“But I feel bad about it. I had no right. Nevertheless, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ as you are fond of saying.”
“One of the two quotes from Shakespeare I know!” Percy laughed.
“What do you think of my daughter, Percy, my boy?” asked the viscount abruptly.
“I don’t know, Uncle Roderick. In what way?”
“As a girl, you know—a young woman.”
“I am very fond of her. We got off to a bit of a rocky start three years ago. But she and I have become the best of friends. I think a great deal of her.”
The viscount took in his words thoughtfully.
Again they rode for a while in silence.
“You were right, too, Percy, my boy,” the viscount began again, “about what you said about my contacts with the local peasantry. I have been far too distant. It took courage for you to look me in the eye and tell me that. You have helped me see the thing clearly. Isn’t the Muir place around here somewhere?”
“Why yes? Uncle Roderick. It’s probably a mile or two.”
“Will you take me there and introduce me to the woman, the widow. I would like to see her.”
“You will hardly need an introduction.”
“Still, it might be awkward. I would feel better if you eased the way into it for me.”
“Then I will be happy to.” Percy veered off slightly to the left from the course they had been pursuing and led the rest of the way until the familiar cottage came into view.
They rode up. Stevie did not appear to be about, though two dogs ran barking toward them. The viscount appeared concerned.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Roderick,” said Percy, jumping down. “These lads know me … don’t you, boys?” he said, stooping and roughing up the backs and heads of the tail-waggers with his hands. “Of course they’ll have to take a little sniff of you,” he said as his uncle dismounted. “It’s their way of introducing themselves.”
Moments later they were approaching the open door of the humble cottage.
As he began to duck down and walk inside, Gwyneth’s aunt appeared.
“Why, Percy,” she exclaimed, “what brings you—” Her words died on her lips as she saw the man walking up behind him.
“I’ve brought you a visitor, Mrs. Muir,” said Percy. “He wanted to meet you. This is—”
“I know well enough who it is,” interrupted Adela. “Welcome to you, sir … Lord Snowdon, sir.”
“Percy has told me about your husband, Mrs. Muir,” said the viscount a little nervously but with genuine feeling. He removed his riding cap and attempted an awkward smile. “I am sorry.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Adela, her initial shock now giving way to her natural hospitality. “Won’t you come in for a cup of tea?”
“We, uh … I don’t think—” began the viscount.
“We would love to,” said Percy.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any fancy cakes or the like to offer you, sir,” said Adela, leading them through the door into her kitchen.
“Mrs. Muir, your oatcakes are the best in Wales,” said Percy. “I would have nothing else with tea even if you offered it to me.”
They sat down at the table. Adela bustled about in a veritable panic of excitement to have the viscount under her roof. “How I wish my Glythvyr could have been here. He would have loved to see you, sir.”
“I am sorry,” replied the viscount. “I should not have waited so long to pay you a visit.”
“Bless you, sir. He used to work at the manor as a lad, you know. For your father. He was fond of your father, he was.” She poured out tea.
Stevie arrived a few minutes later, with equal astonishment to see who was sitting in his kitchen. The conversation continued to flow pleasantly.
After about thirty minutes, Percy judged that sufficient initial spadework had been done in his uncle’s heart for one day. He rose and said that it was time they were leaving. He had much to do to prepare for his departure on the morrow. Hugs, handshakes, and tearful farewells followed. Who knew when Percy would visit the beloved cottage in the hills again?
“I know it will be difficult for you, losing your husband,” said the viscount as they prepared to return to their horses. “You may consider your rent for the following term canceled, Mrs. Muir. I shall notify my factor.”
“Bless you, sir!”
They mounted and rode off. Percy glanced back with a final wave to Stevie and his mother where they stood beside their cottage.
They rode most of the way back to the manor in silence. The brief encounter had penetrated deep into the soul of Roderick Westbrooke.
“That was a very kind gesture of you, Uncle Roderick,” said Percy at length. “I know it meant the world to her. I honor you for it.”
64
Final Evening
Percy had just finished dressing for dinner when a soft knock came to his door. He answered it and was surprised to see Gwyneth standing in the corridor. “Hi, Gwyneth!” he said.
“I know you are a guest and I am a servant—” she began.
“Gwyneth!” He laughed. “I’m me, remember?”
She smiled and glanced briefly at the floor before looking up into his face. “I know you are leaving tomorrow,” she said a little bashfully. “Everyone’s been talking about it. Since you’ll be at dinner when I leave tonight, I wanted to say good-bye.”
“Oh, right,” said Percy. “Yeah—it’s come up faster than I expected … much too short a visit.”
“But you will be back to Wales,” said Gwyneth, trying to sound cheerful.
“Of course … absolutely. Actually, I had planned to come down to see you this evening after dinner.”
“You did?”
“You didn’t think I would leave without seeing you?”
“I knew you wouldn’t do that. But I heard Lady Katherine saying they were having a special dinner tonight. I thought I should come see you … in case you were busy.”
“Oh … right, I see. I didn’t know Aunt Katherine had plans.” Percy thought a moment. “I’ve got an idea—let’s meet tomorrow morning!”
“But you are leaving!”
“I mean early. The coach comes through at nine. That’s when I have to be at the inn. Meet me before breakfast. I’ll get there as soon after sunrise as I can.”
“Where, Percy?”
“At our special place … where the sea and land meet and the waves crash, and we look across to see the sun set at the horizon, and if we are lucky all the way to the land of your birth. It will always be the most special of all the special places.”
Gwyneth nodded. “When the sun comes up?”
“Right. I’ll see you there!”
“But if for some reason you can’t, Percy—”
“I will be there. I promise.”
Though the dinner was lavish, and even Courtenay was relatively friendly, there was still no sign of Florilyn. It was hard for Percy to enter into the spirit of the evening knowing that he was the cause, even if indirectly, of Florilyn’s not wanting to see him. It was at least gratifying that Courtenay extended his hand when he departed for the evening. It had come late in the game, but he hoped that at long last his cousin might be warming to him.
“I guess I haven’t seen much of you this time, old man,” said Courtenay, shaking Percy’s hand. “But best of luck, and all that.”
“To you as well, Courtenay. When do you return to Oxford?”
“August.”
Percy nodded. “Right, well … hope it goes well. It’s a lot of work, isn’t it?”
“You know it! So … cheers then!” added Courtenay and left the sitting room where the four of them had been chatting since dinner.
Percy turned back into the room where his aunt and uncle sat.
“I am sorry about Florilyn, Percy,” said his aunt for probably the fifth time. “I just don’t know what’s got into her. I know she is dreadfully embarrassed.”
“She was angry with me,” sai
d Percy. “I understand that. Really, it’s all right. She will get over it. When she does, you can assure her there are no hard feelings. All’s forgiven and fine.”
“I told her what you said to Roderick about not defending yourself. I’m sure she will come around and understand in the end.”
“I know she will.” Percy smiled. “Please don’t worry about it, Aunt Katherine.”
At length the conversation flagged. Everything that was to be said had been said two or three times. Percy excused himself, saying he would see them in the morning, and retired to his room.
65
Where Land Meets Sea
Gwyneth did not sleep well.
Her mental anxiety was caused by no premonition such as had awakened her during the night prior to her uncle’s death, nor even anxiety about what had happened to Grannie’s cottage. But she was anxious lest she oversleep and miss her farewell rendezvous with Percy. Every time she fell asleep, her subconscious brain jolted itself awake, and she looked toward the window to see if there was yet any sign of light.
Thus it went, on and off fitfully all night, until the faint imperceptible gray of first light began to hint that the sun was creeping slowly back around the earth in the direction of Snowdonia.
Gwyneth lay with her face to the window, watching the dawn approach slower than any watched pot that never boiled. There comes a moment, however, when all pots eventually boil. But with the coming of dawn, no such moment exists. When does dawn arrive is a question as much for the world’s philosophers as for girls in love.
When at last Gwyneth could stand it no longer and judged that the morning had sufficiently arrived for her purposes, she crept quietly from between the blankets and dressed in silence. With nearly as many layers on as she would have donned had it been snowing, she found the bouquet of flowers she had picked last evening then stole noiselessly from the house into a morning heavy laden along the coast with a chill white mist.
Percy slipped out of the manor shortly before six o’clock.
He was ready for the journey. His bag sat on the floor of his room.
Hoping to disturb no one, he left as he often did by the side entrance, walked around the house and down the drive through the main gate and to the moor. Twenty minutes later he was approaching the promontory of Mochras Head.
It was a cold morning. A thick fog had settled over all of Tremadog Bay during the night. The white mist seemed clinging to the promontory itself, rising two hundred feet in the air. But it had not drifted inland from the water.
As Percy approached, he entered a world of whiteness. He could scarcely see the edge of the promontory in front of him. When he reached Gwyneth’s special place, though there would be no sight of the ancient waters below on this day, he was surprised to find himself alone. There was no sign of she whom he had come to meet.
Percy sat down at the familiar place where he and Gwyneth had enjoyed the view so many times. The ground was wet. He would have to change into another pair of trousers before leaving for the coach. He heard the waves, muted by the thick fog, beating against the rocks far below.
He waited for twenty minutes, then forty. When an hour had passed, he began to grow concerned. He checked his watch and continued his wait. Why hadn’t she come?
Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him. Was it possible that she had only just now heard of the rumor? Was she, like Florilyn, unable to face him?
Gwyneth had not actually expected Percy to be at the shore at such an early hour.
But she did not mind arriving first nor waiting for hours if she had to. She only did not want to miss him. So she would be at the beach early.
It was, in fact, a few minutes before five when she passed Grannie’s through a fog so thick she could scarcely see across the narrow lane. After the discovery that her home had been ransacked, Grannie was staying with her great-nephew. Nevertheless, Gwyneth said a brief prayer for her and continued on. It was the first time in memory she had not stopped in at the beloved cottage now sitting silent and cold and empty.
She walked down to the harbor in the white cloudy soup. She was all but certain Percy would come to the beach through town, not along the promontory path. The tide was coming in. To climb across the rocks by the cave, especially as he might be wearing his traveling clothes, would be all but impossible. He would have to come through town and pass close by her to reach the sandy beach that he called his favorite place.
She sat down on the concrete quay of the harbor and set the bouquet she had labored over with such care in her lap. It was tied with two pieces of the colored ribbon Percy had given her. This was no forgiveness bouquet but a gift from the depths of one human soul to another, speaking as flowers were created to speak, in the language of the heart.
There she waited. It was cold. But Gwyneth was warmly dressed, and the incoming and outgoing waves were of endless fascination.
An hour passed.
A few fishermen began to be about but paid her no heed.
Another slow hour went by. Still there was no sign of Percy.
By eight o’clock Percy could delay no longer. He looked at his watch one final time and let out a long sigh. They would be waiting for him at the manor to take him to the coach, no doubt wondering where he had disappeared to.
He stood, walked carefully to the edge, and gazed over the promontory. Still he could see nothing but white. “Gwyneth!” he yelled. His voice seemed lost in the fog.
The only reply was the sound of the tide far below.
“Gwyneth!” he cried a second time, louder than before. Sadly he turned, chilled to the bone, and ran across the moor in the direction of the manor.
By now he realized he had waited too long. He should have left the promontory sooner. Now he had no time to run by the cottage to see her. He pulled out his watch and glanced down as he ran, suddenly annoyed with himself. He should have left sooner!
He hurried up the hill and along the entryway, into the house, and to the breakfast room. He gulped down a hasty cup of tea and egg, then ran up to his room to fetch his bag and change his clothes, and returned along the corridor. He paused at Florilyn’s door. It was closed. He hesitated a moment but then continued to the stairway.
He found his aunt and uncle downstairs with a buggy waiting.
“Don’t want to be late, Percy, my boy,” said his uncle with watch in hand, twiddling the chain nervously. “It’s coming on to quarter till the hour.”
66
When Young Hearts Part
Florilyn Westbrooke had cried more in the last two days than she ever remembered crying in her life. Certainly she had never cried so much for being hurt by a boy. She had never cared enough for anyone to be this hurt.
A boy!
What was she thinking? Percy was a man … and a wonderful young man. What had possessed her even to think he could be involved with Rhawn Lorimer? She knew it was another of Rhawn’s lies. Why Rhawn had blamed Percy for her troubles, Florilyn couldn’t imagine.
She had behaved like such an absolute fool. She didn’t deserve someone like Percy. She had been too embarrassed to face him. Like a baby she had kept to her room, unable to look him in the face. Yet with every day that passed, desperately longing to see him, the impossibility of looking into those honest, strong eyes mounted. Finally she had created for herself an imaginary barrier too great to overcome.
And now he was gone!
She stood at her window and watched the buggy leaving for town with her father and mother. They were taking Percy away. If she ever saw him again, it would be with a Scottish wife on his arm. He would never know what he had meant to her, never know how much she had loved him.
Tears filled her eyes at her childish foolishness. She would, as she had said to him, have to settle for second best and marry some boring, unmanly youth from North Wales.
Suddenly Florilyn’s eyes shot open. Why was it too late? Why could she not put an end to her idiocy … and right now?
The next momen
t she was bolting from her room and down the stairs. She flew outside and across the stones to the stables.
“Hollin … Hollin!” she cried. “Saddle Grey Tide. Saddle her faster than you have ever saddled a horse in your life!”
Gwyneth had no watch. But she could tell from the activity at the harbor and the sounds from the village that the day was coming to life. The fog was still thick, and she was chilled. Surely it was well past eight o’clock by now. Her father would already be at the mine wielding his hammer against the stones.
Where was Percy? Had she dozed without knowing it? Had she missed seeing him in the fog? Why hadn’t he come?
Could the horrible rumor be true? Had he gone to spend his last hours with Rhawn Lorimer? She could hardly bear the thought.
What was she to do? It was too late to go looking for him at the manor.
In the distance, the vague sounds of galloping horses, with jingling and clanging and bouncing and an occasional yell of driver, intruded into her hearing. But she was too absorbed in her thoughts. The sounds did not register in her brain.
The coach bounded to a jostling stop in front of Mistress Chattan’s inn. Percy took his bag from his uncle’s buggy and walked across and set it on the ground beside it.
He returned to his aunt and uncle. “Well … thank you again,” he said. “For everything. This is truly a second home for me.”
“Percy …,” began Katherine, then for lack of words stepped forward and hugged her nephew with tender feeling.
Percy stepped back and smiled. The affection between them was mutual.
“Well, Percy, my boy,” said the viscount, never at his best at such moments, “looks like the coach is about ready for you. You’re welcome anytime, of course—goes without saying, what? Give your father my best.”
The two men shook hands. Percy turned and walked toward the coach.
From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales Page 34