Percy took in the suggestion with obvious interest. “I will have to see how it goes in Wales,” he said. “It sounds like an intriguing possibility. What will you do?”
“They enlist local support wherever they travel to help with organization and crowds and in counseling people after the services. I suppose it will be personal evangelism with those who have shown interest or have given their hearts to Christ.”
The conversation and dinner continued late into the evening. When they finally retired for the night, the two young cousins agreed to stay in touch and keep one another apprised of their future plans.
Parting the next day, as the two Henry Drummonds prepared to board their train for Edinburgh, young Henry approached his father’s cousin as they waited in the station.
“Cousin Edward,” he said. “I have a request to make of you, if you don’t mind.”
“Certainly, Henry,” replied Edward.
“My mother and father have always spoken highly of your spiritual insights—how you see things in the spiritual world differently from most Christians. I am embarrassed to ask, but would you look at some writings I am working on? My father has read most of them and offered a few ideas. I would like to hear what you think as well.”
“I would be happy to, Henry,” replied Edward. “What’s it about?”
“It’s a series of devotional talks based on First Corinthians 13. I am occasionally called on to address my fellow students at chapel. I would appreciate any thoughts you might have.”
“It would be my pleasure,” replied Edward.
His cousin’s son handed him a small sheaf of handwritten pages.
“You don’t mind if I read it, too?” asked Percy.
“Of course not, Percy,” replied Henry. “I would appreciate your thoughts as well—as someone my own age.”
“This is not your only copy?” asked Edward.
“No, I copied out a clean draft for you. My own is too filled with notes and scratchings from my pen. No one could possibly make sense of it!”
With final handshakes and promises to write, the two Henrys, father and son, boarded their train.
The three Glaswegians departed for Glasgow the following morning, with all Percy’s belongings from four years at the university.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Wales through New Eyes
Percival Drummond, M.A., arrived at Llanfryniog in North Wales in the last week of May, 1873. As he alighted from the coach in front of the inn, he thought to himself how the progression of his life seemed inexorably linked to his periodic sojourns in this rural seat of his aunt and uncle and cousins. Westbrooke Manor had come to feel more like his true home even than the parsonage in Glasgow in which he had been raised.
While the coachman took down his bags and set them beside the inn, he glanced up and down the familiar street. How many times had he been here, he wondered. His first visit as a rebellious sixteen-year-old in 1867 had been filled with so many discoveries about God and nature and himself. Then his return visit as a nineteen-year-old university student in 1870 … and again two years later. That was the fateful visit of a year ago, when the accident had occurred that had taken his uncle’s life. Finally the short stay last Christmas. Now here he was again, a university graduate of twenty-two, with an uncertain future ahead of him.
Almost simultaneous to the departure of the coach and four that had brought him down the coast from the train at Blaenau Ffestiniog, the Westbrooke Manor buggy appeared at the end of the street to the south of town, coming between the two churches and making good speed. As he approached, Percy saw Steven Muir at the reins.
He waited as the carriage slowed and drew alongside the inn. Steven jumped down and ran toward him with outstretched hand. He seemed to Percy’s eyes to have aged two years. Being in a position of responsibility obviously agreed with him.
“Hello, Stevie!” said Percy, reverting to the nickname by which he had first known him.
“Welcome back to Wales, Percy!” said Steven. “As always, the whole manor is anxiously awaiting you.”
“The whole manor?” laughed Percy.
“Ah, if you’re meaning Mister Courtenay … he’s away to the continent.”
Behind Steven, Percy now saw Florilyn alight from the carriage. She smiled and walked toward him. The two cousins embraced affectionately, then stepped back and gazed a moment into one another’s eyes. If anything since the ending of their engagement, Florilyn had grown quieter and more beautiful, reminding all who saw her of Katherine.
After the initial heartache from what she had done, the months since had been good ones for Florilyn’s soul. She participated in the domestic life of the manor and spent much of her free time in the library. There her newfound love for reading blossomed into a passion. She and her mother grew closer than ever, talked often about Percy and what Florilyn had done, and had even begun to pray together. As rare as such a thing might be in the world, mother and daughter truly became the best of friends and confidantes.
In the second or two as she gazed into Percy’s eyes, a strange and unexpected sensation filled Florilyn’s heart. How she loved him! Yet in that instant, she realized that her love for Percy was the love of a sister for a brother … the natural love for a brother that Courtenay had never allowed to flourish within her.
“You look well, Florilyn,” said Percy. “You seem at peace.”
“Perhaps I am,” said Florilyn. “You look good, too, Percy. I can see from your face that you are relieved that the stress of school is behind you.”
Percy nodded. “It is a great relief, I will admit. If I go to law school eventually, it will probably be far more rigorous. But I’m not thinking about that now.”
Steven already had Percy’s bags loaded. The three climbed into the buggy.
Florilyn sat down between the two young men and slipped her hands through their two arms. “I don’t know that I have ever felt so safe and secure and happy as to have two such wonderful men beside me!” she exclaimed as they set off.
Percy roared with laughter.
“Oh Percy, it is always so good when you come home, isn’t it, Steven? Your laughter brings the sun out!”
“I am glad to be of service!” said Percy, laughing again. “So, Steven,” he went on, “how does the life of a gentleman suit you?”
“I am hardly that, Percy!” laughed Steven. “Merely a humble factor.”
“A factor is almost a gentleman, is it not?”
“I will always be a sheepherder at heart.”
“Don’t let him tell you stories, Percy,” said Florilyn. “Steven knows everything about the estate. Mother says he manages it all. The business of the estate would be impossible without him, she says.”
“Good for you, Steven! I am happy it has worked out well for everyone. What does Courtenay think of having you for his—” Percy stopped abruptly as they passed a young woman from behind. “Wait a minute—Hold on, Steven!” he said. “Isn’t that … Yes, it is!” He leaped down from the carriage as Steven pulled to a stop. He ran around the horse to the side of the street. “Rhawn!” he cried. “I thought it was you!”
Before Rhawn Lorimer had a chance even to greet him, she found herself embraced by the last person she had expected to see. “Percy!” she exclaimed as he stepped back. “You’re back in Wales!”
“I only just arrived. Florilyn and Steven came to collect me from the coach,” he added, glancing toward the two where they sat in the buggy.
Rhawn smiled up at them.
“You’re looking well. Being a mother must be a good influence on you.”
“Thank you,” said Rhawn a little shyly, glancing away.
“Are you still living at your parents’ home?” asked Percy.
Rhawn nodded.
“And your son?”
“He is well. He’s two and a half now—rambunctious and talkative.”
“I can’t wait to see him. I’ll come visit. We’ll go for a ride together!” Percy turned and
walked back to the carriage and climbed up.
Steven flicked the reins and they bounded into motion as Rhawn stood a moment staring after them.
It was quiet in the carriage for a minute or two.
“Is there still no …” Percy began. “I mean … the boy still has no father, I take it?”
“No acknowledged father,” said Florilyn.
“Do you and she still see one another?”
“We get together from time to time,” nodded Florilyn. “I’ve actually gotten her started reading MacDonald’s books.”
“She’s said nothing to you about who the father is?”
“She would never do that. It’s never come up between us.”
They left Llanfryniog behind them, joined the main road, and continued southward.
“What is happening over there?” said Percy as they rode up the plateau and he looked toward the promontory of Mochras Head.
“Actually,” said Florilyn, “my mother is building a new house.”
“What?”
“She and I will be leaving the manor when Courtenay becomes viscount.”
“You’re kidding! Voluntarily, or is he forcing you out?”
“A little of both!” laughed Florilyn. “Now that the new house is begun, Mother is excited. Just wait till you see the drawings. It will be beautiful, overlooking the sea with the most spectacular views imaginable.”
“So how is my old friend and nemesis doing?” asked Percy.
“Courtenay you mean?”
“Who else? Can’t wait to see me, what?”
“Actually, Courtenay’s gone,” replied Florilyn. “He left for France about a month ago. How he found the money for a trip has Mother baffled,” she went on. “To all accounts he was basically penniless except for what Mother occasionally gave him. Then all of a sudden something seemed to change. The next thing we knew, he was gone again. We’ve not heard a word from him.”
“But he becomes viscount … when?”
“He turns twenty-five next March.”
On the continent, Courtenay’s newfound wealth was in fact evaporating rather more quickly than he would have hoped, largely from unwise investments at Europe’s racetracks. He seemed neither concerned nor inclined to moderate his expensive addiction. There was more waiting for him in a few months’ time. Once he was viscount, he would raise rents across the board sufficient to keep from finding himself in the same boat as had his father.
His father’s dream of owning a stable of thoroughbred racehorses of his own had taken possession of Courtenay. His travels also served the ostensible purpose of giving him the opportunity to make several purchases. He was not a wise judge of horseflesh, far too impetuous and given to the lure of externals. But as is often the case with such young men, his confidence in his decision-making prowess was of inverse proportion to its wisdom. The last thing he would think to do was seek the counsel of those older and wiser than himself. His hubris was well developed in the extreme.
The thought never now entered his mind of resuming his studies at Oxford. What did he need a degree for? By this time next year, he would be sitting in the House of Lords!
Steven and Florilyn continued with their Scots passenger through the gate into the precincts of Westbrooke Manor.
Katherine was watching for their arrival from the window of the study. The moment the buggy came into view, she was on her way down the stairs. The entire household staff was also aware of their honored guest’s impending arrival and had contrived to be at or near the front door with their mistress to greet him.
Katherine walked outside and hurried toward the carriage. She embraced Percy almost the moment his feet touched the ground. “Welcome home, Percy!” she whispered into his ears.
Percy stepped back and looked into his aunt’s eyes. He saw a new light of assurance, poise, and calm in her countenance.
In the six months since Christmas, the viscount’s widow had added more than a few strands of gray now that the milestone of fifty had come and gone. The grief of finding herself without a husband while still a relatively young woman caused her, even now, occasional tears when alone at night. But that she had grown within herself was obvious from one look deep into her eyes. Notwithstanding the tussles with Courtenay, she was more confident and self-assured. Many decisions had been forced upon her. She had risen to meet them with a maturity and grace that would have made her late husband proud. She continued what she and her husband had begun during the final year or two of his life, visiting the homes and shops of the villagers who were, even if but temporarily, her tenants and making sure their needs were being met.
Even with the prospect looming of having to leave her home, she was looking to the future not with defeat but as a challenge to be met with zestful optimism. She had successfully concluded the purchase from the estate of one hundred sixty acres stretching inland from the promontory of Mochras Head approximately a quarter mile at its narrowest up to three-quarters of a mile at the point of the promontory, bounded to the east by the village road and main road south to Barmouth. Now that Courtenay had laid his cards on the table, she was almost looking forward to the inevitable move to the new home of her design. Nevertheless, she was greatly relieved to be able to embark on the project in his absence.
Mostly, however, Katherine Westbrooke had grown spiritually. The sensitivities of her youth, nurtured in the home of a godly mother and father, had been so thoroughly stifled during the years of her marriage as to almost have receded into dormancy. The strong roots of that spiritual legacy had now revived and sent new life throughout the entire plant of her being. Not only was she now reading every new MacDonald novel as it came off the press, she was venturing into the deep waters of his sermons as well and had begun her own inquiry through daily Bible reading into the true nature and character of God.
Truly had she allowed the tragedies that had come to her to work together for good in her life.
TWENTY-NINE
Reflections Past and Future
In the warm soft-scented twilight, Percy Drummond stood at the open window of his familiar room in Westbrooke Manor. It was late. Though tired from his journey and the emotionally draining day of visiting and laughter and rekindling old friendships, his brain was too occupied for sleep.
He was here at last. The moment of truth had finally arrived when he would have to decide how to carry out his uncle’s dying commission. He had put off the how of that mystery for almost a year. The future had arrived.
After today, learning of Courtenay’s intolerable actions, the urgency of his mission was suddenly borne upon him with new force. Perhaps it had been a mistake to wait so long. With Katherine involved in the construction of a new home on the assumption that Courtenay would be viscount in nine or ten months, there wasn’t a moment to lose. The perplexity, and seeming impossibility of his mission, again pressed with great weight upon Percy’s mind.
Slowly the words rose unbidden from his subconscious. Yet they were words his subconscious was training itself to pray with every inward breath and exhaling of his spiritual lungs. “Lord,” he whispered, “show me what to do.”
This visit was unlike any previous. He was, if not quite, almost a grown man. Florilyn was a grown woman. He had completed his studies at the university. This was no mere summer holiday between school terms. Eventually he would have to explain himself—what he was doing here. If he disclosed that he was on a mission for his uncle, questions would immediately arise. He must keep his purpose to himself. Yet he must also have some pretext for being here.
Still without a clear picture of what he would do, Percy turned from the window and blew out the candle to end the long day.
The next morning dawned warm and bright. Percy slept till after nine and found Florilyn and Katherine in the breakfast room awaiting him. “That’s as late as I have slept for a long time!” he said. “I have to say, it felt good.”
After a friendly visit with his aunt and cousin, Percy found the question he h
ad been hoping to avoid suddenly staring him in the face.
“I had been under the impression you were thinking of law school, Percy,” said Katherine. “Listening to you yesterday, it sounds as though your plans are indefinite. I was actually surprised to learn that you would be visiting us again. Delighted, of course! Merely surprised. How long will you be with us? What are your plans?”
Katherine saw him glance down at the cup of tea in his hand with an uncertain expression. “Please,” she added quickly, “you are welcome as long as you like. You are always welcome—you know that! I am simply interested.”
“Actually, Aunt Katherine,” replied Percy, “my future is cloudy. I honestly don’t know how to answer you. Yes, law school looms on the horizon as a possibility. And of course Florilyn and I have to talk,” he added, glancing toward Florilyn with a smile, “and seek what is God’s will for us.”
“I understand.”
“This has become like a second home to me,” Percy went on. “As much as I love being with my mother and father, I am more at peace here in the country. With my future uncertain, I felt that this was where I should be to ask God about it. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. You are family. This is your home! At least,” she added, “for another few months. Once Courtenay turns twenty-five, the manor may no longer be home to any of us! Florilyn and I may have to spend a few months or a year in Glasgow with your parents while our new home is being completed.”
Percy realized that he may never have a more appropriate moment to hint at the most important reason he had returned to Wales. “There is another thing,” he said, choosing his words with care. “Before he died, Uncle Roderick asked me to … well, sort through some of his old things, papers and so on.” He hesitated.
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