Catherine Coulter - Pendragon

"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. "Running everywhere to find him, but he's no where to be found. And now it's just habit with her."

"So she started all this marvelous running trying to find Davey. Hmmm. Maybe you've hit upon a new training technique. Mrs. Black, have you asked Dr. Pritchart about glasses?" she asked.

"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.

She winced, walked slowly to the window, and looked at the breezy spring day. It was cloudy, but at least right now it wasn't raining.

She picked up her father's letter and read it through again. "My dearest girl, Jeremy sent this wedding present to me since he didn't know where you would be. I am enclosing his letter."

Meggie didn't want to read Jeremy's letter, she really didn't, but nonetheless, now that Thomas was gone and she was alone, she slowly unfolded the single sheet of paper, pressed it out with her palm, and read, "Dear Almost Cousin Meggie, I wish you and your new husband the very best. Charlotte and I would welcome a visit from you. I hope you enjoy this rendition of Mr. Cork. It took me a while to carve it which is why it was late." And it was signed just Jeremy. His direction was written on a separate piece of foolscap. Jeremy. Jeremy and Charlotte .

She walked slowly to the fireplace and stood there, staring at the three stacked logs, bits of paper stuffed around them. She shredded the letter and tossed the pieces in amongst the kindling. Then she lit the fire and watched it burn. She heard Alvy moving about behind her, but didn't move.

"Dr. Pritchart is here to see you, my lady."

She frowned, not realizing at first why he would come to Pendragon. Oh, her head. She turned and smiled at Alvy. "I will see him shortly in the drawing room. Please let Barnacle know, Alvy."

Ten minutes later Meggie, Thomas beside her, greeted Dr. Pritchart, who was sipping at a cup of Cook's tea and scratching his ear.

"There is a rash on your ear, Dr. Pritchart," Meggie said, walking to him. "Is it all right?"

He paused and looked at her, for a very long time, didn't say anything, just looked. "You'll do," he said, snapped the cup into its saucer, and gave her a brief bow. He said to Thomas, "If she suffers a relapse, you will call me. Good day to you both. The rash comes twice a year, one of those times is right now, in April. It's nothing at all." And he was gone.

"Well," Meggie said. "I wonder how much his bill will be for that visit."