He turned toward her as she approached with a smile. The brief expression was gone from her face. The trance that had come over him was instantly broken.
“Hello, Percy,” she said. “You are standing there looking like you just saw a ghost!”
“Oh … yeah, sorry!” He laughed, shaking his head. “I was just … But, Gwyneth—I was hoping to run into you.”
She reached the landing.
“I’ve hardly seen you at all,” Percy went on. “I miss our talks.”
“So do I, Percy,” she said softly.
“Do you work tomorrow?”
Gwyneth shook her head.
“Then let’s meet for the day.”
“What about your work at the stables?” said Gwyneth. “All the rest of the servants are talking about what a big help you are. They say they have never seen Master Courtenay dirty his hands like you do.”
“Just so long as they don’t say it around him!” laughed Percy. “But the workers can get by without me. The roof is nearly done. They are just humoring me anyway. I don’t really know what I am doing.”
“That’s not what Mr. Radnor says.”
“Well, he has always been very nice. So what do you say about tomorrow?”
“If you really want to, Percy.”
“Want to? I’ve been waiting for the chance.”
“Would you like to come to Grannie’s for breakfast tea?”
“That would be great!”
“Then I will walk my father to the mine at seven and be to Grannie’s by eight.”
“I’ll be there.”
The next morning, Percy left the manor on foot at seven thirty, just about the time Gwyneth was saying good-bye to her father for the day and returning to walk back to the village from the mine.
After breakfast tea with Grannie, Percy and Gwyneth left the cottage and walked through the village toward the harbor.
“Do the village people bother you much anymore?” asked Percy.
“Not so much,” replied Gwyneth. “They don’t talk to me, but at least they don’t say cruel things. It is a great relief not to go to school. Grannie always taught me to return evil with kindness, and I tried to. One of my earliest memories is of Grannie’s voice saying, ‘Good returns fivefold. Secret good returns tenfold. Return good for evil—God never forgets.’ But it is not so pleasant to have people make fun of you. I am glad not to be taking so many bouquets around as I once did.”
They reached the beach. Percy paused to untie his shoes and take them off along with his socks. Gwyneth did the same. Before she was through, Percy had gone running off, yelling and laughing as he darted in and out of the incoming tide like a frolicksome dog. Gwyneth laughed with delight. Out of breath after a few minutes, he came running back to where she stood, still giggling to see him having so much fun.
“There is nothing like walking and running barefoot in the sand,” he said as he picked up his shoes and they walked away from the harbor. I think this beach is one of my favorite places in the whole world. I think I will claim it as my special place! I wonder if you can see Ireland from here, too.”
“Only on a very clear day, I think,” said Gwyneth.
“The tide is out today,” Percy went on. “Have you found any more spooky skeletons in the cave?”
“No,” laughed Gwyneth. “I am still a little afraid to go there by myself.”
“I’ve got it! You wait here.” said Percy excitedly. “I’ll run back to Grannie’s and borrow a candle and matches. We’ll explore it!”
He dashed off. As soon as he left the sand, he remembered his bare feet. He sat down and began to put his shoes and socks back on.
Almost the next instant Gwyneth ran past him. “You wait here!” she laughed. “I don’t need shoes. I will get the candle and matches.”
She was back almost in less time than it would have taken him to tie up his laces. Soon they were scampering over the rocky end of the beach toward the cave. Five minutes later they were inside.
Percy struck a match and lit the candle. With the flame flickering and sending its light and shadows dancing off the walls and roof of the perpetually wet rock, they ventured slowly inside.
“I’ve never seen the cave so bright,” said Gwyneth, gazing all about. “It looks so different.”
The cave was larger than Percy expected, easily forty or fifty feet to the far end where the downward slope of the roof met the walls at the sand. No dangerous protrusions or hidden stones were visible, and the sandy floor was smooth. The bottom sloped up markedly from the cave’s mouth. If one did happen to get trapped inside by a sudden incoming tide, it would indeed be difficult to get out.
“Where did you see the skeleton?” asked Percy.
“I think about here,” said Gwyneth, glancing about. “It is hard to tell. But it was only the head.”
“You’ve never seen anything since?”
Gwyneth shook her head.
They reached the far end. Percy knelt down in the wet sand, feeling about with his free hand as he sent the light from the candle into every crevice and recess of the irregular rock of the walls. “It almost seems that it might go farther back,” he said. “Look here, the rock angles farther in except that it is blocked up by sand. Waves must have constantly pushed the sand farther in and up against the rock. I wonder if there is another small chamber behind this pile of sand.”
“I would be afraid to find out,” said Gwyneth. “There might be spiders and crabs and scary little creatures. I would never come in here again if I thought there was a place where things like that were hiding!”
Percy laughed. “I thought you loved animals!”
“I do. But not spiders and bats and beetles that live where it’s dark.”
“Well, if there is more to this cave, we’re not going to find it without a spade.”
They crawled back away from the inner end of the cave until they could stand again, then left through the cave mouth and continued along the south portion of sandy beach. Soon they had their shoes on again and were climbing the trail up to the promontory of Mochras Head. They sat down at the top, gazing across the water.
“Can you see Ireland today?” asked Percy.
Gwyneth squinted. “I don’t think so. Maybe. I can’t be sure. Are you going to the party at Burrenchobay Hall, Percy?” asked Gwyneth abruptly.
“You heard about it, did you? I don’t know … I suppose. Though I would rather not.”
“Why, Percy?”
“Oh, you know … all those highfalutin society people. I’m not cut out for all that. I’d rather be having a pint with the fishermen than get dressed up for a party.”
“But you have to go.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Miss Florilyn is expecting you to be her escort.”
“Is she? Hmm, well I suppose I shall have to go, then.”
“I saw you and Miss Florilyn leaving for a ride yesterday. Did you have fun?”
“Yes, we had a good time catching up since seeing one another during my last visit.”
“She likes being with you, doesn’t she?”
“I suppose.”
“Where did you ride?”
“Where you met me three years ago way out in the hills, remember? You had to lead me home.”
Gwyneth smiled but then grew quiet, even a little withdrawn. They sat awhile in silence.
“Do you have any new animals?” he asked at length.
“A few.
“I would like to see them.”
They rose and walked slowly away from the promontory and toward Gwyneth’s home. The mood that had come over her passed. She was soon herself again.
58
Burrenchobay Hall
The big day of the party finally came.
Florilyn spent all afternoon getting ready. Gwyneth and one of the other maids spent most of the day waiting on her. By five o’clock she was ready, every hair in place, her long lavender dress perfect. Mother and daughter
had at last attached the final ribbon at the waist to the expensive dress they had purchased in London some months before.
“You look lovely, dear,” said Katherine as she adjusted the bow in her daughter’s glistening black hair.
“Do you think Percy will like the dress?” asked Florilyn.
“I am sure he will.”
Outside a large brougham with Deaken Trenchard at the reins stood ready to transport Lord and Lady Snowdon, Florilyn, and Percy the four miles to Burrenchobay Hall. Courtenay had made his own arrangements and had left some time before.
Percy came down the central staircase looking stunning in a dark blue suit with a white shirt, vest, and red tie. Florilyn stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. The sight nearly took her breath away. It was the same suit he had been wearing on the day of his arrival. Yet something about it on this day was especially stunning.
Gwyneth, too, had been watching for Percy’s appearance. She stood out of sight along one of the corridors, hidden around a corner of the wall. She knew she was neglecting her work. But she could not help herself. The compulsion was too strong to set eyes on him before a grand event the likes of which she had been listening to Florilyn describe all day.
Her reaction was exactly like Florilyn’s. At sight of Percy as she peeped around the corner, Gwyneth felt a tightening in her chest. Could that really be her Percy … her friend of the seashore and hills … the same Percy who sat in Grannie’s cottage day after day as if he were a simple villager … her sharer of the special places? She could hardly believe it!
Then the familiar laugh echoed down the hall in response to something Florilyn had said. The sound fell into Gwyneth’s ear with a pang even as it sent her heart leaping. It was Percy!
Yet how could Percy be two such different people? How could he walk and talk with her like a friend, run along with bare feet on the sand, laughing as he dashed in and out of the incoming waves like a jubilant boy, and now be so dazzling and handsome?
As she crept away and returned to her final duties of the day, many confusing thoughts rushed through the brain of Gwyneth Barrie. How could one like her, so small, so slow of speech, a simple peasant girl who kept animals and took care of her Grannie and her papa, ever be worthy of one like Percy Drummond?
The sight of him had been a revelation, a wonder. Yet it was also a crushing blow. In that moment, Gwyneth had also seen herself. She knew she had allowed herself to build foolish castles in the sky and to dream dreams that could never be.
The brougham with its four passengers left Westbrooke Manor and arrived at its destination forty minutes later.
The scene at the Burrenchobay estate as they approached was bright and festive. In the distance could be heard strains of music.
A servant led them in at the front door with the stream of guests who had been arriving for some time from the best homes throughout North Wales. The sounds grew louder, accompanied by laughter from behind the house. The butler continued before them through a wide hall decorated with medieval replicas, not unlike those in Westbrooke Manor, and out to the garden. There a hastily assembled choir of male voices was raised in resonant harmony to the strains of “God Save the Queen.”
Always singing in Wales! Percy laughed to himself. He heard music coming from every cottage in Llanfryniog. Fishermen at their nets might spontaneously burst into song without warning, two or three together, and within minutes be joined by voices from boats out on the water. The servants around the house were constantly humming or singing to themselves.
The anthem ended with rousing applause from every quarter as the fifty or so guests broke into smaller groups.
The young lady for whom the occasion had been planned had purposefully delayed her appearance for maximum effect … and, most important, until the contingent from Westbrooke Manor arrived.
Davina Burrenchobay reached the bottom of the stairs, slowed and tried to calm herself, pinched both cheeks to make sure they were pink, then continued through the central hall and toward the gathering outside.
Several of her friends scurried to meet her. “Has anyone seen Percy?” asked Davina.
“He’s here!” said one of her friends excitedly.
“He’s over there with his uncle and your parents … and that Florilyn Westbrooke.”
“Don’t worry about her,” said Davina. “Once he sets eyes on me, he will forget his cousin.”
“Do you think he’ll ask you to dance?” asked one of Davina’s fawning friends.
“I intend to make sure of it, Iola. If he doesn’t, I shall ask him!”
She continued through the crowd spread out on the expansive lawns to the side of the house, an entourage of four or five young ladies following her about just as she had once followed Florilyn.
“Ah, Lord Snowdon,” said a distinguished-looking gentleman approaching the viscount and Katherine with outstretched hand, “how good of you to come.”
“Thank you, Armond,” replied Westbrooke. “And greetings to you, Lady Arial,” he added, smiling to the woman at Burrenchobay’s side.
The wives exchanged greetings along with their husbands.
Sir Armond Burrenchobay and Roderick Westbrooke had virtually grown up together on the north coast of Wales, both from old Welsh families. They had pursued different interests through the years, with the result that Burrenchobay had risen through the political ranks into its highest echelons.
“I would like you both to meet my nephew, Percival Drummond,” said Westbrooke. “Percy is in Wales for a few weeks.”
Handshakes followed.
“I’ve heard about your visit,” said Burrenchobay to Percy. “You were here some years back, were you not? I believe my eldest son knows you.”
“Yes, we … uh, ran into one another during my previous visit,” replied Percy.
“That’s fine—good. Perhaps you shall have a chance to renew your friendship.”
The adults gradually moved away, talking among themselves.
“Hello, Percy,” said Burrenchobay’s daughter, slinking forward in the wake of her father’s departure, dropping her eyes for just the right effect.
“Hello, Davina,” replied Percy with the humorous poise of an adult speaking to a child. “Finally leaving the awkward age of fifteen behind, eh. Happy birthday.”
At his side, Florilyn smiled inwardly at Percy’s wit. She could not help enjoying the chagrin she saw in Davina’s eyes at the reminder of how young Percy considered her.
“Thank you,” said Davina recovering herself. “I’m so glad you could come. I am hoping you will dance with me. It is my birthday, you know.”
“If Florilyn will allow me,” rejoined Percy, casting a grin to his side, “I suppose it might be arranged. Wouldn’t be right to disappoint the birthday girl!”
At the far end of the garden, Colville Burrenchobay came out of the house with Rhawn Lorimer at his side. Neither appeared happy. A perceptive observer would have seen that they had been arguing.
Percy was stunned by the change that had taken place. Both looked older than three short years could account for. If possible, Rhawn was even more beautiful than before, yet her face had a hard look, and she had done considerable filling out. Though her profile would still have been capable of making grown men swoon, she no longer boasted that willowy figure of youth that was still evident in Florilyn and young Davina.
As for Colville Burrenchobay, his expression and demeanor was, for lack of a better word, threatening. To call it evil might have been going too far. Still, Percy shuddered at the sight. He would not need to be reminded to keep well clear of Davina’s older brother.
Soon the dancing was in full swing to the sound of a string sextet. Thinking it best to get the inevitable over with as quickly as possible, Percy had consented to Davina’s entreaties. She was thus enjoying a second waltz with the young man, as she supposed, that she was about to steal from Florilyn Westbrooke. A few of the other girls, following Davina’s example, had succeeded in enticing
a handful of single youths in the direction of the music. Gradually the dance area filled with couples of all ages.
As dancing and discussions continued, servants moved silently among the guests bearing trays laden with tea, coffee, and for the most special of guests, samples from Burrenchobay’s private reserve of thirty-year-old whiskey imported from the Scottish highlands. Several tables at one end would be heavily laden with a lavish spread of food within the hour and were now set with cups and saucers, milk and sugar, and additional steaming pots of tea.
Wives from twenty to sixty clustered about the grounds chatting about husbands and children and everything else wives and mothers talk about. These included several newly married young ladies, suddenly transformed from girls to matrons. One or two of these cast about distracted glances toward the dancers, accompanied by inward twinges of envy to think that they had married so young and would never more know the gaiety and freedom that Davina Burrenchobay and their former friends still enjoyed.
But the vortex of the gathering, as in all such events from London to Inverness, was reserved for the unmarried young men and young women who had been fortunate enough to receive invitations. Among them stirred budding affections to pluck a hundred invisible heartstrings that would result in many individual dramas of hope and heartbreak, triumph and disappointment.
Swirling and twirling with flourish, those young women were engaged in the wily art practiced since time began, of attempting to attract the eye of every young man on the premises. Some flirtations were modest, others bold, a few outright brazen. But all had the same end in view—to be noticed … then to draw a lingering shy smile, from some handsome boy, to be followed, whether in ten minutes or an hour, by the bashful invitation to the dance floor.
The most eligible of the young men, on their parts, carried out with exquisite perfection their own portion of the timeless rite, which was pretending not to notice. All the while they spoke of hunting and horses and guns, to all appearances oblivious to the giggles and fluttering eyelashes of the fairer sex.
The older and more handsome among them knew well enough that every smile, every laugh, every gesture was capable of causing one or another of the girls to go weak at the knees. Young men knew how to flirt, too. Thus, they chose exactly when to allow a grin, how wide to make their smiles, and where to direct them toward some vulnerable heart.
From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales Page 30