by Cari Hislop
“I’m sorry Mr Smirke. I should have asked Cecil to accompany me.”
“…three…”
“I don’t know what I was thinking…I was just so worried about you. Please don’t be angry with me Mr Smirke…sniff.”
“…four…five…six…seven…eight…” John reached out a shaking arm and encouraged the teary-cornflowers to come to rest on his collarbone. He paled as the weight of her head against his chest translated into pain and glared at the man standing near the door. “She looks such a pretty armful. It’s a pity she’s a…what was it you called her this morning in the street John, a maddening thankless chit? Perhaps next time you’ll wait till you’re in private to scream at your dependant, I mean wife.”
“Why is he doing this?”
Joan felt her guardian slowly exhale as both of his warm arms pulled her closer. “He hates me. I wasn’t very kind to him at school.”
“That’s one way of putting it. I want to see you suffer. I want to see you weep like a…” The door crashed open with force, smashing into Mulgrave’s nose and knocking the pistol in his hand into the air.
“It’s cocked!” Feeling sea sick, John impulsively twisted the woman in his arms towards the wall and shielded her with his body. The shot exploded behind him as screams filled the air. John clutched Joan for support as he turned to see who was hurt. Mulgrave was curled up in a ball on the floor holding his bloody nose and screaming unintelligible curses. John sighed in relief and offered silent thanksgivings. He’d live another day.
“Hello little b-brother, we thought you m-might need some help. We’d have arrived sooner, but James t-took us to the Hog and Flea.”
“It was an easy mistake.”
“Never mind, its c-clear our John has everything in hand.” Peter winked at John as Cecil picked up the black dress and started fighting with his brothers over which one would hand it to Joan.
James kneeled down and picked up Mulgrave by the coat collar. “At least I won’t have to break my hand smashing his nose.”
Joan pulled her thoughts from the warm body smelling of lemons and sweat and pointed at the fallen man, “That’s the rat who skewered my Mr Smirke.” The Earl of Mulgrave sobbed with terror as six pairs of black eyes suddenly glared down at him.
“You know what we do to rats?”
“Please don’t hurt me, I’m defenceless.”
“As d-defenceless as an injured right handed man learning he’d have to duel left handed? You chose swords. You knew he couldn’t defend himself; you coward!”
Mulgrave whimpered as he tried to think of a way out of the dilemma, “Don’t hurt me! He challenged me and I’m an only child.” John’s smile faded as he watched Mulgrave beg. John’s amusement evaporated as he felt an odd desire to ask his brothers to spare the rat any more pain. At least Miss Lark was safe. He forgot about Mulgrave and wallowed in the pleasure of feeling her softness pressed against him secured by his arm around her middle.
“We understand John challenged you after you insulted our Mamma. Perhaps you’d like to explain your unkind words to her new husband? Belvedere, do you have any displeasure to impress upon this man?”
“Belvedere?” Mulgrave’s terror suddenly gave way to sobs.
John felt his body jerk with shock as his eyes swivelled to the door. He hadn’t noticed the silent plain man with grey hair hovering just outside the room. He watched as his new stepfather calmly walked over to the group and looked down with distaste. “Your mother would be most displeased to hear what you’ve been up to Mulgrave.”
“No…don’t tell Mother…she’ll cut me off. Have pity!”
“Yes, her nice fat purse will snap shut and you’ll find yourself unable to pay your debts. Perchance your mother proves lenient; I may tell our decrepit virtuous Aunt Mary and her mountain of gold about your sinful activities. She might even decide once and for all to leave her money to me. You’d best leave my wife and her family alone or you’ll be living in a debtor’s cell with numerous injuries and no money for a doctor. If you’re really unlucky you may even die of gangrene. I understand it’s a painful protracted death. Leave the Smirkes and their dependents alone.” The Smirkes looked from the sobbing man covered in blood to the quiet standing man in shock.
“You’re related to this rat?”
“Our mother’s are sisters.”
“I pity any woman who has to c-c-claim that rat as her offspring.” Mulgrave was dropped to the floor and forgotten as the group turned their attention to the couple near the wall. Peter rubbed his hands in satisfaction, “Cosmo, Cecil p-picked up the d-dress; he can hand it to Miss Lark. Let’s g-go find John’s clothes while he proposes a change of situation with his ward. Don’t look at me like that John; the girl’s reputation became mud the m-minute she entered your life. You’d best start cleaning up. George, g-grab Mulgrave by the heels, our John needs some privacy.” Peter winked again at his pink faced brother and herded the family out of the room. “Be careful George, we wouldn’t w-want to injure Mulgrave…”
Let go of my legs. Don’t hurt me…” Mulgrave’s head could be heard bouncing off every uneven floorboard.
“Cosmo, stop p-pummelling Charles and go find Robert.”
Joan listened to the muffled voices fade behind the closed door before looking up, “I don’t want you to offer out of obligation Mr Smirke…that’s so unromantic…”
“Get your dress on.”
“I can’t…not until you let go of me.” John reluctantly released her and watched as she pulled on black silk, straightened her skirts and covered up flawless skin. He didn’t want her to put her dress back on. He wanted to… “Is your chest in much pain? I brought your ointment. I wasn’t sure what you’d need. Are you hungry? I took some biscuits from your room. What’s wrong? Are you mad at me? Oh!” Joan was suddenly pulled back into John’s warmth. “Does this mean you don’t want a biscuit?” She smiled as his black inched closer. “Are you going to kiss me Mr Smirke?”
“Yes.”
“Oh good, I was afraid you’d never…” Five minutes later a knock on the door wrenched John from an intoxicating haze induced by innocent adoring lips.
“We found your c-clothes; you have t-two minutes. George, you’re eighteen, men don’t pick their noses in p-public.”
“That was delicious; can I have another one Mr Smirke?”
“We’re getting married.”
“I thought you said…”
“When you said you’d accept Peter just to vex me I…”
“Lost your composure?”
“I was…”
“Jealous?”
“I can speak for myself woman. I need to make you my wife before I explode.”
“Can we travel to Gretna Green? Being married over an anvil sounds so romantic.”
“I refuse to be jostled and frozen to death to hear a hammer strike an anvil. Besides, if it snows we might as well read the banns and I refuse to read the poxy banns. We’ll ride to Bristol, buy a common license and ride back to Bath. We’ll be married before noon tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t sound very romantic.”
“Never mind romance, I need you as my wife.”
“Romance is the salt of life. Do you promise not to say beastly horrid things?”
“I’ll try; I know I’m not very good at being kind; how the blazes does anyone reach sainthood? It’s cursed hard!”
“Do I get another kiss Saint Smirke or do I have to bribe you?” John’s insides flip-flopped as he bent over to devour her smile.
“Times up!”
“You could have knocked.” John’s red cheeks were highlighted by Joan’s black sleeves wrapped around his neck.
“And wait t-till d-dark while you express your f-finer feelings? Robert…don’t kick your brother, he’s b-bigger than you.”
James smiled at John’s embarrassed growl, “Your clothes…” A bundle was hurled at them from the door. “Miss Lark can assist you. Hurry up; Mamma and Agnes will be worried we�
�re all dead.”
“Mamma’s in Bath?”
“Of course she’s in Bath. Belvedere’s not going to visit us on his own silly.” John couldn’t get his boots on fast enough.
Chapter 10
Lady Jemima stood up as her family tumbled into the room uninjured. “Mamma?” Her relief was overshadowed by shock as a doppelganger of her dead husband rushed to embrace her. Her youngest son had never looked so much like his father. Her heart shuddered as he took her in his arms and held her close. After nearly thirty years the ache was still there. She mentally picked up the feeling and locked it away.
“Jean Sébastien…” Five minutes later he was still clutching her close. She eyed her other sons over John’s shoulder with raised eyebrows, but they shrugged in ignorance.”
“Oh Mamma…you smell like heaven!”
“Un autre miracle; we commenced for England the hour I read James’s lettre saying you were wounded. You look horrible; what happened?”
With his face pressed into her hair, John was too overpowered to speak. Peter Smirke fell into a chair and took out his snuff box, “The Earl of Mulgrave wasn’t satisfied with running our John through the other month. He waylaid John and p-punched him in the chest and then held him p-prisoner. Belvedere made the rat weep like a b-baby.
“I merely threatened to tell his mother of his unorthodox amusements and land him in debtor’s prison.”
“Thank you William; it means a lot to me.” Belvedere winked at his wife and sat down resigned to share her attention.
“My cousin was attempting, for some unfathomable reason, to force a match between your son and Miss Lark. I believe he’s succeeded.”
Joan blushed as she smiled at the room, “Mr Smirke wants to marry me.”
“What he really wants to do is…ugh.” Cecil was silenced by George’s elbow.
“Congratulations Miss Lark, we wish you much happiness. Don’t we b-boys?” Peter’s insistent expression didn’t win even a murmur of agreement. “There’s no need to look g-glum, there’s p-plenty of other young ladies in England. We’ll go to London this next season. Be grateful your Uncle John’s d-daughters are unlikely to be ugly; you may have to marry one. John, if you’re going to hold Mamma all night, let her sit down. She must be half shaken to death from travelling.”
***
The pain in John’s chest was almost forgotten as the afternoon and early evening were swallowed up in exchanging stories and strenuous efforts at being courteous to the man being discreetly familiar with his mother’s person. John kept catching Belvedere’s wary eye and looking away. His mother’s happiness couldn’t ease the hurt; he’d never be able to impulsively visit and demand her attention ever again. He’d have to compete with this man and his brats. The only thing that saved John from becoming maudlin, was watching Joan and wondering how many minutes before he’d get to kiss her again and how many days it would take him to feel well enough to ride a horse. Just the thought of mounting made him blanch, but waiting three weeks to marry the wench was even more disagreeable. He’d made up his mind; the internal pressure created by not knowing, having or doing was agony. Waiting was for masochists. He’d marry Joan and his aching chest be damned. A strange thought danced through his brain, ‘waiting heightens pleasure.’ He shook his head and flung the unpleasant thought into a dusty corner of his brain. He wanted his cake now and he didn’t want a mouth ulcer getting in the way of eating it.
At eleven o’clock that evening John sat onto his bed in solitude pleasantly feeling sorry for himself, but his peaceful suffering was short lived. Rubbing ointment over his hairless chest; he was day dreaming of Joan’s small hands assisting him when his door burst open and a noisy flock of nephews flew in and dropped their trunks and bags.
“This is my bedchamber not a communal wardrobe.”
“Papa says we’re sleeping in here.”
“What’s wrong with your room?”
“Nana and Belvedere need it. Have you noticed Uncle John, how married people always receive preferential treatment? It’s hard being a single man.”
“You’re nineteen Cecil and hardly acquainted with hardship.”
“Who died and made you an expert on suffering?”
“I did, now pack yourselves off to the basement. You can use Wood’s old room. He’s sleeping in a permanent bed of frozen dirt.”
Robert Smirke sat on the bed and studied his Uncle’s chest wound, “Papa doesn’t approve of Agnes’s servants quarters. He says there are no barriers safeguarding the maids.”
“I’ll sleep in the basement.” Sixteen year old Cosmo leered as he mentally lined up the maids, “I’d be quite happy to sleep a few doors down from the lovely Anna. She can come change my bed linen any dark hour she chooses.”
Cecil rolled his eyes in disgust, “In your erotic dreams boy; I get the basement room and you’ll get to listen to Uncle John snore.”
“That’s not faire!” George Smirke put his hands on his hips, “I’m eighteen and just as much a man as you. I insist we flip a coin.”
“You’re all boys. You won’t be men for years, now stop making a racket. I’m trying to get ready to sleep.”
“Papa says I’m a man.”
“Me too!”
“Yeah and me…”
“I don’t care what your Papa says, he’s clearly mad for putting up with you lot day after day. I’ve told him a thousand times he’s should pack you off to school.”
Cecil punched his blushing younger brother George in the shoulder, “Papa says we’re too pretty for public school…he says we can be educated at home without being starved, beaten or molested by sadists, besides Papa would be lonely without us.”
Peter Smirke stuck his head into the room and was soon followed by his body. “The servants are b-bringing t-trundles and bedding…”
“Uncle John wants us to sleep in the basement…”
Peter gave his brother a disapproving look, “You’re not sleeping near pox infested maids until you’re old enough to understand what the pox is. You’ll sleep in here end of discussion.”
“I know what the pox is; it’s the common name for syphilis, a French disease transmitted through the process of generation…”
“Yes, thank you Cosmo, and you’re still not sleeping in the b-basement.”
Cecil’s eyes filled with curiosity, “Have you had the pox Uncle John? Aunt Agnes says you’ve bedded half the whores in England.”
John blushed under the scrutiny of six pairs of eyes, “Agnes should mind her own business. I’m in no mood to confess my sins or diseases.”
“Do you have any bastards?”
“What is this, the Smirke inquisition? Leave me alone!”
“I’ll wager anyone five pounds…ugh.” Cecil was silenced by his father’s elbow.
“I intend to marry Miss Lark some time next week. I need peace and quiet to recover my health. That means you will all have to sleep somewhere else.”
“Why don’t you sleep in the b-basement John?”
“I’m not sleeping in a bed lately used as a corpse display for a vile dead man.”
“James’s study has a sofa just your size.”
“Fine. I’ll kindly leave my comfortable bed for a wretched sofa, but if I return in the morning to find my soap covered with hair or my biscuits stuffed down your throats…” John belatedly remembered he couldn’t take revenge. “…just leave my soap and biscuits alone.” He threw on his dressing gown, grabbed his pillows and stomped out of the room as his nephews helped themselves to the unexpected late night feast.