Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero

by Cari Hislop

  “From where? The Colonies? I contacted London agencies, advertised in every paper and personally combed Bolingbroke, Boston and Bath. When young ladies find out that I’m the ward of the Honourable John Smirke they contract consumption or some other fatal disease. Couldn’t you come home just for a few months Mr Smirke? I promise I’ll take good care of you. Please?” No one had ever begged him for his company, not even his mother. John breathed in the delicious feeling of being wanted and exhaled his irritation.

  “I can’t plant myself in Bolingbroke. There’s someone I have to find. I’ll hire you some company.” The hackney stopped and John climbed out with the assistance of his ward. Leaning on his bent umbrella, he threw a coin to the driver and turned his back on the blues eyes holding the carriage door. The impossible woman would be taken to her lodgings and he wouldn’t have to think of her again until he got a bill for ten smelly puppies and was forced to travel to Lincolnshire to enact some sort of punishment. His rebelling heart was already tapping out the hours. He heard the carriage door click shut and the wheels crackle over the cobblestones as it pulled away. He restrained himself from turning to watch the carriage disappear and cursed his good arm still itching to encircle her waist.

  Overall it had been a most unpleasant morning. He’d learned he was saddled with a maddening wench that no sane man would marry for less than a princely fortune, contemplated the improbability of escaping eternal damnation and fallen over in a graveyard. Just to ensure that his Sabbath was ruined, he was swamped by an inexplicable sensation that he’d just snuffed out all future prospects of happiness. He couldn’t even remember hearing her give her directions to the driver. Growling, he clutched his chest and tried to withstand the desire to hobble after the carriage.

  “Are you in much pain? I can mix you a glass of laudanum and rub your wounds with ointment. Here let me help you up the stairs.” John grimaced as his insides lurched with pleasure.

  “What? You’re supposed to be in the carriage!” He thumped his umbrella to emphasise the point and nearly lost his balance.

  “You need me and I’m hungry. The Inn filled up last night with a loud group of young men. I’m hoping they’ll be gone by the time I return. They kept staring at me as if I was on the menu.” The door opened as John took hold of his ward’s arm and dragged her up the stairs and into the house. “Where the devil are you lodging?”

  “At The Maiden’s Head; it was the only place that would accept an unaccompanied female.”

  John’s grip tightened as he gargled on his distress, “Of all the places…have you no sense? Why didn’t stay at Bolingbroke where you were safe?”

  “I was lonely and the servants said you’d be in Bath.”

  John pulled the young woman close and hissed into her face, “Why the blazes didn’t you hire a private parlour? You have no reservations about spending my money on everything else.” The arrival of a strange young woman with the master’s younger brother drew curious servants from all directions with cocked ears.

  “I was using the parlour, but a man with evil sky-blue eyes arrived who paid twice as much again for it. He asked me if I was a grace or something and offered to share the parlour with me, but I couldn’t bear to stay; he looked like a corpse.” John growled in horror and dragged his willing companion past the wide eyed footmen and down the hall to the breakfast room.

  “Of all the men in England…you would catch Lyndhurst’s eye…”

  “This is a lovely house Mr Smirke. How many rooms does it have? That marble is a delicious green. Is it Italian? That looks like a Van Dyke. May I take off my hat and gloves?” She was propelled into a room and stopped. “Oh…good morning Mr Smirke, Mrs Smirke…” Agnes looked up from the breakfast table and sighed with disappointment, her brother-in-law was still alive and he’d brought home trouble.

  “Good morning Miss Lark, we understood you’d moved to Lincolnshire.”

  “I’m just visiting, I was lonely…”

  “She’s returning post chaste in the morning.”

  “Mr Smirke’s not feeling well…he had heart failure during the sermon and then he fell over in the cemetery. Poor Mr Smirke is so unwell he can’t think what kind of flowers he’d want planted over his grave.”

  “I did not have heart failure. Frederick, pull out a chair for Miss Lark and then pile a plate with enough food to silence her for at least half an hour. James…may I speak with you in the hall? Agnes, she’s not to leave the house without my permission.” Stunned, Agnes looked back and forth between the unlikely couple as the girl cheerfully sat down content with her imprisonment. The improbable rumours had to be true. The maddening innocent Miss Lark had become the ward of a heartless rakehell. Agnes looked at the cheerful girl and smiled with hope. If her infernal brother-in-law married Miss Lark he wouldn’t need to come so often to Bath for company and Miss Joan Lark was just the sort of silly chit who’d fall for a pretty villain. Agnes felt the day brighten as hope dawned. She might not have to see her brother-in-law for more than a few weeks a year if she could somehow persuade him to marry a pretty lunatic.

  John firmly closed the door behind him, “You’ve got to help me get rid of her. Do you know anyone who’d take a penniless bride?”

  “John, it’s very kind of you to want to help Miss Lark, but her future happiness is someone else’s responsibility. You need to speak to her guardian; I’m sure he’ll be grateful…”

  “I am her guardian.”

  “John, Miss Lark is a beautiful young woman, but there is no reason…”

  “No James, I was drunk when the attorney called with the papers and asked if I’d agree to take on the wardship of the Reverend Lark’s daughter. I thought one of my friends was playing a joke. That evil bastard Lark has ruined my life. His daughter has been living at Bolingbroke ruining my house…”

  “But Lark thought you were the devil. He abused you from the pulpit. Maybe I finally convinced him he was wrong about you?”

  “Of course he hated me. He’s laughing in his grave. He’s saddled me with a vexing creature that’ll torment me for life if I don’t get rid of her. He wanted me to suffer.”

  “She’s a good lass, if a trifle talkative. A beautiful girl has been thrown into your arms John. You could have a wife in a few Sundays. Just think of all the comforts that come with having a wife.”

  “Do you want me to die of apoplexy? How can you suggest I marry that maddening wench? Do you want to visit your little brother in a madhouse?”

  “Children make any house a madhouse.” John scowled at his brother and rubbed the wound in his chest and tried to ignore his heart’s reaction to the thought of begetting children with the annoying young woman. Hearts were notoriously unreliable. His head told him to fling Miss Lark into the arms of a desperate man and run.

  “It sounds to me like she’s affected you.” James smiled and gently yanked his younger brother’s ponytail amused by John’s glare. “She may be just the young lady you’ve been searching for.”

  “She most certainly is not. My wife will be nothing like Miss Lark.” It was another lie he’d have to repent of. If only she became a mute; he’d marry her even if her name was Bertha. John’s thoughts and feelings were sloshing around in his head like two pairs of badly died stockings. At any minute he was going to open his brain and find that the black pair and bright yellow pair had both turned greyish mustard yellow.

  “Well, if you’re determined to get rid of her Peter wants to remarry. Five years is a long time for a man to go without female comfort. He’d probably take one look at Miss Lark and gallop off to buy a special license. Miss Lark may find the prospect of being the Viscountess of Adderbury alluring and Peter may be satisfied with a kind beautiful talkative young wife. You can make the girl your sister and only have to see her at Christmas.”

  “Peter? He’s old enough to be her father.”

  “He’s only forty-one. She can’t be any younger than eighteen.”

  “Exactly, she’s a year youn
ger than Cecil and the same age as George. How do you think the boys would feel if I saddled them with a young step-mother?”

  “I doubt they’d care one wit as long as she was pleasant. Cecil has grown into a lovely young man. He’ll be in want of a wife soon. Perhaps you can make her our niece?” John’s heart nearly broke through the skin at the thought of spending family gatherings watching the tempting slender curves being caressed and adored by either brother or nephew.

  “I don’t want her in the family. She’ll completely ruin Christmas. It’s bad enough I’ll have to endure Mamma’s Interloper and his brats.”

  “Miss Lark is already in the family. You can’t leave her at Bolingbroke alone at Christmas; she’s practically your child.” John winced as his heart deflated pressing moisture from his eyes.

  “She’s not my child!” James looked at his brother’s clenched teeth and heaving chest and correctly diagnosed his brother’s affliction.

  “You can’t leave your ward alone in that house stuffed into a valley lost in time. I’m sure they still think they’re living in the medieval ages. Your neighbours probably took one look at her mourning clothes and assumed she was a witch.”

  “You can’t expect me to have her live with me in London?” John lowered his voice, “It’s been months since I had a woman and I don’t want to wait a day longer than necessary to bed a wife. I can’t keep her! How am I to persuade any woman to marry me with that lark chirping at my elbow?”

  James swallowed a smile and put an arm around John’s shoulders, “We’ll discuss what to do with her after you’ve been fed and watered. You know you can count on your big brothers. I’ll write to Peter. He may know some fat squire in need of a beautiful wife…”

  “Yes, that’s a…a good idea.” John didn’t sound convinced, but he was relieved to be reminded he had two staunch allies. Feeling somehow unburdened, John could sit down opposite his ward without wanting to scream. She smiled at his terse glance and continued to clean her plate without speaking.

  “James?”

  “Yes Agnes?”

  “Miss Lark has been staying at The Maiden’s Head without a female companion.” James turned a look of horror towards his brother.

  “How could you let her stay in that vice pit?”

  “Don’t blame me; I thought she was in Lincolnshire.” John helped himself to another slice of ham and glared at his smiling ward. “Don’t worry I’ll get her a room at some reputable Inn for the night and send her home tomorrow.” He watched Miss Lark’s shoulders slump as she transformed into an image of despair.

  “Can’t I stay a few weeks to get to know you?” John glared into pleading large eyes as he battled temptation. “A week? A day?”

  “No, you’re going back tomorrow.”

  “Miss Lark won’t be going anywhere until you can escort her home yourself. You can’t send a woman all the way to Boston on her own. She’ll be ravished by every knave with time to unbutton his flap. No doubt they’ll all be your acquaintances. She’ll stay with us until you can do your duty.” Agnes ignored John’s horrified glare as she buttered her toast. “Whatever was her father thinking when he made you her guardian?”

  “He wanted to torture me.”

  “It’s about time someone did. I’ll send a footman to collect her things.” When John gave in to the desire to look across the table he found his ward smiling again.

  “Thank you Mrs Smirke. I’d much rather stay here.” She ignored her guardian’s unhappy expression and stretched as if she’d awaken from an unpleasant dream. John’s eyes were unwittingly drawn to her charms outlined in black and white. He forgot he was the girl’s guardian. He forgot about his search for the saintly Joan. He didn’t notice his brother smile and silently nod his wife out of the room several minutes later leaving the two alone. John was mesmerised by blushing cheeks, admiring eyes and the sound of his heart tapping happily in his chest. He could almost feel his arm around her waist as he accepted worshipful kisses. Cracking the knuckles on his left hand, he unconsciously prepared to bring the fantasy to life when two identical pairs of eyes appeared just above the tabletop on either side of his quarry.

  “Papa says you’re going to marry your ward…”

  “…and have lots of babies.”

  “He says you won’t be able to spare us a shilling.”

  “There’s no reason to be good no more.”

  “We’ll never get pudding again.”

  “Not until we grow up and go dancing.”

  “I don’t want to dance, I just want pudding.”

  John’s lusty thoughts popped like soap bubbles, his cheeks singed by the fires of hell. What was he thinking? He couldn’t bed the wench. Two hours in her company had already turned his brain to mush. “You two hellions are going to have black teeth by the time you’re seven. No one’s going to want to marry you. You’ll die old maids.”

  “It won’t matter if we have black teeth. Mamma says we’ll have twenty-thousand each.”

  “And if she dies I’ll have forty-thousand.”

  “Mamma says you’ll die an old bachelor.”

  “And we won’t come to visit.”

  “Because you won’t share your lemon drops.”

  “Get back to that netherworld you call a nursery and stay there.”

  “You don’t want to marry Uncle John. Mamma says he’s a yellow bane.”

  “Out!” John’s satanic roar earned him a display of impudent pink tongues harbouring his last two lemon drops stolen out of his pocket. The identical heads disappeared back under the table allowing him to focus on the fact that Miss Lark was about to explode with laughter. He bit back the curses on the tip of his tongue and clenched his teeth and loudly sucked in air through his nostrils. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the entertainment Miss Lark, because you’re returning home tomorrow where you can be amused at my expense for the rest of your life.” The light in her eyes faded imprinting John’s brain with a visual example of his heartless cruelty as he stalked back to his room and locked himself away for the rest of the day.

  Chapter 6

  Eleven thirty-seven the next morning Miss Lark was dressed for travel and memorising the details of the handsome green and gold reception room in between watching the large gold bracket clock gracefully acknowledge each minute with agonising precision. She chewed another fingernail as she waited for her guardian to appear and order her out into the street. She was relieved when the door opened and Agnes Smirke appeared with her work box. At last someone to talk to. “How are your little girls?” Agnes took out her embroidery and set it on her lap. Locating a tiny gold spoon, she cleaned out her ears. Coating her thread with earwax she slipped it into the needle and picked up her work.

  “They’ve taken it rather hard. Sensitive people always take death hard. They insisted on viewing the body and donating two coins for his eyes. It was rather sentimental, like one of those paintings they sell at the seaside.”

  “Do you know if they’ve told Mr Smirke? How will he take it?”

  “He’ll shrug his shoulders and send an advertisement to the papers within the hour. John’s incapable of caring about other people. I’m surprised he hasn’t ravaged you yet. Perhaps he works down a list of victims.”

  “He said he wouldn’t beat me.”

  “No doubt to save his strength for a more pleasurable form of torture. James believes our brother will cough up some sort of declaration for you, but my husband can think no ill of his loved ones. When we hear you’ve been shuffled off to a convent with an increasing waistline I’ll know he had his evil way whether you consented or no.”

  “Is he really so bad?”

  “My dear, his soul is as black as his eyes. In his own words, after his last duel he died and found himself in hell. He’s mad of course, but he says he was sent back to his body so he could repent and change his evil ways.” Agnes snorted in disbelief. “Have you ever heard anything as ridiculous as God giving that bane a second chance at ruining heaven for the
rest of us? My dear, he knows he’s wicked.”