“Your valet is not going to thank you,” Joan pointed out, nodding at his foot. “Rabbits poo all the time. Speaking of which . . .” She gently put the bunnies down and stood, giving her hips a wiggle that made tiny pellets fly into the air around her.
Thaddeus gently nudged the little rabbit from his boot. “Whenever you’re done cuddling dinner, I’ll meet you outside.” Without waiting for an answer, he ducked through the door and left the tent.
Joan crouched back down, running a finger over a bunny’s fluffy coat and admiring her pale pink ears. “He’s a mean man,” she told her. “Calling you dinner! He’s a stewed prune. A loon. A fopdoodle.”
The sound of a throat clearing made her glance up. Thaddeus was looking in the door. “The next tent features a truth-telling piglet. The show begins now.”
Joan got up, trying to feel bad that he’d heard her call him a “fopdoodle” and not succeeding.
This time he walked ahead of her, and when she reached the tent door, the man said, “Your uncle already paid for you, lad.”
Joan grinned at him and walked into a considerably larger tent set up with rows of chairs facing a stage, and a crowd waiting restlessly for the show. Thaddeus had seated himself at the front, so Joan chose a seat in the back. To her annoyance, he glanced around, saw where she was, and came to join her without a comment.
“What is a truth-telling piglet?” she asked.
“Didn’t you read the sign?”
She paused just long enough to suggest the silliness of his question, and said, very gently, “No.”
“Percy Piglet answers any and all questions with yes or no,” Thaddeus said, folding his arms over his chest and staring at the empty stage. “According to the man at the door, pigs are more intelligent than humans, and Percy Piglet is the smartest swine of them all.”
“What fun! I have questions!” Joan cried.
He glanced at her. “You can’t possibly be taking this seriously.”
“Did you ever, in your whole life, have fun?” Joan demanded. “Let yourself believe.”
“Of course I have fun,” he said, without hesitation.
“Outside of the nursery?” she prompted.
“Life, adult life, isn’t about make-believe,” he retorted. “It isn’t about feckless pleasure.”
“Then what is it about?”
In front of them, two men began having a loud discussion about the fact that pigs preferred ale to slop, which apparently proved their intelligence.
Thaddeus paused, taking her question seriously, rather to her surprise. “Caring for one’s family. Ensuring that England’s citizens are prosperous, healthy, and happy. Defending the country abroad, if need be. To sum it up: proving that inherited honors are deserved.” The challenge in his voice prickled down her spine.
“Well, I can’t run the country, I’m not a soldier, and I didn’t inherit any honors,” Joan said. “So I guess that means that I can simply enjoy myself. I have nothing to live up to, and no one to bully.” She gave him a beatific smile.
He made a low sound in his throat.
“Did I say ‘bully’?” she asked. “I meant ‘command.’”
Luckily, because his eyes had become even flintier than usual, a cheerful fellow in a rusty red coat bounded out from the curtained area of the tent. “Welcome, one and all! I am Mr. Numps, owner of the finest piglet in all the king’s lands. Prepare to meet the best pig in the fair, a sincere swine, a bold boar, an honest hog, an unspoiled pigling, the most perfect little suckling pig in the world: Percy Piglet!”
Joan began giggling, wishing that Viola was with them.
“He’ll answer any and all questions that you propose! As the most intelligent of his kind, he satisfies the ignorant and the innocent. The price of your admission introduced you to this fine swine, but I’ll need another tuppence before Percy will answer your particular question. Think of your queries while I fetch the authentic, brilliant Mr. Percy Piglet!”
Thaddeus muttered something, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest again.
Joan cast a glance at his biceps because why deny herself the pleasure? And then looked at the stage just in time to see Mr. Numps return from behind the curtain with an endearing piglet in his arms, still a little fuzzy, with large floppy ears and a sweet expression.
“Aww,” Joan whispered, elbowing Thaddeus. “You have to admit that Percy is adorable. Just look at his curly tail. He’s so pink!”
Thaddeus grunted and didn’t take his eyes off Mr. Numps, who was challenging the crowd to ask him questions.
He pointed to a cleric in the front row. “You’re wondering how Percy will give me these miraculous answers? With the help of God, who endowed this piglet with astounding talent. He answers with a squeal, Vicar. One squeal for yes and two for no. And since you’re a man of God, I won’t charge you for a question.”
Beside her, Thaddeus stiffened.
“What’s the matter?” Joan whispered.
“The squealing,” he growled. “He’ll be twisting that adorable tail, I’ll bet.”
But he didn’t. The cleric declined, but Numps accepted tuppence from a lady in the front, who asked whether her daughter would be married in the coming year or no.
Numps raised the piglet to his face, just as Joan had raised the bunny. “Well, Percy?” he asked. “Shall this fine woman’s daughter find herself wearing wedding gloves?”
Joan watched Percy’s curly tail, but Mr. Numps didn’t touch it at all. Percy gave a loud squeal.
“Yes, your daughter will be happy by this time next year,” Mr. Numps said, tucking Percy back against his chest and beaming at the audience. “Who has another question for my magnificent piglet? He’s never wrong, has never been proven wrong.”
Thaddeus leaned forward, arms on his knees. Joan glanced at him, wishing that Aunt Knowe was in the tent. They would be taking out pennies and planning their questions, but instead disapproval fairly radiated off Thaddeus.
“Of course it’s a hoax,” she whispered to him, “but a fun one!”
He turned his head slowly, and the words dried up in her mouth. “Do you know anything about pigs?”
She shook her head.
“They can’t answer questions, and they don’t squeal on command.” His tone was caustic.
“Perhaps Numps trained him to squeal,” she suggested. “Have you been to a circus and seen trained dogs? They’re frightfully clever.”
Mr. Numps had accepted another question, a more serious one, since a surly fellow in the back wanted to know whether his wife had played him false.
“Percy doesn’t care for that sort of question,” Numps said, “but even so, his answers are as true as Holy Writ and will put your mind at ease, one way or the other.”
Joan was pricklingly aware of the leashed strength and narrowed eyes of the man beside her.
“Come on, Percy,” Mr. Numps said, holding him up, “has this charming gentleman been done wrong by his lady wife?”
There was a second’s pause, and then Percy squealed loudly once and then again, and started vigorously kicking as well.
Mr. Numps wrestled with him. “I did tell you, Percy doesn’t care for indecent questions—”