Pendragon

"No, William," he said, turning briefly to his half-brother, who'd just come into the room, "she isn't going to die."

Barnacle tottered into the dim drawing room. He had to yell over the sudden blast of thunder that made the crystals on the overhead chandelier shimmer and hit against each other. "My lord, Dr. Pritchart wants you upstairs for her ladyship. Oh dear, I do hope this doesn't send her underground. I only just found her. She's the perfect size to walk on my back."

Thomas, who dearly loved the old man, wanted at that moment to shoot him. He was back in the White Room in not more than forty seconds. Meggie was sitting up, leaning against a pillow, smiling at him. He nearly shouted he was so relieved.

Dr. Pritchart, seeing that His Lordship just might leap on his bride he was so thankful, moved to block him, saying, "I have told her to remain in bed the rest of the day. We will see tomorrow how her head feels."

Meggie jumped when more thunder rolled overhead. Rain slashed hard against the windows. "I'm all right, Thomas. Don't be frightened."

But he was. After he'd shown Dr. Pritchart out, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. He pressed his face into her hair. He kissed her temple, said low and deep into her ear, "You scared every ounce of wickedness out of me. I will become more reverent than your father. He will be so impressed with me he will ask me to give one of his sermons."

She turned her head slightly, moving very slowly, and kissed his neck. "I should like to see you in my father's pulpit. Please don't lose all the wickedness, Thomas. I do like it. I can't bear this either. Don't leave me, please don't."

He closed his eyes as he held her, kissed her hair, the tip of her nose, felt the softness of her through her muslin gown. "Let me get you into your nightgown."

Chapter 27

MEGGIE WATCHED MISS Crittenden run to the end of the long kitchen, come to an almost instant stop, then wheel about and race back toward her.

"By all that's wonderful," Meggie said in awe to Mrs. Black, "that was amazing."

"Demned Cat's been acting like that since the big torn, McGuffy, went to sea with the Midland's youngest boy, Davey," Mrs. Black said, narrowing her eyes to better see Miss Crittenden flashing by, but it didn't help much, and Meggie saw that it didn't. "Ru

"So she started all this marvelous ru

"Oh aye, my lady. Dr. Pritchart has tried everything. He says it's the cataracts that are like veils over my eyes, that they will just thicken and thicken until there won't even be shadows. He calls it white eyes."

"I'm very sorry."

"It's just that I would like to see Miss Crittenden race about Cook's jugs of flour and sugar. Many the times I've nearly tripped over her. So many changes you're bringing, my lady, and all of them exciting. Do you know I can smell how clean Pendragon is now? It's a blessed thing, it is. Now, why are you interested in Miss Crittenden and how she runs?"

"Have you ever heard of cat racing?"

Cook came into the huge kitchen and said, "Cat racing? Now, that's a loony thing, it is."

"Not at all, Mrs. Mullins," Meggie said, and since neither of them had heard of such a thing, for the next ten minutes, Meggie told them about the history of cat racing, begun at the Mountvale Mews in the last century, brought to its premiere place in the racing world by the Harker brothers, the major trainers for two decades now. "The McCaulty Racetrack is the major venue for cat racing," she said. "The meets are held from April to October. Mr. Cork is the current champion. He from the Vicarage Mews and I trained him."

"You really trained a cat to race?" Barnacle said, dragging himself into the kitchen, and one eyebrow arched up so high he looked like a bit of a demon, in agony, of course.

"I most certainly did. I think Miss Crittenden just might take to the sport. What do you think? Cat racing at Pendragon?"

"Oh, aye, that would be something, now wouldn't it?" Mrs. Black beamed.

Cook harrumphed. "It's loony, now isn't it?"

"There's nothing like seeing those sleek bodies flying by," Meggie said. "It makes your heart gallop."

"Meggie."

She turned to see Thomas striding into the kitchen. He was carrying a package under his arm. "Here you are." He didn't sound at all surprised. During the past week, once he'd let her out of bed, she'd been everywhere in Pendragon, overseeing everything and everyone, and that pleased him all the way to his gut.

"Oh, my lord," Barnacle said and creaked into a semblance of a bow, adding a little moan as he straightened, his face a hideous mask of pain. "Mrs. Black, it's his lordship."

Mrs. Black, instantly flustered that the master was in the kitchen, of all places, curtsied and knocked a teacup off the table.

"No harm done," Meggie said as she snagged the falling cup out of the air, and added to her husband, "Miss Crittenden just might be a racing cat. What do you think?"

Thomas looked over at the large calico, sitting in a slice of sunlight in a corner of the kitchen bathing herself. "She's huge."

"Well, I think most of it is muscle. I just watched her run. She's amazing, Thomas. She will lean down a bit during training."

"Cat races at Pendragon. Let me think about that, Meggie." He handed her the package. "This is from your family."

"Oh my," Meggie said, clutched the package to her bosom, and nearly ran from the kitchen.

"But I want to see what's in that package!" Barnacle yelled from behind her.

She just laughed and ran all the way to the White Room, Thomas on her heels.

"I took it out of the wooden packing box," Thomas said, standing against the wall watching her, his arms crossed over his chest. "You feel all right, Meggie?"

"I'm all right," she said, not looking up from the paper she was tearing. "Really, no headache at all now. Oh goodness, my father must have sent this right after we left. What could it be? I just realized, he didn't know where we were going, did he?"

"Well, yes, naturally I told him. I didn't want him or your stepmother to worry."

"But you wouldn't tell me anything."

"No, that's the way it's done."

She pulled away the last bit of paper and lifted out a beautifully carved wooden cat. It was a perfect likeness of Mr. Cork, even the size. There was a plaque at the bottom with Mr. Cork's name, his sire and dam, and the dates of his racing wins beautifully etched into the wood.

Meggie held it close, then burst into tears.

"Meggie! What's wrong? It's a statue of Mr. Cork. It's a very nice statue, but tears? What is this?"

"I miss him so much, and Cleopatra, too. All the cats, Thomas, they would run and jump, meow their heads off, or sit there and tell you, without words, that they weren't going to move a paw, no matter what you did."

"I think," he said slowly, watching her dance around the room clutching the wooden Mr. Cork to her chest, "that just maybe we should introduce cat racing to Pendragon. Did your father carve this exquisite piece?"

"No, Jeremy."

"I see," he said and wanted to howl. Couldn't the mangy bastard just leave her alone?

After Thomas left her to go downstairs to see Paddy, Meggie was humming as she dusted off Mr. Cork's fine statue. Suddenly she stopped cold. At least an hour had passed since she'd thought about the person who'd slammed whatever it had been down on her head. Just the thought of it now brought a flash of pain. Even when Thomas had mentioned it, she'd been too excited about her present and hadn't heeded it.