Though the families of Edward and the elder Henry Drummond had been much together as the two had grown into adulthood, Edward’s eventual settling in Glasgow had greatly reduced their contact in recent years. In spite of the reasonable proximity of Stirling to Glasgow, the two younger Drummond cousins had met but two or three times during their boyhood. As both boys had grown into fine young men with hearts for God, it seemed a shame to Edward that they were not more intimately acquainted. He was thus delighted with his cousin’s acceptance of the invitation.
The five Drummonds sat together at a celebratory dinner two evenings later in the restaurant of one of Aberdeen’s finer hotels. The two second cousins hit it off immediately. They would have been taken by an observer to be lifelong friends.
“So it’s law next, is it, Percy?” young Henry had just asked.
“No decision yet,” replied Percy. “Actually, for a time I was considering the ministry, like my father … and like you now, too. But after much prayer, I am sensing a leading in the direction of law. I have to tell you, though, at the moment the thought of more schooling is not especially appealing. I just want to put it behind me.”
“I know what you mean,” rejoined Henry. “After I graduated, I considered taking a break from my studies. But,” he added, casting a glance across the table, “my father encouraged me to keep the momentum strong. If I wanted my divinity degree, he said, it would be best to continue in pursuit of the goal.”
“No doubt wise advice. I have the advantage of having worked for a law firm here in Aberdeen for several summers. They will hire me fulltime as an intern if I want to postpone law school.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?”
“Again … no decision yet. There is something I have to do first, before I embark on any career plans—a promise that I must fulfill.”
“Sounds mysterious.”
“It is mysterious!” now laughed Edward. “Neither Mary nor I know what it is. Percy has been very tight lipped.”
“I promised to tell no one,” said Percy. “That’s part of it, too—confidentiality. The first thing I need to do is return to Wales in a few weeks to attempt to fulfill my promise.”
“Wales?” asked the elder Henry.
“To visit my aunt,” said Percy.
“Ah, right … Katherine. She’s the one who married into the aristocracy, is she not?”
“The Viscount Lord Snowdon,” nodded Edward. “My sister, your cousin, is none other than the Viscountess Lady Snowdon. The viscount died a year ago. Percy was there at the time and made a deathbed promise to Katherine’s husband, which is the source of his perplexity and our mystery.”
The eyes of the others around the table all came to rest on Percy. He drew in a long breath and sighed. “That’s about it,” he said. “It is indeed a perplexity because I am not sure how to carry out my uncle’s dying wish. But I promised him I would try. So I will go to Wales and hope to be given direction on what to do next.”
“I have an idea for you,” said young Henry. “Actually, I haven’t talked to you about this yet, Father,” he added, glancing toward his father. “I just learned of it a few days ago. D. L. Moody and Ira Sankey are coming to Scotland on an evangelistic mission in the fall. I would like to take a leave from New College and work with them … with your permission, Father.” He turned again to Percy. “Why don’t you join me, Percy?” he said enthusiastically. “Can you imagine what an experience—to work alongside Moody! It’s an opportunity that may never come again. I want to be part of it.”
Percy took in the suggestion with obvious interest. “I will have to see how it goes in Wales,” he said. “It sounds like an intriguing possibility. What will you do?”
“They enlist local support wherever they travel to help with organization and crowds and in counseling people after the services. I suppose it will be personal evangelism with those who have shown interest or have given their hearts to Christ.”
The conversation and dinner continued late into the evening. When they finally retired for the night, the two young cousins agreed to stay in touch and keep one another apprised of their future plans.
Parting the next day, as the two Henry Drummonds prepared to board their train for Edinburgh, young Henry approached his father’s cousin as they waited in the station.
“Cousin Edward,” he said. “I have a request to make of you, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly, Henry,” replied Edward.
“My mother and father have always spoken highly of your spiritual insights—how you see things in the spiritual world differently from most Christians. I am embarrassed to ask, but would you look at some writings I am working on? My father has read most of them and offered a few ideas. I would like to hear what you think as well.”
“I would be happy to, Henry,” replied Edward. “What’s it about?”
“It’s a series of devotional talks based on First Corinthians 13. I am occasionally called on to address my fellow students at chapel. I would appreciate any thoughts you might have.”
“It would be my pleasure,” replied Edward.
His cousin’s son handed him a small sheaf of handwritten pages.
“You don’t mind if I read it, too?” asked Percy.
“Of course not, Percy,” replied Henry. “I would appreciate your thoughts as well—as someone my own age.”
“This is not your only copy?” asked Edward.
“No, I copied out a clean draft for you. My own is too filled with notes and scratchings from my pen. No one could possibly make sense of it!”
With final handshakes and promises to write, the two Henrys, father and son, boarded their train.
The three Glaswegians departed for Glasgow the following morning, with all Percy’s belongings from four years at the university.
28
Wales through New Eyes
Percival Drummond, M.A., arrived at Llanfryniog in North Wales in the last week of May, 1873. As he alighted from the coach in front of the inn, he thought to himself how the progression of his life seemed inexorably linked to his periodic sojourns in this rural seat of his aunt and uncle and cousins. Westbrooke Manor had come to feel more like his true home even than the parsonage in Glasgow in which he had been raised.
While the coachman took down his bags and set them beside the inn, he glanced up and down the familiar street. How many times had he been here, he wondered. His first visit as a rebellious sixteen-year-old in 1867 had been filled with so many discoveries about God and nature and himself. Then his return visit as a nineteen-year-old university student in 1870 … and again two years later. That was the fateful visit of a year ago, when the accident had occurred that had taken his uncle’s life. Finally the short stay last Christmas. Now here he was again, a university graduate of twenty-two, with an uncertain future ahead of him.
Almost simultaneous to the departure of the coach and four that had brought him down the coast from the train at Blaenau Ffestiniog, the Westbrooke Manor buggy appeared at the end of the street to the south of town, coming between the two churches and making good speed. As he approached, Percy saw Steven Muir at the reins.
He waited as the carriage slowed and drew alongside the inn. Steven jumped down and ran toward him with outstretched hand. He seemed to Percy’s eyes to have aged two years. Being in a position of responsibility obviously agreed with him.
“Hello, Stevie!” said Percy, reverting to the nickname by which he had first known him.
“Welcome back to Wales, Percy!” said Steven. “As always, the whole manor is anxiously awaiting you.”
“The whole manor?” laughed Percy.
“Ah, if you’re meaning Mister Courtenay … he’s away to the continent.”
Behind Steven, Percy now saw Florilyn alight from the carriage. She smiled and walked toward him. The two cousins embraced affectionately, then stepped back and gazed a moment into one another’s eyes. If anything since the ending of their engagement, Florilyn had grow
n quieter and more beautiful, reminding all who saw her of Katherine.
After the initial heartache from what she had done, the months since had been good ones for Florilyn’s soul. She participated in the domestic life of the manor and spent much of her free time in the library. There her newfound love for reading blossomed into a passion. She and her mother grew closer than ever, talked often about Percy and what Florilyn had done, and had even begun to pray together. As rare as such a thing might be in the world, mother and daughter truly became the best of friends and confidantes.
In the second or two as she gazed into Percy’s eyes, a strange and unexpected sensation filled Florilyn’s heart. How she loved him! Yet in that instant, she realized that her love for Percy was the love of a sister for a brother … the natural love for a brother that Courtenay had never allowed to flourish within her.
“You look well, Florilyn,” said Percy. “You seem at peace.”
“Perhaps I am,” said Florilyn. “You look good, too, Percy. I can see from your face that you are relieved that the stress of school is behind you.”
Percy nodded. “It is a great relief, I will admit. If I go to law school eventually, it will probably be far more rigorous. But I’m not thinking about that now.”
Steven already had Percy’s bags loaded. The three climbed into the buggy.
Florilyn sat down between the two young men and slipped her hands through their two arms. “I don’t know that I have ever felt so safe and secure and happy as to have two such wonderful men beside me!” she exclaimed as they set off.
Percy roared with laughter.
“Oh Percy, it is always so good when you come home, isn’t it, Steven? Your laughter brings the sun out!”
“I am glad to be of service!” said Percy, laughing again. “So, Steven,” he went on, “how does the life of a gentleman suit you?”
“I am hardly that, Percy!” laughed Steven. “Merely a humble factor.”
“A factor is almost a gentleman, is it not?”
“I will always be a sheepherder at heart.”
“Don’t let him tell you stories, Percy,” said Florilyn. “Steven knows everything about the estate. Mother says he manages it all. The business of the estate would be impossible without him, she says.”
“Good for you, Steven! I am happy it has worked out well for everyone. What does Courtenay think of having you for his—” Percy stopped abruptly as they passed a young woman from behind. “Wait a minute—Hold on, Steven!” he said. “Isn’t that … Yes, it is!” He leaped down from the carriage as Steven pulled to a stop. He ran around the horse to the side of the street. “Rhawn!” he cried. “I thought it was you!”
Before Rhawn Lorimer had a chance even to greet him, she found herself embraced by the last person she had expected to see. “Percy!” she exclaimed as he stepped back. “You’re back in Wales!”
“I only just arrived. Florilyn and Steven came to collect me from the coach,” he added, glancing toward the two where they sat in the buggy.
Rhawn smiled up at them.
“You’re looking well. Being a mother must be a good influence on you.”
“Thank you,” said Rhawn a little shyly, glancing away.
“Are you still living at your parents’ home?” asked Percy.
Rhawn nodded.
“And your son?”
“He is well. He’s two and a half now—rambunctious and talkative.”
“I can’t wait to see him. I’ll come visit. We’ll go for a ride together!” Percy turned and walked back to the carriage and climbed up.
Steven flicked the reins and they bounded into motion as Rhawn stood a moment staring after them.
It was quiet in the carriage for a minute or two.
“Is there still no …” Percy began. “I mean … the boy still has no father, I take it?”
“No acknowledged father,” said Florilyn.
“Do you and she still see one another?”
“We get together from time to time,” nodded Florilyn. “I’ve actually gotten her started reading MacDonald’s books.”
“She’s said nothing to you about who the father is?”
“She would never do that. It’s never come up between us.”
They left Llanfryniog behind them, joined the main road, and continued southward.
“What is happening over there?” said Percy as they rode up the plateau and he looked toward the promontory of Mochras Head.
“Actually,” said Florilyn, “my mother is building a new house.”
“What?”
“She and I will be leaving the manor when Courtenay becomes viscount.”
“You’re kidding! Voluntarily, or is he forcing you out?”
“A little of both!” laughed Florilyn. “Now that the new house is begun, Mother is excited. Just wait till you see the drawings. It will be beautiful, overlooking the sea with the most spectacular views imaginable.”
“So how is my old friend and nemesis doing?” asked Percy.
“Courtenay you mean?”
“Who else? Can’t wait to see me, what?”
“Actually, Courtenay’s gone,” replied Florilyn. “He left for France about a month ago. How he found the money for a trip has Mother baffled,” she went on. “To all accounts he was basically penniless except for what Mother occasionally gave him. Then all of a sudden something seemed to change. The next thing we knew, he was gone again. We’ve not heard a word from him.”
“But he becomes viscount … when?”
“He turns twenty-five next March.”
On the continent, Courtenay’s newfound wealth was in fact evaporating rather more quickly than he would have hoped, largely from unwise investments at Europe’s racetracks. He seemed neither concerned nor inclined to moderate his expensive addiction. There was more waiting for him in a few months’ time. Once he was viscount, he would raise rents across the board sufficient to keep from finding himself in the same boat as had his father.
His father’s dream of owning a stable of thoroughbred racehorses of his own had taken possession of Courtenay. His travels also served the ostensible purpose of giving him the opportunity to make several purchases. He was not a wise judge of horseflesh, far too impetuous and given to the lure of externals. But as is often the case with such young men, his confidence in his decision-making prowess was of inverse proportion to its wisdom. The last thing he would think to do was seek the counsel of those older and wiser than himself. His hubris was well developed in the extreme.
The thought never now entered his mind of resuming his studies at Oxford. What did he need a degree for? By this time next year, he would be sitting in the House of Lords!
Steven and Florilyn continued with their Scots passenger through the gate into the precincts of Westbrooke Manor.
Katherine was watching for their arrival from the window of the study. The moment the buggy came into view, she was on her way down the stairs. The entire household staff was also aware of their honored guest’s impending arrival and had contrived to be at or near the front door with their mistress to greet him.
Katherine walked outside and hurried toward the carriage. She embraced Percy almost the moment his feet touched the ground. “Welcome home, Percy!” she whispered into his ears.
Percy stepped back and looked into his aunt’s eyes. He saw a new light of assurance, poise, and calm in her countenance.
In the six months since Christmas, the viscount’s widow had added more than a few strands of gray now that the milestone of fifty had come and gone. The grief of finding herself without a husband while still a relatively young woman caused her, even now, occasional tears when alone at night. But that she had grown within herself was obvious from one look deep into her eyes. Notwithstanding the tussles with Courtenay, she was more confident and self-assured. Many decisions had been forced upon her. She had risen to meet them with a maturity and grace that would have made her late husband proud. She continued what she and her husband had beg
un during the final year or two of his life, visiting the homes and shops of the villagers who were, even if but temporarily, her tenants and making sure their needs were being met.
Even with the prospect looming of having to leave her home, she was looking to the future not with defeat but as a challenge to be met with zestful optimism. She had successfully concluded the purchase from the estate of one hundred sixty acres stretching inland from the promontory of Mochras Head approximately a quarter mile at its narrowest up to three-quarters of a mile at the point of the promontory, bounded to the east by the village road and main road south to Barmouth. Now that Courtenay had laid his cards on the table, she was almost looking forward to the inevitable move to the new home of her design. Nevertheless, she was greatly relieved to be able to embark on the project in his absence.
Mostly, however, Katherine Westbrooke had grown spiritually. The sensitivities of her youth, nurtured in the home of a godly mother and father, had been so thoroughly stifled during the years of her marriage as to almost have receded into dormancy. The strong roots of that spiritual legacy had now revived and sent new life throughout the entire plant of her being. Not only was she now reading every new MacDonald novel as it came off the press, she was venturing into the deep waters of his sermons as well and had begun her own inquiry through daily Bible reading into the true nature and character of God.
Truly had she allowed the tragedies that had come to her to work together for good in her life.
The Treasure of the Celtic Triangle- Wales Page 14
