“I know, Barnacle. What I meant was, get Ennis to fetch the luggage and you will instruct him as to how to carry it and where to place it.”
“It is good of ye to be more specific, my lord. Be she the new ladyship?”
“Aye,” Meggie said. “That I be.”
“Yer pretty, all that hair what can’t make up its mind what color it is. Yer not all that big, leastwise not as big as his lordship has become. Mayhap ye’d walk on my back for me when it gets all knotted up?”
“I would be delighted to walk on your back, Barnacle.”
The old man nodded, threw back his head, and yelled, “Ennis! Get yer skinny buttocks and yer strong back in here, lad.”
Meggie was sure she saw one corner of Thomas’s mouth turn up a bit, but he said nothing.
Barnacle made his way slowly back to the front door.
Meggie said, “Barnacle looks as if he’s nearly dying with pain, Thomas. How bad is it?”
“Not at all bad.”
“But he looks like he’s ready to yowl in agony. I even heard him moaning. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Few people have. Actually, I’ve seen him practicing his agony in front of the mirror. He nearly caught me because I laughed, I just couldn’t help it. I was about fourteen at the time. I don’t doubt that his back bothers him a bit, but most of it’s a sham. He’s done it since before I was born. The old bugger will doubtless outlive all of us, even with his back nearly bent like a horseshoe.”
“That look of his does have a potent effect,” Meggie said.
“You sound impressed.”
“Oh, I am. He looks to be a splendid old man. Did you ever walk on his back for him?”
“When I was a boy. Now it’s your turn. He will grunt and groan and enjoy himself immensely, and complain the whole time.”
“He is an unusual butler, Thomas. Ah, I wonder what you will think when you meet Hollis, my uncle Douglas’s butler. He’s more distinguished than the king.”
“It wouldn’t require all that much.”
She smiled and said, “Barnacle. That is a very strange name.”
“You haven’t begun to see all the strangeness at Pendragon yet, Meggie.”
“Thomas, why didn’t your mother wish to come to our wedding? Besides just being perverse?”
He looked her straight in the eye and said, “She didn’t want me to marry.”
“Me?”
“No, anyone. She believes I’m too young, but she’ll come to love you, Meggie. How could she not?”
“Maybe she doesn’t like the fact that my father is a vicar. Maybe she thinks I’m not well enough born for her son the earl.”
“No,” her son said with a goodly dose of cynicism, “she just doesn’t want to relinquish the reins of control here at Pendragon.”
“Well, I don’t have to, you know, I—”
“Meggie, you are my wife, the countess of Lancaster, the mistress of Pendragon. Pendragon is your responsibility. Don’t forget about what your uncle said about responsibility.”
“No,” Meggie said slowly, “I won’t.” She turned and looked around the entrance hall. It wasn’t dreadful at all. It was cold and dismal, like the drawing room, but it had some majesty to it, soaring up three stories to the blackened beamed roof. There was a huge old chandelier hang ing down from that immense height. Meggie hoped the rope holding it was very sturdy indeed and wondered when it had last been checked and cleaned. Probably not since it had been rebuilt after Cromwell had burned it down. She looked down when her heels clicked on the marble floor. Those black-and-white tiles were lovely. All they needed was a good scrubbing, maybe three good scrubbings. The filth didn’t hide how impressive they still were. Suits of armor lined one wall, one after the other, and at least a half dozen sconces soldiered along in a straight line above them. The sconces and the armor looked like they hadn’t been used or cleaned or polished for at least a century, maybe two.
Thomas seemed to see nothing amiss. He said with a negligent wave, “The armor—it’s Flemish, for the most part, fifteenth century. My uncle bought them from a viscount in Surrey who’d lost all his money, and had them carted here.”