From Across the Ancient Waters (46 page)

The viscount took in the information with interest. Eventually came a day when he knew he must pay a confidential visit to the Barrie home.

All this time, Florilyn Westbrooke grew quieter, if possible more beautiful and stately. She seemed oddly content with the domestic life of the manor. She took on the increasing countenance of a woman, resembling her mother more and more. She mixed with the maids and staff far more than she ever had early in her life, even helping them with their duties from time to time.

The relationship between her and Gwyneth blossomed into a full, rich friendship, such as only two young women can share. That they once loved the same young man—the one openly, the other secretively—in no way interferred with their friendship. Their affection for one another was too selfless to let anything come between them, even a man.

The alternate days when Gwyneth did not come to the manor seemed drab and dull to Florilyn. The tedium had this benefit, however, that those were the days she learned for the first time in her life to love books. Many afternoons found her in the library. She had even begun to discover the stories of MacDonald, a fact that delighted her mother and gave mother and daughter endless opportunity for lively talk together.

In Aberdeen, meanwhile, after a rewarding remainder of the summer of 1870 tutoring two young boys, Percival Drummond was soon caught up again in his university studies. By the end of the school term, he and his father had all but settled on law as the profession most suited to his temperament and interests. When an opportunity arose the following summer to apprentice as a clerk in one of Abereen’s prestigious law firms, he leaped at the chance to get a foot into the door of the legal community of Scotland.

Thus it was, as before, that he was prevented from returning to Wales as soon as he might have liked. The same position was made available again the following year, his Semi and Tertian terms behind him as he prepared to embark on his fourth and final Magistrand year at the university. But, he told the solicitor who had taken such an interest in him, he could not let the summer pass without a visit to Wales. If it meant giving up the opportunity, it was a price he would have to pay. There were friends he simply had to see, and one or two personal situations he had to resolve in his own mind, before any more time went by.

The man understood. He said his post would be waiting for him when he returned.

And so it was, in late June of 1872, after three weeks with his parents in Glasgow, that once again Percival Drummond prepared to travel south to Wales for a visit of undetermined length.

For reasons of his own, he told no one in Llanfryniog of his plans.

Inns, Anvils, and Special Places

P
ercy Drummond again returned to North Wales by train, followed by the southbound coach to the small coastal village of Llanfryniog on Tremadog Bay.

Three years in the university were behind him. At the age of twenty-one he was preparing to embark on a career in law. It was his hope to follow in the footsteps of his father, though with different letters behind his name and through distinctive professional means but with the same end in view—to open the eyes of his fellows to the love of their Father-Creator.

A flooded stream caused several hours’ delay in his journey. Wales, like his homeland farther north, could have
weather
any time of the year!

By the time he arrived in Llanfryniog, the afternoon was well advanced toward evening. He could walk to the manor and easily be there in time for dinner. One of the reasons he had decided to come unannounced, however, and had enjoined his parents to hint at nothing by letter, was in hopes of getting the lay of the land, as it were, with regard to how things stood in the community. If there was information it would be well for him to possess, he hoped he might get wind of it at the inn or with a visit either to Grannie or Chandos Gwarthegydd.

He chastised himself the entire journey for not keeping in closer touch with those he loved. But his studies and apprenticeship at the law firm had proved so demanding that even the deep spiritual correspondence with his father, which he treasured, had suffered. And he still had at least two, perhaps three more years ahead of him before certification as a solicitor would be possible.

In spite of this, however, he had in recent months begun to ponder and pray about his personal future, not merely his professional career. With such thoughts making themselves more importune on his heart, how could Wales not beckon him again? He knew this was where that personal future must begin. He had not been in a position to declare himself openly before. It would still be a good while before he would be capable of supporting a wife and family. But at last he was ready to begin making plans, even if still distantly …
if
she would have him. Before that, however, he must know how things stood.

He walked into the inn with his bags, wondering if he would be recognized. He now stood a full inch over six feet, with all the features of a man, lanky but filled out in shoulders and chest, his face showing strong lines above a firm chin, with a forehead overlooking both that spoke of wisdom developing behind it. If anything, his brown hair had lightened a shade and was full and thick as it fell around his ears. His smile was just as eager to brighten a room and his laughter no less spontaneous, though perhaps slightly more bass when it exploded from his mouth. His eyes were the same hazel, but their visage shown with a far-seeing light that had only been foreshadowed in his youth but whose potential was now becoming fully realized in his young manhood. His study of law and justice, along with mercy, had done much to deepen the intensity of his eyes.

A few heads glanced toward the door as he entered. Most paid him little heed. In truth he only recognized about half the men gathered for their late afternoon pint. But Mistress Chattan knew every customer who walked through the doors of her establishment, if not by name certainly by sight. And Percy had been in often enough that, notwithstanding the changes that had taken place upon his outer man, she knew him instantly. “Well, young Drummond,” she said. “You’re back, are you?”

“Hello, Mistress Chattan,” said Percy with a smile. “I don’t suppose there’s any slipping into town unrecognized by you!”

“I heard nothing about your coming.”

“No one knew.”

“You didn’t let those up at the manor know?” Percy shook his head.

Mistress Chattan nodded with significant expression but revealed nothing.

“Why …?” said Percy slowly. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nothing to speak of. Nothing for
me
to speak of. So you don’t know about your cousin?”

“Florilyn?”

“The young man—Master Courtenay.”

“No, what about him?”

“Came home from the university in midyear. There was talk of a scandal. Expelled is what I heard.”

“What is he doing?”

“The same thing rich young men always do, sponging off his father waiting until his time comes to inherit.”

“He will have a long wait!” laughed Percy.

“Not as long as most young men in his position,” said Mistress Chattan in a cryptic tone.

“How do you mean?”

“Just that his father’s older than most fathers of twenty-three-year-olds.”

“Ah, I see … but not
that
old. My uncle is still in the prime of his life.”

“It all depends on what you mean by the prime of life,” remarked Mistress Chattan. “I’ll warrant you’ll notice more gray on his crown than you expect. And his shoulders are starting to sag. He’s not far off from sixty, I’m thinking.”

“What are you talking about!” laughed Percy. “My own father is only forty-five.”

“That’s as well may be,” rejoined the innkeeper. “But I’m telling you that Lord Snowdon is nearly old enough to be your grandfather rather than your uncle.”

She paused, glanced about, then leaned over the bar separating them and reached out with a fleshy hand and pulled Percy toward her. “You do know, don’t you?” she whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

“Know what?”

“About your uncle’s past.”

“No, what about it?” said Percy, unconsciously lowering his voice in response to Mistress Chattan’s suddenly peculiar manner.

“Just that the sins of the fathers follow the sons, as the Book says.”

“What sins? What are you talking about?”

“Sins of the
flesh
, young Drummond. What other kinds of sins do young men commit? There was another woman … before your aunt.”

“You have been drinking too much of your own ale, Mistress Chattan,” said Percy, though suddenly he felt very cold.

“I’m only telling you what they
say
, though I never laid eyes on her,” the woman went on. “No one around here ever laid eyes on her, for it wasn’t here that it happened. Across the sea, they say. When he came back, he was lovesick but alone. There was a child, they say. Now do you see why I say that the sins of the sons follow the sins of the fathers?”

“Why are you telling me all this, Mistress Chattan?” asked Percy. “Not that I believe a word of it,” he added with a laugh that betrayed more anxiety than humor. “You are the most tight-lipped woman in Llanfryniog. Why suddenly confide in me?”

“I don’t know, young Drummond. Maybe because I like you. Maybe because your fortunes may be more linked to that family on the hill than you realize, and you ought to know who you are involved with.
Someone
ought to know the truth because none of them do except the man himself, and
he’ll
never tell. Maybe because I figure that you will do right by me one day. Maybe because I’ve taken a liking to the old blighter since he began coming around. Maybe because I figure he deserves a better friend watching over him than that no-good son of his. I don’t know why I told you, young Drummond. There’s your answer.”

“Fair enough.” Percy nodded. “Are you saying that my uncle has been in here?”

“He has indeed. After you left last time, something peculiar seemed to get into him. He comes to the village now, visits with people, comes in and buys pints for the fishermen and talks to them just like you always did. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d got religion. He talks to me like we’re old friends.”

“I am glad to hear it. And speaking of the manor, do you mind if I leave my bags with you for a few hours?” Percy asked. “I’ll walk up to the manor and be back for them this evening or tomorrow morning.”

“Not at all.”

“But I will have a pint of your special ale first.”

Carrying his glass, Percy walked toward a table where a few of his fishermen acquaintances were seated. They greeted him
almost
as they might a friend. He visited with them for half an hour or so and caught up on village news. He learned nothing of note other than confirming that they, too, had seen a change in his uncle. At length he bade them good afternoon.

Without his bags, Percy walked briefly about the village and looked in at several shops, always receiving the same warm greeting from the shopkeepers. Two or three made the same comment. “Oh, won’t Lady Florilyn be excited to see you!”

At length he approached the smithy. The familiar pounding of hammer on anvil could be heard from a long way off. He saw the father at the forge and the son at the anvil as he walked toward them. The sight brought a sharp intake of breath to his lips. The two were nearly the same size!

“What ho, Percy!” cried Chandos as Percy came into sight. He dropped his hammer and bounded forward with outstretched hand. The great hulking seventeen-year-old nearly crushed his hand in his grip.

“My, oh my, Chandos!” exclaimed Percy. “What a brute of a fellow you’ve become. It wouldn’t go well for me
now
if I tried to order you around like I once did. You would thrash me!”

“No worry of that, Percy. You did me a great favor that day.”

“How so?”

“You made me see what I was becoming. I didn’t like what I saw. I wanted to be like you—a
good
young man. You helped set me on that road.”

“I am more than a little amazed to hear you say it,” rejoined Percy. “But pleased, nonetheless. Hello, Mr. Gwarthegydd,” he said as the blacksmith came toward him with a smile and a black outstretched hand.

“So you’re back, are you, laddie?”

“For a while—just a visit. I am still at the university. I’ve a year to go, then law school after that.”

“I always said you would make something of yourself. Too bad the same can’t be said for that high and mighty cousin of yours.”

“I heard he had some trouble at school. What about Florilyn?” he asked. “I’ve been out of touch with everyone. Is she married yet … or engaged?”

He spoke matter-of-factly, though in truth he knew the answer to his own question. His mother kept him closely enough informed that if a change of that magnitude had come along, he would know about it. But he hoped to get Chandos talking.

Both father and son stared at Percy with odd expressions.

“She’s not married, Percy,” said Chandos at length. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she’s twenty now. Many young women are married by twenty.”

“She’s waiting.”

“For what?”

“What do you think, man?” exclaimed Chandos. “For you! There’s not a bloke in two counties who even looks at her now. Everyone knows how things stand.”

“Everyone, it would appear, but me,” said Percy. He had hoped for news. But this was more than he had bargained for.

By the time Percy set out from Llanfryniog, with much on his mind, it was a few minutes before seven o’clock. As he left town, he cast a glance inland to the cottage he longed to visit more than any other. But it was late. That was a visit that could not be rushed. To try to see Gwyneth now would delay him beyond a reasonable hour to arrive at the manor. They had much to talk about, not the least of which was why she had not come to meet him on the morning of his previous parting. He had been haunted ever since by unknown fears of what might have been the cause. The greatest of these had blossomed into the fear that she might no longer even be with her father, but that it might be
she
who had married during his absence, not Florilyn. He also had to find out what days Gwyneth was working now,
if
she was still at the manor. No brief visit would suffice. He would visit the Barrie cottage tomorrow, when he hoped to learn all.