Treasure of the Celtic Triangle Read Online Free PDF Page B

again,” replied Litchfield. “Deaths these days often have unforeseen consequences on a man’s heirs—financial difficulties, tax burdens, past debts that suddenly change the financial landscape. One never knows what might be possible. Perhaps we might find the wife or the son more amenable, shall we say, to an attractive offer to purchase a small portion of out-of-the-way acreage than we did the viscount. Find out what you can, and how we could most likely make a successful approach.”

S EVEN
    A Reflective Ride
    F lorilyn rode into Llanfryniog still upset at her brother. She passed between the Catholic and Church of England houses of worship at the south end of town, continued along the main street past the post, the inn, and several shops.
    The familiar ubiquitous clanking of hammer against anvil from the smithy where Kyvwlch and Chandos Gwarthegydd now worked together unconsciously drew her glance to the right. Between an irregular row of cottages and buildings, through a narrow lane, she caught a brief glimpse of a steeply slanted purple roof. She shuddered briefly at the reminder of the day she and her cousin had visited the creepy home of the fortune-teller of dubious reputation. Florilyn had never forgotten Madame Fleming’s spooky words.
    “A
great change will come to you,”
the mysterious woman had said.
“An inheritance that is yours will be taken away. But you will find love, and one will be faithful to you, though he is the least in your eyes. He will be your protector, and you will gain a greater inheritance in the end
.”
    As repulsive as was the old hag, Florilyn reflected, had her weird prediction already come true? Perhaps the inheritance she said would be taken away was her father. Now he
was
gone. He had been taken away from them all. And she had indeed found love. She didn’t believe in Madame Fleming’s hocus-pocus, but she had to admit that her words seemed eerily prophetic.
    She continued to the far end of town, past the white Methodist chapel and school, following the road left and down to the shore and the harbor, where she arrived at length on the long stretch of sandy beach south of the harbor. There she let her favorite mare, Red Rhud, go for a good gallop the full length of the flat, sandy expanse at the water’s edge.
    For over a year after her race here with Percy, she had not been able to come to this beach at all. Finally she had come to terms with the past, with what she had been, and with what she was now becoming. This beach would always fill her with sad thoughts, especially with Gwyneth now gone from Llanfryniog, nobody knew where. At last she was able to let that melancholy turn her heart toward prayer for the tiny enigmatic angel, as Percy sometimes called her, rather than inward with self-recrimination for how cruel she had once been to the girl who had later become her friend.
    Though today’s ride was prompted by Percy’s letter and her brother’s insufferable behavior, she found her thoughts turning toward dear Gwyneth Barrie, the mysterious nymph of Llanfryniog.
    Gwyneth’s diminutive stature, kind and soft-spoken nature, and unruly head of white hair would have been enough in themselves to invite taunts from other children. Along with these visible peculiarities, however, was the fact that she had no mother—at least no one knew who her mother was—and that her father, hard-working slate miner Codnor Barrie, was himself so short as to be considered by many a dwarf. To these was added the affiliation of father and daughter with Codnor Barrie’s great-aunt, christened Branwenn Myfanawy but simply known as “Grannie” to those few who claimed acquaintance with her. Though as kindhearted a woman as any in the region, she had been considered a witch by many in the village for what were considered her eccentric ways. There was not a grain of truth to the rumors. But that did not prevent them. The final and perhaps most serious charge against poor little Gwyneth