From Across the Ancient Waters (26 page)

“I’m not saying I approve,” answered Mrs. Llewellyn. “But who else would I mean?”

“Never!” rejoined the cook.

“Dinna be so sure, Mrs. Drenwydd,” rejoined their guest. “Talk aroun’ the Hall is that they’ve aye ta’en a fancy tae ane anither. Mightna e’en need the father’s tae show themselves in the matter.”

“Meaning no disrespect to the Hall, Richard,” persisted the cook, “but Sir Armand’s eldest isn’t fit to be husband to
any
woman, least of all our Lady Florilyn. We all know what happened on market day, though none of it’s come within the ears of the viscount or Lady Katherine, poor woman.”

Hawarden did not reply. In truth, he had more reason for agreeing with Mrs. Drenwydd’s assessment of Colville Burrenchobay than any of the viscount’s people knew.

“What about the two younger ones, Richard?” asked Broakes.

“Master Ainsworth and Mistress Davina—a mite better than their brither, I’m thinkin’,” replied Hawarden. “But they’re still carryin’ the blue blood o’ their kind. And ye ken what that means. An’ they’re yoong yet. Takes the teen years tae reveal character, ye ken. Canna say much afore the testin’ o’ pride an’ independence rear their heads.”

The butler nodded, joined by Mrs. Llewellyn. She knew the three Burrenchobay children well enough. She had served there some years before coming to the Westbrooke household. She had heard rumors of the proposed match for years, and she feared for Miss Florilyn.

“‘Tis the same here,” remarked the cook. “Our young lady’s already getting a long nose toward her inferiors, as she judges us. Though I can’t think where she got it. Her mother’s the kindest soul a body could meet.”

“She got it from watching her brother, make no mistake,” gruffed Broakes. “He’s had the long nose of superiority since he could walk. He didn’t need the teen years for
his
character to show itself. It was there long before.”

“If she’s not out riding,” said Mrs. Llewellyn, adding her own critique of the young mistress, “it’s every day she’s wanting this dress pressed or her room cleaned or her bedclothes freshened.”

“I daresay, what’s to become of these young ones when their parents are gone?” sighed Wyckham.

“What do we care?” rejoined Llewellyn. “By then we’ll be gone as well.”

“They may be what they are,” remarked Radnor, returning the conversation to their houseguest, “but the young man from Glasgow is a gentleman. It is nice to see in one so young.”

“It is indeed,” assented the butler. “The other afternoon he called me by name. ‘Mister Broakes,’ he said. And he’s always got a kind, ‘Thank you,’ for me.”

Nods and comments went round the room.

“Ay, he does the same with me,” said the housekeeper. “He
thanks
me for doing up his room! Who’s ever heard of such a thing?”

“Did you not hear him speaking to me just now in that respectful tone?” added the cook.

“I never saddle his horse without a kindly word of gratitude,” nodded Radnor.

“His father’s a preacher, you know,” said Mrs. Llewellyn. “Lady Katherine’s brother. That must be where he comes by such respect.”

“I begin to wonder if the stories we heard of him be exaggerated,” added Broakes. “I can’t imagine the likes of
him
in trouble with the law.”

“And why shouldn’t they be exaggerated?” Mrs. Drynwydd nodded. “It’s Courtenay and Florilyn we hear speaking about him. They’re jealous of their father, if you ask me. It’s clear the viscount’s taken a fancy to the lad.”

“Hollin says he knows how to talk to the horses,” interposed the gardener. “That says a good lot about a man, young or old—isn’t that right, Hollin?”

“Indeed so, Stuart,” nodded Radnor.

“He was afraid of them at first, as I hear it,” chuckled Trenchard.

“At first, maybe,” said Radnor. “But a young man who can learn from his fear is on his way toward manhood. You saw yourself, he’s not afraid of them now.”

Tea completed, the little company gradually broke up.

Hollin Radnor and Richard Hawarden rose and ambled back out to the barn to finish the business that had brought the latter to the manor in the first place. They found Percy just completing his initial effort to saddle a horse by himself. Both grooms checked the straps, pronounced the job well done, and sent him off on his way with praise for his effort.

The Tea Cake

T
he day dawned especially warm. Gwyneth had walked with her father to the slate mine early in the morning. She treasured every moment with him, even so simple an activity as walking him to work. Clouds over the mountains indicated rain, perhaps not that afternoon but surely by the next day.

Their conversation had been happy. Barrie kissed his daughter good-bye and turned to enter the quarry. Gwyneth’s spirits were high as she stopped in at Grannie’s for breakfast tea, her normal custom when accompanying her father to the mine.

No visit to town on Percy’s part, whether to look in at any one of the half dozen shops or to pass through to the shore, there to chat with one of the friendlier fishermen or watch them coming and going from their trade, was complete without a visit to Grannie’s cottage. There a warm pot always sat near the flame—awaiting the arrival of visitor, whether friend or stranger—with fresh tea leaves ready in the canister on a nearby shelf. Many days found Percy gone from the manor by midmorning and not returning until evening tea, chatting with Grannie, often with Gwyneth waiting on them hand and foot, exploring the town, or visiting with his widening circle of village friends.

Such associations, though ridiculed by his cousins, increased all the more his uncle’s affection for his nephew. In truth, the viscount found it difficult to sympathize in heart with the humble folk of the region. Seeing how well the son of his wife’s brother was received gave him a certain vicarious sense of satisfaction. It was as if, through the boy, he was a little more doing his duty by his people.

Gwyneth skipped and danced her way through the narrow lanes toward the east side of the village. Suddenly something pelted her from behind.

“Look, Eardley, it’s the idiot-girl!” said the boy whose hand had just released the stick that had hit her back.

Percy’s ride into town on this day was a little later than usual. Gwyneth was already on her way home from Grannie’s as he rode between the two solemn church buildings at the south end of town. He heard a few shouts in the distance but thought nothing of it at first.

“Been to visit the witch, idiot-girl!” yelled a second taunter. “Ha, ha, ha! Let’s get her, Chandos!”

The two boys, thirteen and twelve respectively and well known in the village for their pranks, sprinted after Gwyneth.

She might have returned to Grannie’s, but that would only bring the trouble down on them both. And besides far-seeing eyes, Codnor Barrie’s daughter had been blessed with two of the fleetest feet in all Llanfryniog. She could easily outrun the boys across the moor. She was confident they would not pursue her beyond the edge of the town.

Gwyneth turned and flew.

News of the incident outside Grannie’s cottage between the cousins from the manor had spread among the youth of the town as rapidly as had reports of the fight behind the chapel on market day. Everyone for miles knew about the Westbrooke cousin, and the younger ones were wary of him. That he had been ready to take on the likes of Courtenay Westbrooke and Colville Burrenchobay convinced them that they would do well to keep clear of him.

Notwithstanding the account that both older boys had soundly thrashed the Scotsman, today’s two young hoodlums had cast a few quick glances about to make sure Percy was nowhere near before commencing their attack against Gwyneth. Unfortunately, they hadn’t looked closely enough.

Suddenly the sound of a galloping horse swooped toward the two boys. When he realized what was happening, Percy hardly stopped to consider whether he was capable of a fast ride through Llanfryniog’s narrow streets. As it turned out, his practice had paid off.

He caught up to the boys, reined in, wheeled around, and leaped to the ground before they could flee. The two stood momentarily paralyzed as Percy walked toward them. Both thought of making a dash for it. But they knew that one of them would be run down by the big sixteen-year-old and that he would find the other soon enough.

“You blokes have a problem?” said Percy as he approached.

“No, sir,” replied the younger of the two.

“What are your names?”

“Eardley White,” replied the one who had spoken.

“And you?” he said, glancing toward the other.

“Chandos Gwarthegydd.”

“Are you the blacksmith’s son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think your father would want me to tell him that you were trying to hurt a girl half your size?”

“No, sir.”

Percy looked the two over a few seconds. “All right, then,” he said, “I am going to tell you this once. If I hear that either of you have been bothering little Gwyneth again, I will come find you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“I will expect you to spread the word that anyone who even thinks of hurting her will have me to deal with. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get out of here.”

They ran off.

Percy returned to his horse and looked about. Though Gwyneth had glanced over her shoulder long enough to see Percy flying to intercept her pursuers, by this time she was nowhere to be seen. Percy’s first instinct was to ride after her. But he knew the speed of her feet, as well as the rest, and that she was now safe. He was more concerned for her aunt. He did not trust the two scamps. Watching him leave town, they might retaliate against Grannie. He rode, therefore, to her cottage and spent the next hour there.

Rather than going inside when she arrived home, Gwyneth made her way behind the cottage to greet her friends for the day. She would never understand the meanness of her schoolmates. She did not fear them, at least too much. But she could not understand why people were not kind to one another.

In the large enclosure, her menagerie came bounding and romping toward her, each awaiting its turn as she sent a small hand probing through the fence to pet nose and head and speak to each by name. Two dogs came barking up from behind, eyes aglow, tails whisking back and forth, wet pink tongues seeking any part of her person to lick, jumping and whining impatiently for their share of the attention.

When she was able to free herself, Gwyneth walked to the smaller pens. Two orphans here were her special concern of the moment, a gull from the sea and a small gray rabbit. The gull had immediately allowed Gwyneth to hold and feed it. She had found it trapped in a bit of some strange kind of netting down on the shore. She managed to free it, though its wing was broken. Speaking gently, she had carried it up the steep path and back home.

The rabbit she had discovered one day at her doorstep, limping and with signs of blood on its coat. Unlike the gull, it had been skittish and afraid of her touch. Wearing his leather gloves, her father managed to capture the little creature and place it in a pen. Gwyneth had been feeding it daily ever since. After two days she was able to hold the timid little thing in her arms and feed it grasses and flowers from the meadow.

She opened the pen and gently removed the furry little rabbit who had by now been given a name. “You understand what it is to be afraid, don’t you, Bunny White Tail,” she said softly, walking about stroking behind its soft, furry ears. “I know you were afraid when you came here, weren’t you? You know now that there is nothing to be afraid of, because I am here to take care of you. I am not afraid, either, for God has sent someone to take care of me, just like He sent me to take care of you.”

Most of the larger beasts left for hours and days at a time, some by day, others by night, to feed and forage as best they could in the wild. Gwyneth’s father could not afford to buy grain to feed all the small animals in her care. But he managed to keep a supply of corn or oats or meal on hand at least to prevent the starvation of the chickens and injured creatures. The former repaid them with a steady supply of eggs. As for the latter, he only hoped his generosity would somehow be credited to him in the eternal scales by which the world is sustained. He certainly could ill afford extra expenditures.

Barrie was on good enough terms with many of the local farmers that a decent supply of usable hay and grain came his way. He and Gwyneth visited the harvest fields every autumn to glean what they could when the harvesters had completed their work. On most such days they pulled a large cartload of broken stalks home at the end of each afternoon’s effort. After threshing out what grain could be salvaged, they stored their own little harvest in the loft of the shed beside their cottage for use throughout the winter.

On this day, Gwyneth’s thoughts were not on her animals. She was thinking instead of Percy. How could she repay him for his kindness? After she had come home from the village an idea struck her—she would bake him a fine sweet tea cake!

She set about almost immediately mixing the ingredients—just as she had learned from Grannie—and placed the tiny loaf in the coal oven to bake. An hour later it was nearly ready. She opened the oven door to check her creation. By then its aromas filled the cottage. Gwyneth patiently waited another ten minutes. Again she opened the iron door. The top was a perfect golden brown.

With careful hand slipped inside a great padded mitten, Gwyneth removed it and set it on top of the stove to cool. Now she just had to find a way to get it into Percy’s hands. She had sneaked onto the manor grounds without being seen to leave the forgiveness flowers for Master Courtenay and Miss Florilyn. But she could hardly leave a cake hanging from the doorpost!

She went to the front door, opened it, and gazed out across the moor in the direction of the manor. Rain clouds clung to the mountains. She would have to watch for him. If she didn’t see him today on his way back from the village, perhaps he would visit Grannie’s tomorrow.