s a pity you’re not speaking to me. I was hoping you’d tell me
if we’re leaving for London tomorrow.” Joan blushed with pleasure
as John kissed her captured fingers and held her gaze before biting
into his piece of bread.

“What were you
doing in a rich man’s garden?”

“I was
stealing peaches for a cake. There’s no need to look at me like
that. He wasn’t going to eat them; he was in London…besides the
wild man said I could have as many as I wanted as long as I
returned with a piece of cake.” John opened his mouth to give a
belated rebuke when the distant sound of someone knocking on the
front door made him lose his train of thought. His sleepy brain
noted the curtains were drawn against the cold evening damp; the
stillness of the house accentuated by the noisy flames in the
grate. He watched the footman carrying in a tray and hoped it
wasn’t a note explaining his house had burnt down.

“Who is it
Love?” James kissed his wife’s neck as he leaned over her shoulder.
“Oh no, not him…he always talks to me like I’m an idiot. Tell him
we all have the plague.”

“At least you
weren’t forced to spend every summer between the ages of fifteen
and twenty-one with a parental order to acquire an offer of
marriage from the man by any means faire or foul. I never could
decide which was worse; having to dance with him every evening or
being completely ignored by him all day.”

“The man’s
clearly abnormal.” James reverently bestowed a kiss on his wife’s
cheek. “How could any real man ignore such beauty?”

“Probably
because he sees more beauty every morning in his dressing mirror; I
can’t snub my cousin. He’s family and nearly as rich as your friend
Midas Lovelace, though admittedly not remotely as pleasant. There’s
always the chance he’ll die from an unmentionable disease and leave
part of his fortune to our angels.”

“I’ve heard
the man spends a fortune on countless bastards. He’s unlikely to
have a farthing for mere second cousins.”

“What’s a
bastard Papa?”

“Well uh…it’s
a child born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“There’s a
wrong side to a blanket?” James took out his snuff box and started
fiddling with the lid.

“Which side is
the wrong side Papa?”

“What happens
if we use the wrong side of the blanket?”

“Will we
become bastards?”

“James, do
think before speaking in front of the children. The next time
Nursey takes them to the park they’ll be sure to say the word to
every old woman they meet.”

“We won’t say
bastard will we?”

“No, we might
not get any pudding.”

“You see
Agnes, they’re very sensible for their age and they’ve been very
good this week, haven’t you my angels?”

“Yes
Papa.”

John shook his
head in disgust, “They’ve put jam in my favourite slippers, salted
the sugar bowl, smashed Grandmother’s stoneware spaniels and eaten
my secret stash of lemon drops; angelic they are not.”

“Really John,
you make my little girls sound like fiends.”

“Uncle John
doesn’t like us…sniff…”

“He thinks
we’re wicked…sniff…”

“He’s just
jealous he’s not your Papa.”

“Don’t make me
laugh.”

The footman
cleared his throat, “Do you wish to receive the gentleman
Madam?”

“Bring Mr
Nielson up…” John went rigid as the hateful name sent painful
spasms through his nerves and recalled the taste of blood and
tears. The beautiful giant had pummelled him black and blue in
April in revenge for a friend. John’s impulsive skirmish with Lord
Royston had cost a large dose of humiliation and now he’d have to
be kind to the brute. The thought made John’s stomach tighten in a
knot.

“Mr Smirke…are
you having a turn, you look pale. I think you should lie down…”

“I’m in
perfect health.”

“Then why are
you talking through your teeth?”

“It feels
good.” John took a large bite of bread and butter and chewed on his
rage. “Mr Neilson fancies himself a gallant knight in wool and
leather. He’ll probably see you and concoct some scheme to save you
from my kisses. The brute hates me.”

“But I don’t
want to be saved from…” Joan’s mouth fell open as she was
momentarily blinded by the visitor stepping into the room. John’s
moan of despair went unheard as Joan returned the visitor’s
smile.

“Cousin Agnes,
James…you’re very kind to receive me so late. These must be the
matching angels Mother is always writing about. They do take after
Grandmother. Bless me; I wouldn’t have known they were
Smirkes.”

“They have my
black eyes.” James’s emphatic tone was less than congenial.

“So they do.”
The girls, balancing on the edge of the sofa returned Neilson’s
calm smile with equally calm smiles that would have alarmed the
servants. “I see your little brother is still alive. Is he wearing
red or has someone poked him full of holes trying to steal away the
lovely young thing sitting next to him?”

“John, do you
wish to present your ward to my cousin?”

“I’d rather
present my fist to his nose.”

“John is
recovering from another duel and has not yet regained use of his
social skills. Miss Joan Lark may I present my cousin Mr Robert
Neilson?”

Joan jumped up
and gave an enthusiastic curtsey. “How do you do Mr Neilson?”

“I do very
well Miss Lark. How could I not in a room blessed with such beauty
and charm?”

John affected
a loud gagging noise, “Save your tiresome flattery for lonely
unprotected women Neilson. Miss Lark is shortly to nest permanently
in my arms as my wife. She loves me. Don’t you Miss Lark?”

Robert
Nielson’s eyes went wide with disbelief, as the blushing Meissen
shepherdess broke free of his spell and plonked down half an arms
length from the black eyed devil and affectionately ruffled his
hair, “I adore my wicked Mr Smirke.” John’s burning black eyes and
lopsided grin vaporised Neilson’s affect. The two lovers swayed
towards each other and lowered their voices, “You’re not still
angry with me?”

“Are you going
to keep staring at that big conceited looby with your mouth
open?”

Joan blushed
with pleasure at his jealous tone, “No.”

“Then I’m not
angry.”

Joan sighed
with pleasure as she lent her smooth cheek against a soft bristled
cheek and whispered, “I’m in desperate need of a kiss Mr Smirke. I
can barely remember my morning ration.”

“How do you
think I feel? I had to spend all afternoon with a chamber pot for
company and when I could finally leave it they told me you were out
shopping. If I don’t get a kiss soon I swear I’ll die of
deprivation.”

“That’s one of
the things I love about you Mr Smirke, you’re an enthusiastic
guardian.”

“If I grow any
more enthusiastic my heart’s going to burst from my chest.”

“Oh Mr
Smirke…you do love me. That makes you a thousand times more
beautiful than Mr Neilson.” John forgot to breathe as the words
permeated his chest and burrowed safely into his frantic innards.
He closed his eyes and relished the strange pleasurable ache in his
stomach, oblivious that the room contained anyone other than woman
pressing her lips to his ear.

Robert
Neilson’s eyes swung from the engrossed couple to silently demand
an explanation from his cousin Agnes, but she shrugged her
shoulders, “Where are you two going?”

“We’re going
to sit with Cousin Robert.”

“Your cousin
doesn’t want cake all over his trousers.”

Robert smiled
at the frightening little girls and told himself to pretend they
were two of his own, “I love children. My cousins can sit next to
me if they wish.”

Robert’s calm
smile wobbled as the identical daemons clawed their way onto his
knees. They both smiled in unison as they leaned towards their
quarry. “If we promise to be good…”

“…will you
leave us money in your will?”

Robert glanced
at Agnes for help, but she was filling a plate for her husband,
“Uh…if you’re really good I’ll leave you a thousand each.”

“A
thousand?”

“Is that
all?”

“Twenty
thousand is a better number. Uncle Midas gave us each twenty
thousand pounds when we were born as dowries and he’s not even
dead…”

“We love Uncle
Midas. He always brings us sweets. Did you bring us sweets?”

“I’m afraid I
have no sweets, and with Midas Lovelace as Godfather, you won’t
need my money. There are many less fortunate…people who rely on me
to take care of them and who depend upon me for their dowries, but
if you’re good I’ll leave you each a thousand.”

“You mean you
have to take care of your bastards?” Robert’s smile chilled as he
cursed himself for thinking the daemons could be anything other
than Smirkes. “Papa says you have lots of bastards.”

“Your Papa has
been very naughty.”

“Our Papa is
never naughty!”

“No, he always
gets his pudding.”

“Go eat your
cake or I won’t leave you a penny.” Robert pushed the two off his
knees and muttered under his breath, “Horrid Smirkes.” Robert’s
desire to save the Meissen shepherdess was reinforced. “Agnes, you
can’t sit there and allow that devil to devour an innocent.”

“Miss Lark is
a penniless orphan Robert. She could do far worse than marry the
devil.”

James gave his
wife a hurt expression, “Agnes, you know it upsets me when you
refer to my brother as the devil.”

“Is Uncle John
the devil Papa?”

“No he is not
the devil.”

“Agnes, you
are an infinitely sensible creature. You know what John Smirke is
like. You can’t let that child be chained to him. There must be
something you can do.”

Agnes raised
an eyebrow, “Your concern for the girl is commendable Robert, but
Joan does not wish to be saved.”

“Joan has no
need to be saved from my brother Cousin Robert. John is a far
better man than his enemies would have the world believe. He may
not be perfect, but then I dare say neither are you.”

Agitated,
Robert crossed his legs, “Your good opinion of your brother must be
proof of…of…your good faith Cousin James, but I’m afraid your
brother is not the man you think he is.”

“Indeed?”
James started cracking the knuckles on his right hand. “How
so?”

“I’m afraid
there are many who could prove that your brother is no
gentleman.”