“He is still large for a jockey,” said Steven from the other side of his mother. “But the loss of weight should help him be more competitive.”
“Do you think he has a chance, Steven?” asked Florilyn beside him. “I just hope he isn’t last. Can you imagine how impossible he would be to live with?”
Steven glanced past Florilyn and Rhawn to Gwyneth seated beside her. Her vision was fixed on Courtenay, her eyes glowing with a strange light.
“I’m not the one you should be asking,” he replied after a moment.
Florilyn looked to her right.
Gwyneth sensed the movement and turned toward her. “Yes, he has a chance, Florilyn,” she said calmly. “He will beat most of the others. I cannot say for certain that he will win. I can see that two of the others are very fast. But I think he may win.”
Between them, Rhawn’s thoughts were not on the race but on Colville Burrenchobay and the conversation she and Percy had had on the way back to the hotel the night before. God, she said silently, I do pray that You would put within Colville’s heart the desire to grow and to become a man of character.
Her thoughts and prayers were interrupted by the starter’s bugle. All eyes turned to the opposite side of the track. As if shot from a gun, the twelve horses exploded forward out of the gate. Instantly a great roar from the crowd went up. Along the back straight the twelve competitors quickly spread out almost in single file. The light, pinkish-gray Empress led the way into the first turn.
“Where’s Courtenay!” shouted Katherine, glancing down toward Steven and Percy.
“I am afraid that’s him bringing up the rear,” said Steven. “But he has time to regroup.”
Nothing more was said as they watched the field come round the curve and into the straight. Birdsong Meadow made a move out of the curve, passing the Empress on the outside and galloping out to half a length’s lead. He was followed by the rest of the closely bunched field. Out of the curve, Courtenay swung wide and eased up on the rider in front of him.
As they came down the straight, slowly Gwyneth rose from her seat and leaned over the rail. She stared intently as they came on, as if trying to exert her will into Courtenay’s brain and into the mighty frame of Viscount’s Pride.
All around her the others were yelling frantically. “Courtenay … go, Courtenay!”
“Faster, Courtenay!”
“Courtenay, Courtenay!”
Stuart Wyckham was pounding his hat on his leg, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Move out around them, boy. No time to hold it back now!”
Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn had risen to their feet, all propriety abandoned, and were shouting in Welsh too thick for anyone around them to understand.
Only Gwyneth was silent as the field thundered past in front of them. Percy looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her hands were together, as if clutching two imaginary reins, her elbows out, her upper body gently rocking, her lips moving with the silent words, Be one … feel her rhythm.
Percy smiled then turned his attention back to the race. “Go, Courtenay!” he cried. “Don’t wait too long! Go!” He thought he detected Courtenay’s head turn toward them for the briefest moment. Had he heard them calling his name? Or had he sensed Gwyneth’s piercing stare?
As quickly as they flew down the straight, they were gone. Seconds later the field entered the far turn. Birdsong Meadow still led, followed by Red Heat and Empress neck and neck. Around the curve, none wanted to swing wide, and all held their positions. As the track again straightened, several swung out and flailed their whips as they flew down the backstretch. Courtenay alone among the twelve jockeys held no whip in his hand. He passed one more horse. Quickly the two behind him faded back. He swung out, drawing even with a cluster of four running side by side halfway down the far straight.
Gradually he inched ahead, pulled out half a length, then a length in front of the four, then swung back into the pole. Birdsong Meadow, Red Heat, and Empress led down the straight, no more than a half a length separating them, while two lengths back, a black stallion and a roan gelding tried desperately to hold the pace. In the gap between them and the cluster of four, rode Courtenay alone.
Into the final curve they came. The Empress appeared strong and gathering herself for another challenge. Red Heat began to fade. The roan drew even then passed him. Courtenay came alongside the stallion’s rear and held position halfway through the curve. The black swung out to pass Red Heat, brushing Courtenay’s left leg. He swung out but kept even. Red Heat faded behind them. The six who trailed fell back.
It was now a five-horse race.
They emerged into the final straight. A deafening roar from the crowd nearly drowned out the pounding hooves on the hard-packed dirt. The Empress came even with Birdsong Meadow. But the roan was gaining. Behind him the black stallion and Viscount’s Pride were coming on strong less than a length back.
Suddenly Courtenay swung wide, too wide it seemed. An audible gasp sounded from the crowd. The sudden lurch appeared to have been caused by the stallion. But now Courtenay leaned far forward, elbows out, his entire frame moving in rhythm with the powerful beast beneath him. He appeared to be speaking into her ear. No one would ever know what was said.
As the two favorites and roan and stallion thundered toward the finish beside the pole, yards to their right, in the middle of the track and alone, Viscount’s Pride came on at great speed.
Percy was on his feet and waving his hands wildly. “Courtenay … go, Courtenay!” he cried.
Steven and Florilyn and Katherine and Rhawn and Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn and Stuart Wyckham were yelling in a frenzy. “Courtenay, Courtenay! Go, Courtenay!”
Only Gwyneth stood calmly at the rail, saying nothing, a peaceful smile on her face as she watched the field thunder toward her.
As he passed them, Courtenay drew even with the Empress. He glanced briefly toward the stands. On his face was a great smile of exhilaration. Then he was gone, pounding toward the finish.
Courtenay flew across the line half a length ahead. Birdsong Meadow surged past the Empress by a nose at the line, followed by the black stallion in fourth.
The twenty-five-to-one long shot had triumphed in the Chester Derby!
Percy and Steven jumped out of their seats and ran through the tumultuous crowd for the winner’s circle. They were followed by Florilyn and Rhawn. After all the excitement, Stuart Wyckham sat down in his seat thinking what he could do with his winnings, while beside him the housekeeper and cook were trying to compute what their winnings would be.
By the time they reached the winner’s circle, Courtenay was being congratulated by the race organizers and presented with the first-place cup. Percy and Steven and Florilyn and Rhawn were swallowed in a great swarm. Courtenay saw them, finally dismounted, and made his way through the throng toward them.
“Magnificent race, Courtenay!” exclaimed Percy with a great smile, shaking his hand.
“Well done, man!” said Steven.
“Thanks,” said Courtenay. “An amazing last two hundred yards. I don’t know quite what happened myself.”
Florilyn stepped forward and gave her brother a tight hug. There were tears in her eyes.
Rhawn hugged him, also. “I can’t believe it, Courtenay,” she said. “That was a fantastic ride.”
“I don’t know that I believe it myself!” laughed Courtenay.
Even as he was greeting the others, it was obvious that Courtenay’s eyes were flitting about the sea of faces looking for someone else. But she stood a head shorter than everyone and was not easy to find in a crowd. At last he detected the head of white. He bumped and inched toward it.
A moment later, Gwyneth’s face came into view.
Courtenay stopped and stood, his left hand holding the reins, staring down at her.
Gwyneth returned his gaze with an innocent and peaceful smile, as if she were not surprised in the least with the result. “Congratulations, Courtenay,” she said. “
That was masterful. I knew you could do it.”
He smiled almost sheepishly then slowly began to shake his head in disbelief. “You did it, Gwyneth,” he said. “Thank you. Thank you … for everything!”
82
Mochras Head
Percy remained in Wales throughout the fall, working every day with Steven and Codnor about the manor and grounds and at the new house. Never had he enjoyed hard, honest labor so much. Even Courtenay occasionally joined them.
As the year 1874 drew to a close, Edward and Mary Drummond made plans again to spend the Christmas holidays at Westbrooke Manor. There was not only much to celebrate, there were plans to be made and much to discuss. Percy was eager to talk over the future with his father and arrive at some resolution regarding his plans for his law studies.
The season would be highlighted by a family reunion with Edward and Katherine’s parents, the earl and his wife, returning at last from China to retire from the mission field. Their future plans were not yet firm. Before leaving for China, they had sold their home and parted with most of their worldly possessions. Son and daughter were doing their utmost to persuade them to spend their remaining years with one or the other of them—at the vicarage in Glasgow or with Katherine in north Wales.
Edward and Mary, with the senior Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, arrived several days before Christmas. Katherine had seen her parents but once since their departure for China twelve years earlier. They were now in their late seventies. Though in good health, they were clearly slower of step and more stooped since she had seen them. The gray atop her head, however, signaled as great a change in their eyes as their increasing frailty did in hers. They had laid eyes on their three grandchildren but briefly since they were children, during a furlough from the mission some years before. Tears flowed freely throughout the day of their arrival. Three fine young adults now greeted them warmly, with handshakes and hugs, and, at least in the case of Percy and Florilyn, countenances of character to make them proud. Even Courtenay, who had avoided such gatherings in recent years, was present. He seemed genuinely glad to be part of the family again. The earl and his wife fell in love instantly with Percy’s young fiancée. They perceived in her eyes the light of truth and immediately took her to their hearts as had Edward and Mary earlier in the year.
“So, Katherine,” said the earl the next evening as the extended family gathered in the large sitting room, “this is where you think we should retire and live out our days? Edward has been doing his best to convince us that he and Mary should take us in.”
“I am aware of that!” laughed Katherine, glancing at her brother with a smile. “But can Glasgow compare with the beautiful coast of Snowdonia? Surely you would be happier in the country.”
“You would certainly have room for us. I had forgotten how huge the manor is.”
“Actually, you would not be living in the manor, Father,” said Katherine. “I have been building a new house out toward the promontory, about three-quarters of a mile from here. You probably saw it when you came up the hill.”
“Why a new house?” asked Mrs. Drummond.
“After Roderick died, there was some question about the inheritance and my future,” replied Katherine vaguely. “It seemed best that I have a place of my own and leave the manor for the new … uh, the new owner when that time came.”
“This place is big enough for ten families,” rejoined the earl.
“You may be right, Father. But young families need a home of their own. I did not want to be underfoot.”
“Yes, well … I see what you mean. Right—can’t have too many old people around when youngsters are scurrying about. Although I must say, on the mission field children multiply like rabbits. Their energy is exhilarating. I have to say, I hope to go to my grave with tiny little hands and feet nearby that occasionally cease their play long enough to climb into an old man’s lap.”
A pause came in the conversation. Katherine, Adela, and Florilyn rose to refill tea cups.
As they resumed their seats, Steven took the opportunity afforded by the lull to stand and look about the room. “If I might be permitted a few words,” he said. All eyes turned toward him, wondering what the normally reticent young man had on his mind. He drew in a deep breath. He appeared uncharacteristically nervous. Had the company not been looking at him, some would have noticed a sudden reddening of Florilyn’s cheeks as she buried her hands and eyes in her lap.
“For many years,” Steven continued when he had composed himself, “I have admired from afar a certain one of our number, trying to find ways to serve her in whatever humble capacity I might despite the vast gulf that existed between our stations. I was but the son of a poor sheep-herding crofter and certainly never dreamed of a more personal or intimate approach. When the late viscount was kind enough to employ me at the manor, and when Lady Katherine added to that kindness by showing such trust as to make me her factor, my opportunities for service toward the one I speak of, though occasionally frustrated by herself, were increased by closer proximity. Yet I remained what I was—but a poor crofter in the guise of a factor. However, when suddenly a few months ago my dear cousin was revealed to be Lord Snowdon’s granddaughter, hope sprang up in me that perhaps I myself might claim to be a little more than a mere peasant, even if not directly so. If I am not quite an aristocrat, perhaps I might claim sufficient standing to look a young lady of noble birth and character in the eye and tell her I love her. Therefore, after speaking to her mother, this I have done. Unbelievably, she reciprocated my sentiments. The result of all this is that I have the following announcement to make—that this afternoon I asked Miss Florilyn Westbrooke to be my wife, and she accepted me.”
Even before the words were out of his mouth, Florilyn was on her feet and hurrying toward him. As they embraced, the room erupted in surprised exclamations. The two were quickly surrounded by their family and friends and smothered in hugs and backslaps and handshakes and kisses of congratulations.
Steven’s announcement at last prompted Percy to talk seriously with his father and mother. Gwyneth had a similar conference with her father. The five then met together, Percy and Gwyneth seeking the combined counsel and wisdom of their three parents concerning their future and its timetable. No resolution was reached regarding Percy’s plans to attend law school, though his father recommended, and Mary and Codnor agreed, that he should travel to Aberdeen within the coming months to reassess possibilities. Now that it seemed clear that his future was in Wales, he needed to decide where his heart was leading him about his studies and future profession.
Out of these discussions and the prayer that followed, one decision was reached. The wedding that would join their two families would be held in Wales in eighteen months, a year from the following June. At Percy’s request, Vicar Edward Drummond would be presiding.
Two days after a festive and joyous Christmas, following a great Boxing Day “open house” at the manor to which the entire village had been invited, on a bright, sunny, cold afternoon, Gwyneth found Percy in the garden with his father and grandfather.
“Come join us, my dear!” said the earl, rising from the stone garden bench and greeting his grandson’s future wife with an embracing hug of affection.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” said Gwyneth, “but Percy, would you walk to the promontory with me later?”
“Sure—it is a perfect day for a walk.”
“Sit down, Gwyneth,” said Edward. “We were just talking about you. Percy was telling my father about his adventure in Ireland trying to find you, when he didn’t even know it was you he was trying to find!”
“I certainly never dreamed I would see Percy again,” said Gwyneth. “No, that’s not quite right,” she added. “I dreamed of seeing Percy again every day. But I did not see how I ever would.”
“I have to tell you,” Percy’s father went on, “I have tremendously enjoyed becoming acquainted with your father these last few days. He is a remarkable man.”
“I coul
d not agree more,” smiled Gwyneth. “I don’t know that I have ever seen him happier. For my sake he was willing to make a new life for us in Ireland. But he is, after all, a Welshman at heart. He is so happy to be back home, as is Grannie.”
“But she is not actually your grandmother?”
“No, my great-great-aunt.”
“And Steven …”
“Is my cousin. His mother Adela is my father’s sister.”
“Ah … I think I have it straight at last!” laughed Edward.
An hour later Percy and Gwyneth walked to the edge of the promontory, bundled in several layers of clothes, and sat down on the damp grass. The winter sun was slowly dying into the sea in front of them.
“This is one of my favorite places,” said Gwyneth softly.
“One of our favorite places,” rejoined Percy, “as long as you’re not waiting for me at the harbor!”
“I have been coming here and sitting looking out over the sea since before I can remember,” Gwyneth went on. “I always associated the mystery of the sea with my mother. Now I know what happened. I have been to Ireland. I have seen the land where I was born. Yet I love it here no less that the mystery has been solved.”
“The sea is mysterious of itself,” said Percy. “And we still don’t know how that chest of gold came to be buried in the cave down there. That mystery may always baffle us.”
“But we found it. Imagine, Percy—we actually found a buried treasure! It’s a fairy tale!”
Percy turned toward Gwyneth. The setting sun had grown bright red at the wintry horizon. Whenever the sun shone just right, its rays turned Gwyneth’s light hair into a luminescent crown of gold.
“More a fairy tale for me than you,” said Percy as a smile played on his lips.
Gwyneth returned his gaze with a puzzled expression.
“I discovered the real treasure,” he said, “though it took me sailing back and forth across the Celtic triangle to find it. What is a chest of old coins compared to the gold I found? I found you!”
The Treasure of the Celtic Triangle- Wales Page 39