He laughed again, then paused, as if surprised that he’d laughed. “Why, do you know that I’m not really sure? I haven’t lived much in England in the past five years. I suppose I believed that the ninnies in London lauded such performances.”
“I spent just one Season in London, my lord. As far as I could see, there were very few true devotées of Italian sopranos. Most people I saw on those evenings were polite enough to endure in stoic silence. Ah, but Mrs. Strapthorpe believed that her musical soirée was just the thing to induce you to attend, that and her elegant invitation to you. She is very pleased with herself.”
“Good Lord. Actually, though, I wished to attend.”
“But not for the wailing soprano?”
“No, I didn’t attend because of the music.”
Meggie hoisted up an eyebrow.
“My name is Thomas Malcombe.”
The eyebrow remained hoisted.
He laughed, couldn’t help himself. She appeared to be utterly uninterested in him. Without conceit, he realized she was the first female to be indifferent to him since he’d come to manhood. It was a rather appalling realization, this unconscious conceit, and one that made him want to laugh at himself.
“All right. I came because I wanted to meet my neighbors, people who had known my father.”
“I’m Meggie Sherbrooke,” she said finally, and hoisted her left eyebrow again. “You aren’t telling the truth, my lord. If I may risk offending you, I daresay you don’t care a fig about anyone in Glenclose-on-Rowan.”
“Meggie, it’s a nice name. You’re quite wrong.”
“It’s short for Margaret. No one has ever called me Margaret, thank goodness. That’s a Mother Superior’s name. I would have preferred something exotic, like Maigret, but it was not to be. No, I really don’t think I’m wrong. If I am wrong, then I have offended you, and I apologize.”
“You really are a Meggie, never a Margaret. I accept your apology, for it is merited. I understand you train racing cats.”
“Yes.” She saw a glass sitting beside an orchid that looked overwatered. Its leaves were suddenly trembling. Probably the soprano had hit more high notes. “Actually, my little brother Alec is a cat whisperer.”
“I have never known of a cat whisperer.”
“It is a very rare occurrence, and all agree that Alec is blessed. It still remains to be seen if the gift will mature with him. But ever since he was a very small boy, the cats in our mews would gather around him, very happy to just sit and listen to him talk, which he did, all the time. He is at present assisting my brother Leo train our calico racer, Cleopatra, to improve her leaps. Alec believes she doesn’t yet have the proper motivation. As a cat whisperer, he will determine what it is she wants and provide it, if possible.”
“I should like to see him in action. How old is he?”
“Alec is seven now.”
“Cat racing is an amazing thing, really unknown outside of England. I understand that some French devotees of the sport introduced cat races there, but the French were, evidently, too emotional, too uncontrolled, and so the cats never could get the hang of what was expected of them.”
Meggie laughed, then shrugged her shoulders as if to say, what can you expect? He smiled again. She said, “At the McCaulty racetrack, all the cats would desert their owners in a moment if Alec called to them. He must be very careful not to unwittingly seduce them.”
“When are the cat races held? Surely now it is too col
d.”
“They begin again in April and run through October.”
“And you are a trainer.”
“Oh yes, for a long time now. You can call me the boss.”
“Ah, you’re the one who makes all final decisions, decides which techniques are the most efficacious, the overlord trainer?”
“I like the sound of that. I will tell my brothers that my new title is overlord. They can drop the trainer part. I will demand that they use my new title or I will make them very sorry.” He looked very interested, and so Meggie added, “As a matter of fact, I did spend one entire summer at Lord Mountvale’s racing mews being tutored by the Harker brothers.” She lowered her voice into a confidence. “They are the ones who developed the technique of the Flying Feather.”
“I have heard of the Harker brothers. I understand they have a special intuition when it comes to selecting champion racers. What is the Flying Feather technique?”
“Curled feathers are tied to the end of a three-foot pole. It is waved in a clockwise motion—it must always be clockwise, at no less than a six-foot distance. It evidently has a mesmerizing effect. Goodness, I hadn’t intended to tell you all about the Flying Feather technique; it is still supposed to be a secret. I am considering adopting it when I have a proper candidate. Ah, listen, I don’t hear anything. It is a good sign,” she added, pointing to the orchid, “its leaves are no longer quivering from the vibrations of her voice.”