Read Online Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero by Cari Hislop - Free Book Online
Authors: Cari Hislop
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Woods!” As he roared at the young woman he could almost hear a
heavenly pen scratching a check in the wrong side of a heavenly
piece of parchment headed, ‘John Sebastian…heaven or hell’?
“Woods is as
dead as a, a piece of wood Sir.”
“He can’t be
dead. He was perfectly healthy last night when I told him to go to
blazes.”
“Well he’s
good and gone this time Sir. He’s laid out on his bed if you wish
to pay your last respects Sir.” John whirled away and headed
downstairs for the basement. Woods couldn’t be dead; he was only
thirty-two.
A gleeful
looking boy met him at the bottom of the stairs, “If yer come to
see the body it’s in there Sir.” John pushed past three kitchen
maids crying into their aprons and walked over to the bed where
Woods lay in his shirtsleeves.
“Do you hear
me laughing Woods? Get up before I sack you without a reference.”
John bent down and snatched up one of the coins. “Get up!” The eye
snapped open and stared past him at the ceiling.
“You can’t
flog a dead valet, Sir.” John turned to find a sniffling chamber
maid looking at him as if he had two heads. “We were keeping each
other warm last night. He made an awful noise and rolled away. I
thought he was asleep, but he was dead.” John stared numbly at the
man who’d been shaving his chin, ironing his cravats and sharing
his sins for sixteen years. John began to tremble as he stared at
the lifeless body. He didn’t feel sad. He wasn’t even sorry that
the man was dead. He was overcome with terror. He was only a year
older than the dead man. He too could roll over one night and find
himself stitched into a woollen sack. He’d be thrust back into
awful darkness, tormented by his own company. He blinked away
unmanly tears as he swallowed a cry for his mother. He turned and
rushed blindly from the room, back up the stairs in search of
comfort.
***
Agnes looked
up from her embroidery to see her brother-in-law standing in the
open doorway looking in the direction of his ward with wild eyes.
“The fact that your valet is dead does not excuse you from social
niceties John. We didn’t want to know that you have a hairless
plucked chicken chest and we certainly do not wish to see the
remaining two buttons on your fall pop off and reveal nature’s
cruelty. Spare our eyes your unsightly flesh and go finish
dressing.” John didn’t hear Agnes as his ward turned her large eyes
in his direction. His heart erupted against the inside of the skin
exposed by the open neck of his nightshirt.
“Oh Mr Smirke,
you look dreadful!” Miss Lark jumped up and rushed to John’s side.
“You must have loved him very much.” His brain was swirling with
thoughts of cornflowers and kissing the lips attached to the
feminine hand kindly fluttering against his sleeve.
“Loved
who?”
“Mr Woods,
your dead valet.”
“What about
him?”
“You’re taking
his death very hard.”
“Am I? I don’t
want to go back there…”
“You don’t
need to. Someone else will stick him in the ground. In the spring
you can plant a tree over his grave. I’ll help you.”
“Plant a tree?
Who cares about Woods? I don’t want to die!”
“No one wants
to die Mr Smirke…well, not unless you’re one of those people who
want to do themselves in, but those people aren’t very sensible.
What sensible person would want to die when they could have
adventures and be loved? Not that I’ll ever have either…come to
think of it, why does anyone want to live?”
“I refuse to
die. I won’t go back there. I won’t. I refuse!” John drew in a long
shuddering breath, but it wouldn’t fill his lungs.
“Relax Mr
Smirke; let me help you to your room.” John groaned as the soft
warm arm around his waist turned his legs to jelly. “Do you have a
red beard Mr Smirke? I didn’t know a blonde man could have a red
beard. I like it…”
Agnes stepped
into the hall, “Joan Lark, where’s your good sense?
Woods!” As he roared at the young woman he could almost hear a
heavenly pen scratching a check in the wrong side of a heavenly
piece of parchment headed, ‘John Sebastian…heaven or hell’?
“Woods is as
dead as a, a piece of wood Sir.”
“He can’t be
dead. He was perfectly healthy last night when I told him to go to
blazes.”
“Well he’s
good and gone this time Sir. He’s laid out on his bed if you wish
to pay your last respects Sir.” John whirled away and headed
downstairs for the basement. Woods couldn’t be dead; he was only
thirty-two.
A gleeful
looking boy met him at the bottom of the stairs, “If yer come to
see the body it’s in there Sir.” John pushed past three kitchen
maids crying into their aprons and walked over to the bed where
Woods lay in his shirtsleeves.
“Do you hear
me laughing Woods? Get up before I sack you without a reference.”
John bent down and snatched up one of the coins. “Get up!” The eye
snapped open and stared past him at the ceiling.
“You can’t
flog a dead valet, Sir.” John turned to find a sniffling chamber
maid looking at him as if he had two heads. “We were keeping each
other warm last night. He made an awful noise and rolled away. I
thought he was asleep, but he was dead.” John stared numbly at the
man who’d been shaving his chin, ironing his cravats and sharing
his sins for sixteen years. John began to tremble as he stared at
the lifeless body. He didn’t feel sad. He wasn’t even sorry that
the man was dead. He was overcome with terror. He was only a year
older than the dead man. He too could roll over one night and find
himself stitched into a woollen sack. He’d be thrust back into
awful darkness, tormented by his own company. He blinked away
unmanly tears as he swallowed a cry for his mother. He turned and
rushed blindly from the room, back up the stairs in search of
comfort.
***
Agnes looked
up from her embroidery to see her brother-in-law standing in the
open doorway looking in the direction of his ward with wild eyes.
“The fact that your valet is dead does not excuse you from social
niceties John. We didn’t want to know that you have a hairless
plucked chicken chest and we certainly do not wish to see the
remaining two buttons on your fall pop off and reveal nature’s
cruelty. Spare our eyes your unsightly flesh and go finish
dressing.” John didn’t hear Agnes as his ward turned her large eyes
in his direction. His heart erupted against the inside of the skin
exposed by the open neck of his nightshirt.
“Oh Mr Smirke,
you look dreadful!” Miss Lark jumped up and rushed to John’s side.
“You must have loved him very much.” His brain was swirling with
thoughts of cornflowers and kissing the lips attached to the
feminine hand kindly fluttering against his sleeve.
“Loved
who?”
“Mr Woods,
your dead valet.”
“What about
him?”
“You’re taking
his death very hard.”
“Am I? I don’t
want to go back there…”
“You don’t
need to. Someone else will stick him in the ground. In the spring
you can plant a tree over his grave. I’ll help you.”
“Plant a tree?
Who cares about Woods? I don’t want to die!”
“No one wants
to die Mr Smirke…well, not unless you’re one of those people who
want to do themselves in, but those people aren’t very sensible.
What sensible person would want to die when they could have
adventures and be loved? Not that I’ll ever have either…come to
think of it, why does anyone want to live?”
“I refuse to
die. I won’t go back there. I won’t. I refuse!” John drew in a long
shuddering breath, but it wouldn’t fill his lungs.
“Relax Mr
Smirke; let me help you to your room.” John groaned as the soft
warm arm around his waist turned his legs to jelly. “Do you have a
red beard Mr Smirke? I didn’t know a blonde man could have a red
beard. I like it…”
Agnes stepped
into the hall, “Joan Lark, where’s your good sense?
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