Read Treasure of the Celtic Triangle Online
Authors: Michael Phillips
“Very well,” rejoined Katherine, “then I will lay out my predicament to you. I think it entirely possible that Courtenay will make life difficult for me once he inherits. It is not for myself alone that I am concerned but also for my daughter, and for my factor, the young man Steven Muir, and his mother, who also recently lost her husband. I have money, of course. Courtenay could do nothing to render me destitute, but he could make my life extremely unpleasant. It is not my desire to leave Westbrooke Manor. But I have to realize that such may become almost an inevitability once he is in control of everything. He is already angry with me at finding himself financially strapped—a condition which he lays at my feet rather than his own. He has essentially demanded money under threat of doing exactly what I said—making my life unbearable in the future. It breaks my heart to be at odds with him. He is my son, after all, and I love him. But I must also be realistic about my own future and make plans for myself should remaining at Westbrooke Manor become impossible.”
“You do not seriously believe that he would throw you out?” said Murray. “I am not certain whether he even could do so legally. I shall have to look into the matter.”
“I doubt he would try anything so drastic,” said Katherine. “But he could make it a miserable place for me to live, especially after Florilyn is married and possibly gone. I could not remain where I was scorned and looked down upon. The awkwardness of it would be extreme.”
“What do you have in mind?” asked the solicitor.
Katherine drew in a long breath. “I have been revolving in my mind a plan about which I would need your counsel and help,” she went on after a moment. “I would like to secure a property, or perhaps several properties, that I could own in my own name, free and unencumbered by the estate. Would this be possible, such that they would be unassailable by Courtenay?”
“You could of course purchase any form of property you like in your own name,” replied Murray.
“But all the land for miles in every direction is owned by the estate?”
“You are, I take it, planning to stay in the Llanfryniog region?”
“Such would be my intention. It is my home. Much, I suppose, would depend on Florilyn’s future. If there were grandchildren, naturally I would want to be near her family. I confess it is my hope that Florilyn and her husband may remain in the area as well. As I said, I am thinking of trying to make provision for us all that will be free from Courtenay’s potential interference.”
“I see. So you are asking me how you might acquire land near your present home?”
Katherine nodded.
“As long as you are in control of the trusteeship, you can sell estate lands.”
“Are you saying that I could sell land or a property owned by the estate … to myself?”
“That would be the simplest way. I see nothing legally that would stop you.”
“And if I purchased a house in the village, say, or bought a parcel of acreage and built a new house upon it, with my own money, Courtenay could do nothing to evict me?”
“Provided we attend to all the proper legalities to be certain the deed is drawn up and registered to you, he would have no power over it whatever. The property would be yours.”
“He would be furious, no doubt. He would see it as my having stolen a portion of his inheritance.”
“There would be nothing he could do about it. And he would benefit from such a transaction. Essentially you would be buying the property from your son. As you know, the estate does not bring in a great income, a fact that was something of a trial for your late husband. Perhaps your son would be grateful.”
Katherine nodded. “Somehow I doubt it,” she said. “In any event, I think you have answered my question, Mr. Murray. I shall begin looking for suitable property where, if worse comes to worst, I may live out my years. You could, I assume, draw up all the necessary legal documents?”
“Certainly. The only stipulation in any such transaction is that you would have to pay the estate a fair market price so that your son could not later contest the sale in court. But that is easily managed. We would bring in an outside appraiser for just such a purpose.”
“Then I will pay
more
than market price.”
Katherine spent the night at a boardinghouse and returned on the southbound coach the next day. Even as she bounced through Llanfryniog beside Steven Muir on her way back to the manor, Katherine glanced about with new eyes, wondering where among the homes of the region she might make her future.
That same afternoon she went out for a long and thoughtful ride of several hours, through the streets of Llanfryniog and back along the plateau up to Mochras Head before returning inland to Westbrooke Manor. Her mind was full of many things.
F
IFTEEN
David Elginbrod
F
lorilyn was about four-fifths of the way through the novel,
David Elginbrod
. The title character was now dead. As she read, reminded of the death of her own father, Florilyn felt a fleeting bond with David’s daughter, Margaret Elginbrod. But they were from such different stations. Margaret was a peasant. Try as she would, Florilyn could not quite put herself in Margaret’s shoes.
Suddenly as she began reading the chapter entitled “The Lady’s Maid,” Florilyn realized, if she was going to place herself in the story at all, she was not the character of Margaret; she was
Euphra Cameron
—the spoiled aristocratic young woman Hugh Sutherland was enchanted with.
The realization was far from pleasant. Fictional though she was, Euphra was mean, self-centered, and petty. Hugh’s fascination with her was one of the mysteries of the story.
With suddenly heightened interest, Florilyn read of Euphra’s treatment of Margaret upon discovery of the personal letter she had written to David Elginbrod, not yet knowing him to be Margaret’s father.
“Margaret had sought Euphra’s room, with the intention of restoring to her the letter which she had written. Hopes of ministration filled Margaret’s heart; but she expected, from what she knew of her, that anger would be Miss Cameron’s first feeling
.
‘What do you want?’ she said angrily
.
‘This is your letter, Miss Cameron, is it not?’ said Margaret, advancing with it in her hand
.
Euphra took it, glanced at the direction, started up in a passion, and let loose the whole gathered irritability of contempt, weariness, disappointment, and suffering, upon Margaret. Her dark eyes flashed with rage
.
‘What right have you, pray, to handle my letters? How did you get this! And open, too. I declare! I suppose you have read it?’
Margaret was afraid of exciting more wrath before she had an opportunity of explaining; but Euphra gave her no time to think of a reply
.
‘You have read it, you shameless woman! Impudent prying! Pray, did you hope to find a secret worth a bribe?’
She advanced on Margaret till within afoot of her
.
‘Why don’t you answer, you hussy?’
Margaret stood quietly, waiting for an opportunity to speak. Her face was very pale, but perfectly still, and her eyes did not quail
.
‘You do not know my name, Miss Cameron; of course you could not.’
‘Your name! What is that to me?’
‘That,’ said Margaret, pointing to the letter, ‘is my father’s name.’
Euphra looked at her own direction again, and then looked at Margaret. She was so bewildered, that if she had any thoughts, she did not know them. Margaret went on:
‘My father is dead. My mother sent the letter to me.’
‘What is it to you? Do you think I am going to make a confidante of you?’”
Florilyn’s heart smote her, and she could read no more. She put the book aside as tears filled her eyes.
She had been just like Euphra. She had treated poor Gwyneth the same way—rudely and angrily. If parallels with the story were to be drawn, Gwyneth was the saintly Margaret, and she was the unlovely Euphra.
She had changed, thought Florilyn to herself, and she thanked God for it. But there were times when the memory of what she had once been still made her cry. She had been shameful toward Gwyneth. Maybe she
was
Euphra after all!
Once the parallels with the story were clear, Florilyn saw them everywhere. It might as well have been a story set in Westbrooke Manor! On every page as she read over the ensuing days, as Margaret became Euphra’s maid, as their friendship blossomed, as Euphra began to grow and change, and as it became clear that both girls were smitten with Hugh Sutherland, Florilyn was no longer reading about Margaret and Euphra … she was reading about herself and Gwyneth and Percy!
She was drawn into the story so deeply that she was living in it. What intrigue the love triangle took on in her mind! Of course Margaret and Euphra shared their feelings about Hugh far more openly than she and Gwyneth ever had about Percy.
“Margaret could not proceed very far in the story of her life without making some reference to Hugh Sutherland. But she carefully avoided mentioning his name
.
‘Ah!’ said Euphra, one day, ‘your history is a little like mine there; a tutor comes into them both. Did you not fall dreadfully in love with him?’
‘I
loved him very much.’
‘Do you never see him?’
Margaret was silent. Euphra knew her well enough not to repeat the question
.
‘I should have been in love with him, I know … Mr. Sutherland did me some good, Margaret.’
‘Mr. Sutherland loved you very much, Miss Cameron.’”
It was exactly what dear Gwyneth might have said! Florilyn remembered when Gwyneth had urged Percy to go to the party at Burrenchobay Hall with her. Even as she continued her reading, the names on the page might have been Percival Drummond, Florilyn Westbrooke, and Gwyneth Barrie.
“‘He loved me once,’ said poor Euphra, with a sigh
.
‘I saw he did. That was why I began to love you too.’
Margaret had at last unwittingly opened the door of her secret. But Euphra could not understand what she meant
.
‘What do you mean, Margaret?’
Margaret both blushed and laughed outright
.
‘I must confess it,’ said she, at once; ‘it cannot hurt him now: my tutor and yours are the same.’
‘And you never spoke all the time he was here!’
‘Not once. He never knew I was in the house.’
‘How strange! And you saw he loved me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you were not jealous?’
‘I did not say that. But I soon found that the only way to escape from my jealousy, if the feeling I had was jealousy, was to love you too. I did.’
‘You beautiful creature! But you could not have loved him much.’
‘I loved him enough to love you for his sake.’
It would have been unendurable to Euphra, a little while before, to find that she had a rival in a servant. Now she scarcely regarded that aspect of her position.”
Again Florilyn put the book down thoughtfully.
Had
Gwyneth been in love with Percy? If so, she would never have divulged it.
S
IXTEEN
Surveying the Landscape
K
atherine Westbrooke’s brain had been busy. She knew that time passed quickly. She must not unnecessarily delay whatever planned changes she hoped to make. She would have to complete all necessary legalities before Courtenay’s twenty-fifth birthday or he would move to stop her in the courts. She hoped, as Hamilton Murray had suggested, that he might be grateful for the infusion of cash into the estate’s coffers. However, she knew she mustn’t bank on the unpredictable responses of a self-motivated and, as things presently stood, angry young man.
She therefore made a number of visits to the village and its environs, but thus far without inspiration coming to her.
The only home within miles that might have been considered large enough and suitable for the extended household of an aristocratic dowager viscountess was that occupied by Styles Lorimer and his wife and daughter, Rhawn, and her son. There were rumors that Mr. and Mrs. Lorimer were considering a move to southern England. But nothing was known for certain. It was doubtful they would make a decision anytime soon.
There were several sizeable farms within a mile or two of Llanfryniog. All were occupied, however, and she had no intention of evicting one of her tenants for the sake of her own potential future need.
Gradually the idea floated out of the mists to the surface of Katherine’s thoughts. What was to prevent her building a new home instead? Florilyn’s words returned to her memory:
“We shall build a second cottage to go with it.”
If they could build a cottage, they could just as well build a house sizeable enough to suit all her needs, with stables and paddocks and pastures and meadows for whatever animals she wanted to raise, as well as quarters for Adela and Steven, and perhaps, she dared only hope, also for her daughter and family. Nothing so imposing or on the grand scale of the manor itself—her funds were not unlimited, nor were her tastes of an extravagant nature—but something large enough to be functional and comfortable for two or three families.
At length Katherine realized it was time she spoke with Florilyn, divulged what was on her mind, and canvassed her thoughts on the matter. A decision could possibly affect her future as well.
She waited until Courtenay was at Burrenchobay Hall visiting Colville Burrenchobay then sought Florilyn in her room. “I would like to talk to you, dear,” she said, poking her head through the open doorway.
Florilyn glanced up from her book then laid it aside. “Of course, Mother,” she said. “Come in. Your expression looks serious. Is something wrong?”
Katherine sat down in one of several chairs about the expansive room and drew in a long sigh. “It shows that plainly, does it?” she said with a melancholy smile.