From Across the Ancient Waters (35 page)

“And now you are at Aberdeen,” rejoined Katherine. “What is it like knowing you are walking the same cobbled streets and byways and halls that MacDonald probably walked twenty-five years ago?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Percy nodded. “It’s rather an amazing thought. Well,” he added, turning to his uncle and Florilyn, “good night to you all.” He paused and smiled. “I cannot tell you how good it is to be here with you again,” he said. “I have really missed you!”

The two women smiled in return.

The viscount seemed a little discomposed by the depth of Percy’s sincerity. He offered a few awkward comments about the feeling being mutual and their being delighted to have him again.

Then Percy left them. As he crossed through the entryway hall on his way to the central staircase, he glanced absently down the corridor leading toward the east wing.

A girl he took for one of the servants was walking toward him, a stack of linens in her hands. Halfway down the corridor at a distance of some forty or fifty feet, at sight of him she stopped abruptly.

Percy arrested his movement at the same moment. He paused as his foot fell on the first step of the staircase. His eyes had just drifted up to the painting on the landing of his uncle’s grandmother then back again. The lines of his forehead wrinkled as his head cocked in question. For two or three seconds he returned the girl’s stare then slowly brought his foot back down to level. Something about the girl was oddly, wonderfully, confusingly familiar. His brain was racing.

Why was she standing so still? She had turned into a gold-haired statue.

Percy’s eyes squinted imperceptibly.
Was
her hair gold? Or was the thin light of the corridor playing tricks on him? Was it actually a lighter shade of … nearly
white!

The next moment his steps were hurrying along the tiles.
“Gwyneth?”
said Percy as he slowed and approached, in mingled recognition and disbelief.

She looked down shyly then up into his eyes.

The moment he saw their blue, all doubt vanished. There could be no mistaking the eyes he had once taken for those of an angel.

Her countenance was still timeless! And yet … she
had
aged. Hers was the ageless countenance of a child no longer, but the delicate agelessness of the woman-child that had grown up since he had last seen her.

“Is it really
you?”

She smiled. “It is me, Percy,” she replied in a bashful voice.

“But … but what are you doing
here?”
said Percy. “Oh, this is brilliant! It is terrific to see you!”

“And you, Percy,” said Gwyneth. The voice had changed. If possible, it was yet more serene, slightly deeper of timbre, and surely no longer that of a child. “To answer your question,” she said, “I am Lady Florilyn’s maid.”

“I can’t believe it. That is wonderful!”

“Lady Florilyn has been very kind to me.”

“I am so glad!”

“I knew you were coming,” said Gwyneth. “But I did not know when. You have grown so tall. You are a man now, Percy.”

Percy laughed with delight. Gwyneth had not changed! And now that he saw it close, her hair was indeed more tinged with hints of red and shades of gold. Her eyes were of yet deeper and more translucent blue. She had grown several inches, though that was hardly to be compared with what had been added to his stature. Though still very short, she was no longer abnormally tiny. Percival Drummond had indeed blossomed into a fine-looking young man. At the same time, young Gwyneth Barrie—though in all the village only her great-aunt and father beheld what was taking place before everyone’s eyes—had become a girl poised on the threshold of becoming a young lady.

Gwyneth had arrived at that wonderful and delicate age hovering precariously between childhood and womanhood, showing one moment the past and, to the keen-eyed observer, the next instant the future. As yet her dawning personhood remained dormant except to the most discerning of eyes. In Percy’s mind she would remain for yet a little while the simple, kindhearted girl who had handed him a humble nosegay and called him her friend … and through whose honest heart he had learned to appreciate the God of his fathers. In truth, the nymph of Wales was no more the child of his imagination. As his eyes had been opened to nature, they would soon open likewise to the mystery of womanhood. When they did, he would see all that he was meant to see.

Percy, however, did not appear a great deal different in Gwyneth’s eyes, though she had to look up a little higher toward the sky to find his face. Because she had always seen inside the people she met, the changes that took place to their outside appearances meant less to her knowing of them than such externals meant to most people.

“Grannie will be so happy that you are back,” said Gwyneth.

Percy smiled at the delightful thought of more cozy talks in front of Grannie’s fire. “Will she remember me?” he asked.

“We talk of you often. But I should go, Percy,” said Gwyneth, glancing around, Percy thought, a little nervously. Slowly she resumed her way along the corridor.

“Do you still … stay with your father?” asked Percy, falling into step beside her. “Or do you now live here at the manor?”

“I still live at home,” she replied. “Only Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn, and Mr. Broakes and Mr. Radnor live in the servants’ quarters. I work here three days a week, alternating with the other girls who come from the village. But we are not to talk to guests.”

“I’m not a guest!” laughed Percy. “I’m just me.”

“To Lord Snowdon and Lady Katherine, you are an
honored
guest, Percy.”

“You must be joking!”

“No, Percy. The whole manor has been abuzz over your coming.”

Percy laughed at the thought.

“As soon as I take these linens to the breakfast room,” said Gwyneth, “I will walk home.”

They reached the stairway. Gwyneth turned to the right, Percy toward the stairs.

“Good-bye, Percy,” said Gwyneth.

“I will see you again soon, I promise,” said Percy. “I will come visit you and Grannie tomorrow. Do you work tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow. Only Tuesday and Thursday and Saturday.”

“Then I shall see you as early as I can get away.”

The Promontory

P
ercy returned to his room and sat down on the edge of his bed. The book he had intended to read sat on the desk. But his thoughts were too full of the changes in Gwyneth to think of Robert Falconer’s kite. He rose again and strode to the window and gazed out over the countryside. It was about seven thirty. The sun was still high over Tremadog Bay to the west.

He stood for some time, absorbed in his thoughts. He had of course anticipated seeing little Gwyneth, as he still thought of her, probably more than anyone else other than Florilyn. But though logic told him that everyone aged at the same rate, somehow he had expected Gwyneth to remain the same. He had not actually said such to himself. Yet he had expected to find her still the tiny child he had known three years before. It was clear, however, that though she was still not yet five feet tall, she had
grown
. And not merely in stature. Her countenance was—there came the word again—ageless!

Was
she an angel after all? He chuckled to himself at the thought.

Out the window, far below the manor toward the sea, a small figure was walking toward the promontory of Mochras Head.

He watched for some moments then turned and strode across the floor of his room. He did not pause until his hand was on the latch. After having said his good nights and professed himself too tired for further company, he was hesitant to be seen going out again.

He crept from his room and glanced down the corridor toward Florilyn’s door at the far end. He felt oddly like a sneak. It reminded him of his prodigal past, creeping furtively through the darkened streets of Glasgow. Those were unpleasant memories. Yet the compulsion to follow was too strong. But he did not want Florilyn to know he was leaving the house … or why?

He stole softly to the far end of the west wing, down the back stairway, and out by one of the side doors. Still conscious of not wanting to be seen, he made his way through the garden, around behind the stables, and onto the open moor leading down the slope toward the village and Mochras Head.

Probably when he reached the open plateau out from the cover of the wood surrounding the manor, he thought as he hurried along, the figure he had seen from his window would have disappeared further in the direction of the village. If so, he would retrace his steps back to the manor and spend the rest of his evening with Falconer and Shargar. It was too late for a visit to the Barrie cottage. But if by chance he
should
meet someone out for an evening walk in that wonderful, quiet, fragrant, peaceful time of the evening his native Scots called “the gloamin’,” that was a different matter altogether.

By the time he crossed the stream and was approaching the promontory, he knew he would not turn back. There she was, in her white maid’s dress, seated two hundred yards ahead of him at the very tip of the cliff face. Her back was to him, as she sat staring out over the sea in the direction of the setting sun.

Percy continued on across the soft grass with noiseless step.

She did not turn her head.

He approached from behind.

“Hello, Percy,” said Gwyneth softly without turning.

“So you
do
have the second sight after all,” he said, easing to the ground beside her.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you knew it was me without looking.”

“I would know your step anywhere, Percy. Besides, no one else knows this place.”

“Your special place,” said Percy. “Do you have any new special places?”

“No. Some of them are just more special now because I once shared them with a friend. Those are now my
most
special places.”

It fell quiet a few minutes. With a sunset, the sea, and miles of open moorland behind them, no words were needed. What was to be said, both felt without words.

“You’ve changed, Percy,” said Gwyneth at length.

“In what way?”

“I haven’t completely decided. You are older.”

Percy broke out in a peal of laughter. “I am indeed. So are you, my dear Gwyneth.”

“I know. But I meant older in a different way. It is a good older. I could see it in your eyes the moment I saw you at the manor. I hope my older is a good older, too.”

“I am sure it is.”

“Not everybody’s older is a better older. I do not think Master Courtenay has become a better older.”

“Does he still make fun of you?”

“He does not even speak to me. I think he disdains me. But Lady Florilyn is a better older. And she is
very
fond of you, Percy. She has been talking of nothing but your coming for weeks.”

“I am fond of her, too. She has changed from the first time I came to Wales. And you are right, so have I. You did not know me before I first came here, Gwyneth. I was very foolish and wasn’t very nice.”

“I know, Percy. I heard Grannie’s talk. She knew all about you. But I didn’t care what anyone said. You were my friend, and you were kind to me.”

“How long have you worked at the manor?” asked Percy.

“A year. Miss Florilyn was so nice to me after you left. She came to visit me, and even Grannie learned to like her. She came to our cottage once to see my animals. Then one of the maids at the manor left and she asked me if I would like to work for her mother and be paid. My father said he thought I should, so I did.”

“Do you like it?”

“It is not so very hard work, though it is tedious. I do not have as much time with my father and my animals as I would like. But we have more money now. And Grannie says that I am not a little girl anymore and that when people get older their lives change. Grannie is very wise. I know that a girl like me must think of what she will do when she is older.”

In that, Gwyneth’s great-great-aunt was right—she was no longer a little girl. The quietness of Gwyneth’s spirit was even deeper than before. One moment would the child burst into a laugh of glee, the next withdraw into her private solitary refuge of peace she shared only with those she loved. Because of the faraway gaze of her countenance, many of the villagers were now even more apprehensive of her than before.

Little did Percy realize how changed she was, and how beautiful she was on the verge of becoming. It takes far-seeing eyes to apprehend into what another is growing. Changed as he was, Percy had not yet become so wise as that. But the day of his own internal second sight was fast approaching.

“How old are you now, Gwyneth?” Percy asked.

“Sixteen,” she replied.

“Sixteen
—goodness, are you sure you didn’t grow more years than me while I was gone?”

Gwyneth giggled, suddenly a girl again. “I was thirteen when you were here before. Some people thought I was young because I was so tiny. My father is a small man, and I am small, too.”

“You are not so tiny now.”

“Lady Florilyn is many inches taller than me.”

“But her father and mother are both tall.”

“How old are you, Percy? I forgot how old you were before. I have tried to remember because I know you told me.”

“I was sixteen. I am nineteen now.”

“You are a man, Percy,” said Gwyneth softly. There was a world of meaning in the gentle expressiveness of her voice.

“Not quite, my dear Gwyneth! I am only on my way to becoming one, with a long way yet to go. I had the misfortune to have gotten a late start. How is Stevie?”

“You should ask him yourself.”

“I intend to—very soon.”

“His poor father is not well. Grannie says the Lord will take him before the summer is out. I hope she is right. It will be a relief to Auntie for her to know that he is healthy again.”

“Perhaps you and I might ride up there for a visit tomorrow.”

Gwyneth nodded. “Perhaps Lady Florilyn will want to ride with you somewhere else,” she said.

“You might be right,” said Percy. “We shall see. But I will definitely come to the village tomorrow. There are so many people I want to visit.”