From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales

by Michael Phillips

  After what seemed an eternity, the woman’s lips stilled. Her eyelids quivered and slowly opened. She leaned forward and peered intently into Florilyn’s hand. She began mumbling again to herself, running one finger up and down and across the lines of Florilyn’s palm.

  “I don’t know who you are, young lady,” she said at length. Her voice was thick from the East and full of exotic mystery. “But I see a great change coming to you. An inheritance that is yours will be taken away. Another will be given you in its place that is greater yet. Evildoers will try to take advantage of you and steal what is yours. But you will find love, and one will be faithful to you, though he is the least in your eyes. He will be your protector, and thus you will gain your inheritance in the end.”

  “What does it mean?” said Florilyn, trembling with the terrible thrill of mystic unknown.

  “I cannot say,” replied Madame Fleming in a voice of hidden wisdom. “The eyes of the oracle only pass on what they see and what secrets the hand divulges.” Keeping Florilyn’s palm clasped in the fingers of her own right hand, she reached toward Percy with her left. “And now you, young man.”

  Percy hesitated.

  The woman’s open hand stretched toward him.

  “No,” said Percy after a moment. “I don’t want you looking at my hand.”

  “There is nothing to fear.”

  “I am not afraid. But I—”

  His father’s face rose before Percy’s mind’s eye. The expression was calm and purposeful. It steadied him. His father was staring into Percy’s soul. Suddenly Percy realized that he loved his father and knew that his father was a good man and full of truth.

  “No,” he repeated. “I do not think my father would be pleased.”

  “Your father?” chided Madame Fleming. “Are you not your own man?”

  “I am my father’s son,” said Percy. He rose. “Let’s go, Florilyn.”

  “Wait,” said Madame Fleming. “Even without your hand, I can see that though you are poor, you shall be rich, for you will find love and wealth together where you least expect them. Yet great pain will accompany the journey where you will discover—”

  “That’s enough,” said Percy. “I will listen to no more. Florilyn, I am going.” He left the anteroom and walked back through the large dark room toward the door.

  Terrified to be left alone, Florilyn pulled her hand away, jumped up, and hurried after him.

  Back in the sunshine of the street, Percy drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He felt as if he needed to rid himself of the spell of the place.

  “Why did you rush out like that?” said Florilyn. “It was just getting interesting.”

  “She gives me the creeps. I didn’t like being there.”

  “What about everything she said?”

  “It means nothing. They just make that stuff up,” said Percy. “Let’s get out of here,” he added as he took Grey Tide’s reins and hastily mounted.

  Inside the strange abode, Madame Fleming chuckled to herself as again she peeped through her window at her jumpy young customers. They would be back. She had given them enough to whet their appetite with all that nonsense about inheritances and evil people and wealth and love. She knew her words would worm their way into their minds, especially the girl’s. The day would come when she would want to know more. Today’s purpose had only been to bait the hook.

  Her most lucrative profits were derived from repeat visits.

  38

  Below Stairs

  A gentle knock came to the open stable door behind Westbrooke Manor. “I say, Hollin, my auld frien’,” sounded a voice thick with accent from the north, “be ye ben?”

  “Ay, is that you, Richard?” replied Radnor. “I’m inside—come in, come in!”

  “‘Deed, ‘tis me,” said the visitor, Richard Hawarden, entering the darkened barn. “Ye maun hae kenned my tongue, I’m thinkin’.”

  “There’s no mistaking the tongue of a Scot any more than there is that of an old Welshman,” rejoined the viscount’s groom. He walked out of the dark with a smile and a hand extended to his longtime friend from Burrenchobay Hall. “What brings you all this way from the Hall?”

  “Jist yer ain stables. ‘Tisna anither finer in all Gwynedd, as a’body kens.”

  “Lord Snowdon takes pride in his stock, that’s the truth,” remarked Radnor. “What is it you need?”

  “A four-horse harness. Sir Armond has taen it intil’s heid tae hae a jaunt aboot the coontryside the morn’s morn wi’ ane o’ his Lonnen frien’s frae parliament an’ a’ the rest o”em. He wants t’ tak oot twa coaches wi’ four, an’ we haena but the ane harness.”

  “I think I have just what you’ll be needing. But it’s nigh eleven. Come inside and join us for tea.”

  The groom led his counterpart from the neighboring estate out the door and toward the kitchen. Already the cook was pouring out eleven o’clock refreshment for the rest of the servants.

  “You brought a guest, I see, Hollin,” she said. “Welcome to you, Richard.”

  “Thank ye—and hoo are ye, Mrs. Drenwydd?”

  “Well as can be expected,” replied the woman in her customary fashion.

  The two grooms sat down. Presently Broakes, the butler; Stuart Wyckham, the gardener; Mrs. Llewellyn, the housekeeper; and Deaken Trenchard, the viscount’s footman, all entered. Greetings with the Burrenchobay groom were exchanged all around. They had just started on a loaf of sliced bread when Percy came through on his way outside.

  “Tea, Master Percival?” asked the cook.

  “Oh, that is very nice of you. But no, thank you, Mrs. Drenwydd,” he replied, “I’m off for a ride.” He shook hands with each of those present in turn.

  She introduced him to their guest.

  Hollin Radnor slowly uncoiled his lanky frame and rose from his chair, thinking to accompany Percy out to the stables.

  “Stay where you are, Mr. Radnor,” protested Percy. “I’ll saddle her. I think Grey Tide is used to me now.”

  “I’m happy to—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve watched you do it a dozen times. I’d like to try it myself.”

  The groom sat back down with a smile. Percy left the kitchen and headed toward the stables. “A muckle daecent chap, it seems tae me,” remarked Sir Armond’s groom.

  Nods went around the room.

  “A pleasant smile on the lad’s face as weel. An’ he gie me a fine grip o’ his han’.”

  “I only wish the lad of the house were as interested in horses as his cousin,” remarked Radnor.

  “Or anything else for that matter,” added Stuart Wyckham.

  “‘Tis jist hoo things stan’ at oor place,” rejoined Hawarden. “Seems the yoong ones are the wairst o’ it fer manners. I dinna like tae be aroun’ when Master Colville comes wantin’ a mount, though he comes searchin’ fer me if I’m nae there. He’d ne’er dirty his fair hands saddlin’ a horse! Luckily he’s tae be off soon.”

  “To the continent, I hear,” said Mrs. Drenwydd.

  “Ay.”

  “The viscount and Sir Armond have spoken of a match between the two, I hear,” now put in Lady Katherine’s housekeeper.

  “Master Colville and Lady Florilyn, you’re meaning?” asked Trenchard.

  “I’m not saying I approve,” answered Mrs. Llewellyn. “But who else would I mean?”

  “Never!” rejoined the cook.

  “Dinna be so sure, Mrs. Drenwydd,” rejoined their guest. “Talk aroun’ the Hall is that they’ve aye ta’en a fancy tae ane anither. Mightna e’en need the father’s tae show themselves in the matter.”

  “Meaning no disrespect to the Hall, Richard,” persisted the cook, “but Sir Armand’s eldest isn’t fit to be husband to any woman, least of all our Lady Florilyn. We all know what happened on market day, though none of it’s come within the ears of the viscount or Lady Katherine, poor woman.”

  Hawarden did not reply. In truth, he had more reason for agreeing with Mrs. Drenwydd’s assess
ment of Colville Burrenchobay than any of the viscount’s people knew.

  “What about the two younger ones, Richard?” asked Broakes.

  “Master Ainsworth and Mistress Davina—a mite better than their brither, I’m thinkin’,” replied Hawarden. “But they’re still carryin’ the blue blood o’ their kind. And ye ken what that means. An’ they’re yoong yet. Takes the teen years tae reveal character, ye ken. Canna say much afore the testin’ o’ pride an’ independence rear their heads.”

  The butler nodded, joined by Mrs. Llewellyn. She knew the three Burrenchobay children well enough. She had served there some years before coming to the Westbrooke household. She had heard rumors of the proposed match for years, and she feared for Miss Florilyn.

  “‘Tis the same here,” remarked the cook. “Our young lady’s already getting a long nose toward her inferiors, as she judges us. Though I can’t think where she got it. Her mother’s the kindest soul a body could meet.”

  “She got it from watching her brother, make no mistake,” gruffed Broakes. “He’s had the long nose of superiority since he could walk. He didn’t need the teen years for his character to show itself. It was there long before.”

  “If she’s not out riding,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, adding her own critique of the young mistress, “it’s every day she’s wanting this dress pressed or her room cleaned or her bedclothes freshened.”

  “I daresay, what’s to become of these young ones when their parents are gone?” sighed Wyckham.

  “What do we care?” rejoined Llewellyn. “By then we’ll be gone as well.”

  “They may be what they are,” remarked Radnor, returning the conversation to their houseguest, “but the young man from Glasgow is a gentleman. It is nice to see in one so young.”

  “It is indeed,” assented the butler. “The other afternoon he called me by name. ‘Mister Broakes,’ he said. And he’s always got a kind, ‘Thank you,’ for me.”

  Nods and comments went round the room.

  “Ay, he does the same with me,” said the housekeeper. “He thanks me for doing up his room! Who’s ever heard of such a thing?”

  “Did you not hear him speaking to me just now in that respectful tone?” added the cook.

  “I never saddle his horse without a kindly word of gratitude,” nodded Radnor.

  “His father’s a preacher, you know,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. “Lady Katherine’s brother. That must be where he comes by such respect.”

  “I begin to wonder if the stories we heard of him be exaggerated,” added Broakes. “I can’t imagine the likes of him in trouble with the law.”

  “And why shouldn’t they be exaggerated?” Mrs. Drynwydd nodded. “It’s Courtenay and Florilyn we hear speaking about him. They’re jealous of their father, if you ask me. It’s clear the viscount’s taken a fancy to the lad.”

  “Hollin says he knows how to talk to the horses,” interposed the gardener. “That says a good lot about a man, young or old—isn’t that right, Hollin?”

  “Indeed so, Stuart,” nodded Radnor.

  “He was afraid of them at first, as I hear it,” chuckled Trenchard.

  “At first, maybe,” said Radnor. “But a young man who can learn from his fear is on his way toward manhood. You saw yourself, he’s not afraid of them now.”

  Tea completed, the little company gradually broke up.

  Hollin Radnor and Richard Hawarden rose and ambled back out to the barn to finish the business that had brought the latter to the manor in the first place. They found Percy just completing his initial effort to saddle a horse by himself. Both grooms checked the straps, pronounced the job well done, and sent him off on his way with praise for his effort.

  39

  The Tea Cake

  The day dawned especially warm. Gwyneth had walked with her father to the slate mine early in the morning. She treasured every moment with him, even so simple an activity as walking him to work. Clouds over the mountains indicated rain, perhaps not that afternoon but surely by the next day.

  Their conversation had been happy. Barrie kissed his daughter good-bye and turned to enter the quarry. Gwyneth’s spirits were high as she stopped in at Grannie’s for breakfast tea, her normal custom when accompanying her father to the mine.

  No visit to town on Percy’s part, whether to look in at any one of the half dozen shops or to pass through to the shore, there to chat with one of the friendlier fishermen or watch them coming and going from their trade, was complete without a visit to Grannie’s cottage. There a warm pot always sat near the flame—awaiting the arrival of visitor, whether friend or stranger—with fresh tea leaves ready in the canister on a nearby shelf. Many days found Percy gone from the manor by midmorning and not returning until evening tea, chatting with Grannie, often with Gwyneth waiting on them hand and foot, exploring the town, or visiting with his widening circle of village friends.

  Such associations, though ridiculed by his cousins, increased all the more his uncle’s affection for his nephew. In truth, the viscount found it difficult to sympathize in heart with the humble folk of the region. Seeing how well the son of his wife’s brother was received gave him a certain vicarious sense of satisfaction. It was as if, through the boy, he was a little more doing his duty by his people.

  Gwyneth skipped and danced her way through the narrow lanes toward the east side of the village. Suddenly something pelted her from behind.

  “Look, Eardley, it’s the idiot-girl!” said the boy whose hand had just released the stick that had hit her back.

  Percy’s ride into town on this day was a little later than usual. Gwyneth was already on her way home from Grannie’s as he rode between the two solemn church buildings at the south end of town. He heard a few shouts in the distance but thought nothing of it at first.

  “Been to visit the witch, idiot-girl!” yelled a second taunter. “Ha, ha, ha! Let’s get her, Chandos!”

  The two boys, thirteen and twelve respectively and well known in the village for their pranks, sprinted after Gwyneth.

  She might have returned to Grannie’s, but that would only bring the trouble down on them both. And besides far-seeing eyes, Codnor Barrie’s daughter had been blessed with two of the fleetest feet in all Llanfryniog. She could easily outrun the boys across the moor. She was confident they would not pursue her beyond the edge of the town.

  Gwyneth turned and flew.

  News of the incident outside Grannie’s cottage between the cousins from the manor had spread among the youth of the town as rapidly as had reports of the fight behind the chapel on market day. Everyone for miles knew about the Westbrooke cousin, and the younger ones were wary of him. That he had been ready to take on the likes of Courtenay Westbrooke and Colville Burrenchobay convinced them that they would do well to keep clear of him.

  Notwithstanding the account that both older boys had soundly thrashed the Scotsman, today’s two young hoodlums had cast a few quick glances about to make sure Percy was nowhere near before commencing their attack against Gwyneth. Unfortunately, they hadn’t looked closely enough.

  Suddenly the sound of a galloping horse swooped toward the two boys. When he realized what was happening, Percy hardly stopped to consider whether he was capable of a fast ride through Llanfryniog’s narrow streets. As it turned out, his practice had paid off.

  He caught up to the boys, reined in, wheeled around, and leaped to the ground before they could flee. The two stood momentarily paralyzed as Percy walked toward them. Both thought of making a dash for it. But they knew that one of them would be run down by the big sixteen-year-old and that he would find the other soon enough.

  “You blokes have a problem?” said Percy as he approached.

  “No, sir,” replied the younger of the two.

  “What are your names?”

  “Eardley White,” replied the one who had spoken.

  “And you?” he said, glancing toward the other.

  “Chandos Gwarthegydd.”

  “Are you the bla
cksmith’s son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you think your father would want me to tell him that you were trying to hurt a girl half your size?”

  “No, sir.”

  Percy looked the two over a few seconds. “All right, then,” he said, “I am going to tell you this once. If I hear that either of you have been bothering little Gwyneth again, I will come find you. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

  “I will expect you to spread the word that anyone who even thinks of hurting her will have me to deal with. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then get out of here.”

  They ran off.

  Percy returned to his horse and looked about. Though Gwyneth had glanced over her shoulder long enough to see Percy flying to intercept her pursuers, by this time she was nowhere to be seen. Percy’s first instinct was to ride after her. But he knew the speed of her feet, as well as the rest, and that she was now safe. He was more concerned for her aunt. He did not trust the two scamps. Watching him leave town, they might retaliate against Grannie. He rode, therefore, to her cottage and spent the next hour there.

  Rather than going inside when she arrived home, Gwyneth made her way behind the cottage to greet her friends for the day. She would never understand the meanness of her schoolmates. She did not fear them, at least too much. But she could not understand why people were not kind to one another.

  In the large enclosure, her menagerie came bounding and romping toward her, each awaiting its turn as she sent a small hand probing through the fence to pet nose and head and speak to each by name. Two dogs came barking up from behind, eyes aglow, tails whisking back and forth, wet pink tongues seeking any part of her person to lick, jumping and whining impatiently for their share of the attention.

  When she was able to free herself, Gwyneth walked to the smaller pens. Two orphans here were her special concern of the moment, a gull from the sea and a small gray rabbit. The gull had immediately allowed Gwyneth to hold and feed it. She had found it trapped in a bit of some strange kind of netting down on the shore. She managed to free it, though its wing was broken. Speaking gently, she had carried it up the steep path and back home.