Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Mary bent forward to peer at the pile of tea chests. “These are in English, but it’s funny writing, all the same.”

  Catrin looked at them. “India,” she said. “They are from India.” Silk, statues, old coins, swords and knives, and a jeweled hilt with jade stones. She remembered Daniel talking about the hilt, which he had found lying on the mat of some market stall owner who wanted only enough to pay for his rice bowl that evening.

  “Mr. Williams has been everywhere in the world, then,” Gwen said, sounding awed.

  “There are far more places he has not been, than he has seen, although he has been to quite a few,” Catrin admitted. She straightened and brushed off her hands. “This is not a room we can tackle today. The rest of this wing and the drawing room…I think that will be a start.”

  “A start, Miss?” Gwen asked, heading for the door.

  “I intend to clean this house from top to bottom, Gwen, even if it takes weeks. If you have more friends like Mary who would like to earn a wage for a week or two, send them to speak to me.”

  “I will, Miss,” Gwen said.

  Mary hoisted her bucket. “Where do we start?”

  They started just beyond the door to the storage room and had moved onto the third room when Daniel appeared at the door. He gripped the edge of it, scowling. “You went into my study!”

  Catrin glanced at Gwen and Mary. “Go and rest. Have a cup of tea. I will find you when I am ready to begin again.”

  Mary stared at Daniel, her eyes wide. Gwen pushed at the back of her shoulder, coaxing her to move.

  They both hurried past Daniel with murmured apologies. Daniel did not look at them. His gaze stayed upon Catrin.

  She dropped the feather duster and wiped her hands on her apron. “There is nowhere other than the library where I could work. I took a small corner of it. You may have the rest. I did not come near your desk, nor will I.”

  “I specifically forbade you from going in there!” His grip on the doorframe tightened, making his knuckles turn white. “There is little enough in this world which is still mine,” he ground out. “How dare you take this from me, too!”

  Catrin grew still. She had expected anger, but not this. “Too?” she repeated. “What else have I taken from you, Daniel?”

  “This place,” he shot back. “This house, my solitude, my…privacy.”

  “As you took my privacy from me, last night?” she asked softly, keeping her gaze upon him.

  Daniel drew in a breath, his hand falling from the doorframe. She had surprised him.

  Catrin stepped closer. “Should I go, Daniel? Should I return from where I came and leave you to fester in your misery? You have only to say and I will leave at once.”

  His gaze shifted away from her. He looked at the floor. His breath was hurried, but his anger faded.

  Catrin lowered her voice. “Or I can stay and make sure the house functions around you. No one else can do that for you, Daniel. You keep scaring away the competent housekeepers. So let me.”

  His gaze stayed on the floor. “Because you are not afraid of me,” he murmured.

  “Not always,” Catrin said. “However, I do remember how good a cricket bowler you are, and there is too much china in this house for me to be completely secure.”

  His gaze met hers. The corner of his mouth lifted—the corner on the good side of his face. “That is why the bowl on my washstand is rusty cast iron now?”

  “I could have it replaced with a decent porcelain bowl if you think you can resist smashing it,” Catrin said.

  His smile faded. “I don’t remember smashing the last one,” he said flatly. “When I am…in moments like that, I can barely think.” The pain in his voice was raw. He was a proud man and the confession clawed at his pride. He straightened and looked away. “There is no need for you to leave,” he added, his tone off-hand.

  Catrin let out her breath. “Then you should return to your study and let me continue my work here. There is much to do.”

  He nodded, still not looking at her. He had averted his face again, the scar turned away from her.

  “Daniel, your things—the trinkets and treasures in the crates back there… You should unpack them.” She took another breath for courage. “There are so many memories in those crates.”

  “Exactly,” Daniel said, his voice hoarse. “That is why they should stay there—nailed up and forgotten. Try to move quietly down here, please. The noise filters into the library.”

  He strode away before she could respond.

  IT WAS AN EXHAUSTING DAY of hard work, but it was a satisfying one. The three of them, with Sayers helping shift the heavier furniture and objects, managed to clean the north wing downstairs level and half the drawing room by the time the lowering sun stole the good light.

  Catrin washed and changed for supper, which she ate alone at the dining table. She realized this was the usual state of affairs. With her growing understanding of Daniel’s condition, she could accept it with equanimity.

  After supper, she settled at her desk in the library and read her letters from the day and replied to a few of them. She was too tired to spend long at the task. Even though it was still early by society standards, Catrin went to bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

  When she woke some time later, it was still completely dark. Through the window, she heard what had woken her. The creature from two nights ago howled again. The far off, long, mournful note held, throbbing in the still night.

  Daniel watched her. He was just a silhouette, outlined by the starlight coming through the window beside him.

  Catrin’s heart leapt and slammed against her chest. She held herself still. Her instincts told her that if she appeared frightened or startled, he would leave. He expected her to repel him. He was braced for it. She could see the tension in his shoulders.

  “Was it cold out there tonight?” she whispered.

  Daniel let out his breath. It was a sigh of relief. His silhouette shifted, the shoulders lowering a little. The starlight through the window fell upon the side of his face—the unmarked side. With only that side of his face showing, he looked as he always had.

  “The cold helps,” he said. His voice was not marred by the stiffness of the other side of his face. He sounded the way she remembered. “Walking helps.”

  “It lets you sleep.”

  “It lets me relax,” he amended. “It lets me feel normal. Just for a while.”

  “You even sound normal,” she breathed, marveling. She sat up. She was completely awake, now. Nothing would convince her to lie and try to sleep while Daniel was in the room—not when he spoke and acted as he once had.

  She could reason with this man. She could speak with him. She had once spoken to Daniel for an entire year, while he wandered the world. They had traded letters about their lives. Her tales had been the small, little affairs of her enclosed world, while his had been grand adventures.

  Now his was the enclosed world.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you about the murder on Carninglis, did I?” Catrin said.

  Daniel tilted his head. “The wolf?”

  “They think it is a wolf. The howling, a moment ago. The paw prints—”

  “There were paw prints?” Daniel asked, startled.

  Catrin told him about her day with Nevern and Kernigan and what they had determined about Blodwyn Jones. She related her conversation with Finn Doherty and how she had tricked him into talking to her. She held nothing back.

  Daniel listened and sometimes asked questions, reminding her of other aspects of the investigation, including Dr. Jones and Kernigan’s refusal to let her be involved beyond the minimal help a female could offer.

  “That is why you wanted to rub the corners off your temper,” Daniel breathed.

  Catrin told him about her arrangements for new staff, and the debt she had cleared with Nevern.

  “I will return the money to you,” Daniel said. “Thank you for taking care of it. You are right. If I had
known, I would have cleared it instantly. Only, you must stop using your own funds to run the house, Catrin. I will make the household account available to you—a letter to the bank manager will take care of it.”

  She told him about the other plans she had for the house, including a load of coal for the cellar and other supplies. Her promotion of Sayers to butler and Gwen to her personal maid. The hiring of Mary and her plans to hire temporary staff for other large chores around the house. The one thing she did not speak to him about was her conversation with Merrick. She sensed that now was not the time to try to speak to Daniel about it.

  Daniel sighed. “It sounds wonderfully ordinary and…domestic.” His tone was wistful.

  “I confess I did not expect to be so busy when I arrived,” Catrin admitted. “I am glad I am here, though.”

  “Why are you here, Cat?” Daniel asked softly.

  Catrin smoothed out the sheet over her knee. “You don’t know? You haven’t guessed?”

  He was sitting quite still once more. “The only reason you might be here is me,” he said, his voice low. “Only I cannot bring myself to presume that is why. Not after…everything.”

  “Despite everything,” Catrin whispered, “I am here.”

  He let out an unsteady breath. “What I have done to you…how can you consider it—how can you sit there and speak civilly, after that?”

  “Because I could not bear to give up,” Catrin replied. “Not without trying one last time to see if there is any possible way for us to be together.” Her heart ached as she spoke, for this was as close to the truth as she dared to go for now.

  He didn’t answer at once. She could hear his unsteady breath.

  “I’m not that man, anymore,” he said softly. “The man you loved is dead. There is just this shell which remains…and what remains scares you.”

  Catrin threw the sheet aside. “I do not believe that.” She climbed from the bed and moved to where his shadow sat upon the stool. “I am not as afraid of you as you want to believe, Daniel.”

  She could see his unmarred cheek and put her hand against it and felt warm, soft flesh.

  His breath shuddered from him.

  His reaction prompted Catrin to bend and press her lips to his. It had been so long since she had kissed him, but until this moment she had not realized how much she missed his kisses.

  Daniel gave a harsh cry and pushed her from him. He staggered to his feet and around the stool, putting it between them. He stood, his shoulders rising and falling. “I cannot,” he ground out.

  “It was just a kiss—”

  “It hurts to kiss you. God help me, I cannot even be that much of a man,” he breathed. His hand fisted against his leg.

  Catrin stared at his silhouette, her understanding mixing with pity. A tear swelled and fell before she could prevent it. “Oh, Daniel…”

  “Don’t look at me like that!” he breathed. “Like I am a monster.” He put his hand to his head. She could see him grimacing.

  She shook her head, which spilled more tears. “And now the pain returns. I did that.”

  “No! You mustn’t think that. You must not even say it. You could never hurt me.” He moved around the stool to where she stood on the rug, stopping close enough to her she could feel the heat and solidness of him.

  She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her upset. “I have hurt you every day I have been here, in ways I could not have predicted. Perhaps I should go.”

  He caught her face in his hands. “No,” he breathed. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  “But you cannot bear me touching you, either.”

  “I can touch you, though,” he breathed. “That does not hurt me.” His hands slid down her arms, over the top of her linen nightdress. They dropped to her waist, heavy and familiar. His fingers tightened about her waist, then smoothed over the curve of her hips. “I have forgotten many things because of…because of the pain, but this, I have never forgotten.”

  Catrin trembled at his touch. She had not forgotten that sweet joy, either.

  Daniel bent and caught the hem of her nightdress and swooped the garment up and over her head in one quick movement.

  She shivered and lifted her arms so he could remove it altogether. No thought of protesting or denying him occurred to her. All she could think of was that Daniel had returned to her. Even if it was for a few short minutes, she would grasp the chance with both hands.

  Naked, she stood in the starlight and let him study her.

  His hand shook as he slid his fingers over her shoulder and brushed her hair back behind it. He smoothed his palm down her flank, to cup her hip. The other hand settled on the other side. Then he lifted them again. The heat of his hands against her breasts made her gasp. She let her head fall back, as he toyed with the tips of her breasts, sending heated waves of longing through her.

  Oh, how she wanted to kiss him! But this was just as good without the touch of his lips.

  He bent and scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “But—”

  “Shh…” he whispered, laying her on the sheet. “Let me do this for you. Let me learn the shape of you once more.” He ran his hands over her, tracing out every curve and angle, making her shudder at his touch. For long minutes he simply explored, while she gasped and writhed. The bone-deep sensuous pleasure she had been so long without built in her, making her breath come in tiny pants, and her nerves to shimmer with promise.

  Daniel seemed to enjoy extending the torture. He bent over her, still merely a shape in the dark, breathing hard, his hands always moving, always finding the next sensitive piece of flesh.

  “God, Daniel, please…!” Catrin begged, her voice thick with hunger.

  He groaned and lowered his head. His lips closed over the very tip of her breast.

  Catrin swallowed back her cry of pleasure and gripped the sheets to stop herself from reaching for him and possibly hurting him.

  His hand slid between her thighs and probed deeper, finding the slick moisture and her channel and she groaned at the good pressure.

  He pressed against her nub, and stroked it and Catrin arched off the bed, her hips thrusting. Her pleasure leapt, gathering. The sheet tore beneath her frantic grip. She barely noticed.

  Her pleasure peaked, forcing a cry from her which tore at her throat. She shuddered, her whole body pulsing with the joy. It washed through her in delightful waves, stealing her thoughts and her breath.

  When she became aware of her surroundings once more, Daniel was still there—the dark shape beside her bed. He lifted the sheet she had tossed aside over her and tucked it in. Then the blanket and the down quilt.

  He bent and touched his lips softly to hers. The briefest and slightest of touches.

  Catrin rolled onto her side beneath the covers, still breathing hard.

  Daniel moved silently out of the room. The door opened and closed and he was gone.

  Catrin’s breath slowed. Her body relaxed.

  She slept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Catrin checked the number on the faded timber of the door, then raised her gloved hand and knocked. While she waited for a response, she glanced about her once more, wondering if she was in the right place.

  Mrs. Barr, the shopkeeper of the dry goods store beside the inn on the high street had been immensely helpful. She had provided full directions on how to find Maggie O’Shay’s house. Catrin had found it odd that Mrs. Barr had not referred to Maggie O’Shay as Mrs. O’Shay, or even just Maggie. Every time she had referred to the woman, she had used her full name, Maggie O’Shay.

  Catrin suspected the street she found herself in once she had followed Mrs. Barr’s directions might explain why.

  It was the narrowest of lanes, directly off the wharf. The stench of brine and weed and old, rotting fish was strong and the lane too narrow and curved for a breeze to diminish it.

  The cry of gulls was loud overhead, competing with the wash of the tide against the timber
s of the wharf and the creak of mooring ropes against their boles.

  The houses along this lane sprang up from the edges of the lane. No footpath separated road and house. One would step out of any front door directly onto the lane itself. They were narrow, crooked and bent buildings, with tiny windows and unpainted timbers turned silver with age and wear.

  The door opened and Catrin caught back her surprised gasp, for the woman at the door was not what she had been expecting. Catrin took in the woman’s red hair and narrow face, and her young, clear jaw.

  “Maggie O’Shay?” Catrin asked.

  “That I am. Did someone send you?”

  “Mrs. Barr at the dry goods store said you might help me,” Catrin replied.

  Maggie O’Shay laughed. “I’m supposing it isn’t all she said about me. Maureen Barr looks down upon the ungodly. Come in.” Maggie O’Shay opened the door wider.

  Catrin stepped in nervously and looked around. The one room of the house on this level had another door at the back, and narrow stairs up to the next floor. A large kitchen stove dominated one corner. A work table sat in front of it, with two wing chairs before the table. The room was small enough that the backs of the wing chairs left just enough room to pass between them and the front wall. There was no other furniture. A deep sink was mounted against the wall by the stove.

  The size of the room wasn’t what caught Catrin’s attention, though.

  Across the roof in rows which made her recall hay fields before haying began, ropes had been strung. Over the ropes were hung bunches of herbs and other plants for drying. They were all mottled and faded gray and green, shriveled through drying and unidentifiable. The aroma which wafted from them was not unpleasant, though.

  Maggie O’Shay lifted her gaze to the roof, following Catrin’s. She smiled.

  “Are you ungodly?” Catrin asked curiously.

  “No more than you, I’m guessing,” Maggie replied. “Although it depends upon who is doing the judging. Mrs. Barr has high standards. ‘tis a pity she fails to meet them herself more often than not.” She laughed again, showing white, whole teeth. Her eyes danced. “Tell me you haven’t sinned yourself more than once, Miss Davies.”