Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Catrin shook her head. “Both Oxford and Cambridge now have ladies’ colleges, with full enrolments. Surely that is proof that women of independent thought are not rare exceptions?”

  Nevern’s brow wrinkled. “Are you, perhaps, one of those ladies, Miss Davies? I refuse to believe such a pretty woman, so beautifully turned out, could possibly hide such a character beneath.”

  Catrin longed to say “Yes, I am!” and hear every man in the carriage draw in shocked breaths.

  Only, she could not truthfully say it.

  It seems unfair that I cannot go, while you squandered your chance, she had told Daniel, many years ago. That had been on Christmas Day in 1867, the year Daniel returned from America and the Civil War he had written about.

  That had been the year Catrin first properly noticed him. Until that year, Daniel had been just one of the Williams brothers, even though he had refused to follow the traditional path of Eton, then Cambridge, then a career which would support him, as the youngest son of the Earl of Innesford, until he received control of his inheritance.

  Instead, Daniel had attended Cambridge for a short, single year, then announced to the family that he intended to enter employment as a junior journalist at the Times newspaper.

  He had been sent to the United States to report upon the Civil War, where he had distinguished himself and the newspaper with his essays on war and emancipation. Catrin did not read a single report when they first appeared in the newspaper. Instead, she had spent her first Season trying to demonstrate to the ton that her family were not common bluestockings, despite having a Princess as a mother and the bastard son of a high-born lord as a father.

  Then Daniel had come home.

  It was the air about him of someone who had seen things beyond the understanding of most other men which snared Catrin’s attention. He had the palest of blue eyes. They were nearly colorless, in fact, which gave them a luminescent sheen. Coupled with his remote, thoughtful air and the way he seemed to watch everyone, as if he longed to pull out his notebook and pencil and take notes about them…it was not the Daniel Catrin remembered from the Gathers.

  He was markedly different from Cian and Neil. He didn’t drink to excess as Will and Jack and Peter did. Catrin’s brothers, Iefan and Morgan, carried the dark Celtic temper on their shoulders which they had inherited from their father. Ben, their adopted brother, was just as moody.

  Daniel was like none of them. He had chosen a different path and it had changed him.

  His first visit home after returning from America had tipped Catrin onto a different path, too. She recalled being shocked by his dismissal of her as a mere debutante. That was when she had turned to reading.

  Reading. Such a small thing, yet it had changed her mind and her heart. Following her parents’ guidelines, Catrin had spent nearly a year reading mind-expanding books, journals, essays and newspapers, all while moving through a London Season which felt less important with each passing day.

  At the family Gathering that year in Innesford, Catrin remembered shocking Daniel with her knowledge of the new country, Canada, for which he was soon to set sail.

  That had been in October of 1867. Christmas, that year, the Williams had traveled to London to spend the holiday with the Davies family in the big rambling house on Grosvenor Square. The house was stuffed full, yet it had been a jolly and loud occasion.

  Too loud, for Catrin. Her mother had given her a new book for Christmas—The English Constitution by Mr. Walter Bagehot—which she wanted to read straight away. Catrin avoided the library, which was the most obvious choice, for Cian and Neil and Morgan and Ben were drinking in there.

  Instead, she took her wool shawl and her book to the morning room, which had no fire burning, but did have a comfortable sofa. She wrapped the shawl about her shoulders and tucked her skirt under her toes to keep them warm. A cushion at her back and a candle to read the page by, and she was content.

  Catrin was deep into the second chapter when Daniel spoke from the doorway. “May I intrude?”

  Daniel wore a day suit, unlike every other man in the house, who wore an evening suit. The fine brown wool tweed matched his hair, which was dark brown. In strong sunlight his hair shone with different flecks of color. He leaned against the doorframe with one shoulder, as if he had been watching her for some time.

  “If you must.”

  He strolled in, as if she had offered a fulsome invitation. “Then you really are reading it.”

  She glanced at the open page. “Did you think I might not?”

  “Most people find Mr. Bagehot far too difficult to bother with.”

  “Really? I like the way he suggests that power in theory is different from power in the real world. It makes me reconsider things I have taken for granted.”

  “That was his point, I believe.” He sat on the arm of the sofa and put one foot on the seat at that end, so he was facing her. “I may have been wrong about you,” he said softly, with an air of confession.

  Catrin’s heart gave a little patter—only a small one. She marveled at the difference in her attitude. In April, when Daniel had first dismissed her, she had been wild to prove him wrong. She had focused all her attention upon earning his respect, by proving she was not a simple debutante as he had presumed.

  Yet now, when he was on the verge of admitting she had changed his mind, Catrin realized she barely cared, anymore.

  Daniel tilted his head. “You know what I am about to say, don’t you?”

  “That I have surprised you because I can think clearly and reason like a man? Yes, I know, Daniel.”

  “You do not consider that a compliment?”

  “You do not offer it as a compliment. You are annoyed you failed to notice this about me, earlier.”

  “I would think men who do not find evidence of intellect in women threatening would be rare enough you would appreciate finding one.”

  Catrin closed her book and considered him. “You cannot fathom how someone who looks as I do could possibly want to read more than converse with eligible young men. You are no different from any other man I have met, Daniel. You think a pretty face and an active mind are mutually exclusive states.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened. “My…such bitterness. Did a man upset you, Catrin?”

  “Most men do.” She sighed.

  “Who? Name him. I will drop ash on his jacket next time I am in the same room with him.”

  “You could do that right now,” Catrin replied.

  Daniel frowned, shadowing his light eyes. “Me? How have I upset you?”

  Catrin wrapped her arms around her knees. “You left Cambridge, Daniel. You left!”

  Daniel tilted his head. “That was five years ago. Now you berate me for it?” His forehead smoothed out. “Because you cannot attend…yes?”

  Catrin looked away from him, uncomfortable. Spoken baldly, in simple words, made her anger sound childish.

  Daniel made a soft sound, one of understanding. His weight shifted from the sofa. Then he sat properly, in the middle of the long seat. The warmth from his body bathed her toes and hands. “You want to attend university that badly, Catrin?”

  She brought her gaze back to his face. He was not laughing at her. “I don’t understand why women are not permitted,” she admitted. “It makes me angry that men like you discard such opportunities.”

  He nodded. “It must seem that way to you. I did not make the decision to leave Cambridge lightly.”

  “Why did you leave?” she demanded.

  “Because Cambridge and Oxford and institutions like them are merely breeding grounds for upper class twits who perpetuate themselves, generation after generation. There is little real learning which happens there—not that I could see, at least.”

  Catrin stared, stunned. “That is impossible. You must learn something there.”

  “Oh, a great deal of book learning does take place,” Daniel said. “Only, I do not find Greek men who died thousands of years ago edifying.” He glanc
ed at the door. “Your mother would expire if she heard me say that, so I beg you not to repeat it, hmm?”

  A ghost of a smile touched Catrin’s mouth.

  Daniel leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I wanted a real education, Catrin. Only by going out in the world does that happen. Your sister knew it before any of us, and certainly before I understood it.”

  “Sadie? Did you see her in America?”

  “I did, but not for long, for I had to leave New York for the war in the south the next day. You in particular would be proud of her, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “That isn’t my story to tell,” Daniel said easily. “Write and ask her, instead.”

  Catrin would consider that later. “I still don’t understand how you could give up an opportunity to gain knowledge—any knowledge. You could speak to professors and experts and authors. And the books there…!”

  Daniel touched the book at her feet. “It seems you are compensating for the lack you perceive.”

  “Books are my only compensation,” she said, bitterness touching her. “I cannot explore the world the way you say I must to acquire the equivalent education. I must stay at home, while you are off to Canada next month.”

  “Jealous, Catrin?”

  “Yes!” she breathed, feeling the tightness in her chest and the roiling in her belly. He had named the unpleasant sensation exactly.

  Daniel nodded, as if he understood. “Would you like me to write to you from Canada? Or would that merely inflame your jealousy?”

  Catrin considered. “I do not know how I will feel about letters from Canada…” She heard the words she had spoken. “I do think I would like to get them, though,” she confessed. “Even receiving letters from such a place sounds interesting.”

  “I will write, then.” He got to his feet. “Only, you must write letters in return.”

  “About my staid and boring life here?” she asked. “My letters would be trivial compared to your adventures.”

  “No, they would not,” he said, his voice low with sincerity. “You would be surprised how novel and refreshing simple news from home feels when thousands of miles away from it.”

  “Really?” She met his gaze. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Of course, I’ve never been thousands of miles away…” she added wistfully.

  The next month, Daniel left on a trade cutter for the Americas and the new country to the north of the United States. He wrote, just as he promised. His letters arrived weekly, at least.

  When Catrin received the first one, she felt a tiny thrill as she touched the envelope and considered that it had traveled from the other side of the world. She answered Daniel the same day, telling him of her small affairs and gossip about the family. Her news seemed pathetically tiny and unimportant compared to the shaping of a new nation, yet she sealed and sent the letter, anyway.

  It took weeks for a letter to arrive, so it was in his sixth letter where Daniel said, in his large, scrawling hand:

  I received your letter. You can have no idea how much it delighted me to touch the envelope and remind myself it had sat upon the big desk in your family’s library, or that battered lap secretary you use. I canceled my dinner appointment and stayed in my room to read it…

  Daniel’s letters were a distraction from the sharp limitations of her life. They let her vicariously experience his life, instead.

  Catrin recalled her quiet conversation with Daniel about Cambridge as she bounced about the carriage for Newport. She considered the Baron. Nevern was clearly a man who could not conceive of prettiness and thoughtfulness going hand-in-hand.

  “I did not attend Cambridge, my lord,” she told him, keeping her tone civil. “Women were not permitted to attend university until 1869.” By that year, it was too late. Catrin’s chance to attend college had expired. That was not something she could speak of, though.

  Nevern stirred and peered through the window. “We are nearly to Newport,” he said. “Miss Davies, will you be staying with your cousin?”

  “I presume I will,” she said carefully.

  “Then you must attend my dinner party tonight. I’ve invited Daniel, of course, although I fully expect him not to attend. Promise me you will come in his stead.”

  Catrin blinked. “I am not certain about anything right now, my lord. Daniel may have plans…”

  “He never does,” Nevern said dismissively. “I tell you what. I’ll have a place laid for you. Attend if you can. No one will think anything less of you if you cannot. How does that sound?”

  Catrin hesitated. “It is a rather extraordinary invitation, Baron.”

  “Nevern,” he insisted. “This is your first time in Pembrokeshire. You must trust me in this—Newport is a small town and entertainment is rare. We are more relaxed and informal here than in London.”

  The carriage came to a halt, and Nevern looked out. “Ah…this is my destination. See? The big house on the hill there is only a quarter mile from Ysgolheigion.” Unlike everyone Catrin had ever heard speak the name of the house, Nevern did not butcher it. It slid off his tongue as “ess-gol-high-geon”. But then, he was native Welsh. She would have to practice the few words and phrases she knew, including the name of the Williams house where Daniel was staying.

  The driver jumped down and opened the coach door and Nevern gathered up his hat and gloves. “I will ask the driver to deliver you directly to Ysgolheigion.” He gave her a warm, open smile as he settled his hat upon his head. “Do think about dinner, Miss Davies. It will be an excellent chance to meet the people of Newport.”

  That was quite true. “I will consider it,” Catrin told him. “Thank you for your invitation, Baron Nevern.”

  He hesitated. He looked as if he was about to correct her on his name once more. Then he touched his cane to the brim of his hat and climbed down.

  The coach shivered as a trunk was removed from the luggage shelf. Catrin heard a butler ordering footmen about, telling them to jump to it. The butler’s accent was pure Welsh, thick and hard for Catrin to follow.

  A week or two in Newport would amend that deficiency, she suspected.

  The coach moved on once more and she saw for herself Nevern’s large house on the hill. It was a white stone building with two floors and was oddly asymmetrical to cater for the uneven ground it was built upon.

  Nevern walked in long strides across the graveled drive toward the front door, while footmen carried his trunk between them. The butler, in a striped waistcoat, was only a step behind Nevern.

  It looked very English and normal.

  Catrin peered ahead, as the horses rounded a mild curve in the narrow road and the town of Newport appeared ahead. There were dozens of cottages huddled together on the south side of a river—that would be the Nevern River, Catrin guessed. She saw a wharf with a handful of small ships and many more fishing smacks bobbing at anchor farther out. The town had grown up around the wharf.

  On the right, rising from the edge of the narrow road, were the ruins of Newport castle. The road swung around the old curtain wall. The land sloped gently here, rising as it moved inland.

  As the coach cleared the castle, she saw the slope of the land continued for another mile or so. It culminated in a low peak which looked as though it might have a cairn or other ancient monolith upon it. The sharp finger of rock thrust up against the horizon. The hill it was upon was bare of trees or of any growth but tough, low grasses and weeds. Sheep tracks showed in the low grasses as gray, wandering lines. At the moment, no living thing moved upon the hill.

  The peak moved out of Catrin’s view as the coach turned another, sharper bend. Stunted trees lined the road, thick and overgrown with lack of attention. The coach slowed, then turned again and moved through the trees themselves, which grew right up against the edge of the road and brushed the sides of the coach.

  Then the trees fell away. The land opened up, showing trimmed lawn and a circular gravel drive. The coach rounded the curve and halted in front of a gray
house with three floors and two great wings as large as the central portion of the house. There were two doors in the central part of the house, both with porticos and white columns. The windows in the house all had white frames, too. They lifted the bleak gray color of the house and made it appear brighter, for the stone was so dense in color it took on a blue tint where it was in shadow…which was most of the house, for the sun had failed to reveal itself, still.

  No one emerged from the house. No butler or footmen ran to assist her to the ground.

  The driver jumped onto the gravel with a crunch of his shoes and opened the door. Catrin held out her hand. The driver hesitated, then wiped his hand on his trousers, then held it up.

  She rested her hand as lightly as she could on the driver’s fist. She did need the assistance to reach the ground, for the coach only had the single damp metal footrest for alighting, and her traveling suit skirt had thirteen yards of fabric, most of the yardage in the gathers and drapes over the bustle.

  The bustle itself was minimal, which allowed her to sit properly on train and coach seats, and the hem didn’t extend into a train. It was the most practical garment a woman of the ton could wear and not appear unfashionable, even here in Newport, Pembrokeshire.

  Catrin stepped onto the gravel carefully and thanked the driver. “My trunk…?” she added.

  He nodded and hurried around to the back of the coach. She saw the coach shiver and heard grunts of effort. Then her trunk dropped inelegantly to the gravel. She winced.

  “Sorry, miss,” the driver said, panting. He nodded toward the house. “Someone will come and fetch it for you, I’m sure.” He tugged on the brim of his cap and climbed back onto the driver’s seat, picked up his whip and the reins and tapped the horses into moving on.

  The remaining passengers in the coach, who were all continuing on to destinations farther north than Newport, stared at her as the coach pulled away.

  Catrin stood upon the gravel, waiting for someone to emerge from the house and come to enquire about why she was here, yet the doors remained closed. She wasn’t even certain which door was the entrance. Perhaps, in some Welsh fashion, they both were.