Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero

by Cari Hislop

  Twenty minutes later John sighed in relief as he sat down on his make-shift bed. The cold stillness of the room was broken by angular shadows jumping from the fire like angry ghosts. Cecil’s uncomfortable questions had dredged up unpleasant memories of hell and a long list of unhappy dead who might haunt him. As he listened, the floorboards creaked from unseen footsteps and the wind moaned against the windows. The hair was standing up on the back of his neck when a knock on the door made him jump, “Go away!” The door opened and closed ignoring his command.

  His brother Peter loomed over him, his black dressing gown making him look like some sort of hell’s angel. “I’ve brought you a few necessaries. One plate of b-biscuits, one pair of woollen socks, and a clean chamber pot; essential equipment needed to pass the night in a study.” Peter sat down beside him and handed him the socks. “I’m sorry Cecil was so p-probing. You know his tongue flaps before his b-brain thinks and he has a knack of asking questions one would love to ask…”

  “You’re a good father.”

  “I try.”

  “I fathered three daughters. Two died in infancy. The last one died at five from some childhood illness. Her mother begged me to take the brat because she couldn’t afford to pay the doctor. I told her I didn’t care. The child was abandoned with strangers and died from neglect. I could have saved her, but I didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you bring her to me? I’d have adopted her.”

  “I couldn’t be bothered. You don’t have to give me that look; I know I was a selfish bastard. If I could do it over I’d claim the brat. I’m trying to be good Peter, but it’s cursed hard. Why didn’t I listen to your annoying endless lectures? How do I learn to be good? How do I learn how to love people when I don’t even know what love is?”

  “Love is many different things. I loved Katie. The first time I heard her say ‘Good Morning my Lord’ from the next p-pillow made my heart ache with happiness. The look in her eyes when I insisted that I was her servant, made me feel like a King. I love my boys. I would d-die for them. I love Mamma. When Katie became ill Mamma sent me her own housekeeper. You know how fussy Katie was about the house being just so… Mrs Pots convinced Katie not to worry about the b-boys being fed and washed or the house being d-dusted properly. I love Mrs Pots because she helped make Katie’s last few years p-peaceful. I loved Papa. When I t-told him the b-boys at school laughed at my stammer and one larger boy p-pummelled me weekly he said I didn’t have to go back if I didn’t want to. He said, ‘Sometimes even the b-bravest army has to retreat.’ I went back because I didn’t have to and I loved him for allowing me to choose. I love my brothers. You accept me as I am.” Peter stood up and affectionately ruffled John’s hair. “Don’t forget to put the socks on; it’s going to be a c-cold night.”

  “Yes Papa!”

  Peter only laughed at the sarcastic words, “My favourite title…sweet dreams little brother.” John listened to the door shut and then hurriedly pulled the socks onto his cold feet and curled up under the pile of blankets feeling strangely warm on the inside and fell into pleasurable dreams of making children with his bride to be.

  As late morning sun peeked through the curtains John tried to move in his sleep, but couldn’t. Heart pounding, his eyes flipped open in fear, “What the blazes are you doing?”

  Smiling cornflowers leaned closer to inspect his features. “I’m sketching you…there’s no rule against sitting with one’s guardian in the study.”

  “There is when he’s sleeping in the study.”

  “Why are you upset? You’re perfectly safe. I wouldn’t sit on you or poke you in the eye, but I did kiss you. Your lips are so soft. You looked so beautiful asleep I had to make a sketch. Have you ever seen such beauty?” Joan held up a pencil sketch of John smiling in his sleep, his right hand tucked under his cheek. “I won’t ask you about your pleasant dreams, but you kept moaning my name…”

  “You’re not supposed to be in here listening to me sleep. Go before I do something wicked.”

  “Are you always grumpy in the morning? I wake up happy…can I have a kiss?” Joan dropped her sketchbook on the floor and flung her pencil over her shoulder and leaned towards him.

  “Didn’t they teach you how to be a lady at that poxy school?”

  “Just one kiss?”

  “I haven’t cleaned my teeth.”

  “Neither have I.”

  John leaned back and tried to evade the approaching lips. “I order you not to kiss me while I’m déshabillé until we’re married or I might…hmmm.” Good intentions were abandoned as John whimpered in defeat and forgot everything but the pleasurable sensations caused by the hand in his hair and two exploring lips.

  “Jean Sébastien Smirke, what are you doing?” Joan bounced upright exposing John’s parted red lips to the view of his mother’s black eyes. “You are not to fumble Joan; fiancé or no.”

  “I didn’t!” Outrage was tinged with disappointment that he hadn’t had a few more minutes.

  “Go eat ma chère.”

  “Yes my Lady.” Joan obediently jumped up and ran from the room giggling.

  Lady Jemima calmly bent over to pick up the fallen sketchbook. “Un splendide portrait, she loves you non…”

  “So she says.”

  “Do not sneer Jean Sébastien at her heart. Do you love her?”

  “I want her.”

  “Évidemment. Do you love her?”

  “You know I don’t like morning interrogations.”

  “Pierre thinks you’re in love with the girl.”

  “Does he?” Smirke pulled his bedding up over his pounding heart.

  “He’s not alone.” John’s answer was a scowl as he lightly rubbed his chest. “What is this about you dying? Agnes thinks your brain has been damaged.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my brain. Look at this wound.” John threw off his bedding, stood up and held his nightshirt open. “The blade went all the way through the other side. I died Mamma and saw my life. I felt all the pain, fear and heartache I’ve caused. I felt your disappointment in me. It was unspeakably awful and I don’t want to go back there; it was…it was hell. I have to be good and kind, even if I feel like I’m going to die of boredom. It’s blasted hard!” John’s shoulders relaxed as he took her loving outstretched hand and pulled it to his lips. Don’t’ be angry with me Mamma. I told Miss Lark not to kiss me, but she never listens…”

  A polite knock on the door was followed by Peter Smirke’s head, “Good morning Mamma; John, your b-bath is waiting. You may want to hurry b-before my boys eat everything in the house.”

  An hour later John ignored the fact he was in pain and entered the breakfast room feeling resplendent in a new red wool jacket and blue trousers; a red ribbon tying back his clean hair. If he was to travel in a week he needed hourly kisses, rest and food in that order. The only empty chair at the table was next to Joan. He carefully lowered himself onto the seat and eyed her welcoming smile with uncertainty. There was no telling what she might say. “Good morning Mr Smirke. We were just going to wager how long you’d be. You smell lovely…sniff…lemon drops and violets, delicious.”

  “I’m hardly going to appear at table smelling like a pig; someone pass me the toast.”

  Cosmo looked up from his half eaten piece of bread, “This is the last one.” The sixteen year old continued to chew with relish, glad he hadn’t stopped to wash behind his ears.

  “Someone tell the kitchen I want some toast.” It was an insolent command.

  Agnes looked up from across the table, “I thought John the despot died in a duel?”

  James glanced at his beautiful wife, “Agnes love, don’t tease our John. You know he’s not well.”

  “Here, have my toast.” John sneered at Joan’s nibbled piece of bread.

  Agnes’s eyes gleamed as she wiped her mouth, “Why don’t you have some eggs John?”

  “You know I hate eggs.”

  “Perhaps you’d like some porridge? Cook usually boil
s enough for a few street urchins, but you’re free to eat as much…”

  “You know I hate porridge. I’d have eaten my biscuits if a lot of greedy pigs hadn’t devoured them in the night.” His nephews all laughed unrepentant.

  “Have my toast Mr Smirke, I’ve had four pieces.”

  John took the sad looking object as if it were his due. “Someone pass me the butter.”

  Peter Smirke leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full stomach, “Robert just used the last portion on his eggs; aren’t you going to thank Miss Lark for giving up her breakfast? She’s going to think Mamma didn’t teach you any manners.”

  John glared at his brother as he chewed dry bread. “I’m not in the mood to have my faults enlightened at the breakfast table.”

  “I daresay; you should be in bed resting. You look ill. If you were my son…”

  “I’m not your son! I’m thirty-three years old and I’ll do as I please.”

  “Non. Tu est mon fils and if you do not rest Jean Sébastien, I will lock you in your room for three weeks while the banns are read. Comprends?”

  “I can’t wait three poxy weeks to read the poxy banns.”

  Joan smiled at her scowling guardian, “We’re going to ride to Bristol and purchase a common license from the Bishop.” John’s felt a burning heat scorch his cheeks as his nephews whispered to each other in between snorts of laughter. Before he could blister his nephew’s ears his mother disrupted his vengeful thoughts.

  “Un moment de plaisir will not be worth the dying.”

  Discussing his carnal needs with his mother over the breakfast table in front of the desired wench and a smirking audience was a little too hellish for Smirke’s taste. He clenched his teeth and swallowed a sharp rebuke. “It’s only fifteen miles to Bristol Mamma. If we leave first light we’ll be home in good time to marry by noon.” John glared at his nephews as they laughed out loud before devolving into a chorus of rude noises.

  “I’ll wager anyone my boots that Uncle John will be home long before the clock strikes ten.” Cecil ignored his father’s unhappy look and resumed eating.

  “Jean Sébastien, Bishop Mansel travels; what if he’s en voyage? What if your purse is stolen and you don’t have ten shillings to buy the license? What will you do?”

  “We’ll come home. Stop being so creative Mamma; it’s making my stomach ache. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  “What if it snows? What if your horse breaks a leg?”

  “My horse is not going to break a leg and if it snows we’ll get a room at an Inn.”

  “You’ll need two rooms; what if there aren’t any rooms?”

  “We’ll appeal to Aunt Mary; Miss Lark is not going to sleep in a hay stack.”

  “You can not call on Aunt Mary. She would not feed you if you were dying of hunger. You maltreated her daughter, remember?”

  “That was ten years ago Mamma. Cousin Annabelle is now a fat Squire’s dame.”

  “You stole her daughter to force a match and then changed your mind after…after being an innommiable vilain. Lady Mary hates you like some people hate le diable.”

  “I’m sorry Mamma. I was cursed lonely that month and…”

  “Loneliness is an excuse riducle for being a vilain!”

  “You weren’t in love with her?” John’s scowl didn’t perturb Miss Lark’s relieved smile.

  “Jean Sébastien, you can not ride into the morning mist unprepared when you’re responsible for a woman’s well being.”

  “Mr Smirke will take good care of me.”

  “Jean Sébastien, you should stay in Bath and have the banns read. Waiting three or four weeks won’t kill you like a hungry highwayman, fever or a broken neck.”

  “I’m thirty-three years old Mamma. I’ve travelled England and the Continent without ending up with a bullet in my head. And I’ve never been unable to find an Inn that had fire, food and bed.”

  “Be sensible mon cher; you are in no fit state voyager.”

  “I’m not decrepit, I’m merely…never mind my blasted health, I’ve made up my mind.” John started cracking the knuckles on his left hand. “I’m going to marry by common license or die trying.”

  “Then ride your carriage and use outriders. Agnes will lend a maid for Joan…”

  “And get bogged down in the freak snowstorms you so kindly predict? No!”

  “Three weeks is hardly any time at all.”

  “I’m not waiting three weeks. What are you doing? Stop that!” Joan continued gently brushing bread crumbs off his new blue and gold striped silk waistcoat as the table watched in amusement.

  “You’re so lovely Mr Smirke; my own living work of art.” John forgot his irritation and fell into adoring cornflower eyes. He could hear his heart beating and feel the warmth of her knee pressed against his leg. A new kind of pleasure surged through his veins making him dizzy. John’s rare lopsided grin caused a round of applause and ear splitting wolf whistles. Rudely returned to reality, John glared at his family and stuffed his mouth with cold bread to keep from swearing as his right hand, resting on his knee, willingly greeted feminine fingers.

  “If you can not wait, you must take Jacque, Pierre et les fils with you. There’s safety in numbers.”

  Toast stuck in John’s throat as he contemplated endless hours of husbandly advice from his brothers and Cecil’s embarrassing questions all the way to Bristol and back.

  He tightened his hold on Joan’s hand as she leaned towards him. “No! I refuse to spend a whole morning listening to Peter’s brats snorting their amusement at my perfectly normal desire to wed.”

  “My sons will be perfect gentlemen. We’d love to accompany you John, wouldn’t we boys?”

  Robert wiped his nose on his sleeve, “I’d rather see a cockfight.”

  “Men d-don’t wipe their noses on their sleeve Robert and when your family needs your assistance you d-don’t vocalise a preferred activity. That is rude.”

  “Yes Papa.”

  “We’ll be happy to ride all day, won’t we b-boys!”

  Cecil took no notice of his father’s insistent tone, “I hate riding all day; it gives me saddle sores. I always spend the following week walking around like I’ve had an enema. I’d rather wait three weeks than spend my wedding night with blisters on my…ouch…watch where you swing your foot Auntie, that was my ankle.”

  “Was it? I thought it was a table leg.” Agnes continued sipping her chocolate with unrepentant calm.

  “That is exactly why I’m taking Miss Lark and leaving the rest of you behind. I refuse to put up with Cecil’s rude ramblings all day.”

  “It’s not my fault you’re overly sensitive.”

  “I am not overly sensitive!”

  James snorted in amusement, “Peter, do you remember the first time Mamma let John accompany us to the local assembly room? He took so long getting ready that by the time we arrived all the pretty girls had filled their dance cards and when Mamma firmly insisted he ask one of the less attractive young ladies to dance he burst into tears and hid behind a curtain until after everyone had gone home.”

  “I was fourteen.”