From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales

by Michael Phillips

“All the other boys think I’m pretty.”

  “I am sure they do. All I am saying is that I want no trouble with Courtenay. He told us to stay away from each other. So I’m not exactly sure what you are doing. What if he sees us?”

  “Do you take your orders from Courtenay?” baited Rhawn.

  “No. But he’s bigger and stronger than me, and with a temper I don’t particularly want to upset. He’s already put me on the ground twice. I’m no idiot. I’m not eager to experience it again.”

  “Wouldn’t it be worth it … for me?”

  “Honestly, no. Sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but if you are Courtenay’s girl, I have no desire to interfere. I certainly have no intention of getting beat up for you.”

  “I’m not his girl,” rejoined Rhawn with the hint of a pout.

  “If Courtenay thinks you are, then—”

  What Percy had been about to say was interrupted by the scream of a girl’s voice. It came from behind the chapel. Percy bolted toward it.

  He rounded the corner of the stone church to see Florilyn struggling in the arms of the same youth he had seen her with earlier.

  “Just a simple kiss, Florilyn,” he was saying in a voice that revealed aggression. “I know you’re in love with me!”

  “No, I’m not! Colville … let me go!” cried Florilyn.

  Obviously provoked, the young man pressed his advantage. He grabbed her tight and pulled her face to his.

  Another scream sounded. Somehow Florilyn struggled to loosen herself sufficiently to free her arm. A great whack struck Colville Burrenchobay’s cheek.

  Florilyn was stronger than it might have seemed, especially when aroused to fury. Burrenchobay’s eyes filled from the sting of the blow. “You little vixen!” he cried. “You will pay for that!”

  However he thought to retaliate was preempted as Percy flew into their midst.

  “Hey, what the—!” exclaimed Burrenchobay. In the torrent that followed, he forgot that he was in the presence of a young woman, if not quite yet a lady.

  “Stand back, Florilyn!” said Percy in a commanding voice as he separated them. “Get away!”

  Whether Florilyn had really been shocked by Colville Burrenchobay’s advances, only she could say. The strength of his grip had, in truth, frightened her just a little. She, too, had heard the stories to which Stevie had alluded. But like many foolish maidens, she found playing with fire tantalizing, thrilling, and dangerous. She greatly overestimated her ability to keep from burning her fingers. She had been as much to blame in the clandestine affair as Burrenchobay, perhaps more so. Yet with a squire suddenly rushing in to protect her honor, as it were, notwithstanding that it was one whose interference she would have scorned had she taken the leisure to stop and think about it, what could she do but back away and see how the thing turned out?

  “You will regret your insolence, whoever you are, you little cur!” shouted Burrenchobay in a rage.

  He was not one who stood on ceremony, nor who cherished qualms of etiquette about taking on someone half his size. Charging like a wild bull, within seconds Percy yet again found himself on the short end of a brief but violent scuffle.

  Florilyn saw nothing of it. She raced from behind the chapel, only stopping when she met Rhawn Lorimer coming around the side of the stone wall.

  “What—” began Rhawn, seeing the look of fright on Florilyn’s face.

  Behind her she heard the yells and saw the fight well enough. It did not last long. A minute later, Colville Burrenchobay had disappeared.

  The two girls walked slowly to where Percy was sprawled out on the grass.

  “What happened?” said Rhawn.

  “Colville tried to kiss me,” replied Florilyn. “I screamed. Percy, like the nincompoop he is, ran in and tried to rescue me.”

  “That hardly sounds like the work of a nincompoop,” said Rhawn. “No one’s ever rescued me.”

  They approached. Percy still lay motionless.

  “Is he … dead?” said Rhawn, her voice trembling at the word.

  Slowly Percy opened his eyes. He saw the faces of the two girls staring down at him. “Ohhh!” he groaned in pain. “I definitely do not think I am cut out for country life.” He groaned again and tried to move. “These blokes here are lunatics,” he said. “They’ll knock your block off at the drop of a hat. I’ll never survive the summer.”

  Florilyn could not prevent an inward smile. He was always saying something funny.

  So relieved that nothing appeared broken, both girls stooped down and tried to help him sit up.

  “I’m all right,” said Percy, drawing in a deep breath. He breathed in and out a few more times where he sat on the grass. “Whew,” he sighed. “That was one big, strong guy. Remind me to keep out of his way.”

  Rhawn broke into laughter to hear Percy feeling good enough to make light of it. Florilyn joined her, but her laugh was mingled with anxiety for herself and what would be the upshot of the incident.

  “You two can go,” said Percy, struggling to his feet. “I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account. That’s all I need, to incur Courtenay’s wrath now as well. Why don’t you go and have fun and pretend this never happened. I’ll find my own way home … like the proverbial dog slinking away with his tail between his legs.”

  37

  Mixed Fortunes

  Once again at dinner that evening, Percy’s facial condition was the object of comment and question. He did his best to brush off the questions, but the viscount was noticeably concerned.

  When his uncle began hinting at talking to Styles Lorimer about investigating the incident, Percy knew he had to come clean before it went any further. “It’s really nothing, Uncle Roderick,” he said. “I got into a row with Colville Burrenchobay, that’s all.”

  “Oh … I see. Hmm … not a lad to tangle with, Percy, my boy,” said the viscount seriously. “He’s twice your size, I dare say.”

  “I will be more careful in the future, sir, believe me.”

  “What were you fighting about?”

  Florilyn’s face sought the table. She felt her cheeks redden and was afraid to look up without betraying herself.

  “Nothing much,” said Percy. “Just a difference of opinion. It was my fault.”

  “I can hardly believe that,” rejoined the viscount.

  “It’s true, sir. I am sorry if I disappoint you.”

  “No, no, Percy, my boy—think nothing of it. Boys will be boys. Young Burrenchobay is well known to have a hot head.”

  The meal progressed. The mood remained subdued. Florilyn said almost nothing. For once Courtenay seemed to be enjoying himself more than the rest of the family.

  Most of those attending the market day gala had gotten wind of the fight behind the church. Young boys smell a fight a mile away. Any scuffle to lads under twelve is like catnip to a cat. A few had managed to catch glimpses of the tail end of it, and the exciting news spread like a brush fire.

  Not having discovered Rhawn Lorimer’s treachery toward himself in the way of her advances toward Percy, Courtenay was delighted with the turn of events with regard to his friend and cousin. And he could not help but enjoy watching his sister squirm in hopes that her part in the incident, which he learned later from Colville, would not come out.

  Later in the evening as he was walking slowly down the corridor to his room, one arm noticeably drooping at his side and very much looking forward to his bed at last, Percy was surprised to see Florilyn standing waiting for him. The expression on her face was one whose acquaintance Percy had not made before. In a strange way, he hardly recognized her. He approached and nodded in silent greeting.

  Florilyn glanced down at the floor. She was clearly embarrassed.

  He waited.

  Finally she looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell my father it was my fault?” she said.

  “I didn’t know it was.”

  Again Florilyn glanced down at the floor.

  “Was it your
fault?” asked Percy. “It didn’t look that way to me. He was behaving badly to you—certainly not like a gentleman.”

  “No one has ever accused Colville Burrenchobay of being a gentleman,” rejoined Florilyn. She looked up. The gaze that met Percy’s was earnest and sincere. “But I was flirting with him,” she said.

  Percy took in the information without comment. He was not surprised. “What would it have accomplished to blame you?” he said after a moment. “Your father doesn’t need to know … that is, if you learned your lesson.”

  “I hope I have,” said Florilyn, obviously uneasy. “Daddy would have whipped me if he knew. Well, thank you, I guess.” She forced a smile, though the effort seemed to strain the muscles of her face to their limit.

  She turned and left Percy at his door pondering the unexpected exchange with his cousin.

  Percy remained out of sight for a few days, nursing his wounds for a third time and vowing to keep clear, whatever the circumstances, of his older cousin and his wild friend from Burrenchobay Hall. If he didn’t find a way to keep out of the way of these two crazed young Welshmen, his father would have to come fetch him from the hospital!

  Several days later he ran into Florilyn outside the house. He and she had not spoken since the previous Saturday night.

  “Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked.

  Percy smiled skeptically. “So you can get me thrown and ditch me again?” he said, half playfully, though not entirely playfully.

  “No, I promise. You can lead the way.”

  She sounded sincere. Percy thought for a moment then nodded.

  “I may regret this,” he said. “But … all right. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

  Twenty minutes later, the cousins rode out of the stable yard. True to her word, Florilyn allowed Percy to lead. They took the same two horses as before, but this time Percy was on Grey Tide, and not once did Florilyn increase her speed. They led the two mounts slowly down the entry drive side by side, and then Percy turned onto the main road and down the slope of the plateau toward Llanfryniog.

  “You seem steadier in the saddle,” said Florilyn.

  “I’ve been riding quite a bit,” said Percy. “I’m getting comfortable with it.”

  “That’s good.”

  “We should have another race before I return to Glasgow. You did rather take advantage of me last time.”

  “That wasn’t really a proper race.”

  “Maybe the next one can be.”

  Florilyn smiled. Her expression was difficult to read. “Do you really think you could keep up with me?” she said with a hint of playful banter.

  “Maybe not … not now. But perhaps by the end of the summer.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  Percy did not reply. He met her coy smile with one of his own.

  They reached the village and clomped leisurely along the hard-packed dirt street between the stone buildings lining it on both sides. Most of the people they passed, to Florilyn’s surprise, greeted Percy by name. He led the way through town, past the chapel, all evidence of the previous Saturday’s festivities gone, and down to the harbor. They continued onto the sand and a short distance along it then turned back up again into town. Returning through the village, Percy led randomly through several side streets and lanes where the two horses occasionally had to walk in single file.

  “What is that strange building there,” asked Percy, pointing to his right down a narrow lane, “with the funny roof and purple doors and windows and all the statues about?”

  “That’s Madame Fleming’s house—the fortune-teller.”

  “A fortune-teller? You must be joking!”

  “No, really,” replied Florilyn.

  Suddenly her face lit. “Percy!” she exclaimed. “Let’s go get our fortunes told!”

  “I don’t—”

  “Oh, let’s. Can we, please? I’ve always wanted to. I would be afraid to go alone. But with you, I wouldn’t be. Oh, let’s do!”

  Though he had never once spoken with them about such things, somehow Percy knew that his parents would strongly disapprove of his setting foot inside such a place as Madame Fleming’s. His father would also remind him, as the man and the older of the two, that if it lay within his power, he had a responsibility to protect his cousin from harm.

  Yet the youthful spirit of adventure proved an irresistible lure. For once Florilyn was being nice. He didn’t want to snub her only request on the first day she had made an effort to have fun with him. He thus found it impossible to deny her.

  They turned and made their way down the narrow lane. Suddenly the village grew quiet around them. To their ears, the clop, clop, clop of the horses’ hooves echoed louder than Kyvwlch Gwarthegydd’s anvil on Sunday morning. It seemed to announce to everyone within earshot what they were about to do.

  Florilyn glanced around nervously. Her father would probably whip her for this, too, if he found out. But she was determined not to back out now.

  Slowly they approached the house. Percy shuddered as he looked at the steeply slanted roof with its weird ornaments at the corners and the occult weathervane at the apex. All around the house, the assortment of statues of goblins and dwarfs and trolls silently seemed to shout, “Stay away; there is evil here. Come if you will, but leave the past behind. Here lies your future … and it may fill you with dread.”

  They came to a halt and slowly dismounted. Even the two horses seemed ill at ease and moved about with jittery feet. They tied them to a nearby rail.

  Percy glanced along the adjacent street. He could just see one wall of Grannie’s cottage a hundred feet away. He thought to himself that he would rather visit her. But it would take a more than moderate-sized miracle to get Florilyn into that house of light. Yet she was eager to visit this house of darkness in front of them and was already halfway from the street to the door. Reluctantly he turned and followed her.

  They walked onto the porch. Percy glanced at the sign above the door, ornate with snakes and horrid-looking animals and faces. MADAME FLEMING, PSYCHIC—FORTUNES AND FUTURES FORETOLD, he read.

  Florilyn rang the bell. “I hope no one sees us!” she whispered. “My parents would kill me if they knew I was visiting the old hag.”

  The door opened. A face appeared, shrouded in darkness from behind. Percy shivered at the ghostly sight. The woman’s countenance was pale and wrinkled. Out of deep, dark sockets, eyes of black shone above lips painted bright red. A purple-orange scarf of silk covered the hair above the face. From the woman’s ears hung gaudy ringlets of gold and silver.

  A tingle of terror swept through Florilyn’s body. “We have come to get our fortunes told,” she said, her voice shaky. “May we come in? I don’t want anyone to see us.”

  “Come in … come in, my sweets,” said the woman. “Your fortunes told is it you’re wanting? You’ve come to the right place.” She opened the door just wide enough for them to squeeze through then shut it noiselessly behind them.

  Peculiar aromas assaulted them, and sights too strange to be told. Candles flickered throughout the room. Burning incense was so thick as to hover over them like a visible cloud. It was not sufficient in itself, however, to completely overwhelm the smell of the old woman herself. The interior of the place was furnished with peculiar ornaments and statues and furniture such as surrounded the exterior. Silks and tapestries covered the windows and hung throughout in the dim light, along with beads and draperies and a few paintings. The only item of immediately recognizable design was a bookshelf that stood against one wall, filled with books of dubious origin and purpose.

  “Come, my sweets,” said the woman. “Come through and sit with Madame Fleming.” Her voice was old and scratchy, thick with Bulgarian or Russian accent. That it was fake was a fact lost entirely on the wide-eyed cousins. The good Madame Fleming was as Irish as any self-respecting leprechaun, but she carried off the gypsy charade to convincing effect.

  She led them into a small anteroom and wa
ddled around a table that sat in the middle of the floor. A single candle burned in its center. She eased her plump frame into an upright chair on the far side of the table. “Sit … sit down, my sweets,” she said.

  As if they had been expected, two empty chairs awaited them. They sat down opposite her.

  “So it’s your futures and fortunes told, is it?” she said again.

  Florilyn nodded.

  “It will be a shilling each, then … in advance.”

  Even at the best of times, the good Madame Fleming’s sign would never have read, FORTUNES TOLD AND FORTUNES MADE, for there was not great money to be had in her chosen line of endeavor. But she would do well for herself on this day. The quoted price was three times her going rate. Like a spider in her lair, she had seen the two innocents coming through a slit in the curtain hanging over one of her windows and knew well enough who they were. If the inmates from the manor up the hill intended to purchase her wares, she would make them pay as befitted their means.

  Percy and Florilyn looked at one another. Neither had considered the practical aspects of the case. Florilyn had not so much as a ha’penny on her. Percy always carried a few coins, but two shillings was unexpectedly steep. Regretting his acquiescence to this questionable enterprise all the more, he dug into his pocket and took out everything he had. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking over his meager resources. “It looks like I’ve only got one shilling sixpence.” He began to rise. “Here, take the shilling. You can tell hers. I don’t need my fortune told.”

  “Sit … sit, my sweet,” said the woman. “I am feeling generous today. A shilling sixpence it is. You shall both leave knowing what your futures will bring.”

  Percy laid down the coins. Quickly they disappeared across the table away from him in the midst of a large fleshy palm.

  Slowly Percy sat back down.

  “Give me your hand, young lady,” said Madame Fleming.

  Tentatively Florilyn held out her hand. A tingle of electric current surged through her at the touch from the woman’s leathery fingers. The psychic closed her eyes. Her lips began to move but remained silent. Florilyn stared with eyes as wide as saucers. The candle flickered and shadows danced on the walls and ceiling. There was no other movement, no sound.