by Cari Hislop
John pulled on his gloves revealing his feelings with a triumphant smirk. “Well whoever you marry it won’t be Miss Lark. She doesn’t like tall men with black hair.”
Peter covered his mouth with his hand and coughed over his amusement. “Oh well, I g-guess that’s my lot; what are you g-going to d-do with her?”
“None of your business.”
“Don’t stay out in the c-cold too long; you might c-catch a chill.” John ignored his brother and sauntered down the street feeling like he’d won a duel. He needed to buy Miss Lark a present, something splendid. His heart’s suggestion of an engagement ring was only half dismissed. He’d made a complete ass of himself, and all because she’d threatened to marry his brother. The innocent Joan Lark was by far the most fetching vexing creature he’d ever encountered. When she wasn’t babbling irritating nonsense she was punishing him with agonising silence. As each foot followed the other he had to admit, if grudgingly, he far preferred the former. He’d rather lose his mind listening to nonsense, the recipient of adoration, than suffer a frigid shoulder. His heart kicked him in the chest to punctuate the thought. He was stuck with her whichever way he turned. He couldn’t get rid of her; she’d crept into his soul and chained herself to the inside of his skin. He mentally tasted the words, Mrs Joan Smirke. They were sweet with a hint of cinnamon and black pepper. She’d drive him mad of course, but after the morning’s scene it was clear he was already well on the way. If he was going to end up a lunatic, he might as well have a woman to hold. The thought of his arm around the slender waist increased his pace. What was the point of having one’s sanity if one was miserable and alone? With his heart racing and the decision made he naturally chose the fastest coarse of action. She’d be his wife before the ink dried on a common license. He needed a ring, money in his pocket and a strong fast horse to reach the nearest Bishop to purchase the said piece of paper. He turned to head for the nearest jewellers when his path was blocked by an over dressed fop, whose fake smile complimented the hatred in his eyes.
“I killed you.”
“Yes, I tripped over a hedgehog and you ran me through. I wouldn’t tattoo the word hero on your chest just yet Mulgrave. Now if you’ll remove your putrid person from my path I’ll kindly ignore the fact you were ever born.”
“I’m not done with you, you smirking severed limb of Satan.”
“Missed me did you? Perhaps if you purchased some cologne instead of splashing yourself with horse water…Ugh.” Mulgrave rubbed his right hand with satisfaction as John clutched his chest. “You coward…Ugh.” Another blow to his healing wounds momentarily robbed him of breath.
Mulgrave waved a superior hand at his companions and swaggered into an alley. “Get him inside.” The three men gulped down their fear and apprehensively picked up the fallen Smirke by the arms and legs. Five minutes later they dropped their cursing burden on the floor of a first story room and stepped behind Mulgrave who was caressing his chin with a loaded travelling pistol. “You’re going to wish you died when I’ve done with you. First I need your cravat, coat, waistcoat and boots. Percy, relieve Mr Smirke of his splendid new rags.”
“What if he refuses?”
“Then he’ll get a piece of lead in his leg and a hole in his trousers. You’d best hurry and undress before I decide you should meet your fate naked.” John turned his back to the door as the pain in his chest radiated into his stomach reminding him that he wanted his mother, but she wasn’t expected for weeks. If Mulgrave murdered him, he’d never get to see her again. He’d never get to marry Miss Lark and taste her lips or feel his arm around her waist. He was going to end up back in hell, all alone. He bit his quivering lips and flung his clothes over his shoulder and shivered in his shirtsleeves. “Acquaint yourself with the bed bugs John. You’ll be feeding them in an hour or so.” John ignored Mulgrave and propped himself against a wall. He couldn’t hear anything over the thought of a heartbroken Joan Lark sobbing as she planted hollyhocks over his grave.
Chapter 9
Joan was just leaving her bedchamber to join the family when the unexpected arrival of Lord and Lady Belvedere threw the house into happy confusion. Feeling like an interloper, she crept half way down the stairs and watched through the banisters as the Smirke’s were introduced to their new stepfather, but she wasn’t interested in the quiet man. Her eyes devoured the beautiful woman larger than life in acres of pink satin, white hair worn large and woven through with pink ribbons and pearls. Joan bit her trembling lip as she imagined herself running down the stairs and claiming a motherly kiss.
Having greeted her two eldest and their families Lady Jemima looked around for her youngest son, “Where is Jean Sébastien?”
James shook his head in despair, “The invalid has gone for another walk in the cold.”
Peter slowly winked at his brother, “The invalid is succumbing to our c-cunning plan. You should have seen his face when I interrupted his t-tête a t-tête. Don’t be surprised if he returns from the j-jewellers humming a love song.”
“What plan? Pierre Auguste, are you tormenting Jean encore? You know he detests when you bande against him.”
“Don’t be upset Mamma. We’re…Ugh.” Agnes’s elbow jabbed into Peter’s ribs. The group followed Agnes’s eyes up towards the stairs where Joan was sitting.
“Don’t mind me…”
Agnes rolled her eyes, “Don’t be a ninny child; you’re family not a house guest.” Joan jumped up and floated down the stairs with a smile.
“Ce…ci c’est Jean’s dépendant?” Lady Jemima was momentarily struck dumb.
“Yes, John is the new owner of a pretty truth-fairy.”
“Really Agnes, you make Joan sound like some sort of t-toothache.” Joan felt a strange peaceful feeling as Peter beckoned to her. She’d never seen so many people smile kindly at her. “Come meet our Mamma.”
Joan made a low curtsey and clasped her hands in excitement, “I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I first saw your portrait of Mr Smirke. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. It’s as if you cut out his soul and glued it to the canvas.”
“Which portrait is that my dear?”
“The one where he’s wearing the black and yellow striped waistcoat; it hangs in the yellow gallery at Bolingbroke…well, it used to be yellow before I repapered it pink.”
Black eyes glimmered with outrage. “My son sent you to Bolingbroke?”
“Yes and the horrid man didn’t come to see me once. I nearly died of loneliness.”
Lady Jemima’s black eyes warmed with amusement. “Jean can be rather horrid at times.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon My Lady; I didn’t mean to imply that your son is in any way a bad guardian. He’s been most generous.”
“And you are content to be in my son’s care?”
“Oh yes…well except for when he’s being horrid, but he’s never horrid for long and I couldn’t be angry with him for long anyway.”
Joan blushed with pleasure as John’s beautiful mother took hold of her face and kissed her cheek. “Welcome to ma famille; you are juste what I prayed for.” The noisy group moved into the Drawing room where they settled around the woman in pink and her quiet husband and eagerly demanded to hear all about her wedding travels. Joan was so enthralled it was several long minutes before she realised Frederick was standing next to her chair holding a tray.
“For me?” The footman nodded and tried to hide the fact he was also listening to the arrivals’ adventures. Joan caught sight of the clock as she reached for the letter, “Has Mr Smirke returned?”
“Not that I’m aware of Madam.”
“Thank you Frederick.” Joan turned from the footman to find herself the center of attention. “Someone sent me a letter.”
“We can see that Miss Lark…what does it say?” Cecil’s curiosity pulled him off his seat and over to Joan’s chair where he leaned over her shoulder as she broke the seal and unfolded the cheap piece of paper.
“
Come away Son and let the child open her letter.” Cecil ignored his father and read the short note with raised eyebrows.
“Uncle John’s fallen violently ill and has requested Miss Lark’s assistance. Apparently Uncle John doesn’t want Miss Lark to tell anyone and to come alone…” Cecil’s voice filled with insinuation, “…to the Dog and Flea. I can’t make out the signature.”
“Oh no, he must be in great pain. If you’ll excuse me I’d best go to him directly.” Joan jumped out of her chair and ran out of the room before they could try to dissuade her.
Cecil turned to his father, “Would Uncle John ravage his ward? Any man with eyes can see that he wants…”
“Really Cecil…” James Smirke was horrified. “My brother would never do anything so reprehensible. He’s probably fallen foul of some blackguard.”
“Don’t dispute the unknowns…” Lady Jemima’s black eyes burned with concern. “…go make sure the girl is unharmed.”
Peter waved his arm at the room, “James, Cecil, George, Charles, Cosmo; if we leave now we can g-get there before the girl…d-did you want to join us Belvedere?” The quiet man took one look into his wife’s anxious eyes and stood up.
“I’m not staying with Nana like a girl.” The fourteen year old Robert looked heartbroken.
“We need you to uh, follow the g-girl and make sure she gets to the Inn safely. Stay outside and don’t take any c-coins from strangers. I don’t want you sailing away on some stinking ship owned by the c-crown.” The group of men quietly slipped out of the house while Joan was still packing her basket. She threw on her ugly black bonnet and a wool shawl and left the house without speaking to the family. She didn’t want to alarm them with her fears. Her guardian had probably spent an hour in the cold and fallen over from chill or fatigue. He might have broken a bone or fainted and cracked his head. The thought made her hurry, forcing the furtive Robert to follow suit. She was out of breath when she reached the Dog and Flea.
“My guardian, Mr Smirke was taken ill. I’ve come to nurse him.”
The oily Innkeeper wiped his nose on his arm and looked her up and down with a leer. “Come to nurse ‘im ‘ave yer…well I suppose even the devil ‘as to ‘ave ‘is day; first landing two doors down. When yer done nursing ‘im, I’ve got an itch you can scratch.”
“I beg your pardon, but Mr Smirke would be very upset if I scratched an Innkeeper. You’ll have to use a wooden spoon from the kitchen.” She ignored his puzzled look and ran up the stairs. Standing next to the second door was a gentleman cleaning his strange pointy teeth with a gold tooth pick. “Is this Mr Smirke’s room?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you know if he’s resting?”
The man leaned down and whispered back, “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thank you…” Looking up at the pointy teeth Joan spoke before thinking. “Were you born like that?”
Mulgrave’s glee faded to irritation. “Like what?”
“Your teeth, they’re pointy…it must be a difficult trial. How do you eat soup? Did they call you Ratty at school?” Mulgrave barred his teeth and growled at the irritating young woman. She didn’t wait for a reply. She slipped into the room and closed the door. Her eyes swept from the empty bed around to where John stood with his back to the wall, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Mr Smirke. Where are your clothes?” As he lifted his head she could see her guardian’s face looked almost green. “You look terrible. It’s freezing in here…why haven’t you asked for a fire? Why aren’t you lying down? Who is that ugly man outside?”
“What the blazes are you doing here?”
He didn’t look very grateful for her concern. She hurried to his side and set down her basket. “I received your note. You must be so ill you don’t remember sending for me.”
“Please say you brought Peter, James or Cecil!”
“The note said you wanted to see me alone…”
“How could you be so stupid? James would know I’d never allow you within a hundred yards of this pit. Oh please God don’t let us die at the Dog and Flea. I swear I’ll be good. I’ll take good care of her…”
“You sound very ill…did you fall? Are those fresh bruises on your chest? I brought your ointment…”
The door opened and the man with pointy teeth stepped inside. “At last, all the players in the theatre of love are gathered. Kindly disrobe Miss Lark and throw me your dress.” He closed the door and pulled out his pistol. “You’d best hurry. Mr Smirke doesn’t have the strength to stand there all day.”
Joan’s features contorted with confusion, “Disrobe? What are you talking about?”
“Your dress…take it off and throw it here.”
“Why?”
“Because I insist.”
“If you’re hoping to pawn it, you won’t get more than…”
“Just take off the ugly sack before I lose my temper.”
“Is he mad?”
“He’s a cowardly swine.”
“Why does he want my dress?”
“He probably wants to see if it’ll fit. He’s probably desperate for a black silk.”
“Just undress woman before I shoot your lover.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken Mr…whoever you are. Mr Smirke is my guardian. He’d never compromise me because then he’d end up in Hell forever and he has no intention of going back there, do you Mr Smirke?”
“No.”
The sharp teeth briefly flashed the two captives, “Well that’s a pity, because I’m going to make sure that he does, but first he’s going to suffer a lifetime of your heinous company. Take off the dress.”
“He looks like a rat.”
“He is a rat. At school we called him…”
“Shut up John and tell her to take it off.”
“I can’t take off my dress…it’s freezing in here. I might catch a chill. I might die of fever.”
“In a few minutes you’ll be warming John under the bedclothes. Take it off or I’ll have your chemise as well.”
Joan reluctantly untied her bonnet and removed her shawl, “This is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I fell for that stupid letter. I didn’t even stop to think why you wanted to see me alone…” Mulgrave cocked his pistol, the evil sound speeding up her shaking hands. “Don’t shoot Mr Rat, my hands are freezing. I can’t go any faster. Did your Nurse beat you every time you wanted a hug?” She unbuttoned the front of her gown and pulled it over her head.
“I’m the Earl of Mulgrave; you’ll address me as my Lord.”
“Your name is Dullgrave? I suppose that means you’re another fool who plans to be shoved into some stinking family vault without any flowers?”
“It’s Mulgrave with an M as in Murder.”
“If you murder us you’ll end up in Hell…”
“Shut up woman and give me your dress or I put a lead ball in your guardian.” Joan reluctantly threw her gown on the floor half way to the sneering man and turned to face the wall, her modesty barely covered by her chemise and stays. “What pretty legs. It’s a pity their attached to a shrew. Now for the fun part John; put your arms around the wench or do I have to encourage you with a bullet?”
“Leave my Mr Smirke alone; he’s ill!”
“Of course he’s ill. I punched him in the chest, right where I ran him through with my rapier. I’ll count to ten and if she’s not in your arms, I’ll shoot you. One…” Joan looked up into burning orbs of molten obsidian. “…two…”