by Cari Hislop
“You don’t want to sit next to a drooling infant.” Cecil picked a piece of toast out of his teeth. “Come sit by me Joan; I’ll tell you what happened.”
“It’s not faire Papa. She always sits by Cecil if Uncle John’s not around.”
“That’s because I’m a man and you’re a snotty infant.”
Joan blushed with pleasure at being wanted and paused to examine the possibilities; every male Smirke in Bath was sitting at the breakfast table except the one she wanted. The temptation to sneak off and kiss her sleeping guardian was hindered by Lady Jemima’s strict orders not to enter the study until after John was dressed. Joan impulsively walked around the table and sat next to the quiet seventeen year old Charles Smirke who beamed his appreciation at being chosen over his older siblings. “Did you sleep well Miss Joan?”
Cosmo leaned over his plate, “Of course she slept well you idiot; she spent all day yesterday on horse back listening to Uncle John moan about ugly women. A day of Uncle John’s company would tire a saint.”
“Cosmo, apologise to your b-brother. He was b-being polite, an attribute you should emulate.”
“It was a stupid question Papa.”
“Cosmo.”
“Charles, I apologise for calling you an idiot.”
Cecil leaned back in his chair and patted his bulging stomach, “Hopefully Uncle John’s still in the land of the living this morning or Joan will find herself the property of George Smirke; heaven help her.”
George blushed and punched his brother in the arm, “Joan would be perfectly safe in my care.”
“Not after you fell in love with her and she refused to forget your wicked uncle. I think you might be tempted to do something…unseemly.”
“Shut up Cecil, before I do something unseemly to your pretty face.”
“George, men do not p-practice fisticuffs at t-table. Robert, don’t eat so fast or you’ll be exploring heaven before luncheon.”
Cosmo waved his napkin, “Who here thinks Uncle John died last night?” Joan gagged on her first bite of toast as the awful words paralysed her muscles. “He looked dead to me. Nana certainly thought he was a goner.”
“Papa, she’s choking!” Joan didn’t see the large man jump out of his chair, but she felt the heavy blow to her back. She sucked in air as a small piece of toast flew across the table.
“Mr Smirke is dead? And I wouldn’t kiss him goodnight?” Joan’s lips trembled as her eyes filled with tears.
James Smirke looked up from his eggs, “Don’t fret child, John has more lives than Napoleon. He’s as dead as…Bonaparte.”
“Napoleon is dead.” Joan turned towards Cecil her head spinning in confusion.
“You’re an idiot Cecil. Napoleon isn’t dead, he’s on Elba.”
“Same thing!”
“Cosmo, Cecil is not an idiot. You’ll apologise to your b-brother.”
“For pity sake, is my Mr Smirke is dead or alive?”
“If you can touch me I’m still alive.”
“Mr Smirke?” The whole table turned to watch the scowling man shuffle from the doorway to a chair and wince in pain as he slowly sat down. “Cosmo says you died again.”
“I did. Someone pass me the toast before Robert shoves it all down his gullet.”
“You could say p-please.”
“Please pass me the blasted toast Peter before I die of hunger.”
Joan sniffed away her tears and smiled into black marble eyes devouring her across the expanse. “I’m glad you’re not dead Mr Smirke.” John’s scowl softened, his stare intensifying. “What happened?”
“I fell over and hit my head.”
“What was it like?”
“It hurt.”
“No, what was it like being dead?” The table fell silent as all leaned forward to listen.
“It was unpleasant.” John finished buttering his toast and took a large bite and slowly chewed while he watched his family stare in fervid expectation.
Cecil came to the rescue, “Well? Do you remember anything about it?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you going to tell us?”
“No.”
Cecil bunched up his napkin and threw it at his uncle’s head. “You’re worse than a novel with the last page torn out.”
“Cecil. Gentlemen d-do not throw napkins.” Cecil ignored his father and laughed as the offending cloth came hurtling back in his direction.
“I have a splitting headache, an aching chest and a stiff rump. I do not wish to think about being dead or alive. Leave me alone!”
“If you’d stayed home and read the banns…”
“Don’t make me angry Cecil; I don’t want to end up back in hell.”
“Ah the truth, Hell was too hellish for our wicked uncle.”
Joan scowled at Cecil as her guardian covered his face with his sleeve, “Leave my Mr Smirke alone!” Cecil merely winked at her and poured himself another cup of chocolate with a satisfied smile. Joan’s insides melted as John uncovered his face revealing sad wet black eyes. She impulsively stood up.
“Where are you going?” She bristled at John’s abrupt despotic tone and sat back down as seven healthy Smirkes shook their heads in despair.
“If you’re going to be horrid I won’t sit next to you.”
“I merely asked you where you were going. How is that horrid?”
“You posed the question like a horrid bully slave owner.”
“How was I supposed to know you were standing up to sit next to me? Forgive me Madame for being upset at the thought of losing your company; you’re the only reason I left my bed.” The table was silent as eight pairs of black eyes watched Joan’s face contort with emotion. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings last night. I was…”
“An idiot?”
“I don’t know how you can stand to look at me. I’m so…”
“Beautiful?” Black marble eyes beamed sincere appreciation across the table.
“I’m hideous; please say you’ll still marry me.” Joan blushed as her heart studied pleading black eyes. If she refused him she’d suffer a broken heart and life long misery. If she married him she’d have kisses, laughter and adventures in between numerous horrid moments. It wasn’t a difficult choice. Seeing John’s lips tremble at her long silence she picked up her plate and traversed the circular gauntlet of smiling Smirkes to the empty chair next to her guardian. “May we leave for London as soon as we’re ready? Is that agreeable Miss Lark?”
“I would find that most agreeable Mr Smirke.”
Peter Smirke sipped his chocolate to hide his grin, “I’m afraid neither of you will b-be travelling today.” John’s lopsided grin faded into a doubtful scowl. “Mamma and Belvedere are out b-buying you a wedding gift. She made me promise you’d b-be here when she g-got back.”
John thumped the table with his fist, “You can’t keep us here!”
“Mamma gave us p-permission to tie you to the sofa if necessary.”
“I don’t want a blasted wedding gift.”
“Mamma gives excellent wedding gifts. Katie and I received a Sèvres tea service that made the countryside d-drool with envy. People would call at all hours of the d-day and night for tea. We had to hide away in our chamber and p-pretend we were ill.”
“Hey Cecil, you were conceived in between cups of tea. That must be why you’re always the first to the nosebag.”
“You keep laughing Cosmo. You were conceived in-between bouts of wind. That’s why you stink like a…”
“Enough. This is a t-table, not a stable.”
“When I married Agnes, Mamma gave us two porcelain parrot candlesticks. Agnes hates them, but they make her laugh because they remind her of…well something amusing. Peter, if the boys are finished eating I believe John needs a word with his ward in private.”
“I’m not finished, I’m still hungry.”
“You’re always hungry Robert. Out!”
“When I fall in love I get to be the one left with
all the food.”
“When you f-fall in love Robert you won’t want to eat.”
“Love doesn’t seem to have stunted Uncle John’s appetite.”
“Out; Cosmo, stop punching Charles, you’re hurting his f-feelings…how many times…have to t-tell…hates violence?” The door closed leaving a peaceful vacuum. Joan pulled her chair closer to her companion and absently smoothed his waistcoat, “I forbid you to die ever again Mr Smirke, especially if you haven’t kissed me goodnight.”
“You sent me away; you didn’t want my kisses.”
“Yes I did. I waited up for my wicked guardian, but you didn’t come back.”
“I did come.” John slid his bad arm along the back of his companion’s chair, his throbbing heart compelling him closer to small hands fiddling with his cravat.
“Liar!”
“Don’t choke me, I’m not lying. When I fainted and hit my head I jumped up and ran upstairs to your room. I called your name, but you kept chewing your nails and watching the clock. I thought you were being cruel…until my father told me to get back in my body.” Joan’s eyes widened as her lower lip quivered.
“You died and came to kiss me?”
“Peter said you’d wait till morning to decide my fate. It…”
“Made you faint?” Joan reached up and light stroked the freshly shaved cheek. “I’m glad you wear your hair in that old fashioned way. With a bow in your hair you look like a beautiful gift waiting to be unwrapped.” Joan impulsively flung herself into red wool arms and pressed her cold nose into his ear and giggled as the wicked man moaned into her neck. “You smell delicious Mr Smirke; lemons, violets and butter. I wonder if your lips taste half as…”
John eagerly offered his lips to prove the theory, his intentions to be extra good lost in a haze of desire. “Steady on John Sebastian, she’s your ward not your wife.” John jumped in shock, his throat burning from a sudden gasp of cold morning air.
“What’s wrong Mr Smirke? Do you have toothache?”
“Never mind your aching parts John Sebastian; stop kissing the girl and eat your breakfast. You need your strength.”
Clutching Joan, John looked over his shoulder and growled at his smiling Probationary Agent. “I think you’re enjoying your work a little too much.”
“I was the only applicant for the post.” The beautiful shade made an elegant bow increasing John’s irritation. “I enjoy working difficult cases.”
“Who are you talking to Mr Smirke? You’re not…you haven’t lost your mind have you?”
“There’s a poncy dead man at my shoulder.”
“A ghost? Where?”
“You don’t want to see him.”
“Tell her it’s for the best. Tell her if she saw me she’d fall in love with me and break what heart you’ve managed to defrost.”
“She’d never fall in love with you, you poncy pest. Go away and leave us alone.”
“Why would I fall in love with him?”
“Tell her I’m a pretty wit.”
“I’m not telling her anything, Pest. Miss Lark, I believe we were making an experiment…hmmm.”
“I think it would be best if you stopped kissing the girl John Sebastian and ate your breakfast; she’s your dependant not your doxy.”
“She’s in my arms and she wants my kisses. Leave us alone!”
“What is he saying now?”
“He says I need to stop kissing you and eat. I’d rather chew on your lips than wilted toast.”
“We can always eat in between kisses.”
“Ugh! She must be mad. What woman would want to kiss a man in-between mouthfuls? She might see your teeth. Disgusting!”
“She isn’t mad and there’s nothing wrong with the teeth I have left.”
“In my day one did not show one’s teeth unless one wanted to purge one’s life of friends, but then so few people at court still had them after thirty. You should have seen Charles II trying to eat steak…he missed a trick. He could have charged people to see him gum his meat.”
“He thinks I’m mad? He must be horrid…tell him to go away, I’m not finished kissing my beautiful wicked fiancé.” John’s heart strained against his skin, desperate to leap into smiling cornflowers. His hands clutched warm black silk as he bent his head as a loud knock on the door made him swear under his breath.
“It’s me Peter. I’m g-going to open the door. I don’t want to see anything that will make me jealous.” John reluctantly freed Joan and watched her bounce back onto her seat and pick up her cup of chocolate. He reclaimed his cold toast and sighed as he drank in the sight of Joan winking at him over her rim. There was always the option of returning to Bristol and trapping the Bishop Mansel with a loaded pistol…another knock broke off his wicked daydream.
“Come in or stay out, just stop knocking. I have a headache.”
“Ah, two lovebirds pretending they haven’t b-been enjoying a prolonged kiss. Can my wicked little brother be b-blushing?”
“Have you come to ruin my digestion or fill the room with hot air?”
“Scoff down your toast Miss Lark, we’re t-taking you shopping.”
“The devil you are! You’re not taking her anywhere.” John’s scowl produced echoing laughter as James appeared at Peter’s shoulder.
“Where are we going?” Joan’s excited expression punched John’s aching heart into his stomach. His intention to sit in front of a fire the rest of the day holding Miss Lark was scrunched up and thrown away like a bad sketch. Looking at Joan’s bright eyes he knew he’d have to let her go; she’d sulk and withhold her kisses if he didn’t.
“Agnes insists we take you to the Pump Room and introduce you to a few friends as our future sister before taking you shopping to pick out a wedding gift. You can have anything you like.”
“What about Mr Smirke?”
“His opinion doesn’t matter; he doesn’t want a wedding gift.”
“We can’t leave him home alone…he might die!”
“He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not going to sit at home twiddling my thumbs while you encourage Miss Lark to fill my home with hideous ceramics.”
“He makes us sound positively wicked. As if I’d spend good money on anything hideous. Agnes says I have excellent taste. She always tells me the absolute truth. It’s one of the reasons I love her.”
John threw down his toast, “She’s your wife. If she told you, your snuff box was something the dustman would snub you’d never give her pin money again.”
“Agnes says my snuff box is a singular work of art.”
“Yes and what she means is that it’s in cringe inducing bad taste. No one else would keep a miniature coffin in their pocket.”
“It reminds me to enjoy every hour of life. It’s an exact copy of the one I’ve had made for when Papa comes to get me. It’s always good to be prepared.”
