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.