With Percy beside her, having no idea what was coming, Gwyneth continued slowly. They emerged through the trees at the crest. Two or three more steps brought their eyes above it … and lo! There was the whole of the coastline spread out below them in the glorious splendor of late afternoon.
The great ocean seemingly stretched out before them to infinity from the Lleyn Peninsula ahead and to their right, into the distance where their vision finally failed somewhere in the direction of Barmouth Bay to their left. Below them the plateau of Mochras Head extended out into the deep blue of Tremadog Bay. From this vantage point of a mile or more from the shoreline, and so high above it, the sea and all the countryside inland was eerily silent. A gentle breeze off the ocean met their faces as they came over the rise. Faint reminders of salt spray were borne upon it. The wide panorama, so alive yet so silent, appeared as a painting rather than the resplendent reality it was.
The silence surrounding them was deeper than silence, a full silence because the whole of North Wales lay in front of them. It pulsed with the energy of being, of life, yet no sound, not even of the gulls soaring along the cliffs at the shoreline, reached them.
Percy had never beheld such a sight. As the view overflowed his senses, a sensation stabbed his soul with an almost physical longing for something he desired but felt he could never attain.
The reaction that followed was not what Gwyneth had expected.
He stood gaping for a few moments at the majestic overlook, slowly shaking his head in wonder and disbelief. Then suddenly he broke into laughter. “Gwyneth!” he exclaimed. “You did it. You brought me out of the wilderness, from wherever we were to … just look … to here! There’s the manor! There is the sea—glorious, blue, radiant! I’m back … you brought me home!”
Without warning, he turned, grabbed her two hands, and began dancing and skipping about with joyful abandon.
Gywneth giggled with childlike happiness.
Round and round they danced in the clearing between the trees. Finally Percy let go, spun around one more time for good measure, then threw himself on what sparse dry grass grew at the crest of the ridge and stared out toward the sea.
Slowly Gwyneth lay down beside him.
It quieted again. Neither spoke. They lay side by side perhaps ten minutes. The dome of the sky overhead appeared to meet the edge of the sea at the horizon in an unbroken continuity of blue.
But the line between them was not as unbroken as it seemed.
“Can you see Ireland?” said Gwyneth after some time.
“No,” said Percy. “Is it really out there?”
“Yes—straight across the ocean.”
“Can you see it?”
“I think so,” said Gwyneth a little hesitantly. “Sometimes I imagine I can when I really can’t. But from here on the clearest of days I know I see it. There is a tiny bit of haze today so I cannot be completely sure.”
“Maybe you have the second sight,” said Percy, more lightheartedly than serious.
But Gwyneth took in his words earnestly. “Papa says I do,” she said. “I don’t even know what it means. But look—surely you can see the tiny bumps of land out there … at the edge of the ocean.”
Percy squinted and sent his eyes back and forth. “Yes … there it is,” he exclaimed. “I do see it—you’re right!”
“You must have second sight, too, Mr. Drummond.”
Percy laughed. “I doubt that. So, that is Ireland across there?”
“Yes. My mother was from Ireland.”
“Was she indeed?”
“Yes. My father married her in Ireland. He says she was really Welsh, though I don’t understand about all that. I was born there. Then we came back here to Wales, though I was just a baby and cannot remember. There was a terrible storm at sea, and my mother died. So when we arrived here, my father and I were alone.”
“I am sorry, Gwyneth,” said Percy. “It must be hard not to have a mother.”
“I don’t know what having a mother is like. But I have the best father in the world. Perhaps God knew that I could do without a mother for a while. But I will see her again.”
They lay a few more minutes in silence. The scents of the sea breezes continued to drift up the sloping moor to meet them. The peace of the world enveloped them in its embrace.
TWENTY-TWO
Gwyneth’s Offer
As Percy and Gwyneth romped down the ridge toward the plateau of Mochras Head, laughing and talking gaily, they were being watched.
Exulting in her supposed triumph over her cousin for the two hours since she had returned to the manor, Florilyn had been eagerly awaiting Percy’s arrival. If he somehow managed to find his way home before dark, she could not wait to greet him face-to-face and watch him lose his temper with her.
She knew he would not hurt her. But if she could make him yell at her—or even swear aloud!—she would count the day a wonderful success. If she could somehow badger him into doing so in front of her father or mother, whose movements she was carefully watching for exactly that purpose, so much the better. A victory over a rival, in her opinion, was infinitely sweeter if he could be humiliated in front of witnesses. She never took out her revenge on her brother in private. She hoped to do the same with her cousin.
Seeing him now coming toward the manor with the tiny white-haired brat, Gwyneth Barrie, however, filled her with sudden uneasiness. Something didn’t look right.
They were laughing! Percy didn’t appear the least bit upset!
“Well, Gwyneth,” Percy was saying, “I thank you for a most enjoyable afternoon … and for rescuing me! If you hadn’t been watching out for me like a guardian angel, I would still be out there wandering around in circles. I shall be more careful in the future when Florilyn baits me into a race.”
“Do you think you will race her again, Mr. Drummond?”
“I don’t know. I hope not!” Percy laughed. “It’s humiliating being trounced by a girl—no offense to you.”
“Would you like to beat her in a race?”
“Would I ever!” Percy laughed again. “But that’s easier said than done. As irritating as she is, she happens to be very good on the back of a horse.”
“You could beat her.”
“How?”
“I could teach you,” said Gwyneth simply.
Percy stared back, wondering if he had heard correctly.
“You … could teach me to ride faster than Florilyn?”
“Yes, Mr. Drummond.”
“You know horses that well?”
She nodded.
“I should say, you know how to ride that well?”
“Yes, Mr. Drummond. I could help you learn to ride like the wind.”
Percy could not help himself. He broke out laughing at the delicious humor of the suggestion. The girl was such an innocent! But she had not yet said a word to him that was untrue. He had already come to feel a supreme confidence in whatever she told him.
What did he have to lose?
“You’re on, Gwyneth Barrie,” he said, still chuckling at the thought. “I accept your offer.”
Gwyneth glanced toward the manor and realized they had come closer than she had intended. She thought she had seen Florilyn by the house watching them. She paused, suddenly nervous, then began to leave him.
“G–g–good-bye, Mr. Drummond,” she said as she started walking away. “You can find your way from here.”
“Where are you going all of a sudden?” said Percy.
“Home. L–L–Lady Florilyn will be angry with you if she sees you t–t–talking to me.”
“Don’t worry, Gwyneth.” Percy laughed. “We won’t worry about her. You may talk to me anytime.”
“But she d–d–doesn’t like me. I don’t want her to g–g–get angry with you. G–g–good-bye.”
“Thank you again, Gwyneth,” said Percy after her. “Where will I find you so that you can give me those riding lessons?”
“Ask for G–G–Grannie in th
e village,” replied Gwyneth. “She will t–t–tell you where to find me.”
“What horse should I bring when I come to you?”
“Any of them, M–M–Mr. Drummond. I know all the horses. I can t–t–teach you to ride any of them f–f–fast. Mr. Radnor will help you. He is my friend. He will keep our s–s–secret.”
As suddenly as she had appeared on the ridge in the wilderness, she ran from him and within seconds had disappeared from sight.
Percy did not see his cousin again until that evening. Her gloating turned to pique; she had walked back into the house in the huff of defeat. She was still filled with ire when dinnertime came.
Percy’s spirits, on the other hand, remained high as he took his chair at the table, a fact that enraged Florilyn all the more. She had deserted him miles from home for the express purpose of making him angry. But he seemed happier than ever!
She made several juvenile attempts to bait Percy into tattling on her. But they only succeeded in making her look foolish. None of the other three had an idea what she was talking about. In truth, he had spent such a delightful afternoon with Gwyneth Barrie that he was actually thankful for the fall off Red Rhud’s back. Florilyn’s antics were beginning to strike him as more humorous than spiteful.
“You seem cheerful tonight, Percy,” said his aunt as the meal progressed. “You must be enjoying the turn of warm weather.”
“Very much, Aunt Katherine. I had begun to wonder if summer would ever arrive.”
“Well, it seems it has. I am enjoying it as well.”
“How did you occupy yourself, Percy, my boy?” said the viscount.
“Florilyn and I went out for a ride, didn’t we, Florilyn—a very long ride.”
“Splendid! There, you see—I knew you two would hit it off if you just gave her the chance. Florilyn is a dashed good horsewoman, you know.”
“Yes, I have discovered that,” said Percy with a wry grin. “Certainly out of my league! I’m not near the horseman she is, that’s for sure.”
“Where did you go?”
“Actually, I’m not altogether sure, Uncle Roderick,” laughed Percy. “We headed off into the hills. I became so turned around I had no idea which way home was. I was completely lost! We were gone hours and hours. But luckily I wasn’t left out there alone. That would have been frightening. Can you imagine, being out in the hills and not knowing your way back … and with night coming on?” He cast Florilyn a glance and a wily wink.
The expression on her face indicated clearly enough that she was not appreciating his humor. She did not like the tables being turned. Now it was her turn to feel the smoke coming out her ears.
“But ‘all’s well that end’s well,’ isn’t that what old Bill Shakespeare says?” Percy added. “Here we all are, safe and sound. It was an extraordinary day. In fact, I can’t think when I’ve enjoyed myself more.”
“Excellent,” said the viscount, obviously delighted that the cousins were all hitting it off so well. “Your father and mother will be pleased that the country air is agreeing with you. You shall have to write them, Katherine,” he added to his wife at the end of the table, “and tell them that Percy is enjoying himself here with us.”
TWENTY-THREE
The Draper’s Shop
The fair weather continued. At last, it seemed, perhaps summer had decided to grace North Wales with its presence for an extended stay.
The next days would have been spectacular for riding in the hills. But Percy had had enough of horses’ backs for a while. He was eager to take Gwyneth up on her offer but needed to let his body recover from its bumps and bruises. By the morning following his adventure in the hills, his back was screaming from the fall. When he was ready to get on a horse again, he would sneak away from the manor alone.
He spent a couple of days recuperating, mostly indoors. During that time, he finished the book his aunt had suggested he read. One of the stories in particular had moved him in a way he could not explain. He finished it and felt tears rising in his eyes. He had to put the book down until he recovered himself, wondering what on earth had come over him. Unaccountably, for he had never done such a thing in his life, when he was done he immediately began to read the story over a second time.
On the third day, feeling better, he decided to walk to the village and acquaint himself a little more with his summer’s surroundings. It was surely no Glasgow, but he was curious to feel the pulse of life in the place.
As he made his way down the entry from the house and thence along the road through the sloping plateau toward Llanfryniog, he stooped now and then to pluck a few wildflowers from the roadside. He smiled at the reminder of Gwyneth Barrie’s endearing habit of greeting strangers. If he saw her today, he would return her kindness from three days ago with a bouquet of his own making!
He reached the village, by now clutching a good handful of wild daisies, bluebells, and assorted bits of color and walking with a jaunty step. He passed several villagers who nodded and smiled as they passed, though with the unspoken question in their minds—who was he? Percy returned their smiles. After so long in the city, the simplicity of their guileless country faces touched him with honest sincerity.
In the normal course of human relationships, it is to those older, wiser, more knowledgeable, more experienced to whom one looks with respect and honor as befit their years. Percy had never had what in any sense could be called a mentor in the things of life, mainly because thus far he had eschewed the mentor God had intended for him. Yet something very strange had slowly begun to infect him—that was the subtle influence of one younger than himself, and one in his view a mere child at that! The thing was absurd on the face of it, impractical, laughable, unheard of.
And yet … he could not deny that the forceful pressure of Gwyneth Barrie’s outlook on life and the world had come to exercise a hold on him. She was like no one he had ever met—a mountain-nymph, a fairy-child, a tiny cherub of mystery who roamed fields and hills and ubiquitously turned up in the most unexpected places and said the most unusual things. Yet a fairy-angel with such a sensible streak to her whimsical nature that she asserted with perfect calm and confidence that she could teach him to ride a horse like the wind!
Percy broke out in a peal of laughter at the reminder of Gwyneth’s offer. Two or three women glanced toward him from across the street. Young men who walked along laughing to themselves were best avoided. They hurried by, casting him skeptical glances.
Since his walk out of the hills with little Gwyneth, then with the haunting, tear-luring story he had read coming on the heels of it, everything began to look different—nature and the faces of humanity most of all. In some inexplicable way, Percy found himself seeing all about him through Gwyneth’s fearless, trusting, unassuming pale blue eyes. He found himself wondering what Gwyneth would say to this, what Gwyneth would think of that, whether she would laugh at something he said or make one of her otherworldly comments that jolted new regions of awareness awake in him.
Percy had walked down to Llanfryniog on this day with neither specific purpose nor destination in mind, thinking simply to explore the town, perhaps walk to the harbor and along the shore. He was not yet a great friend of the sea as are most who live on the borders where water meets land in the daily dance of its tides. But he was beginning to love it because he knew from how she gazed across it that Gwyneth loved the sea. Seeing it through her eyes, what could he do but love it? And thus, almost without his realizing it, the sea subtly began to woo him with its hypnotic allure.
He passed several shops as he made his way casually along, looking absently into their windows. As he came to the draper’s, he paused. A handsome buggy and single horse stood in the street tied to the rail next to it. In the window a display of brightly colored spools of ribbon caught Percy’s eye. He looked down at the clump of flowers in his hand. He was seized with an idea, broke into a smile at the thought, and went into the shop.
The bell above the door rang as he entered. T
he shopkeeper was engaged across the room with a woman whose back was to him. Beside her, a girl about his own age turned at the tinkling bell. The smile, not yet faded from Percy’s lips, met her glance. She thought it meant for her and returned it.
Percy came into the shop, saw a girl smiling at him—and a very pretty one at that—and walked toward her. “Hello,” he said pleasantly, mistaking her look. “Are you one of the shopkeepers?”
“Oh, no,” she said, laughing lightly. “I’m here with my mother.”
“Oh, sorry.”
He saw her eyes flit toward the bouquet in his hand. “For a friend,” he said. “I came in to get a piece of ribbon to tie it with.”
“A friend … a girl?”
“How did you guess?” Percy said, laughing.
Now Percy Drummond, when he was not being surly to his father or mother, and though the lines of his countenance were still in the process of developing, was an extraordinarily good-looking young man. His features yet remained a little delicate, even, it might be said, bordering on the feminine. His face did not yet require the razor. A thick clump of light brown hair fell over a low forehead, on this day mostly obscuring the remaining evidence of Courtenay Westbrooke’s whip and fist, though the bruise on his cheek was still prominent. His nose and lips and jaw were unremarkable but well-formed, not yet showing the pronounced angles that manhood would bring. In spite of the visible bruise, and in a way perhaps almost enhanced by it, the overall effect, accentuated by a winsome smile, was more than moderately attractive to a young woman of fifteen.
Rhawn Lorimer was exactly such a girl, herself prettier than she had a right to be. The fact that she knew every boy or girl for ten miles around but did not recognize Percy made him all the more interesting in her eyes. And that he was carrying a bouquet for some other girl immediately set the wheels of her inquisitive brain spinning about who the lucky recipient might be.
Before she had the chance to coax more information out of him, a tactic at which she was singularly skilled, her mother moved down the counter, occupied in the examination of something she had just been handed, and the shopkeeper behind it addressed an interrogative expression to Percy.
From Across the Ancient Waters Page 12
