From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales

by Michael Phillips

  Indeed, Courtenay had been watching, though absently. He was still a little shaken from having been the recipient of one of the witch-girl’s voodoo bouquets. He had actually been turning over in his mind whether tossing it on the ground had been a good idea. Weren’t such things supposed to be burned or otherwise destroyed to mitigate their occultish power? Thus, the looks being sent toward Percy by Rhawn Lorimer uncharacteristically escaped his notice.

  By the time they were all seated around the table, Rhawn’s fluttering eyelids had calmed themselves. But her eyes remained busily glancing back and forth between Percy and Florilyn to see what kind of expressions passed between the two lovebirds. Observing nothing to titillate her interest, however, as opportunity presented itself, she tried to urge the conversation into the proper channels. “Do you come to Wales often, Mr. Drummond?” she asked, ignoring Courtenay’s displeasure at her question.

  “I haven’t been here in years,” replied Percy. “I can hardly even remember the last time—when was it, Aunt Katherine? I was just a wee lad, as we say in Scotland.”

  “I think you were about five,” replied his aunt.

  “What brings you here this summer?”

  “That is … uh, a little awkward to explain. My father thought perhaps a change from city life would be good for me.”

  “Percy got in trouble with the police,” chimed in Florilyn merrily.

  “Goodness, Florilyn!” exclaimed Katherine. “Must you be quite so frank? Think of Percival’s feelings.”

  “That’s all right, Aunt Katherine,” said Percy. “No harm done. Besides, Florilyn is right.”

  “There is no reason for her to air the family’s dirty laundry,” persisted Percy’s aunt.

  Rhawn Lorimer was enjoying the exchange immensely. She had apparently stumbled into the middle of a juicy family secret!

  “I don’t mind so much,” said Percy. “No sense in trying to hide it. Yes,” he added, turning to Rhawn, “I was behaving foolishly in the city. To keep me from getting into deeper trouble, my father asked my aunt and uncle if they would take me in for the summer. They agreed and have been very gracious to their wayward nephew.”

  He glanced toward the two with a genuine smile. His pleasant expression did much to ease Katherine’s annoyance.

  “Miss Lorimer’s father is our local magistrate, Percy, my boy,” boomed the viscount. “Better watch your step around her!”

  “I will be very careful,” Percy said, laughing.

  As the meal progressed, Courtenay was anything but pleased with the direction the conversation around the table seemed determined to go, with Percy at the center of it. But he found himself unable to do much about it other than ask Rhawn if she wanted a ride after lunch. Even that, however, after her halfhearted consent, she foiled by asking Percy if he and Florilyn rode together. She was far too interested in the blighter to suit him.

  When the two girls were alone in Florilyn’s room later, the moment the door was closed behind them, Rhawn turned to Florilyn. “He’s an absolute dream!” she said excitedly. “How did you get so lucky?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Florilyn with a confused expression. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Your cousin … Percival, of course.”

  “You must be joking!” Florilyn laughed. “Why would I be lucky?”

  “To have someone like that fancy you, of course.”

  “Percy … fancy me? Ugh, what a sickening thought!”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “I can’t stand him!”

  “Now it’s you who must be joking.”

  “I’m not,” insisted Florilyn.

  “What about the flowers he left you downstairs?”

  “Percy?” Florilyn’s tone was more disbelieving than ever.

  “Yes. A little bouquet tied with the very ribbon I saw him buying at the draper’s shop. He had flowers with him that day, too. He said they were for a girl. I never dreamed it was you.”

  “When was that?” asked Florilyn a little more seriously.

  “A week ago maybe.”

  “He never gave me any flowers.”

  Rhawn stared back at her in surprise. “Then who are the flowers downstairs for if he didn’t mean them for you?”

  “What flowers downstairs?”

  “I told you—a bouquet hanging on the door outside. Courtenay saw them.”

  “What did he do?” asked Florilyn.

  “He got really angry and threw them on the ground. He was acting very strange.”

  Florilyn did not reply. A brief shudder went through her as she recalled the incident in town after church.

  But Rhawn took little notice of her change in mood. “Don’t you think your cousin is good looking?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Florilyn replied distractedly. “I suppose. I never noticed.”

  “How could you not notice?”

  “Well, now that you know he’s got no interest in me, if you’re so sweet on him, you can have him. But what about Courtenay?”

  “What about him?”

  “What about, you know … you and him?”

  “Oh, Courtenay’s okay, I guess. But that was before I saw Percival. What kind of trouble was he in with the police? I think it’s exciting! Was it something really awful?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it was so bad. He’s not very brawny. I can hardly imagine him being in serious trouble. But I did overhear my parents say that if they didn’t take him in for the summer he would probably wind up in jail.”

  “Jail … that is exciting. He doesn’t look like a criminal.”

  “He’s still a boy if you ask me. Courtenay’s already beat him up twice.”

  “Why?”

  “They just don’t like each other. Courtenay hates Percy even more than I do. If you even look at him, it will make him furious.”

  “So I found out at the draper’s shop. I will just have to be careful.”

  “You’d better start now,” rejoined Florilyn. “He’s probably already waiting for you down by the stables to ride you home. If I know my brother, you are going to have a lot of explaining to do for the way you were fawning all over Percy at lunch.”

  Rhawn smiled. “I can handle your brother.”

  36

  Market Day

  Summer weekly market day began in Llanfryniog in July and would continue every Saturday until the harvests were in and the leaves of autumn began to fall.

  It was still early for most produce, though strawberries were at the height of their season. Besides the strawberries, new potatoes, carrots, turnips, and homemade cheeses and jams, most of the featured items were handcrafts the village women had been making through the winter and spring months, as well as small trinkets and sweeties to tempt the children. Not that there was much money to be made. Barter was more common than cash. Nearly everyone grew their own potatoes and carrots.

  But it was a tradition of long standing, more social than economic in the life of the community. No one for miles would miss the first market day of each new summer, when all manner of local wares were available on the grass in front of the chapel and school building. It was not unheard of for animal flesh to trade hands as well.

  Nor would it be Wales without music! Though the school term had finished several weeks earlier, the children all came together on this day to sing from the school steps several songs they had practiced the previous spring. They would alternate throughout the day with choirs from the three churches and a dozen or more fiddlers and accordionists.

  By noon of the first Saturday of July, the town was full with movement, bustle, and activity. Singing could be heard in the distance. A variety of aromas from fires and kettles tempted hungry stomachs to part with a few pennies in exchange for their lunch. Booths and tables and games and amusements and handcrafts and all manner of hand-knitted wool caps and socks and sweaters and scarves for sale were spread out everywhere.

  At one end of the field were tied a f
ew pigs, sheep, and horses to see what offers might be made. Already Kyvwlch Gwarthegydd and Padrig Gwlwlwyd and a handful of men were clustered about a pure white five-year-old stallion, examining teeth and legs, hooves and flanks.

  As he felt more and more at peace with himself in the country and at home on his uncle’s estate, Percy had taken to roaming the region with increasing freedom. His comfort upon the back of one or another of the viscount’s horses, though he had not ventured out again on Red Rhud, had greatly increased. In Llanfryniog, he made acquaintance with a growing number of the villagers. Despite the fact that he was well known by the youths of the place as little Gwyneth Barrie’s defender, that he was Lord Snowdon’s nephew caused most of the older townspeople to give him the benefit of any doubts they may have had in regard of his peculiar relationship with the strange girl. A few, in fact, secretly admired his championing of Barrie’s daughter. This general prejudice in his favor was aided by his cheerful disposition, as well as by the fact that he was so likable and unlike the viscount’s two children, neither of whom had made themselves particular favorites with anyone.

  Hearing about market day, Percy was not about to miss it.

  As much as they gave every indication of despising him, for reasons difficult to explain, both Courtenay and Florilyn were reluctant to leave their cousin on his own. In actual fact, the lives of the two scions of the Westbrooke name had grown a little tedious of late. When Courtenay was not shooting or riding with Colville Burrenchobay or pressing his attentions on Rhawn Lorimer, he had very little to occupy himself during the long days of summer. He did not read, did not ride merely for enjoyment. The sea, the mountains, the village, the forests held no fascination for him. Much the same could be said of Florilyn. Both were too wrapped up in themselves to find delight in the world about them.

  The three young people were therefore often found together more often than could be accounted for by cousinly friendship. Courtenay and Florilyn kept track of Percy’s movements and, motivated as much from boredom as interest, almost followed him about. If he chanced on some amusement, they did not want to miss it. He found them a nuisance. But he could hardly tell the son and daughter of his hosts to leave him alone. So he went about his affairs, and not wanting to be left behind, they tagged along, sniping at him with derisive comments.

  Percy, newly alive to the delights of the country, was eager to be out exploring and walking and riding, talking to the servants, meandering through the town, encountering new people, making friends, engaging the old fishermen in conversation as one by one they overcame their reticence toward him. To her great disgust, Florilyn had once even seen him helping Hollin Radnor cleaning out the horses’ stalls, talking away to the groom as if they were old friends!

  In spite of such revolting tendencies, Percy brought an energy and enthusiasm to life at the manor that slowly rubbed off on everyone, staff and family alike.

  Both his cousins accompanied him into town on this day also because they knew that Colville, Davina, and Ainsworth Burrenchobay were planning to be in Llanfryniog after lunch. The five aristocratic youths of the two neighboring estates were capable of far more mischief en masse than singly. Davina Burrenchobay, at thirteen, was too young to interest Courtenay. But she idolized Florilyn, and the viscount’s daughter found her attentions gratifying. They offered Florilyn, too, the occasional opportunity to try out her seductive wiles on Davina’s nineteen-year-old brother, Colville.

  They had not been in town long before Percy disappeared. By then neither Courtenay nor Florilyn cared. Half suspecting where he might have gone, they would not have followed him anyway. That Courtenay had managed to run into Rhawn Lorimer allayed his anxiety about Percy in that regard. From somewhere, Davina Burrenchobay came running excitedly toward them. Before she knew it, Florilyn had been deserted by both brother and cousin and found herself walking along with thirteen-year-old Davina chatting away and ten-year-old Ainsworth traipsing along behind.

  “Where’s your brother?” asked Florilyn.

  “I’m right here!” piped up Ainsworth eagerly.

  “I mean your older brother, you goose,” rejoined Florilyn.

  “I don’t know,” replied Davina. “I think he’s over there somewhere looking at a horse. He’s always looking at horses.”

  Meanwhile, Percy was enjoying a cup of tea with Grannie in her cottage. With every visit, he learned more about the village, about Gwyneth and her father and why Codnor Barrie had been in Ireland when Gwyneth was born. He also continued to pick up tidbits of interest about the family of his aunt and uncle with whom he was spending the summer.

  “Will Gwyneth be here for market day?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t take to crowds,” replied Grannie. “You know how people are to her, poor lass.”

  Florilyn and the two younger Burrenchobays continued to wander about aimlessly. In the distance, Florilyn saw Courtenay and Rhawn. She increased her pace in their direction. The two younger ones followed.

  By the time Percy arrived at the festivities an hour later, the sheep-shearing contest was in full swing. A hundred or more spectators were cheering on their favorites. Percy moved toward the noisy commotion and was soon swallowed by the crowd.

  “Hoy there, Mr. Drummond, isn’t it?” said a voice at Percy’s side.

  Percy turned to see his sheep-herding acquaintance from his first ride into the hills. “Hello, Stevie,” he said, shaking the other’s hand. “Are you one of the contestants?”

  “Aye, I am. How is your summer?”

  “Good … very good.”

  “I am still waiting for that visit to my house.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Percy laughed. “Seeing you again … I will make a point of riding out your way next week.”

  He saw Stevie glance behind him. A serious expression came over the shepherd’s face. Percy turned to see Florilyn walking past them at the side of a large youth. She pretended not to notice as they moved beyond the crowd. She was smiling and laughing and carrying herself with a flirtatious air.

  “I don’t like to see your cousin with the likes of him,” said Stevie.

  “Why, who is he?” asked Percy.

  “That’s Colville Burrenchobay,” replied Stevie.

  “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of him. He’s a friend of my cousin Courtenay’s.”

  “Not the sort of fellow I would want my sister or daughter keeping company with. I’m concerned only for Miss Florilyn, you understand. I don’t know what my lord Snowdon is thinking to allow it.”

  “I don’t think he pays much attention to what his son and daughter do.”

  “All the more reason he should.”

  “Is the bloke really so bad?” said Percy, watching the two walk off together.

  “There are stories that find their way back from the university,” replied Stevie. “That’s all I will say. Oh, I just heard them call my name!”

  “Best of luck to you!”

  “Don’t forget that visit.” Stevie ran off.

  Percy inched his way to the front of the throng for a better view. As he did, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Florilyn and Colville Burrenchobay moving out of sight behind the chapel. He was soon caught up in Stevie’s performance with the sheep. By the time Stevie flung the coat of wool in a single piece away from the skinny little white body that emerged from beneath it, Percy was cheering and yelling with the rest.

  “Well done, Stevie!” he exclaimed when Stevie approached at the conclusion of his effort. “Will you win, do you think?”

  “Who can say? I was third last year. Some of the men have been at it decades more than me. It will take me years to catch them. If I manage to get in the top five, I will have had a good day of it.”

  “Is your father here? Does he participate?”

  A sad smile came over the young shepherd’s face. “No, I’m sorry to say,” he replied. “He used to be the shearing champion of all Gwynedd. But he’s not well just now, you see. He doesn’t get out anymo
re.”

  As they were talking, Percy was surprised to see Rhawn Lorimer walking toward them. She was alone. “Hello, Percival,” she purred. She glanced toward Stevie. Her nose crinkled squeamishly.

  “Miss Lorimer,” said Percy. “Quite a day, eh? Do you know Stevie

  Muir?”

  “Everybody does,” she answered, not attempting to disguise her repugnance. “Would you like to walk with me, Percival?” she added.

  If she had thought to win Percy’s affection by being brusque with Stevie Muir, the magistrate’s daughter had misjudged her prey. Nevertheless, by that subtle art at which young women are so skilled and of which young men are so oblivious, in less than a minute Percy found himself cleverly drawn away from his shepherd friend and the sheep-shearing crowd together. He glanced back, but Stevie was already swallowed up by the activity.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Rhawn.

  “I was just wondering where Stevie disappeared to,” replied Percy.

  “Who cares about him?”

  “I care about him.”

  “Florilyn says you’re friends with the little witch-child, too. Are you friends with all the local riffraff?”

  “Riffraff?” exclaimed Percy. “What are you talking about? They are people. God made them no less than He made you and me. Yes, I am friends with Gwyneth and Stevie. They are two of the first people I met here. I like them.”

  Percy hardly realized that the words out of his mouth might well have come from his father. Had he been paying closer attention, he would probably have wondered what was becoming of him. They continued to move farther from the crowd.

  “What about me?” said Rhawn in a coquettish tone, moving close and brushing Percy’s side.

  “You’re a nice enough girl, Miss Lorimer, I suppose,” replied Percy. “But I hardly know you.”

  “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  “What kind of question is that?” laughed Percy. “You don’t go around asking people if they think you’re pretty.”