E-Book, Englisch, Band 37, 500 Seiten
Reihe: Welsh Women's Classics
Spooner / Singer Country Landlords
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-916821-15-6
Verlag: Honno Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
E-Book, Englisch, Band 37, 500 Seiten
Reihe: Welsh Women's Classics
ISBN: 978-1-916821-15-6
Verlag: Honno Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
LOUISA MATILDA SPOONER (1820-1886) was born in Maentwrog and spent most of her life in Porthmadog. Growing up in comfort as the daughter of a railway engineer, she never married and eventually managed her brother Charles's household following the death of his wife. Between 1858 and 1868, Spooner published three novels which were inspired by the history, culture, and geography of her home county, Meirionydd. The Cambrian Journal praised her debut, the historical novel Gladys of Harlech, for 'its true spirit of patriotism' and applauded the author's 'not inconsiderable skill and power'.
Autoren/Hrsg.
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It was a blowing, blustering evening. The waves were lashing the rocks with wild and frantic energy. The hissing spray was rearing its crested head and assuming a thousand fanciful forms, ever and anon disappearing here and there through the fissures of the gigantic cliffs overhanging a broad extent of sands at a secluded spot on the dangerous coast of Wales. At some distance over the hill, the smoke was rising from a village which lay partly concealed among the oaks and firs, completely sheltered from the cold north wind by a crag which towered above it. A small creek ran inland, forming a natural harbour for a few trading vessels, which were floating there, perfectly secure from the agitated sea. The sun was setting behind dark and lowering clouds, while seagulls and other aquatic birds were shrieking and screaming their wild notes in search of shelter for the night.
At that moment, a man, who for the last half-hour had been sitting upon the beach, hastily rose, and wrapping his plaid around his shoulders, hurried away in the direction of the village, whistling, as he went along, a Scotch air.
Shortly afterwards, he halted before a house with a whitewashed front, having ivy running up the gables to the top till it reached above the chimney, almost concealing it from the eye, with its bright glossy green foliage. Over the door hung a board, on which was painted the figure of a warrior in armour. This sign was a miserable daub—painfully miserable, under which a few rough characters were carved, revealing the name and date of the last of the Welsh princes, Llewelyn ap Griffydd, by which name the picturesque inn was universally known.
‘I am afraid indeed, sir, you will not think well of the place. I never see such weather in summer come like this before; rain, rain, and storm every day. I am sorry,’ said the landlady, addressing the stranger in a strong Welsh accent. Curtseying at the same time, she relieved her guest of his plaid and cap, and conducted him immediately afterwards into the low but roomy kitchen—a kitchen unlike any the Scotchman had before seen. With a quiet speculative scrutiny, and a shade of curiosity over all, his eyes wandered from one object to another; nothing escaped him. The high mantelshelf, with its rows of great and small brass candlesticks, seabirds’ eggs, feathers, foreign shells, and a curious variety of tin pots and pans, fantastically arranged, were the first objects to come under his investigation. Passing to the right-hand corner of the kitchen, there was a fixture in the shape of a triangular cupboard, containing old china and glass, evidently intended for ornament, or to be used only upon particular occasions. Then came a dresser with rows of gaudy-coloured plates and dishes; while hanging at the edge of each shelf were pewter pots, and blue and pink china mugs, which at a first glance might have been taken for rows of shells or birds’ eggs. In fact, this original piece of furniture and its appurtenances appeared to have been placed in ambitious rivalry to the mantelpiece, both as to variety and exact order. Opposite the fireplace stood two clocks; one in a handsome dark oak carved case, disclosing at the first glance that it boasted of considerable antiquity, and without doubt was a valuable heirloom. The other clock was of a more modern date, but had neither beauty, antiquity, nor anything else to recommend it, save that it was a wedding-gift. In the immediate vicinity of the clocks, suspended upon the wall, were two or three sets of polished steel fire-irons, toasting-forks, cheese-pressers, and glass rolling-pins, striped and mottled to resemble marble. Next in succession hung a copper warming-pan, shining like burnished gold. A Prussian blue umbrella, an indispensable article of domestic comfort to the peasantry of Wales, found here a prominent peg, assigned for its special use. Several pairs of boots and shoes, polished as bright as the pots and pans, were honoured enough to find a place upon the ceiling amongst the numberless pieces of bacon, dried salmon, geese, and herrings, forming a singular contrast, and running the chance of a collision with the heads of strange visitors who might happen to be a little above the ordinary stature. Last of all, a dark oak settle with a high back stood close to the fire at right angles to the chimney-corner. It was the pride of the kitchen, and looked as if it had more elbow-grease bestowed upon it than any other article of the cottage furniture. Broad and long, it monopolized a considerable portion of the apartment. No one, however, who frequented the Llewelyn ap Griffydd, would have dared to make an assertion of its superfluous room. It would have been considered a positive desecration, so much was that old oak settle appreciated and revered.
At the moment to which allusion is made, it was occupied by two men and an overgrown youth. They were composedly smoking their pipes, and sipping cwrw da.1 Aloof from them, and on the opposite side of the fireplace, there sat, also smoking, a young man of a gentlemanlike appearance.
On the first entrance of the stranger, the two men and the lad rose, and having saluted him with a quaint nod, resumed their seats.
‘You cold, you come by the fire?’ said the pretty, good-natured-looking hostess, fetching a chair from a remote corner, and placing it opposite to the lambent turf-fire. ‘Sit you down, mister; you soon get warm before the supper be ready.’
Truer words were seldom spoken; for scarcely had the Scotchman sat five minutes before the pyramid of burning turf, when he was compelled, from the heat which it emitted, to draw his chair off to a considerable distance, or he would have stood a chance of terminating his existence in the same manner as a fatted ox had been doomed to do that morning.
In reference to the ox, the important fact must be stated, in the way of explanation, that Mr Owen Herbert Gwynne, the great landed proprietor in those parts, had arrived on the previous evening at Bleddyn, the family seat, after a few years’ absence from the country. To celebrate this event, an ox had been roasted whole and a dinner given to the tenantry.
Mr McFarlane, for that was the Scotchman’s name, sat for some time watching the flickering flames, before he ventured to cast a few furtive glances towards his companions, who were lounging in profound silence; and he became more interested in them, as he found opportunity to examine them separately.
The young gentleman to whom allusion has been before made, excited his curiosity not a little. He seemed out of place in being there at all, and yet he sat perfectly at his ease. He had a tall, muscular, and commanding figure. His clothes, remarkably well made, were rather uncommon in appearance. His eyes and complexion were dark, and the quick, intelligent expression of his features was remarkable. A single glance from his searching eyes embarrassed the Scotchman, who turned his own to the opposite side, where the lad, who might be about sixteen, was playing with the dog and cat. The man who sat nearest him was a red-haired, weather-beaten looking sailor, with a high forehead, much of the man-of-war’s man in his bluff address, apparently cunning and active, but not altogether bearing an ill countenance. His companion was nearly asleep in the corner, and looked neither like a countryman, a sailor, nor a gentleman, but seemed belonging to a species of his own. A short-cropped head, thick and bristly hair, a long nose, and slanting eyes, scarcely visible beneath his shaggy brow; a velveteen coat, shorts, and gaiters, with huge boots, the latter alarming in their size, completed his original appearance.
Mr McFarlane had hardly time to make a general survey of the whole party, before they were disturbed by approaching footsteps in the passage; and in a few minutes, Hugh Lloyd, the master of the inn, accompanied by three male companions, entered the kitchen.
‘Indeed, truth, I be not sorry to have a roof over my head, and a fire to sit by, on such a night as this,’ exclaimed the landlord, wiping the streaming rain off his face, and looking round the cheerful and comfortable kitchen. With a respectful bow, he saluted the young gentleman ‘foreigner’. It was by that name he was known in the country.
‘I see, very good sir, you no got under weigh this morning; ‘pon my word, you get luck. The water is playing the deuce with the boats down yonder. I am sure it will make a damage before the morning.’
‘Yes, no doubt, we should have caught it on the bar; but my cutter is used to hard work in the Bay of Biscay; she is a tough little thing.’
The landlady at that instant approached, and with a concerned expression drew her husband aside. A slight altercation followed in their vernacular tongue, which neither the stranger nor the Scotchman could understand, but by their gestures they guessed the newcomers were the cause. In a moment afterwards the host returned to the fireside.
‘I very sorry, Captain, very sorry; my missus is very unhappy, she can’t make things go right. The fire won’t burn in the other room; the smoke comes down, and the rain has made a great mess; will you take your supper with us tonight? I no like to ask you, Captain, but there is no help for it.’
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