Still wearing his boots; Edmund lay face down on his bed shivering from fever in-between coughs and sneezes, mentally tortured by his undelivered letters and his inability to rescue his Penny. The need for resolution overcame every sensible thought that demanded he remove his clothes and curl up with a hot water bottle. After another sneeze he rolled off the bed and staggered down stairs where he ordered his carriage. Ignoring his servants’ protests that he was going to die if he didn’t stay in bed, Edmund crawled into his carriage and asked to be driven to Lansdowne Crescent.
In Bath, the Duke of Strathmore always stayed with his school friend James Smirke, a man who refused to believe anything bad about the people he loved. In the Smirke household Strathmore could find laughter, acceptance and affection at least from his friend. It was well known Mrs Agnes Smirke particularly disliked Strathmore. She was a giant blonde beauty whose piercing stare left few men in doubt that she found them wanting. Edmund was too agitated to worry about Agnes Smirke. He wasn’t paying a social call he was rescuing his sanity.
The weak winter sun was setting as he sent up his card. If he was really unlucky he’d catch Strathmore at dinner. His card was returned and he sighed with relief as he was let inside the elegant house. He reluctantly handed over his hat and coat and laboured slowly up the stairs to the first floor drawing room. Catching his breath, he stared at the domestic scene in disbelief. Was he hallucinating? Strathmore was sitting in an armchair with a tiny blonde fairy creature draped over his knees with a picture book. A replica fairy creature was lounging in James Smirke’s arms working a tiny sampler. The frigid blonde Agnes sat alone on a sofa working her own embroidery, her basket artfully spilling open at her side.
Five pairs of eyes returned his stare of disbelief as if his appearance was equally bizarre. He belatedly bowed respectfully to the lady of the house and then to both men before needing to grab a handkerchief out of his left pocket to catch a deafening sneeze. He shoved the used handkerchief into his right pocket and turned to the mistress of the house. “Forgive me Madam for calling while obviously infirm. I have an urgent need to speak with His Grace in private.” His polite speech was punctuated with a long sniff.
Agnes Smirke looked unmoved by the caller’s request. “Strathmore?”
Edmund met the man’s smiling eyes as a sinking feeling prepared him to face his doom. “I have nothing to hide. Speak away.”
The Duke’s innocent expression was almost believable. Nearly losing his balance, Edmund steadied himself and tried to sound authoritative. “It is a private, private matter Your Grace.”
“Then it can wait ‘till tomorrow afternoon Lord Warenne when I will be at your private disposal.” The Duke looked down at the child in his arms as if closing the conversation.
“It can not wait Your Grace; I won’t be able to sleep.”
“Why ever not?” The Duke’s tight lips betrayed a faint smile of satisfaction.
“You know perfectly well…”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about Lord Warenne. Perhaps you should return home and take yourself to bed. You look ill.”
“I must have resolution…”
“Well you may have it tomorrow afternoon when you’re feeling better.”
“I won’t be feeling better.” Edmund mentally noted that the walls were moving and started counting the movement. He got to fifteen before being interrupted.
“If you must speak then speak. I have nothing to hide from my friends.”
Edmund was unaware of his disbelieving scowl, “As you wish my Lord; give me my letters or your word that you’ll deliver them to their intended recipient by tomorrow afternoon.” Four heads turned to stare at Strathmore with open curiosity.
“I’m sorry; I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My love letters; the ones you bought from that traitorous…” Edmund managed to comprehend the presence of children and silencing his more colourful abuse. “…Doodle.”
The fairy creature on Strathmore’s knees looked at her mother with confusion, “What’s a doodle?”
“Doodle was my friend.” Edmund’s answer left the child equally confused.
“Mamma, can I have a doodle?”
“Is Nursey a doodle?”
“Is Papa a doodle?”
Agnes Smirke’s eyes shimmered, “Doodle is a pet name like how your Uncle John calls you Imp.” Bored by the answer the two children returned their interest to the sick man.
“Mamma, what’s a love letter?”
“It’s a letter a man write to a woman he loves.”
“Does Papa write you love letters?”
“Yes.”
“Will a man write me love letters?”
“If you’re good.”
“I’ll be good.”
Edmund had lost count of how many times the walls had moved back and forth to the ticking of the bracket clock. “If you’ll give me my letters I’ll return to my sick bed with pleasure.”
Strathmore shrugged his shoulders at his friend’s look of concern. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Warenne. I think you need to send for a quack; you’re hallucinating.”
“Penny wasn’t hallucinating when she didn’t get my letters. She saw you…she saw Doodle hand you letters.”
Strathmore shrugged his shoulders again. “Life is filled with strange coincidences. Why would I want your love letters? I’m quite capable of writing my own when the need arises. I sent one this evening in fact to my fiancé.” Edmund could see that he was the only one who found this piece of news astonishing.
“Have you proposed to another stranger at dinner?”
“Miss Priscilla Stanley accepted my offer of marriage this afternoon after I rescued her from Captain Calcutta.”
Edmund snorted in contempt as he shook his head. “No! She wouldn’t agree to marry you.”
Strathmore raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“There is no way Penny would have accepted you; she was wearing my necklace. I asked her to wear it if she felt inclined to accept me and she was wearing it this afternoon. There is no way she would marry you unless you’ve forced her…if you’ve hurt her…I swear…”
The Duke calmly said to the room. “I fear Lord Warenne is having a turn; he certainly sounds insane to me.”
“I’m perfectly sane.”
“If you say so Lord Warenne; but I assure you Miss Stanley willingly accepted my offer of marriage without being beaten over the head.”
Edmund’s lips were trembling as he shook his head again. “You’re doing this to torment me…because of that stupid coach…you’re a fiend!”
“Mamma what’s a feen?”
“Uncle John calls us feens.”
“Is a feen a fairy Mamma?”
Agnes eyed the two men with pursed lips, “I think it might be time for you two to return to the…” Five pairs of eyes watched in fascinated horror as Edmund slowly succumbed to gravity and fell forward. After a stunned silence soft muffled sobbing could be heard coming from the carpet. “Frederick. We’re in need your assistance.”
The footman stepped into the room. “Yes Madam?”
“Lord Warenne has been taken ill and needs a bed. Master James will help you carry him up to the blue chamber. Put him to bed and then ask the kitchen to prepare hot water bottles and the usual cold remedies. Tell Cook I’ll be down to prepare a sick tray.”
“As you wish Madam.” James Smirke reluctantly dropped his daughter in his chair and leaned over his wife to whisper something unintelligible, his hand gestures indicating he thought the young man on the floor should be shoved back in his carriage and sent home. The look on his wife’s face left no room for discussion. The man was sick; he would stay. Edmund found himself turned onto his back, his tears running into the blood dripping from his nose. He couldn’t even muster the strength to protest his undignified exit as the two fairy creatures danced either side of him as if he were some sort of macabre entertainment. His heart cracked as tragedy stamped its hallmark on his inner organs.
Go to chapter 14