Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Not because of me, she did not,” Doherty growled. His heavy brows came together and his eyes flashed with temper.

  Catrin held up her hand. “Clearly not,” she said placatingly. “Thank you for speaking to me, Mr. Doherty.” She turned to look over her shoulder to see how far away the carriage lingered.

  “If it is of any help, Blodwen was a secretive woman,” Doherty said. “Most people misunderstood her.”

  “Except you, Mr. Doherty?”

  “Especially me,” Finn Doherty growled. “She preferred her own company, did Blodwen. Up in the hills at all hours of the day and night, walking and thinking. I don’t know what she was doing up here last night, Miss Davies, but it doesn’t surprise me a bit she was here.”

  The carriage stopped alongside Catrin. Nevern opened the door.

  “Thank you, Mr. Doherty,” Catrin told the man and climbed into the carriage.

  The carriage got underway again. Because Catrin had her back to the horses, she could watch Doherty for a good many paces before the bend in the road and the rising slope hid the Irishman from her.

  “I thought you might be able to speak with him,” Nevern said, sounding pleased.

  “I was only able to learn a little—just what he murmured from one corner of his mouth,” Catrin replied. “He and Blodwen stopped seeing each other five days ago.”

  “Ah.” Nevern nodded and sat back.

  “It means something to you?”

  “It matches with a rumor I heard about Doherty. He and Blodwen were seen arguing, the late afternoon of last Thursday. Then he got drunk at the inn that night and argued with anyone else who dared address him.”

  “How on earth did you hear about that?” Catrin replied. “Do you frequent the inn, Baron?”

  “Not I. Doherty missed his shift the next day. The quarry manager reported it to me, to explain why Doherty’s pay was docked.”

  Then Nevern did own the mine.

  “I thought nothing of it at the time, because Doherty is Irish,” Nevern continued. “He’ll argue into the ground any man who dares to refute him, then follow up with his fists. Even Daniel was fair game.”

  “Daniel?” Catrin repeated, startled.

  Nevern looked vexed. “I am speaking out of turn. Pay no heed. It was a small incident when Daniel first arrived here, when he was still seen about the town…” He shook his head. “What Doherty told you matches with facts we already know, so it is likely he is telling the truth. It means we still cannot precisely pinpoint where Blodwen was killed.”

  “Does it matter where it happened?” Catrin asked. “The creature seems to roam as freely across the hills as we can. Shouldn’t all the Preselis be considered dangerous until we find it?”

  “I can see that hunting is not one of your fortes, Miss Davies.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If we can find where Blodwen was killed, we will have an area to search within for the creature’s lair. The thing is a carnivore, Miss Davies. That means it will stake out territory where food is easily available.”

  Catrin shivered and pulled her shawl around her.

  “Without a location…well, the Preselis cover a large area—over one hundred square miles, with barely a fence or a wall anywhere to contain the thing. Without a place to start, we could be searching for weeks.”

  “Blodwen didn’t walk for hundreds of miles,” Catrin pointed out. “She spent the afternoon with Mrs. Howell. It would cut down the area considerably.”

  He leaned forward to make his point. “If we presume she walked into the hills immediately after her visit, then walked in as straight a line as possible after that, she could have covered many miles. Even completing as few as two miles an hour means she might have walked far east. Then she was dragged back here—and she was dragged for quite a distance, Dr. Jones says.”

  Catrin put her hand to her torso. “It merely makes all the Preseli hills dangerous, instead of just some of them. Perhaps it is what you should tell everyone.”

  Nevern ruffled his hair and sat back, defeated. “Indeed,” he said unhappily. “I am only glad you did not walk to my house for dinner, Miss Davies. The footpath from Ysgolheigion crosses right over the lower slope of Carninglis.”

  “So am I, Baron. It is the first time since I was a debutante that I have been grateful for too tightly laced stays.”

  Nevern gave out a loud belly-laugh, then chuckled even more. He finally sat back with a sigh and glanced out the window. “The sun is setting,” he observed.

  Catrin shivered again.

  CATRIN WOKE DURING THE NIGHT with a jump, a gasp in her mouth, and laid with her heart running hard, wondering what had woken her. She was alert, as if she had been awake for hours.

  It was utterly dark. Not even the moon showed through the windows. She heard the wind, somewhere out on the open hills, whistling across the rockface. In her room, though, all was still and quiet.

  Then she heard it.

  The howl was long and drawn out. It was not a sound made by man. It seemed to come from a long distance away…and it was moving. She didn’t know why she was so certain of it, but she was.

  Something roamed the Preselis, making sounds she had never heard before.

  Catrin rolled over, bringing the bedcovers in around her. She clutched them against her chest, so she could look through the window without shifting her head on the pillow.

  Nothing but stars showed between the lace, yet she didn’t dare draw her gaze away.

  I hope no one is out there tonight…

  The thought had barely formed in her mind when, quickly, right on its heels, fear shot through her.

  Daniel!

  He walked the hills at night!

  Catrin sat up, pulling the covers up with her and shuddered. What could she do? What should she do? Was Daniel out there right now? Surely, he would not risk it, not when a monster roamed the hills…

  Only, Daniel had traveled the world and seen things no man could explain. He would not be discouraged by a local beast. She didn’t fully understand why he walked the hills so compulsively, although she did know that little would stop him from doing it.

  Catrin could not possibly close her eyes and sleep, after that.

  She rose and put on her wrapper, moving slowly in the dark. She crept to the staircase landing and sat on the top step, one shoulder against the post. It was cold here, which was enough to keep her awake.

  As time marched on and nothing stirred in the house, and she did not again hear the howling, Catrin grew sleepy. She hugged her knees, staying warm, her head resting against the post.

  She must have dozed, for she woke to find herself being carried. Daniel’s arms and his scent were unmistakable.

  “You’re safe…” She put her arm around his neck.

  “You were worried about me?” His voice was soft, the warm note of pleasure unmistakable.

  She didn’t answer. She just tightened her arm.

  “Then you are not frightened of me,” The warmth in his voice grew.

  “Not as you are now. The old Daniel.” She sighed. Sleep claimed her properly, now she knew he was home.

  She was placed on her bed, the covers dropped over her and tucked in around her. Catrin was asleep by her next breath.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning, everyone spoke of nothing but the giant wolves roaming the Preselis.

  “They used to be all around Wales, once, Miss,” Gwen informed Catrin as she brought her teapot to the breakfast table.

  “Giant wolves, Gwen? Or merely large wolves? I know gray wolves are bigger than others.”

  “Yes, gray wolves, miss!” Gwen replied. “It’s what Sayers said. That it was probably gray wolves, come down from the mountains because winter was harsh and they’re hungry.”

  “Only the creature which howled didn’t sound like a wolf,” Catrin murmured, as she poured cream into her tea.

  “You heard the thing, Miss?”

  “My bedroom i
s on that side of the house. I heard it clearly,” Catrin told her. “It was a long, drawn-out sound. I’ve never heard anything like it before,”

  The next time Gwen came back with a tray with Catrin’s breakfast, she was brimming with the news which the cook, Mrs. Pritchard, had brought with her from the village.

  “Paw prints, Miss! They found paw prints on the ground all over Carninglis and around Pentre Ifan and Cilgwyn…and everywhere, Miss! Paws the size of dinner plates!”

  Catrin resisted rolling her eyes. “I may walk into the village this morning and learn for myself what was discovered, rather than rely on information which has passed through too many mouths. Is Mr. Williams up yet, Gwen?”

  “Oh yes, Miss. He never sleeps for long. Breakfast at the crack of dawn like always.”

  Catrin glanced around the table. The top had been neat and tidy, without a crumb in sight, when she first stepped into the dining room. “Mr. Williams eats in his room, then?”

  “Yes, Miss. I take a tray up to him.”

  “That is something Sayers should do and, when he has one, his first footman should take care of such matters. It is another good reason to walk into the village this morning,” she said. “I will post an advertisement in the newspaper.”

  After breakfast, Catrin changed into her walking suit. As she dressed, the slow tread of steps sounded from Daniel’s room.

  Catrin found Gwen downstairs, plumping cushions in the drawing room, while Sayers rebuilt the fire. “Mr. Williams isn’t in his study?” Catrin asked the air somewhere between the two of them.

  Gwen and Sayers glanced at each other.

  “I think we might be in for another difficult day, miss,” Sayers said, his tone neutral.

  Catrin chewed at her lip, divided by doubts. Should she speak to Daniel? Leave him alone?

  She recalled the hazy moments last night when he had carried her to her room. The warmth in his voice, which had once always been there when he spoke to her. She was sure she hadn’t imagined that warmth. Only, now, Daniel had returned to the angry man stalking about his bedroom.

  “At least there is no china left for him to smash,” Gwen said sunnily. Then she looked at Catrin, her lips parting, as she realized what she had said.

  Catrin hid her smile. “Make sure Mrs. Pritchard uses a wood platter for Mr. Williams’ lunch.” She collected her jacket and shawl, put on a warm, knitted bonnet and gloves, and left the house. The air was crisp and fresh, and with the brisk walk, quite pleasant.

  It didn’t take long to reach the high street. Mr. Kernigan’s civil building was there, along with the necessary three inns and alehouses, and a penny post pillar. Several shops of various other types completed the high street.

  The broad steps of the Newport town office was where everyone lingered to collect the latest news, for it was still too early in the morning for the alehouses to open.

  Catrin moved among the small group of people, to see what they were craning to read in the window of the building.

  “Miss Davies,” came the soft call.

  Catrin turned, scanning the pavement.

  Across the narrow road was one of the inns. The solid stone building had a dark blue front door and white painted window frames. Gethin Merrick sat on the wide, low windowsill, his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. His walking cane was propped against his thigh. He beckoned as Catrin spotted him.

  She moved across the road. “Sir Merrick. You are about early this morning.”

  “I heard the howling last night. I suspect a great many of the people straining to see the public notice about staying away from the hills also heard it. As did you, I gather, for you are here, too.”

  “I did. I’ve never heard such a sound before,” Catrin admitted. “Have you?”

  Merrick delved into an inner pocket and brought out a flat, silver case, which he opened and proffered to her. There were cigarettes in the case, held in place with a leather band across them.

  Catrin wrinkled her nose. “I tried them once. They are not to my taste but thank you.”

  “They have become quite to my taste, unfortunately,” Merrick said, withdrawing one of the slender cigarettes. He lit it with a kitchen match he struck against the sole of one shoe and got it going with obvious relish. “It wasn’t a wolf howl I heard last night. Like you, I’ve never heard anything like it. Tell me, did Mr. Williams walk upon the hills last night, as is his wont?”

  “Yes,” Catrin admitted. “Although I will try to convince him to not do so for a while.”

  Merrick frowned as he plucked a piece of tobacco from his tongue. “Oh, I wouldn’t bother attempting that.”

  Catrin gripped the handle of her reticule, her heart hurrying. “Why not?”

  Merrick considered her, as he exhaled a billow of sweet-smelling smoke. “Because I suspect your Daniel has little choice in the matter.”

  “You mean, he must walk?”

  Merrick nodded. “I am somewhat familiar with his case—purely personal interest, I hasten to add. Nevern has told me some of it. The rest I have surmised by simple observation, which is more powerful than most people give credit for, if done properly. The scarring on his face was from a high-speed projectile.”

  “A bullet,” Catrin interpreted.

  “Exactly. It is the speed which interests me. That, and the scarring. Tell me, is his face taut…does it restrict his speech at times?”

  “Yes,” Catrin admitted. “His cheek stays still, while the other one works as normal.” Her heart picked up even more speed as she reminded herself that Merrick had been a superior surgeon, once.

  “The stitch work to close the wound was done by a ship’s surgeon, I’m told?”

  “On board a ship at full sail,” Catrin admitted.

  Merrick winced. Then he drew on the cigarette once more and let the smoke rise lazily into the still morning air. “Not that I am permitted to consult with your cousin, Miss Davies, but if I were, I suspect I would learn that the internal scarring is the issue. It has tightened as it healed, drawing up muscles and tendons. The outer scar is the least of the matter. That is why Mr. Williams must walk upon the hills.”

  “I don’t understand,” Catrin said flatly. Internal scarring?

  Merrick met her gaze. “The pain, Miss Davies. He walks to offset the pain. The medical profession is just beginning to understand that exercise has a soothing effect upon pain, although why is still to be determined.”

  Catrin’s heart wouldn’t steady. It slammed against her chest. “He walks because he is in pain…” she breathed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Why would you?” Merrick asked, his tone reasonable. “I suspect that when he does not walk, his behavior would resemble that of a mad man. Anger would be the least reaction. Ah…I can tell from your face I am right.”

  “Headaches…” Catrin whispered, remembering the way Daniel had clutched at his head and groaned.

  “Quite likely severe headaches,” Merrick replied. “The effects of long-term pain without cease would compile and complicate themselves. Have you ever hurt yourself badly enough to steal your breath away, Miss Davies?”

  Catrin held her teeth together. “Yes,” she said flatly.

  He nodded. “Imagine that pain—perhaps not severe and agonizing, but rising and falling in intensity, yet there all the time. Never stopping. Always hurting. It would grow upon the mind, drain energy, strain tendons and nerves. It would become the focus of one’s very existence.”

  Catrin glanced at the peak of Carninglis, which was just visible over the tops of the buildings, looking far away and small. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt—almost as if she could feel Daniel’s pain.

  “One does not automatically think of pain as a cause for behavior which must look quite extraordinary and troubling,” Merrick added. “It is easier and more natural to presume such madness comes from an imbalance of the mind.”

  “He stays away from light. From noise.” It hurt to talk, for her throat was clampe
d tight.

  Merrick nodded. “Yes, a product of the bullet against the skull. Mr. Williams wasn’t just cut open, you see. The impact of the bullet has its own consequences.” He drew on the cigarette once more. “I would imagine reading and writing is difficult even when the pain has subsided. He would be tired at all times, yet unable to sleep because of his discomfort.” Merrick tallied the ailments with a calm tone, as if he was reciting a shopping list.

  Catrin wanted to sink down upon the sill beside him and think. She put her hand against the wall, instead. “I had begun to believe he really was mad,” she breathed. “I never suspected the scar—that a simple wound—could do that to a man.”

  “If he’d had the sense to be shot in the shoulder, there would not be an issue. Or the belly, in which case, he would not have survived at all.” Merrick gave her a small smile. “You have wondered, I guess, if the madness which plagues the male members of your mother’s family had somehow communicated itself to Mr. Williams?”

  She caught her breath. “Yes!” she whispered, pressing her hand to her middle as her astonishment stole most of her strength. Gethin Merrick was singularly well-informed about the royal family.

  Merrick smiled. “Fear not. The madness Mr. Williams suffers is purely a result of physical assault. His heirs are quite safe.”

  The shock, this time, jolted through her. Horror filled her as she stared at Merrick. “I had not even thought of that!” she admitted.

  Merrick’s smile grew warmer. “And now you have no need to think of it.”

  “What can I do to help Mr. Williams? There must be a way to alleviate the…the…”

  “Symptoms,” Merrick finished. His mouth turned down. Bitterness touched his eyes. “There is no solution I can now offer you, Miss Davies. You had best brace yourself. It is likely Mr. Williams’ responses to ongoing pain will increase in severity the longer the pain continues.”

  He got to his feet and touched the soft brim of his hat. “Good morning, Miss Davies.” He stepped across the road, to mingle with the townsfolk gathering around the window.

  Catrin no longer had any interest in finding the newspaper office to submit her advertisement seeking staff for Ysgolheigion. The list of tasks folded and tucked into her reticule remained there as she trudged back to the house, her thoughts swirling.