Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (3 page)

“Seven
thousand a year?” The widow was so enthralled she momentarily
removed her fingers from her nose. “Does he always smell like
that?”

“No, he
usually bathes daily and douses himself with sickly sweet violet
scent and some sort of lemon lotion.”

The widow eyed
the pretty man’s anatomy with admiration, “Do you think he’d
importune his wife much?”

Agnes raised
an eyebrow at her pretty friend, “He’d demand his conjugal rights
at least every twelve hours.”

“Seven
thousand a year…? Are you sure he’s looking for a wife?”

“Are the hands
of a clock looking for time?” Agnes pulled vinaigrette out of her
pocket and held it open under John’s nose. “Wake up John; you’re
stinking up my sofa.” The pretty man moaned as he turned his head
to see the speaker.

“Mamma?”

“Your mother’s
in France.” The vinaigrette was held under his nose again causing
more moans.

“Get that
thing away from me before I cast up my luncheon.”

“I want you
out of my drawing room and into a hip bath. You smell like
death.”

“I feel it. I
shouldn’t have eaten that beefsteak…my stomach.”

“Perhaps next
time you won’t be a glutton. Frederick?” A footman appeared in the
doorway. “Assist my brother up to his room and ensure he’s
thoroughly bathed twice and deloused before allowed near my bed
linen.”

“As you wish
Madam.”

John could
only moan in pain as his unhappy lunch warred with his burning
chest. He wasn’t aware of the comely widow until she poked his
wounded shoulder with her fan. His shrill whimper of pain went
unnoticed by the woman holding her nose; she was too excited to
find herself being viewed by black eyes.

“It’s a
pleasure to meet you Mr Smirke. I’ve heard so much about you.”

John’s eyes
narrowed in horror as he contemplated the possibility that the
woman holding her nose might be Joan. “What’s your name?”

She blushed
with pleasure at her conquest. “Mrs Ashton Goodyear, my second
husband died two years ago from gout.”

“Your name is
Ashton?” John’s heart warmed with relief, but then she shook her
head with a studied little laugh and poked him again in the
shoulder.

“No silly, my
Christian name is Perdita. Ashton was my husband’s name.”

John’s black
marble eyes glinted with relief. “God is merciful; God is good…what
a perfectly revolting name. Touch me with that fan again and I’ll…”
Agnes watched in shock as revenge was forcefully chipped from his
eyes and replaced with something resembling frustration. “For
pity’s sake Frederick, help me off this blasted sofa before I choke
on my tongue.”

The three
women continued holding their noses as the pretty man hobbled from
the room clutching the footman for support. The skinny woman shook
her head and thankfully released her nose. “He looks like he’d eat
his pet dog for a wager.”

Agnes sighed
at the mention of dogs, “John hates dogs and they hate him.”

“Did your
brother really say my name was revolting?” The pretty widow sniffed
back tears as she mourned the loss of seven thousand pounds. “I
don’t think he liked me.”

“The man owns
more mirrors than Narcissus; he’ll probably marry the first woman
he finds who looks like him.”

***

John woke up
the next afternoon and sighed at the pleasure of being clean in a
clean bed. He gently yawned and scratched himself with relish, but
froze as harmonized giggles erupted from the side of his bed. He
slowly turned his head and groaned in horror as two identical pairs
of black eyes peered up at him.

“What are you
two hellions doing in my room?”

“Nursey thinks
we’re sleeping. We tricked her didn’t we?”

“Yes, she’s
sleeping in front of the fire…”

“Nursey snores
almost as loud as you Uncle John.”

“I don’t
snore!” His protest was met with rude noises as his nieces
demonstrated. “Go tell your father I wish to see him.”

The two sets
of eyes widened and then disappeared back out of sight to council
in hushed whispers. The eyes reappeared over the bottom of the bed.
“We can’t tell Papa you wish to see him…”

“Mamma will
know we’ve been naughty…”

“Mamma might
not let us have pudding.”

“Mamma won’t
let you have pudding…”

“She says
you’re wicked.”

“What have you
done Uncle John?”

“Did you kick
a dog?”

“Did you spit
in Mamma’s tea?”

John reached
for his bell to ring for help, but it was gone. “Where’s my
bell?”

One of the
little blonde angels held up the large hand bell. “We found it on
your bed.”

“Give it
here!”

“Why?”

“Because I
want to use it; give it back.”

“Finder’s
keepers…”

“Someone come
get these two brats before I lose my mind!”

“If you lose
your mind Uncle John we’ll help you find it.”

“Yes, we’re
good at finding things. We found Mamma’s thimble, Frederick’s love
letter and Nursey’s wooden teeth.”

“You took
them, hid them up and then ‘found’ them when there was a promised
reward. I know that trick, I used it myself. Now give me my bell
and go away before I cut you out of my will.”

Identical lips
quivered as large dollops of saltwater rolled down their cheeks.
“How much will we get?”

“Not a penny
unless you’re good.”

“How much if
we’re good?”

“I’ll let you
know at the end of my visit how good I think you’ve been.”

“We think
you’re the best Uncle in the whole world.”

John rolled
his eyes, “Go torment your nurse and leave me in peace or you won’t
get tuppence.” John closed his eyes as the room fell quiet and
panic flooded his senses. If he remained secluded from kindly human
interaction for one more day he’d go mad. They’d lock him away in
some dusty attic. He’d never get to find Joan. He’d die of
loneliness and then he’d end up back in hell. He rang the bell with
his good arm and hoped it’d bring the pretty upstairs maid so he
could ask her, her name.

John was only
mildly disappointed to learn the maid was named Anna. Compared with
his mental image of the saintly Joan she was hardly worth watching,
though his eyes still followed her swaying hips out the door. His
fired lust merely reminded him that he couldn’t even think about
tumbling a wench without hearing death snigger over his shoulder.
Feeling melancholic his valet, Woods, soon appeared mirroring his
own expression.

Washed and
dressed, John was helped downstairs to the breakfast room where he
gently collapsed in the chair next to his brother, James, who stood
respectfully with a genuine smile. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling
better this morning. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you
yesterday, but I understand Agnes took good care of you. You didn’t
mention the name of your assailant in your letter. I don’t like the
idea of some knave carving up my little brother. Who did this to
you?”

“An insolent
boil not worth your spit. If I’d ignored him I’d have saved myself
an uncomfortable visit to hell. Do I smell fried bread?” Agnes
Smirke looked up from her plate in disbelief. “I’ve been dreaming
of fried bread swimming in a pool of butter and slathered with
strawberry preserves.” A few minutes later his dream came true.
“Hmmm, this must be what heaven tastes like.”

James Smirke
shrugged his shoulders at his wife’s worried expression and
returned to his own food. “John?”

“Yes
Agnes?”

“Have you been
over imbibing laudanum? You’re not acting like your usual vengeful
self.”

John’s eyes
narrowed into a familiar revengeful glare, but it quickly faded
into mild irritation as he stuffed another piece of fried bread
into his mouth. “No.”

“Agnes, please
try not to upset John. We’re lucky he’s alive.”

“Luck had
nothing to do with it. I died and went to hell. Thank Heavens God
sent me back to reform my evil ways. It was unbearably awful. I’d
rather eat slugs and worms than go back. Someone pour me a cup of
chocolate before I choke on a piece of bread.” It was James’s turn
to look at his brother with concern.

“Right…pour my
brother a cup Frederick, thank you. Well, we’re just glad you’re
alive and well.”

“Speak for
your self Love.” Agnes’s muttered words went unheard as she sipped
her chocolate and watched her husband take out his snuff box, a
sure sign he was bewildered.

“Right…well, I
need to go purchase some snuff. Can I get you any more laudanum or
perhaps one of those silly romance novels to take your mind off
your injuries?”

John wiped his
buttered lips as he fought a strange burning compulsion to join his
brother. He dismissed it as he contemplated the pleasure of lying
on a sofa and meeting more of Agnes’s callers. His Joan might show
up to pay her respects. If he went out he might miss her. The
compulsion to go intensified along with the need for a sketchbook
as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was going to take the
plunge. He was going to give in to the need to artistically express
himself, but he wasn’t sure if he was excited or excruciated. “I
need to come with you. I need to go to the stationers.”

“If there’s
anything you need I can…”

“I need to
go.”

“What you need
is to see my doctor…”

“I’ve had a
gutful of doctors. I need Mamma. How long before she returns from
France?”

James Smirke
sighed in resignation, “Mamma wanted to break the news herself, but
considering the circumstances I should probably tell you. Well, you
see…” James looked at his wife for help.

Agnes smiled
at John’s irritated expression, “Your mother has secretly wed a
much younger man and run off to France for a wedding tour.”

Smirke’s bark
of laughter turned into a moan as he clutched his chest. “Don’t
make me laugh Agnes. It might kill me and then I’ll be stuck in
hell forever.”

Agnes made a
mental note to be as amusing as possible during John’s visit, “Your
mother sent us a letter after the fact. She says she didn’t want
her children fretting over her. Personally, I suspect she was
worried that you’d kill her lover before she could get him to the
altar.”

“Really Agnes,
as if our John could do anything so despicable.”

John was too
stunned with rage to verbalise that he was most certainly capable
of carving up the man. “How could she do this? How could she
abandon me for some money grubbing swine?”

“John, you
left the nest fourteen years ago; you’re hardly an abandoned
infant.”

“She can’t
marry a boy. She’s a grandmother for…Aghh.” The effort to swallow
angry expletives made John’s eyes water. He needed his Mamma and
she was on the other side of the English Channel spending her
kindness and smiles on some worthless cavalier. His wounds ached
just contemplating the horrible thought of his mother being bedded
by any man other than his father. It was sacrilegious. “Who is this
fork-tongued fortune hunter?”

“He’s a
forty-five year old widow with a healthy heir, spare and several
young daughters. She refused him five times, but apparently he sunk
into deep melancholy. He loves her.”

“He’s only
four years older than our Peter? Your new step father is seven
years older than you and you sit there…calm? She’s our mother;
she’s married to our father. It’s…it’s disgusting!”

“Father’s been
dead over twenty years John. You can hardly accuse Mamma of being
improper and she’s still a beautiful woman. If being loved by this
man makes her happy who are we to disagree?”

“We’re her
children. We’re the ones who have to put up with being associated
with this social climber, this nobody. He’ll poison her and take
all her money. I’ll never see Mamma again.” John’s final word was a
broken hearted wail, “Mamma!”

“The Earl of
Belvedere is hardly social climbing by marrying a Viscount’s widow
and he doesn’t need her money. I met him some years ago in London;
he’s a decent sober sort of fellow. Mother’s perfectly safe. She’ll
be back in a month. She’s travelling up to Belgium to meet some
French artist named Louis David. She expressly desired that I tell
you she loves you.”

John covered
his face with his left sleeve, “How did they meet?” The words were
dull with resignation. He couldn’t kill his stepfather without
ending up in hell. He dropped his arm, his shoulders sagging in
despair. Life was Hell.

“He
commissioned Mother to paint his children. The children fell in
love with her and then Belvedere lost his heart.” He was no longer
hungry. “She knew you’d be upset. Perhaps you should lie down for a
few hours. Tell me what you need from the stationers and I’ll…”

“No. I’m
coming. I’ll just go put on my hat.” He passed a maid on the stairs
he’d never seen before and was relieved to learn she was a
Beth.

***

As the
carriage stopped outside the stationers John felt overcome with a
need to be inside the shop. He didn’t wait for the footman to lower
the steps. He jumped out of the carriage leaving his brother to
hurry after him. Several small bells tinkled against the door
announcing his arrival. John leaned heavily on his umbrella as his
anxious eyes swept over the occupants. There were three ladies and
five gentlemen. On seeing John, three of the men were suddenly
uninterested in buying paper and disappeared quickly out the door,
an irritated woman loudly resisting her unexplained removal. One of
the other two men saw James enter and held out his hand in
greeting, “Ah, Smirke how did you find the Waterloo lecture? I’m
sorry I missed it, the wife took it into her head that I should
accompany her to some boring musical.” The long black poke bonnet
inspecting various pencils turned far enough for the wearer to see
the conversation.