This was the centuries-old ritual of the British “coming out,” practiced on the yearly stage of London’s social season. Tonight’s event had been planned merely as Davina Burrenchobay’s warmup for the main event a year hence.
To have seen this undercurrent of coquetry on the part of the young ladies and roguery on the part of the young men and to have witnessed the self-preoccupied interplay among the youthful generation would have made the skin crawl on the arms and neck of Edward and Mary Drummond of Glasgow. That many of today’s charms from the girl who swirled at the center of attention had been specifically designed in this case to lure and fascinate their own son would have broken their hearts. But they would have been proud to know that his reaction, after ten minutes at Burrenchobay Hall, was substantially the same as theirs would have been. None of the wiles directed at him exercised the slightest movement of either his heart or his ego. Already Percy was anxious to have the evening done with. For the sake of his aunt and uncle, however, he tried to enjoy himself.
At long last, having observed the machinations of the younger girls long enough, Rhawn Lorimer decided to show them how it was done. She left Davina’s brother and prepared to move in for the kill.
As the drama of the social elite of Snowdonia was playing out its subtleties, on a hill overlooking Burrenchobay Hall, a lonely figure sat watching from a distance of some four hundred yards. The lights gleamed, and the music drifted up from afar and stung her young heart with longings she had never felt in the brief span of her sixteen years. After reaching home, consumed by thoughts of the celebration someone like her would never attend, Gwyneth had run over the hills, like a moth to the flame, and now sat watching and listening in silence as the dusk of evening closed around her.
“So, young Drummond,” purred Rhawn Lorimer, sidling through the group of juveniles and squeezing Davina aside, “it would appear that you are the hit of the evening with the younger crowd.”
Her emphasis of the word was lost neither on Percy nor the listening girls. But they had idolized Rhawn for a long time and were in truth a little afraid of her.
As she spoke, Rhawn gradually steered Percy away from the others. Unconsciously he followed, glancing about as if looking for Florilyn. A tingle of excited terror surged through him as he felt Rhawn’s hand slip through his arm. Soon they were alone.
“I’ve been hurt that you haven’t come to see me,” she said seductively. “I hear you have been back for weeks.”
“Not that long, really.” Percy laughed, trying to make light of it. “I just arrived.”
“Don’t lie to me, Percy. You’ve been here almost two weeks. I keep track of you.”
“I’m only here for a short visit anyway.”
“All the more reason you should have come to see me. You will be leaving in a matter of days. We have much to catch up on.”
Again Percy laughed, but nervously. He was feeling like a fly caught in the web of a very clever spider.
“Come, Percy … let’s dance.”
“I would really rather not, Rhawn,” replied Percy. “I heard that you traded Courtenay for Colville, and I don’t want to make either of them angry. I saw you with Colville, and he doesn’t like me. Surely you know that. I think it would be best if I—”
“Percy, please,” Rhawn interrupted. Her tone could hardly be mistaken. “I want to dance with you. If you don’t, I will make a scene and tell Colville that you tried to get too friendly with me. I don’t think you want that, do you, Percy? Whereas … if you give me what I want, I will make sure he keeps away from you.”
Percy sighed. He knew when he was beaten. “I guess you win,” he said. “So … may I have the honor of this dance?”
Rhawn smiled with her victory, gave a slight curtsy, and extended her hand. As if he were reaching for a cobra, Percy took it. They moved toward the rest of the dancers while Davina Burrenchobay looked on with helpless envy.
If Percy had hoped to placate Rhawn Lorimer in whatever game she was playing with a single inauspicious dance, he soon realized how mistaken he was. He found himself flying about among the other couples, wondering who was leading and who was following. Rhawn was loud and boisterous, laughing gaily as if intentionally trying to draw attention to herself. Percy wondered if she had been drinking.
The first dance was followed by a second, then a third. Between dances Rhawn clung to him like wallpaper. She continued to laugh and talk loudly. The eyes of everyone in the place followed them about. Mercifully, Colville Burrenchobay was nowhere to be seen. Percy had not seen Courtenay the whole evening.
After five dances, to Percy’s profound relief, Rhawn excused herself, saying she was suddenly not feeling well. She disappeared inside the house.
Percy immediately glanced about for his cousin. He located her by the refreshment table almost the same instant he saw Davina Burrenchobay making a beeline toward him. He hurried toward Florilyn.
She saw him approaching and waited, a humorous smile on her lips. If she had been bothered that Percy had been thus far monopolized by her two former friends, she showed no sign of it.
Percy raised his eyebrows and shook his head as if overwhelmed and bewildered by what had taken place with Rhawn Lorimer. “I fear I have been neglecting you, my dear cousin,” he said for the benefit of those standing nearby. “I hope you have been having a good time.” He led her away, one eye roving to keep out of the way of the birthday girl, then put his arm around Florilyn’s waist as the music to the next dance began.
As they moved together, he bent to her ear. “Why didn’t you come rescue me? That Rhawn is too much!”
Florilyn’s tinkling laughter sounded over the music. “It didn’t appear to me that you needed rescuing,” she said. “Besides, I’ve learned not to tangle with Rhawn.”
“Do you think she’s tipsy? She was acting really weird!”
“I don’t know,” replied Florilyn more seriously. “She is so changed, I hardly know her anymore.”
“All I know is that I was in over my head. You just stay on my arm and don’t let any of these conniving girls near me! And that includes little Davina. What is with her anyway?”
“She has a crush on you, Percy,” laughed Florilyn. “She and all her friends. Isn’t it obvious?”
“I thought I was supposed to be your escort. Fight them off with a stick if you have to! I’m yours for the rest of this evening—no one else’s.”
“If you say so.” Florilyn laughed. “But if Rhawn comes back, you’re on your own. I’m fond of you, Percy—but not fond enough to fight Rhawn for you.”
“Hey—I fought for you once. Remember?”
“How could I forget? But Rhawn Lorimer is more dangerous than Colville Burrenchobay.”
Meanwhile, the conversation between the two most powerful men in the region was progressing along different lines.
“I must say, Roderick,” remarked the host, “what do you think of all this new money flooding into Wales on the heels of industry?”
“Good for the economy, I suppose,” replied Westbrooke.
“Yes, but is it good for Wales?” rejoined Burrenenchobay.” Everywhere we’ve got nouveau riche industrialists buying up land, pretending they’re something they’re not.”
“Where’s the harm, Armond?” queried his neighbor.
“It’s the idea of it I resent. I can’t but think they’re going to ruin the country in the end.”
“You don’t deny that the money is good for Wales.”
“It may be her ruin as well. Look at what the slate mine has done to the land between our two estates.”
“It gives people work.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t like to see the land cut to pieces. And if coal ever comes north, I hate the thought of it. Men like you and me must do our best to preserve the land of our heritage from such development.”
“Men like you, don’t you mean. I have no power to change the march of events. You do.”
“I am but a humble back benc
her, Roderick. I’ve got no more power in parliament than a fly on the wall.”
Taking a break after several dances with Florilyn, and still keeping his eyes roving for any sign of danger, Percy wandered in the direction of his uncle and host.
“Ah, Percy, my boy, enjoying yourself?” said the viscount as he approached.
“All this dancing is a bit much for me, Uncle Roderick.”
“You’re young—enjoy it while you can. My friend Sir Armond here is a MP. Any complaints you have about the country, just bring them to him.”
Burrenchobay laughed. “It is not quite so simple as that, young Drummond, I fear,” he said. “So, you’re a Scotsman, eh?”
“Yes, sir. My father is a vicar in Glasgow.”
“A vicar … I see. Are all Scots as religious as they say?”
“I really don’t know. What do they say?”
“That you Scots are all canting revivalists.”
“I hope I am not a canting revivalist, as you say, Sir Armond. I thought it was you Welsh who were famous for revivals. In any event, my father is not a revivalist, I can assure you.”
“Do you follow his ideals in matters of religion?”
“I would say so, yes. More than that, however, I hope I am simply a young man who tries to do what God gives him to do.”
Burrenchobay stared at him blankly. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked after a moment. “I am not aware of ever being given anything by God to do myself. The phrase is new to me. I assume you mean something by it.”
“Only that I try to order my life by the commands of Him who said He came from God to show us how to live.”
Again, a stupefied stare met Percy’s words. “I must say, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were drunk. I know you Scots love whiskey and religion. Have you been partaking from my stock of Glen Grant over there at the refreshment table?”
“No, sir. I never touch it.”
“Then I cannot imagine where a young man like you came by such notions. I’ve never heard the like from someone so young, nor from anyone outside the pulpit. Is that where you got it, from your father’s pulpit?”
“Not from his pulpit, but from his character,” replied Percy. “I wasn’t a very good learner for most of my life. I am finally remembering much that my father taught me, the foremost teaching of which is to obey God and let Him order my steps so far as it lies within my power to do so.”
“You’ll have to excuse my nephew,” laughed the viscount. “As he told you, his father, my brother-in-law, is a minister. Runs in families, I suppose.” Even though his natural inclination was to explain away Percy’s outspokenness to his friend, as he listened, the viscount could not help feeling a strange respect for his nephew. He had never considered himself a religious man and had always tended to look down on Katherine’s brother. Yet what father would not be proud of a young man of such principle and moral character as Edward Drummond’s son?
Gradually the dusk of the June evening enveloped the Wales countryside. Dancing and music, eating and drinking continued. As a chill slowly descended, some of the party moved inside to the parlors and drawing rooms of Burrenchobay Hall.
When Gwyneth finally rose to walk home from where she had been watching on the hill overlooking the hall, it was after ten and growing dark. She would almost have been able to find the way back to her cottage with her eyes closed. But the occasional tears that rose in her eyes made it more difficult to see the path beneath her feet. She had never cried for herself in her life. She knew she was crying for herself now, and she was ashamed.
Most of the guests who were not spending the night were gone from Burrenchobay Hall by eleven fifteen, aided in their homegoing by a near full moon and the dying remnants of a spectacular sunset in the west.
The carriage bearing the Westbrooke and Drummond contingent passed through the gates of Westbrooke Manor a few minutes before midnight.
Several days later it was all over the region that Rhawn Lorimer was in a young woman’s worst trouble and that Percy was the cause of it.
59
Death Visits Snowdonia
Three days after the party, Gwyneth was due for work at Westbrooke Manor. By ten o’clock she had still not made her appearance.
The rumors regarding Percy Drummond and Rhawn Lorimer did not drift so quickly up from Llanfryniog to Westbrooke Manor as they had circulated through the village. A few whispers, however, had begun to circulate among the servants and staff. As Lady Florilyn’s best friend for many years and a frequent visitor to the manor, and then for a time as Courtenay’s young lady, every one of them knew Rhawn Lorimer. Most had formed some opinion about her in recent years. They were only too happy to voice them in the servants’ quarters or when Mrs. Drynwydd poured out eleven o’clock tea for the staff.
When Olwyn Gwlwlwyd finally carried the fully formed report from the village that Rhawn Lorimer was in a family way, whispering to Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn that their own Percy, whom they loved as if he were one of them, was the father-to-be, the women went into a flurry of denial, demanding where she had heard such a scandalous lie.
It happened that Florilyn chanced by the open door of the laundry room at that very moment looking for Gwyneth. She retreated swiftly and noiselessly along the hall, ears burning and eyes stinging from what she had heard.
It could not possibly be true, she told herself in a frenzy of girlish emotion. Percy wouldn’t do that to her. Percy couldn’t do that to her!
Yet in that irrational reaction to which youth is especially vulnerable, as her thoughts swirled in a turmoil of confusion, she took her vexation out on the nearest target.
Her emotions furious at Percy for stringing her along when he had been in love with Rhawn from the beginning—though she still didn’t believe a word of it!—Florilyn stormed into Percy’s room without benefit of announcing herself. “Where is she?” she exclaimed angrily.
Percy glanced up from the desk where he was writing to his father. There stood Florilyn, red-faced, eyes full of an expression he had never seen in them before. He gazed at her with a confused expression. “Where is …? I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.
“That little Gwyneth is late—two hours late! I’ve a good mind to tell her not to come back.”
Percy rose and walked toward her. “Calm down, Florilyn,” he said. “I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation.”
He was shocked by the look on her face. She backed away as he approached, as if he had the plague.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll ride down and find out what is going on.”
Ten minutes later Percy was on Grey Tide’s back galloping across the moor.
Florilyn watched him go from the window in her room. She then fell on her bed, crying in earnest at how ridiculously she had just behaved. She was frightened and furious and hurt all at once by the dreadful rumor. She was angry at Percy for being so nice to everyone, including Gwyneth and Rhawn and everyone. At the same time, she was angry at herself for acting like a featherbrain.
Percy reached the cottage of Codnor Barrie and found it empty. He remounted and rode in haste into town. There he found Grannie agitated. Percy said he had come looking for Gwyneth because she hadn’t turned up for work at the manor and he was concerned.
“They won’t find her at the manor today,” said Grannie. “She’s up at her auntie Adela’s.”
“Why there?” asked Percy.
“Little Gwyneth, bless her, awoke in the night with premonitions. She couldn’t sleep. Thinking I was in danger, she came to me while it was yet dark, the dear girl. I was already awake, for I had been roused by the same fears. I felt death all around me. I was trembling, wondering if it was coming to me. But Gwyneth said that it was her uncle, not me. She crept into bed with me, but neither of us slept another wink. At dawn she set out for Adela’s. Oh, if only I was there myself!”
“Do you think the old man is dying?” asked Percy.
“I have no doub
t in my mind,” replied Grannie.
“Could you ride that far, Grannie?” asked Percy. “That is, if I had a buggy?”
“Aye, I could, though it’s been many a year since I was so far into the hills.”
“Then wait for me and be ready. I will return as soon as I am able.”
Percy left the cottage and raced back to the manor. He went in immediate search of his uncle. He found him in his study. “Uncle Roderick,” he said, “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything, Percy, my boy.”
“May I borrow one of your smaller buggies for the day?”
“Of course. What’s the occasion?”
“I want to take Grannie Barrie up to the Muir cottage. It appears that Mr. Muir is dying.”
“I cannot have that old witch in one of my buggies,” said his uncle.
“It would mean a great deal to me, Uncle Roderick.”
“Simply out of the question, Percy,” said his uncle, shaking his head. “When I said anything, of course, I meant nothing like that. Anything else I can do for you?”
More annoyed than disappointed to see how widespread the nonsense about Grannie truly was, and still having no idea what mischief was circling ever closer to his own reputation, Percy left the house. Without hesitating, he went to the barn and immediately set about hitching the oldest buggy in the place to one of the most reliable horses, an old mare of some twelve years. It was a buggy that, to his knowledge, had not been used in years and a horse that was not taken out but once in six months, if that.
Fifteen minutes later he was on his way with both into the village. He found Grannie on pins and needles with excitement at the thought of a ride into the beloved hills that she had never expected to set eyes on again. Percy helped her up into the seat with the grace of one taking a young lady to a ball then climbed up beside her.
From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales Page 31
