by Cari Hislop
John noted Joan’s sharp intake of breath, “I wish to speak with my ward in private.” Looking up at his elder brother’s unhappy black eyes he felt fifteen again and receiving his weekly admonition to try much harder to be a good man. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Make the ugly man go away Peter, I don’t wish to speak to him.”
“You’ll speak to me and you’ll be polite.”
“Joan’s had a long d-day. She needs to rest.”
“I’m her guardian; I’ll decide what she needs.”
“John, it would b-be prudent to wait t-till morning. Misunderstandings are rarely unravelled by the light of blazing anger.”
“Do you think so? Well I don’t. Out! And take the maids with you.” Peter sighed loudly and then motioned the maids to follow him. John relaxed as the door closed on the world and filled his lungs with air. Marching over to her chair near the fire he pulled his hands out of his pockets and put them on his hips, “I will not tolerate being referred to as ‘the ugly man’. It’s rude and blatantly untrue.”
“You’re hideous on the inside…that’s worse than being ugly on the outside.”
“Stand up!”
“Why, so you can beat me without having to bend over?”
“I’m not going to beat you woman, but if you keep mentioning it you may convince me you secretly wish to feel my hand on your backside. Stand up, or I’ll get a crick in my neck talking down at you. I have enough aching parts for two men.”
“Good! I have a crick in my heart.”
John rolled his eyes and tried again, “Stand up and I’ll rub your sore hips.”
“No, I’d be tempted to forgive you and end up back into your fiendish clutches.”
“You’ll be suffering my clutches daily as soon as we’re married; you’d be wise to get used to them.”
“I can’t marry you; you don’t love me…”
“What does love have to do with anything? If you want a fairytale buy a book. We desire each other; that’s more than most of my peers feel for their arranged wives. It’ll be enough.”
“Well I no longer desire to marry you. I thought you loved me. I must be the biggest fool ever born.” Joan covered her face with her arms and sobbed into her sleeves, “I love a pretty painting on a mouldy canvas…I’ll die an old maid.”
An unbearable ache glutted John’s chest with each sob. He knelt next to her chair and lightly touched her hair, “Don’t cry, you know it makes me feel like a worm. Please stand up and let me hold you. Please?”
Joan shook her head, “You don’t love me!”
“What does it matter? I want to hold you and kiss away your tears.”
“I don’t want your loveless kisses.”
“Rubbish, you love my kisses.”
“I’m tired, go away.”
The unbearable ache spread to John’s stomach. “Very well Madame, but don’t sit up all night crying, we’re leaving for London first light. Don’t shake your head at me; I’m in no mood for insolence.”
“Go away, you horrid ugly man!”
“If you dare refer to me in that insulting pert manner again…” His threat was rewarded with a display of pink tongue. “For once…do as you’re told!” Shaking with fury and hurt feelings, John hobbled downstairs and reluctantly stepped into the cold empty study. Furious that he’d have to spend another night alone, he slammed the door and glared at the sofa already prepared for another awkward night’s sleep. A clean nightshirt was laid out with a pair of woollen socks on top of his dressing gown.
He was supposed to be a husband untying feminine laces to the sound of nervous giggles, not a bachelor who hadn’t had one measly kiss in over an hour. Falling onto his uncomfortable temporary bed he pressed his angry tears into the provided pillow.
“John Sebastian, you are a fumbling blockhead with the romantic skill of a slug. All you had to do was marry the girl.” Erie tingles raced over John’s scalp and down his spine; the door was locked from the inside. He slowly raised his head to find a beautiful slender man with long curly brown hair leaning against the mantelpiece dressed in clothes a hundred and thirty years out of date.
“Who the devil are you?”
“I’m your Probationary Agent. Unless you find your heart I’m going to lose my job and you’re going to end up back in hell. It’s not all bad news; I’ll get to see my wife before being reassigned to another heartless idiot. I might even convince her to come dancing.”
Clutching his pillow, John shook with fear as he realised the stranger happily twirling in front of the fire wasn’t solid. Death grinned, revealing sharp crooked teeth. “I’m being good!”
“Less bad does not equal good.”
“I’ll do better, I’ll be really good.”
“How?”
“I’ll marry Miss Lark. I’ll become a Saint.”
“I hope that isn’t your idea of wit.”
“I’m trying to be good, but everyone is conspiring against me. They make me horrid.”
“Are you a dumb cog and wheel driven by another hand?”
“It’s not my fault I get angry.”
“Of course it’s your fault, and if she marries your brother that’ll be your fault as well. John pulled his pillow back over his face and choked in between sobs, “She can’t marry Peter; she doesn’t like tall, dark, handsome men.”
“Women are fickle creatures and Miss Lark does not have to marry you.”
“I’ll take good care of her.”
“She’s your legal dependant; you have to take good care of her.”
“She loves me.”
“Not for long.”
“Don’t say that! She loves me. She’s just angry that I don’t like ugly women and if she knew how much it hurt she wouldn’t rebuff my kisses.”
“Ah yes, the pains of love blossoming like a thorny briar.”
“I’m not in love.”
“Why else would it hurt?
“How should I know? I refuse to discuss my feelings with a dead man.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Do you want to marry Joan or endure solitary boredom until you die and then end up back in hell?”
“I want Joan. I need her so bad I can’t think of anything else…”
“Everyone knows that; how does she make you feel?”
“She makes me feel like a fool. When she touches me I can’t think straight. I say stupid things and then she misunderstands me and ignores me and makes me mad. It’s not my fault ugly people make me feel uncomfortable.”
“Perhaps not, but what has that to do with Joan?”
“Nothing, she’s being an idiot.”
“I think she’s being intelligent. I wouldn’t want you as a son-in-law.”
“She’s going to marry me and we’re going to be happy. I don’t care what a poncy dead man thinks.” The loud angry words were followed by a sharp knock on the door.
“John? I have a t-tray for you.” Peter knocked again.
“I’m not hungry!”
“You need to eat. Let me in.”
“Leave it outside.”
“I’ve t-talked with Joan; she says…d-do I have to talk to you about your ward’s finer feelings through a door?”
John jumped up and ran to open the door, his heart bursting with hope. “Has she come to her senses? Has she asked for me?” Peter entered and crossed the room to put the tray on the desk. John shut the door and turned back to find himself alone with his brother. He sighed in relief as his stomach rumbled with hunger. “Well? What did she say?”
“She says she won’t be hasty in d-deciding not to marry you. I think it’s promising. She may even wake up and forget this evening ever happened. She said…” John stopped and clutched the back of a chair as the room started to spin. He could barely breathe; could his Joan decide not to love him? Blackness suffocated the firelight as John lost consciousness.
Chapter 13
Joan listened to John’s retreating footsteps and wondered how many m
inutes would pass before the horrid man stormed back up the stairs and demanded a kiss. Surely the wicked man wasn’t going to slink away without even trying to snatch a kiss before bed? A gentle knock on the door pulled her to her feet. “Enter.” She pulled her robe more tightly closed and held her breath. It was best if she was already on her feet, then she wouldn’t have to pretend she didn’t want to get up. He could easily take her in his arms and… “Lady Jemima?”
A maid set down the tray, curtseyed and hurried out leaving her alone with Mr Smirke’s mother. “I’ve always wanted a daughter. You must call me Mamma whether or not you marry mon petit mal fils.” Joan rushed forward into the older woman’s open arms and burst into tears. “I will not let Jean Sébastien drag you to the altar against your will. I’m afraid it’s my fault he’s so bad. I think I love him too much.”
“I thought he loved me.”
“C’est vrai…he does, but Jean’s heartstrings are so entangled with his physical senses he can not tell them apart. I agree he was horrid this evening, but he’s so susceptible to disappointment and he had his heart making you his wife today. I was quite pleased to hear he didn’t kill the Bishop…”
“What if I can’t have children? What if I become a cripple? What if I get smallpox and lose my looks? Is he going to hate me? I don’t want him to stop loving me. He’s so wonderful…when he’s not being horrid.”
“He does not deserve you Chéri, but I hope you will marry him all the same.
“I want to marry him, I love him.”
“I know Chéri.”
“I should go apologise for calling him ugly. He might not be able to sleep…”
“Non! Eat then go to bed. Start over in the morning.” A brisk knock on the door made Joan’s heart race, but it was the wrong Smirke. Peter joined the two women near the fire and smiled at his mother.
“I’m going to take John a t-tray. Are there any messages I could g-give our gallant that might cheer him up?”
Joan wiped the remains of tears on her sleeve, “Tell Mr Smirke that I won’t be hasty in deciding not to marry him and tell him…tell him I don’t think he’s ugly when he’s not horrid.”
“That should cheer up our p-pretty Don Juan.” Peter hurried from the room before Joan could change her mind.
“Eat your supper, get some rest and don’t worry about Jean. J’espère mon petite Jean will realise that the feelings in his chest are more important than the feelings in his breeches. Try to sleep.” Joan accepted a motherly kiss on her forehead and was soon alone again.
Sawing her way through a plate of cold ham and potatoes Joan wondered how many minutes would pass before Mr Smirke would knock at her door. Surely on hearing she didn’t think him ugly he’d come running to demand one last kiss of the day? He’d looked hurt and unhappy at being sent away without one, almost as if she’d broken his heart. Footsteps rushed past her door. She jumped to her feet on hearing a swift knock, but it was only a weary maid with a warming pan for the bed. Alone again Joan chewed her nails and waited as more footsteps rushed past her door without stopping. A high pitched wailing echoed distantly from somewhere in the house; the twins were probably being punished for putting blackcurrant preserves into keyholes again. Did she dare go and see if her wicked guardian was awake? She looked at the door and decided it was warmer to remain in front of the fire and wait for the man to appear.
***
John was insensible to the sound of his head hitting the marble floor, but the noisy chatter in the room dragged open his eyes. He jumped to his feet and wondered how so many strangers had come into the study in so short a time. The irritating Probationary Agent was by the fire flirting with a pretty blonde woman in a hideous blue dress. He didn’t stop to ask for an introduction, the ache in his chest pulled him from the room and back upstairs. He needed Joan. The door handle seemed to evade his grasp. In frustration he kicked the door and found himself falling into the room through the door. There she was, hunched over in front of the fire looking miserable, chewing on her nails. “Joan?” She didn’t respond. “Joan Lark, I will not endure being ignored by a dependant!” She looked up at the clock and wiped another tear from red eyes with a sigh. “Joan?” He bent over and kissed her eyes and then her lips, but there was no response, no warmth. “Joan, look at me.”
“She can’t see you John Sebastian.”
John shivered as he recognised the voice. “Papa?”
“Get back to your body.” John looked down at his shaking transparent hands and shrieked. He turned and jumped through the wall and flew back downstairs and into the crowded study. He rushed through various crying family members, but stopped short in horror. The pale limp corpse in his mother’s arms was repulsive.
“Hurry John Sebastian, your mother’s heart is breaking.”
“Papa, that can’t be me! I can’t wear that. It’s ugly!”
“Your soul is ugly. Now get back into your body and be a better man or you’ll look like that forever.”
John took a deep breath and cringed as he gingerly stepped into the hideous skin. Sucking in a painful breath, his abrupt screams silenced the room. Opening his eyes he could still see his father standing nearby smiling. “Papa?”
“Stay in your body or you’ll lose Joan.”
“Joan?” His family ignored his dry mutter as his step-father calmly directed various family members to fetch a doctor and other previously unneeded supplies. He was pried from his mother’s arms and moved to the sofa. “Joan, I need Joan. Please tell Joan I need to see her.”
“Shhh, you need to rest Jean Sébastien. Joan is sleeping. There’s no need to alarm the child.”
“She’s not sleeping! She’s sitting in front of the fire chewing her nails. I’ve told her countless times not to chew her nails. She never listens to me.” His family looked at each other and just shook their heads. John was obviously concussed. “Please bring me Joan Mamma. I won’t be horrid. I just need to see her. I need to tell her…”
“You can see Joan in the morning.”
“I need Joan.”
“You need to rest, you’ve been…malade.”
“I wasn’t sick, I was dead. How can you love me? I’m so ugly! I don’t want to be ugly Mamma…” The Smirke family looked at each other with wide worried expressions and quietly shuffled from the room leaving the sobbing man to the administrations of his mother.
Chapter 14
Robert Smirke jumped out of his chair and waved his arms, “Joan, come sit by me.”
