“Thank you, Stevie. No one has ever said something like that to me before except Percy.”
“I mean it. I am happy for you both.” Stevie continued in search of Percy.
Florilyn stared after him a moment with an odd expression. She had never paid much attention to Stevie Muir before. There was obviously more to him than met the eye.
“Percy, my boy,” said the viscount as he and Percy walked down the main staircase together, “and at last I can legitimately call you that, eh!—how about father and prospective bridegroom going for a ride together? We need to talk about your future, yours and mine and my daughter’s.”
“I would like that, Uncle Roderick.”
“That brings up another point of protocol to be decided. What will you call me after you are my son-in-law? Bit of a perplexity, what?”
“I’m sure we will be able to come to an amenable solution, Uncle Roderick!” laughed Percy.
They met Stevie in the entryway.
“Hello, Lord Snowdon,” he said. “Percy, I was on my way to find you and offer my congratulations. I only heard this morning.”
“Thank you, Stevie,” smiled Percy as the two friends shook hands.
The three continued outside toward the stables.
“Stevie, my good man, Percy and I fancy a ride today. Saddle me the black demon. What is your fancy, Percy, my boy?”
“Red Rhud, I think,” replied Percy. “But are you sure the stallion is wise, Uncle Roderick? Florilyn tells me he’s dangerous.”
“Bah! Women’s talk. I can master any horse. I am in such high spirits I am ready to take on the world. You have made me a happy man, Percy, my boy.”
Percy glanced toward Stevie with concern. Stevie’s face registered the same anxiety. He was well acquainted with the dangerous temperament of the stallion.
But the viscount was insistent. Stevie therefore set about saddling him, while keeping a wary eye on the beast’s eyes and ears.
77
The River between the Ridges
Percy and Lord Snowdon left the grounds eastward. Without intending it but with little choice, Percy’s uncle led out at a reckless pace. The stallion had not been aired for days and was fierce with energy. It was all Percy could do to keep up.
This was his first ride this summer on Red Rhud’s back. As he had noticed with Grey Tide, she had lost a step from previous visits. He was not able to draw alongside his uncle until they were a mile from the manor and the stallion’s initial burst of fiery energy was somewhat dissipated.
“That is some spunky animal!” shouted Percy as he tried to catch up.
“A noble beast,” rejoined his uncle over his shoulder. “As soon as I have the chance, I hope to race him in Manchester.”
“Who will ride him?”
“I’ll get someone. Maybe Courtenay. He can handle him.”
“Are you sure racing a horse like that is a good idea?”
“Have you been talking to my wife and daughter?” laughed West-brooke. “Horse racing is a man’s business, Percy, my boy. You can’t make money without risk. Perhaps we shall be partners.”
As Percy at last drew even, the stallion Demon suddenly lurched sideways and snapped with great sharp teeth at Red Rhud’s neck. Percy swerved to the right with a startled cry, nearly toppling out of the saddle.
“Now I am sure that racing that animal is not a good idea.”
“Nonsense, Percy, my boy!” rejoined the viscount. “Spirit, that’s what’s wanted in a champion thoroughbred. This Demon has it, and to spare. He is full of energy, that’s all. He needs to be given the rein, the freedom to run. Let him go at top speed, and he is as easy to handle as any of my wife’s mares.”
With the words he dug in his heels and did just as he said, and again gave Demon the rein. Horse and rider shot off with a speed marvelous to behold had Percy not been terrified for his uncle’s life.
Again he urged Red Rhud on as fast as he dared. But it was not enough to keep pace with his uncle. In spite of the lessons Gwyneth had given him, he was still not completely confident as a horseman. Within moments his uncle was out of sight.
Percy continued up the incline. As he crested the ridge, he gazed frantically for any sign of him. Halfway down the opposite slope far ahead, the black maniacal creature was tearing up great clods. His uncle appeared out of control, jostling about in the saddle.
In the distance, the stallion suddenly stopped abruptly and reared. As far away as he was, Percy heard great whinnying cries. They were not horse sounds of fright but of wrath. Percy galloped on.
His uncle had taken out his riding whip and was shouting and wielding it freely. In the contest of wills between man and enraged beast, however, the whip was not a wise instrument of mediation.
Suddenly Demon reared again and rose nearly erect. He was clearly trying to unseat his rider. His front hooves pawed violently at the air. The viscount only barely held to the saddle.
Demon crashed down on his forelegs, jumping and bucking wildly. Then without warning he broke into another furious gallop. Percy had still not reached them when the two receded again into the distance.
At the bottom of the valley between the two ridges flowed a small river, hardly worthy of the name but of more size than a mere stream. It wound through a rocky channel of uneven terrain strewn with rocks of many sizes and some large boulders. It was a much different course than that of the stream through Gwyneth’s special meadow. It was no place for a wild horse.
But there was no stopping Demon now. Some four hundred yards ahead, he reached the water and launched himself into the air.
Percy heard a great cry. A moment later he saw the black stallion flying up the hill on the opposite side of the river.
No rider was in the saddle.
He shouted to Red Rhud and hurried toward the scene. Gradually he slowed as the footing became treacherous. Reaching the stream, Percy reined in, jumped to the ground, and sloshed through the water.
He found his uncle lying motionless on the far side.
He ran to him and knelt down. A nasty gash was visible on the top of his head where he had crashed into a rock. Wet blood from it flowed into his hair. His hat was yards away. A huge welt rose from his skull.
“Ah, Percy, my boy,” he said weakly, gasping for breath. “The brute threw me. You were right … a dangerous creature. I was a fool to think—”
“Just rest easy, Uncle Roderick,” said Percy. “Don’t try to talk. I saw the whole thing. The horse went wild.”
“I can’t. I’m cold, Percy, my boy.”
Percy flung his riding jacket from him and laid it over his uncle’s chest. The viscount’s legs from the knees down lay wet in the streambed.
“I can’t feel my legs, Percy, my boy … don’t think I can ride … if that confounded horse … could ride back together … but I … don’t think I have the strength … to climb up.”
“Don’t worry, Uncle Roderick,” said Percy. “I’ll ride back to the manor. We’ll bring a cart. You just rest.”
“Sorry to be a bother … Percy … my boy.”
“Think nothing of it, Uncle Roderick.”
Percy saw that he had begun to shiver. He yanked off his shirt and laid it under the jacket. He then splashed back through the water where Red Rhud waited patiently, mounted quickly, and galloped bare-chested in the direction of the manor.
There was no sign of Demon anywhere.
78
The Ambulance Cart
Percy galloped recklessly into the grounds shouting for Stevie and Hollin. By the time they had a small flatbed cart hitched to one of the sturdier horses and Percy had run inside for another shirt and jacket, the commotion had emptied the house with word that their master had had a serious fall.
“Where is he, Percy?” asked Florilyn as Percy mounted Red Rhud.
“Where the river runs through the valley, between the ridges on the path we took three days ago, you know, where the ford is so rocky.”
“What where you doing there?”
“I’m not sure your uncle intended it. Demon was out of control.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” said Katherine. She and Florilyn ran to the stables to saddle two more horses.
Seconds later Percy was flying eastward away from the manor. Stevie knew the place exactly from Percy’s description. He and Hollin followed with the cart.
By the time Katherine and Florilyn arrived, Percy was seated beside the viscount. There was little he could do. His uncle was barely conscious.
The cart was only ten minutes behind, bumping down the rocks. They pulled it through the water then set about lifting the viscount onto it.
“Gently, gently!” exhorted Stevie. “Hollin, you and Percy lift by each shoulder. Lady Katherine and Lady Florilyn, you lift at his waist. I fear his right leg is broken. We must keep him flat.”
Katherine’s face had gone as pale as her husband’s when she saw him lying broken among the rocks. “Will he … What do you think, Steven?” she asked.
“I cannot say, Lady Katherine,” replied Stevie. “His head has been injured. We must get him to Dr. Rotherham with all the haste we dare.”
The others stood by to follow Stevie’s orders. None questioned his taking charge.
Katherine hesitated then knelt close to the viscount’s face. It was ghostly white. “Oh, Roderick … Roderick,” she said softly. “Be brave … be strong. We will get you home.” She bent forward and kissed him.
His lips quivered and his eyelids fluttered. But he was unable to speak.
“Oh, dear Roderick—”
“Please, Lady Katherine,” urged Stevie. “We must delay no longer.”
She stood.
“Place your hands under his waist, Lady Katherine,” said Stevie, “just as Lady Florilyn is doing.”
How much help she could provide in her condition was doubtful.
When he was in position beside the viscount’s legs, Stevie nodded to the other two men. “All right, then,” he said, “everyone lift … slowly, gently … “
He was not so heavy for five of them. But being dead weight and limp as a wet rag, he made an exceedingly awkward burden. A groan sounded from the viscount’s mouth as they lifted him. They managed to get him high enough to lie on the blankets and pillows they had gathered to cushion the bed of the cart.
Even under the best of conditions, without a road, it would not be a comfortable ride. They had to bump their way over open fields, up and down the ridge, through woodland and across several streams. It took considerably longer than Stevie would have liked. But he chose to err on the side of caution and not add to the viscount’s injuries.
Meanwhile, Katherine and Florilyn rode ahead. Florilyn galloped straight to town. Luckily she found Dr. Rotherham at home.
Katherine went on to the manor to prepare a sickroom on the ground floor. By the time the ambulance cart bearing her husband arrived, she had recovered from her initial shock and was again the strong matron of her home.
A bed was ready and a blazing fire roared in the hearth. Dry clothes were waiting. The entire staff was gathered at Katherine’s side, anxious and ready to obey the slightest command. Florilyn and Dr. Rotherham had arrived only minutes before the cart clattered into the entryway.
Everyone ran outside. They looked on as Dr. Rotherham now took charge. With the men, he helped get the viscount, completely unconscious, inside and to bed. After giving what instructions were necessary, Dr. Rotherham left the manor to return to his surgery for the required supplies and tools to set the leg.
The bedside vigil began.
79
At the Bedside
In spite of his distant manner, the viscount was loved by his staff. His tenderness toward Katherine of late had had its effect on his overall demeanor.
The increase of smiles and kind words had spread among the rest of them as well. He grew appreciative of little things. He became free in expressing his gratitude, even plucked an occasional rose from the garden for Mrs. Drynwydd or Mrs. Llewellyn. This caused the two women to blush and babble a good deal but warmed their hearts more than the viscount ever knew. The accident, therefore, cast a cloud of gloom over the house.
Word quickly spread through Llanfryniog. The pall of hushed voices and tiptoed step extended throughout the whole village. On the following Sunday, prayers in all three churches were heavy of heart on the viscount’s behalf.
All that day Kyvwlch Gwarthegydd’s hammer was silent. The blacksmith would never have called the thoughts rising from his mind prayers. But God’s heart is more open-minded than man’s. He received the good man’s compassion for the viscount and his family into His eternal bosom, nonetheless that the man denied His existence. God is the Father of Christians and atheists alike, though only the former get the full benefit of that Fatherhood by acknowledging their childness. But Gwarthegydd was concerned, and in his own way his unacknowledged Father in heaven received that concern on the viscount’s behalf.
Dr. Rotherham set the leg but doubted, even if the patient recovered, whether it would ever be much use again. He was far more worried about the injury to the head and neck. The extremeties continued cold, the broken leg like a chunk of ice. He knew what dreadful danger that fact portended. There was little to be done but wait and see how rapidly and how far recovery spread through the viscount’s body.
Courtenay, who had been away a few days, returned and was civil and courteous to all. He seemed genuinely shaken by the turn of events. He was horseman enough to know how dangerous a fall such as his father had taken could be. He was also perceptive enough to read on the doctor’s face what he was not saying. Courtenay still knew nothing about how matters stood between Percy and his sister.
Eventually the murderer Demon wandered back to the manor. Hunger had somewhat quieted him, and Stevie was able to secure and return him to the stables. He immediately sought Katherine with his recommendation that the beast either be sold or put down. “You can never reform a bad-tempered horse,” said Stevie. “If you are in agreement, with your permission, I would like to talk to Padrig Gwlwlwyd to see if he might have use for him. If he does, how much would you want for him, Lady Katherine?”
“If he wants him, Steven,” she replied, “he may have him. I want nothing for him. I don’t want a dangerous animal like that on my conscience. I would give him to Mr. Gwlwlwyd only on the condition that he never put the animal into the hands of one whom he might harm.”
“A wise stipulation, Lady Katherine,” Stevie nodded. “If Padrig does not think he can be reformed, I will put him down.”
“Thank you, Steven.”
Hearing of his mother’s decision, Courtenay was furious. His anger stemmed not so much from the fact that the horse would be lost to him but that his mother had consulted Stevie Muir instead of him.
Hours went by and turned into days. Though the viscount did not regain consciousness, he was never alone. Someone sat at the bedside around the clock. Dr. Rotherham came every morning to see if there had been a change.
When the viscount awoke on the sixth day, Courtenay rode immediately for Llanfryniog and returned with the doctor. Great was the rejoicing of the entire community.
Though he kept his concerns to himself, Dr. Rotherham knew the joyous mood to be premature. Though the viscount appeared to have some of his strength back, circulation remained poor. The extremities were not warming as they should. The left leg was as numb to a poke of the needle as the right.
To Courtenay’s great annoyance, as often as he was awake, his father seemed more to desire Percy near him than his own flesh and blood. In truth, the sickroom made Courtenay uncomfortable, and he was only too happy to yield his place. Nor did he feel any great filial affection toward his father. But the idea that Percy was so close to him rekindled his former antagonism toward his cousin.
At last Dr. Rotherham’s professional ethics demanded that he tell someone what he feared. He shrank from making a full revelation to Lady Snow
don for fear of an emotional reaction that would ripple through the house and do no one any good. To tell the children and not the wife would hardly do. In the end, he realized he had no alternative but to speak to the viscount himself.
He went into the sick chamber, requested of Lady Florilyn that he be left alone for a few minutes with the patient, closed the door behind her, and then sat down in the chair beside the bed.
“Come to deliver the bad news in person, eh, doctor?” said the viscount, attempting with humor to mask his concern. He had seen the look on Rotherham’s face the moment he entered.
“You are not so far wrong, Lord Snowdon,” replied the doctor. “I would be remiss not to disclose the nature of your injuries to someone. I hesitate to speak frankly with your wife. I am here to ask your will in the matter. Would you like your wife and son and daughter present?”
“Present for what?”
“For what I have to say.”
“No, confound you,” snapped the viscount, fear overpowering courtesy. “Just say it.”
“You are certain you wouldn’t like your family—”
“No, blast you—get on with it!”
The doctor sat patiently until the viscount calmed.
“Your leg is not recovering as I had hoped,” said Rotherham after a few moments.
“Nonsense. I feel fine. Merely a little faintness.”
“Your right leg is broken below the knee,” Rotherham went on, ignoring the viscount’s protestations. “The injury to both knee and leg are so severe it is unlikely you will walk normally again. Though I cannot be absolutely certain at this point, it may be that amputation will be necessary to save your life.”
At the word, the viscount turned his face to the wall. The positive horror of the thought filled him with such dread that he was trembling like a child.
From Across the Ancient Waters- Wales Page 40