He never finished the sentence because Thaddeus was out of his chair and in the front of the tent before Joan realized what was happening. He grabbed the piglet with one hand and smashed Mr. Numps in the jaw with the other.
Joan gasped. The tent filled with exclamations.
“Here, you!” Mr. Numps cried, scrambling to his feet. “What are you—”
Thaddeus turned and held up the piglet so the audience could see. “For your entertainment,” he said scathingly, “this animal has been pierced in the belly.”
Even Joan in the back could see three wounds with little trickles of blood.
“Ew!” the lady in the front cried.
“He’s my piglet,” Mr. Numps said shrilly. “I can treat him as I like. He’s mine, and that’s the law.”
“But he isn’t no truth-telling pig,” someone bellowed.
“Could have told you that,” the surly man in the back row snarled. “My wife left home two days ago, and she ain’t coming back.”
“I want my money back,” a stout matron declared, getting up and heading for the door.
“What right have you got to interrupt my show?” Mr. Numps barked at Thaddeus. “Here, you, give me back that pig. You might be a fine gentleman, but I know my rights.” He balled up his fists.
“You can sell me the piglet, or I can knock you down again,” Thaddeus said, looking unmoved. He tucked Percy under his left arm.
Joan ran to the front and said, “Give me the pig!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“So you can knock him down, obviously.”
Numps was reaching for Percy.
“I don’t need both hands for that,” Thaddeus said, as his right fist shot out and caught Numps under the chin. The man actually rose off his feet before he crashed into one side of the tent, making the entire edifice tremble.
Behind them, the remaining audience shrieked and scrambled for the door.
Thaddeus stepped forward and stared down at Numps. “How much do you want for the pig?”
“That a fine suckling piglet, that is,” the man said, rubbing his jaw and not moving a muscle to get up. “At least a crown, a low price only due to the good of my heart because it doesn’t take into account all the pennies you lost from me show. He was a good one, with a strong squeal.”
Thaddeus dropped a coin in the dust by Numps’s head, turned on his heel and walked out, the piglet tucked under his arm.
Joan ran after him. “What are you going to do with Percy?” she asked, somewhat breathless by the time she caught up with him. Thaddeus was marching back to the carriage, ignoring people trying to sell him everything from ballads to baby rattles.
“He’s a pig,” Thaddeus said, striding even faster, so she had to run again to keep up. “I shall hand him over to my swineherd.”
“His name is Percy,” Joan cried. “You saved him from being poked to death. You can’t turn him into pork dinner!”
“The animal was being tortured, not poked to death,” Thaddeus said. “Once he lost heart and refused to squeal, he would have been sent to the pork tent to be roasted as a suckling pig and made into luncheon. They would have killed him, not Numps.”
“You can’t give Percy to your swineherd!” Joan said, putting on a burst of speed so she came around in front of him and stopped, blocking his way. The piglet obviously felt safe and comfortable under Thaddeus’s arm. He was looking about inquisitively, his pink nose in the air.
Thaddeus looked down at her with an inscrutable expression, which she was beginning to find really irritating. “His name is Percy,” she said, catching her breath. “He’s a person, I mean, he’s got a name. I can take him back to Lindow. Viola used to have two cows—”
“I’ve been introduced to Daisy and Cleopatra,” he said.
“Of course you were, when you were courting Viola,” Joan said, feeling a little pang at the thought. “When Viola married, she took Daisy and Cleo to Devin’s country house, so Percy can live in their empty cowshed at the castle. Please, Thaddeus.”
“He’s not a pet. He’s an animal that should be treated with respect and kindness. Before being served for dinner.”
Her gaze locked with his, and she held out her arms for the piglet. “Please.”
“If I give him to you, you have to wear a different coat for the performance. One of my choosing.” It was a curt command, not a question.
“What?” Joan pushed away the unwelcome realization that she loved it when his voice dropped to that gravely tone. “What’s the matter with my coat?”
“It’s too short in the rear.”
“I needn’t worry about being à la mode,” Joan explained. “Most theater companies buy their costumes from the aristocracy. They wear coats that may have been sitting in someone’s attic since the Stuarts were on the throne. It’s all about the pretense, not the fashion of the moment. This coat belonged to my brother Alaric when he was a boy, so it’s at least twenty years old.”
He looked at her. “Do you want this pig?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll wear a different coat for Hamlet, one that covers your rear.”
“But this is perfect for a prince,” she objected. “The silver thread embroidery, you see?”
Silence.
Joan shrugged. “I’ll have to fish around in the attics and get dusty, but it will be worth it to save Percy.”
It looked as if Thaddeus rolled his eyes, but she must have been wrong. The oh-so-pompous viscount would never lower his countenance to make such an impolite gesture.
“I’ll bring the pig to your coachman,” he said, nodding toward the carriage.
“I’ll find Aunt Knowe meanwhile,” Joan said and then caught his eye. “No, I’ll come with you because the fair is dangerous,” she said with a sigh.
They walked in silence back to the coach. “Give this piglet some water,” Thaddeus instructed the coachman. “He’s had a difficult morning.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” Mr. Bisquet replied.
“Bisquet, the piglet’s name is Percy,” Joan added. “He’s going to live in Cleo’s old cowshed and never be served for dinner, so be sure not to let him go free accidentally. He’s just a baby.”
“I see that,” Bisquet said, taking the piglet. “We can try giving him to a nursing sow, but I think he’ll have to be fed with an old glove.”
Percy made a soft grunting noise.
Joan scratched his forehead. “Be a good boy, Percy, and I’ll be back soon.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Thaddeus said next to her. “Try to look at least boyish, if not manly. Men don’t moon over baby swine.”
“How sad for your sex,” Joan said. She bent over and gave Percy a kiss on his forehead. “I suppose they don’t kiss them either. Be a good boy, Percy. You are going to love the nursery!”
“The nursery?” Thaddeus asked as they walked back into the fair. “Surely you don’t mean the castle nursery?”
“Of course I do. The children will adore him.”
“Couldn’t they visit him in the cowshed?”