From Across the Ancient Waters (40 page)

“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 bencher, 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.

Death Visits Snowdonia

T
hree 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 doubt 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.

The way was rough, for the road, if such it could be called, had not been repaired in years. No buggy had traversed it in more years than anyone could remember, as Grannie told Percy while they bounced along. Percy found himself wondering if they would make it at all. If so, would he be able to return his uncle’s buggy in one piece without the wheels being reduced to splinters?

Gwyneth heard their approach. She and Adela and Stevie Muir ran from the cottage, unable to imagine what could possibly bring a buggy to their door. They were amazed to see Grannie seated on the open bench beside Percy.

“Grannie!” exclaimed Adela. “How do you come here?”

“See for yourself, Adela. Gwyneth’s friend Percy. How’s the laddie?”

“He’s fading, I’m thinking,” replied Stevie’s mother. “But it’s the Lord’s mercy to be taking him home at last.”

Percy leaped down, then offered Grannie his hand and helped her to the ground as if she were a young woman again. Then they all went into the cottage together.

The Charge and Its Answer

I
t was well after dinner that evening when Percy rode slowly back into the precincts of Westbrooke Manor, still having no premonition of the vortex of sordid controversy that was soon to engulf him.

He was weary from the long day, and his heart was full of its events. He had never witnessed death in his life. The experience had sobered him, not for the least of reasons the peace of those involved as they watched their beloved father and husband and uncle and friend go to his waking on the other side of the eternal sunrise.

Far from being sad, the experience was beautiful to behold. Tears had accompanied it. But they were tears of fullness not emptiness, tears of gratitude for a life well lived rather than those of sadness and regret. It was a day that would remain in his memory forever.

By now the last thing on his mind were the circumstances of the early morning. He had almost forgotten that he had taken the buggy without his uncle’s permission. Nor had he an idea that, since learning of it, his uncle had been watching for his return all day, his anger seething hotter with every passing hour.

Percy was completely unprepared for his uncle’s reaction as he stormed out of the house. Percy had just climbed down and was leading the horse into the barn when his uncle strode up behind him.

“What do you mean by stealing my buggy and taking it for the day?” said the viscount in a loud voice.

Percy turned. “I’m sorry, Uncle Roderick,” he said. “I really needed to use a buggy, and I had no time to explain. I didn’t think you would mind my using this old thing.”

“Its age has nothing to do with it. That happens to be my buggy, and you stole it.”

At last realizing that his uncle was truly angry, though still perplexed as to what could be the cause, Percy shook his head in confusion. “I don’t quite know what to say, Uncle Roderick,” he said. “It wasn’t like that. Surely you aren’t seriously thinking I
stole
it?”

“What else would you call it?”

“I would say that I borrowed it. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind! I specifically told you no.”

“I didn’t think it would be that serious to you. I apologize.”

“And you expect me to accept your apology, just like that? Pretend it never happened, is that it?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Roderick,” sighed Percy, tired and in truth growing a little exasperated. “I am confused, that’s all. I must say I did not expect this kind of reaction from you. Do whatever you want—throw me out … charge me a day’s rent on buggy and horse and I will gladly pay it … send me home if you want. All I am saying is that I am sorry to have upset you. Again, I offer my apology.”