by Cari Hislop
The room snickered, “I wish some fool would leave me a pretty wench in his will. I’d never have to hire a whore again.”
“Please Mr Lyndhurst; I could paint you a picture…” The crowd found the remark amusing.
The swordstick was applied with vigour to Joan’s captors, “Give me the girl or I’ll poke out your eyes. Don’t be surprised if it takes several deep thrusts to find the desired point of injury.” Suddenly free Joan leapt away from the two rakes swearing oaths and hid behind the tall man, clinging to his coat tail as he sheathed his illegal weapon. Joan squeaked in shock as long cold fingers took hold of her upper arm and frogmarched her through a dark maze of rooms and out into blinding sunlight.
“Thank you for helping me Mr Lyndhurst, I’m very much obliged but…” Looking up at his face she shivered in horror. It was the man from The Maiden’s Head, the walking corpse with frightening pale blue eyes. “You can let me go Sir; I’ll make my own way to the church.”
“What’s your name?”
“Joan Lark. My father, the Reverend Lark is dead. I’m engaged to my guardian Mr John Smirke.”
Lyndhurst snorted in contempt, “You’re a Grayson or I’m the devil. Who was your mother?”
“Mercy Love; she died in childbed.”
“When were you born?”
“1799, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Who was your father?”
“I told you, the Reverend Lark. He’s dead; Mr John Smirke is my legal guardian.”
“I’ve seen you before. You were staying at The Maiden’s Head when I arrived weren’t you?” He took hold of her face and turned it upward to inspect it. “Now tell me who you are and why you’re running before I lose my temper.”
“I’m Joan Lark, John Smirke’s ward, and I need to reach the church before noon. We only have a common license. You have to let me go, I must marry Mr Smirke today.”
“The vain fastidious John Smirke wouldn’t marry a woman who’d run through a sewer in a stolen dress without sense or decorum.”
“I didn’t steal this dress; Mr Neilson kidnapped me…”
“You sound more senseless by the minute. Robert Neilson doesn’t need to kidnap women. Are you running from an asylum? Why are there cuts on your hands and arms? Have you been trying to harm yourself?”
“Why would I harm myself? Let me go, I need to get to the church.”
“I don’t think you’re running to a church. I don’t think you know where you’re running.”
“Of course I know where I’m running, I’m not some lunatic. And why would I tell you my name was Lark if it was Grayson? You’re the one who sounds insane.”
“You’re not the first Grayson who’s tried to escape your identity. Now tell me the truth. Who is your father and where have you been? Tell me and I promise they won’t hurt you. I’ll find you somewhere safe where you won’t be able to hurt yourself.”
Joan pressed her hands together as if in prayer, “Please Mr Lyndhurst, if you want to help me take me to the Church of St. James.”
“And what if there isn’t anyone waiting at the church Madam? Do you expect me to believe that Robert Neilson has tried to stop Smirke from getting married? I haven’t heard anything so fantastical in years.”
“If there isn’t anyone at the church you can take me to Lansdown Crescent. I’m staying with James and Agnes Smirke…please! The servants know me, they know what happened.”
“I have more important things to do than play games with pretty lunatics.” Lyndhurst looked down into large pleading cornflower eyes and sighed in resignation, “Very well, I will take you to the church, but if they refuse to own you, you’ll be dropped off at the first asylum we come to and don’t expect a room with a view.” Still holding her arm, he hailed a hackney cab and shoved her inside. “To the Church of St. James; quick man, before I lose my mind.” Lyndhurst sat opposite his sobbing charge and after several long noisy minutes held out a handkerchief. “Wipe your nose child and stop making that obscene snorting noise. It brings to mind frightful memories of great aunt Fanny.”
Joan hesitantly accepted the clean white cloth, “Thank you Sir, I was just thinking how you’re the fairy-godmother I was praying for…well except I guess you’d be my fairy-godfather. I’ve had the worst day of my life and it seems forever since breakfast. Mr Smirke looked so beautiful in his red jacket…”
“I hope that’s not a broad hint I buy you lunch.”
“I don’t want lunch; I want my Mr Smirke!” The ugly man scowled at Joan’s angry retort. He couldn’t help, but compare the pretty child with his one friend, a lady who made him wish he wasn’t ugly. Feeling depressed and irritable he pulled out his pocket watch. “What time is it?”
“Eleven forty.”
“How long do will take to get there?”
“A few minutes.”
“What were you doing in that evil place?”
“Business.”
“What sort of business?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to find them.”
“Why?”
“None of your business, no more questions.”
“I was making polite conversation Mr Lyndhurst. There’s no need to give me the evil eye.”
“I’m the Duke of Lyndhurst. You will address me as Your Grace.”
“I’d rather call you Mr Lyndhurst. Your Grace sounds like something one would call the Archbishop of Canterbury and you certainly don’t look religious, unless you worship the devil…”
“My name is not Mr Lyndhurst. I’m Geoffrey Lindsey Grayson, the Duke of Lyndhurst.”
“Then why did those men call you Lyndhurst?”
“Lords are referred to by their eminent title.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. If you’re Mr Grayson, how can you be Mr Lyndhurst?”
“I’m not Mr Lyndhurst; I’m the Duke of Lyndhurst.”
Joan met the Duke’s frightening glare with wide anxious eyes reflecting doubt and relief, “I don’t know why you’d think I’d be one of your relations. I don’t look anything like you.”
“I look like my mother who was a Stratton.”
“Why is a Lord referred to by his eminent title?”
“How should I know? I wasn’t alive a thousand years ago when they developed the Honour’s System was I?”
“You look like you’ve been alive a thousand years, though you do have a lovely voice. Is your wife blind?”
“If you wish me to allow the cabbie to complete this journey you will close your lips and rant in silence. As it is, I’m having a very hard time believing even John Smirke would chain himself to a pretty lunatic. I’m very tempted to have the hackney stop so I can push you out. Do you understand? No more questions.”
“I’m not mad. And Mr Smirke loves me.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Oh ye of little faith…”
“Enough!”
“You only said I couldn’t ask questions. Now I won’t be able to ask you what sort of painting you’d like as a thank you gift or where to send it.”
“I don’t want any thanks for this torture and I certainly don’t want a souvenir.”
“Mamma, I mean Lady Jemima who married Lord Belvedere. She says I’m very talented and she would know. She’s one of the best portrait painters in the Kingdom. You don’t believe me do you?”
“That was a question.”
“You should see the picture she did of Mr Smirke. It was so beautiful I fell in love with him. It’s true he’s a villain, but he’s so…there’s something magical about him that makes me feel like dancing. I don’t suppose I can ask you if you understand.”
“No.” The Duke of Lyndhurst took his watch out again and stared at the small silver hands slowly traversing the face.
“May I see your watch?”
“No.”
“Are those rubies on the face?”
“Yes.
”
“Are you very rich?”
“One more question and I’ll push you out of the carriage while it’s in motion.”
“That wouldn’t be very kind Mr Lyndhurst. I might die and then you’d end up in hell and I feel I should warn you that Mr Smirke says hell is too awful for words…Oh look we’re here. There’s Cecil, George and Charles…Oh stop this thing and let me out.”
“Thank the merciful heavens, wait till the carriage stops you idiot.” Only a strong cold hand kept her from leaping to freedom and a broken neck. A brief wait and Joan was allowed to safely escape.
Cecile stared in shocked horror at the sight of his future aunt. Joan was a red eyed medusa; blonde unpinned hair snaked in mad clumps, her powdered face marred by tears and bruises. “Where the blazes have you been? Nana’s had a burnt feather stuck up her nose for an hour…and where the blazes are Uncle John and Papa? And where’s your pink dress? Oh no, don’t cry…Blast.” Cecil rushed past Charles and George and reached Joan first, sweeping her off her feet.
George put his hands on his hips and glared at his elder brother, “I should be the one to carry her. If Uncle John has died I’m her legal guardian, give her to me.”
“I’m the eldest, I get to carry her. Step back before I drop her.” Only Charles Smirke watched the walking corpse climb down and pay the cab faire. Feeling his flesh crawl, he turned and ran after his bickering brothers. There was safety in numbers.
The Duke of Lyndhurst slunk into the shadows at the back of the chapel and watched the drama near the altar unfold. He was relieved to learn the girl wasn’t mad. As nominal head of the Grayson family, he would have felt obligated to take care of her.
The weeping Lady Adderbury rushed to the beautiful young men and gestured for them to put the girl down on a bench before attentively seeing to the young woman’s wounds with motherly devotion. Even the icy Agnes Smirke looked concerned when she wasn’t eyeing two small girls who kept trying to sneak away. Lord Belvedere hovered nearby adding reality to the girl’s strange story, while the five beautiful young men stared down at the misshapen Joan Lark in frustrated anger as her scandalous tale unfolded in-between echoing sobs. It was obvious when she reached his part in her tale. The whole group turned to stare in his direction. It seemed impossible, but the story had to be true. Neilson, the perfect gentleman, had kidnapped and mistreated an innocent. Lyndhurst clenched his teeth. He was no fit judge or jury, but the thought of the large cornflower eyes filled with fear fed a flickering chivalrous flame.
Lyndhurst perched himself on an uncomfortable wooden pew and waited for the groom to arrive. If anything, it would make an interesting episode to include in his next letter to his friend. He tried to concentrate on the story in the stained glass windows, but Miss Joan Lark’s strong Grayson resemblance could not be ignored. Whose daughter was she? There was a remote possibility she was a half sister. His father had thought it his duty to spread his seed. She could easily be the daughter of his older bastard brother, Thomas, or any number of bastard uncles and cousins. The child was definitely a Grayson, but her eyes were like cornflowers sealed in glass, an eternal blue like no other. He’d only ever known one other woman with cornflower eyes. There’d been only one Grayson warming Lady Pelham’s bed in 1798. Lyndhurst bowed his head as painful memories twisted his soul in agony.
Chapter 22
John blindly pushed open the church door with a heavy heart; he was wasting precious time. His lark was somewhere in Bath attracting trouble and he was dawdling at the church doors in hopes of a miracle. Rows of empty pews blurred; he couldn’t see a scrap of pink. His shoulders slumped as he turned to run back to the carriage. “Mr Smirke! His head whipped around as a woman in canary yellow raced down the aisle towards him. Colliding with the hoyden in a strange ill-fitting dress, John locked his arms around Joan’s waist and swung her in ecstatic circles before energetically expressing his relief with his lips.
Peter stopped next to the enraptured lovers and coughed as he took out his watch, “You have t-ten minutes to t-tie the knot.” There was no visible end to the kiss.
James slapped his engrossed younger brother on the back earning a blistering glare, “You have nine minutes to wed. Stop kissing Joan and get to the altar, I want my lunch.”
“Nine minutes? Why didn’t you say something?” Joan spun around and pulled her guardian towards the altar. “Slow down Woman I can’t run…Oh my sore rump.”
The Vicar looked at his watch, “I don’t believe there will be time…”
John pulled out the common license and waved it like a captured flag, “Start reading that poxy marriage ceremony. If I don’t have a wife by noon…I’ll…I’ll die!”
“Oh Mr Smirke…”
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation…I assume your brothers are your witnesses?”
“Yes, hurry up. Please.” Securely wrapping his left arm around the narrow yellow waist, John could barely understand the words buzzing in his ear as he contemplated Joan’s adoring eyes. The strange warmth in his chest and the pleasurable ache of holding her safe was doing strange things to his head.
The Vicar sighed in exasperation, “Mr Smirke?”
“What? Why aren’t you reading?”
“I’m asking you an important question. Wilt thou have this Woman to be thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?”
“Yes of course. I’m not standing here to make her my parlour maid.”
“You’re to say I will when I finish.”
“Well hurry up and finish.”
“Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and , forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
John tried to swallow a sudden lump in his throat, “I will.”
“Joan Lark. Wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I shall love Mr Smirke for ever and ever and ever.”
“I will, is the correct answer, Miss Lark.”
“Then I will love Mr Smirke for ever and ever and ever.”
“Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?”
“I do, now marry us.”
“Mr Smirke, this is highly irregular. You can’t give yourself…”
“Then my brother, Lord Adderbury, gives her…get on with it.”
“Take her right hand and repeat after me…”
“I John Sebastian Smirke…take thee Joan Lark…to have and to hold…from this day forward…for better or for worse…for richer for poorer…in sickness and in health…to love and to cherish…till death us do part…according to God’s holy ordinance….and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
