Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She was with child.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On the same day Catrin boarded the train for Truro one last time, the Times newspaper published a review of The Limits Drawn Around Us. Catrin read the review on the train. She found it difficult to focus on the lengthy review. She reread sections slowly, taking in the meaning a paragraph at a time, as the train rattled and rocked at a staggering forty miles an hour.

  Unlike the diluted reviews from minor newspapers and magazines which appeared shortly after the book’s publication, the reviewer from the Times seemed to understand King was in earnest. He outlined King’s thesis on the poor life afforded women in a world where men were considered supreme for no other reason than that society upheld the inequality. He agreed that the disparity would damage all of humanity in the long term, if allowed to continue. The limits placed upon women would affect men, too.

  His review applauded the magnifying glass King put upon humanity, calling it a most timely and refreshing perspective.

  It was satisfying to have the book properly understood and praised in public, but Catrin put the review aside as the train chugged into Truro, unable to maintain the warmth the review should have imparted. It simply wasn’t relevant to her anymore.

  She stepped onto the platform in search of a cab to Innesford and left the newspaper in the compartment.

  Catrin had sent no letter nor telegraph to warn anyone she was coming to Innesford. It didn’t surprise her that even the butler, Travers, fluttered about her with building panic, as she moved through the front hall, looking into the various rooms laying off the hall in search of anyone—Cian, or Daniel himself. From Cian’s last letter, she knew Daniel had emerged from his sick room and spent his days downstairs, although he still refused to step out of the house.

  “Daniel!” she called.

  A curse sounded, soft and low. Then running steps.

  Cian burst into the hall from the library, coming to a skidding halt on the slate. “You can’t be here,” he said breathlessly, his hands up, as if he wanted to contain her.

  Behind him, the library door shut. It didn’t swing slowly as it would if Cian had merely pushed it too hard. From between the closing door and the frame, Catrin glimpsed the room beyond—dark with drawn drapes.

  Then the door closed. The key turned in the lock with a distinct and loud click of iron.

  Catrin’s heart threw itself against her chest. She stepped around Cian and moved over to the door and rapped it with her knuckles. “Daniel…please. You must let me in. I must speak with you. Please.”

  She knew Cian stood behind her, and Travers was upon the step down to the drawing room. They hovered as if they would swoop in and tear her away from the door if they thought it necessary.

  It meant she couldn’t speak freely. That made it imperative she find a way into the room where she could speak to Daniel behind a closed door, so only he heard her.

  “Daniel!” She knocked again. Sharply.

  Still no sound.

  Catrin pressed her hand to the door. “Daniel.” She spoke softly, so only he would hear. “I don’t care what you look like. I don’t care how you are now. We are far beyond such considerations. Please let me in.”

  Cian’s hand settled on her shoulder. “Catrin…”

  She shook off his hand and pummeled the door with her fist. “Daniel!”

  Cian hauled her away from the door, an arm around her waist. Catrin struggled, her heart straining, her breath ragged. Fear clawed at her throat. Desperation made her cry out as she struggled.

  Cian was a man and therefore stronger. He carried her into his study and shut the door and stood with his back to it, while Catrin propped herself up with a hand on the desk. She felt faint and dizzy, as she did now when she over-exerted herself. She swayed, fighting for balance, her eyes closed.

  “He won’t let you see him,” Cian said.

  Her tears fell. She had hoped against hope that this time, with the news she carried, she would change Daniel’s mind. Only, he had not asked her to visit, not once. He did not know why she desperately needed to speak to him now, so the injunction still held.

  “I must speak to him…” she said helplessly.

  “You wouldn’t like it if you did,” Cian said, his tone flat.

  She forgot about her tears and her dizziness, and glanced at him, startled.

  Cian shook his head. “He has changed, Catrin. He’s barely the man you once knew. You wouldn’t recognize him now.”

  “It’s just a scar!” she cried. “You think I care about that?”

  “It is more than a scar,” Cian said softly. “I don’t know how to explain it. I can only tell you that he has changed…and he is aware of it. It is why he won’t speak to you.”

  Catrin swallowed. “Ever again?” she whispered, her horror building.

  Cian hesitated. “For now,” he said. “Who knows what lies in the future?”

  Catrin closed her eyes. “I thought I did.”

  TWO WEEKS LATER, AFTER FRANTIC wires and letters to Bronwen in Denmark, Catrin boarded the Skjold to sail to Copenhagen, then by train to Silkeborg, ostensibly to spend time visiting with her sister. The wire from her publisher was delivered to her at the dining table by the ship’s purser, while everyone looked impressed that the young Miss had received a cable.

  CONGRATULATIONS. LIMITS AROUND US SOLD OUT, HURRYING TO REPRINT.—ANGLIA PUBLISHING.

  Catrin burned the cable.

  Ysolgheigion, Wales. Present Day.

  CATRIN LAID IN THE DARK, listening to Daniel’s somnolent breathing, remembering everything, including the now hazy six months she had lived in a tiny cottage upon the Grand Duke’s estate in Silkeborg, with only Bronwen’s almost daily visits to break the monotony of Catrin’s routine.

  While the child grew inside her, writing became more of an escape than ever before. The public had been ecstatic when Gresham King returned to his grand adventures, with stories appearing in every major paper and magazine.

  The income Catrin received from the stories took on new meaning. Ben acted as her representative and sent her funds each month, which she barely touched. Instead, she put it aside, knowing she would need the money when the child was born.

  Then, in late December, she gave birth in an exhausting thirteen-hour delivery with only the mid-wife for company. As arranged, the little girl, whom she named Alice, was taken away a week later. Alice was to be cared for by a new widow and mother in dire need of income to support her three young children.

  For a month, Catrin recovered from the birth, her mind stirring sluggishly and turning with deep reluctance to face a future which seemed bleak and hopeless. She had not once heard from Daniel.

  The one fact she knew was that Daniel now lived in Wales. Cian had written, telling her of his offer of the family house, Ysgolheigion, to Daniel. It would serve as a remote place of solitude where Daniel’s moods and his scarred face would not bother anyone. Daniel had been living there since June.

  On a long walk with Bronwen through the forests around Silkeborg, with the royal retinue a good fifty yards behind them, Catrin explained her decision as best she could. “I would not be able to live with myself if I do not try one last time to speak to Daniel.”

  “Will you tell him about Alice?” Bronwen asked.

  “No. Not in the beginning. It would be like…it would force him to a decision I want him to make on his own. Do you see?”

  “Perhaps it would be best if he was forced,” Bronwen said gently. “For his own good, as well as his daughter’s.”

  “It would only make him unhappy. Cian tells me he is unhappy enough already. He’s stuck in Wales, hiding away in that disreputable house, when he once sailed the world. Alice would be yet another wall.”

  “But that is what men do when they become fathers. They settle down,” Bronwen pointed out with a reasonable tone.

  “When they choose to, yes. Telling Daniel about Alice would take away any choice he has. I won’t d
o that to him. You and I both know how lack of choice chokes one and shrivels the soul.”

  Bronwen’s smile was small and understanding. “We do,” she agreed. “But…oh, I will miss you! So will Alice.”

  “I may be back within the month,” Catrin warned her, as they hugged. “I don’t know what waits for me in Wales at all.”

  Catrin remembered the conversation with Bronwen, while she watched Daniel’s silhouette grow lighter as the sky outside turned toward dawn.

  All her life, since she had emerged into society, Catrin had tried to steer a course of her choosing and failed. Now, her future, if she was to have one, laid in Daniel’s hands, along with the slenderest sliver of hope.

  When she woke next, the sun shone and heavy male voices sounded from below. It was late. The sheet beside her was empty.

  Gwen rapped upon the door. “Miss Davies…there’s people to speak to you, downstairs!”

  Catrin sat up, groggy with broken sleep and disoriented. “Gwen? Who would want to speak to me?” She rubbed her eyes, then lifted her nightgown from the end of the bed and put it on. “Come in, please. Speaking through the keyhole is undignified.”

  Gwen opened the door. Her face was grim. “There’s been another mauling, Miss! On Carninglis, last night!” Her hands wrung together.

  Catrin got out of bed, trying to put things together. “I heard the wolf…” She frowned. “My wrapper, Gwen. It will have to do for now. Yes, over the top of my nightdress. Who wants to speak to me? And why me?”

  “They say they’re speaking to everyone who knows him, to figure out what happened and why he went out upon Carninglis when he wasn’t supposed to…”

  For a moment which seemed to freeze time itself, Catrin’s thoughts halted. Instead, horror took their place.

  Daniel. He hadn’t been here when she woke. Had he ventured out again…?

  “Who was killed?” Catrin breathed.

  “Finn Doherty, Miss! Blodwen Jones’ man.”

  THE DRAWING ROOM WAS FULL of people when Catrin came downstairs, most of them known to her.

  Nevern stood by the fire, warming his hands. Daniel sat on the window seat in the late morning sunlight, his scarred cheek to the window where no one could see it.

  Catrin let her gaze linger on Daniel, tasting once more the panic which had risen when she thought he might be the new victim of the wolf.

  Dr. Jones sat at the small round table, sipping tea. Catrin’s throat contracted longingly at the sound of the china against the saucer. “Gwen, may I have a cup of tea?” she murmured, as the room stirred at her arrival, and heads turned to look at her.

  Rhys Kernigan, the mayor, sprawled in an armchair. Beside the chair, Simon Evans stood at rigid attention, his cap under his arm and his gaze upon the only stranger in the room.

  The stranger stood near Nevern and the fire. He was a tall man with silver white hair receding at the temples but thick everywhere else. His brows were the same silver white, while his flourishing beard was steel gray. The flesh of his face and the hands folded over the top of his cane was thin and worn from age, yet his eyes were alive with vigor and youthfulness. They were a pale blue and met Catrin’s gaze squarely.

  He wore a black morning suit, with a paisley cravat—an old-fashioned touch. Most men wore the new style ties these days.

  Nevern stepped forward. “Miss Davies, let me introduce you to Inspector Sir Devlin Pryce, of the Haverfordwest Borough, of the Pembrokeshire Police Force. Sir Pryce, this is Catrin Davies, daughter of Rhys Davies, who was once a local lad here.”

  “I remember Rhys Davies,” Pryce said. “Thin and gangly and fine black Welsh looks, like his mother…and like his daughter.” Devlin Pryce gave a short bow. “Miss Davies.”

  “Sir Pryce,” Catrin acknowledged. Haverfordwest Borough? It would explain why Simon stood so rigidly. Pryce was his superior.

  “Inspector Pryce has been charged with investigating the deaths upon Carninglis,” Nevern added.

  Catrin glanced at Daniel. He did not participate in the conversation. She wasn’t sure if he even listened. His gaze was upon something outside, in the front courtyard.

  “I heard the wolf last night,” Catrin told Nevern and Pryce. “I didn’t think a wolf hunt would fall within the purview of the police, Inspector.”

  “It doesn’t,” Pryce said. His cultured voice held none of the wobble or weakness which sometimes came with age. “We are not hunting a wolf.”

  Catrin frowned. “They found paw prints, and I heard… Do you think it is a dog, then?”

  “Not a wolf nor a dog,” Daniel said, from his position by the window. “The Inspector thinks both people died at the hands of another person.”

  “Murder…” Catrin breathed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Inspector sent Dr. Jones off in one of the two carriages waiting out in the yard, to collect the body of Finn Doherty and take it back to his surgery for examination.

  Then he politely asked if he might have a cup of tea and speak with Catrin and Daniel.

  Catrin called in Sayers and asked him to have tea served at the table in the dining room, along with a scone, if there were any to hand—which she knew there was, for she had smelled the warm, doughy scent of them baking as she came down the stairs. She would break her fast while the Inspector had his tea.

  It surprised Catrin when Nevern and Kernigan both sat at the table. Simon took up his post at the door to the dining room, startling Sayers and Mary when they entered with the big trays in their hands.

  Daniel took the chair at the head of the table and turned it so when he sat, his scar faced the wood paneling.

  Catrin was starving. She drank half a cup of tea and ate almost all of one scone while the others were still pouring and adjusting their tea with sugar and milk.

  She realized that Daniel watched her. His expression was bleak and his eyes steady.

  Her hunger diminished.

  The Inspector drank three quick mouthfuls of tea, then put the cup down with the air of someone turning to the business at hand. “Baron Nevern has told me of your small investigation into Miss Jones’ movements on her last day. What you established, Miss Davies, helped me drawn my own conclusions about this matter when I was informed about the second death late last night.” He nodded toward Simon, at the door. “Constable Evans sent a wire. I set out for Newport as soon as I heard the name of the second victim.”

  “Why would it make you think a person did this?” Catrin asked, bewildered. “And why would they do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know why, yet,” Pryce replied. “I do know the connection between the two victims makes this the work of a human, not a wolf. There have been other people walking among the hills at night. They saw nothing and were not accosted. Even the honorable Mister Williams walks nightly upon the hills, I’m told. Yet he has seen no wolves and no spore. Of all the people who have business upon the hills, only these two particular people were victims. They were selected, Miss Davies.”

  Catrin drank her tea, to give her hands something to do. “I did not know Blodwen, and I only met Mr. Doherty after she died.”

  “Oh, I know you did not do this, Miss Davies,” Pryce said, with a small smile. “You are a woman.”

  Heat flared in Catrin’s middle. “If you are implying I am incapable of—”

  Pryce lifted his hand and waved it in a shushing gesture. “I imply nothing, Miss. I have seen Mr. Doherty—what remains of him. Only someone exceedingly strong could have done what they did to the man. He was gutted, Miss.”

  Catrin pushed the remains of her scone away from her. “They both were. You are saying only someone with a man’s strength could have done it. I see.”

  “Exactly.” Pryce inclined his head. “You understand me.”

  “It does not exclude women altogether,” she pointed out. “For instance, Gwen—my maid—is quite strong.”

  Pryce smiled. “You may be surprised by how much force is necessary to carve through hum
an organs and intestines.”

  Catrin swallowed. Simon, at the door, had turned a pasty white.

  Even Nevern stared at his teacup, his throat working.

  “Let us say that the average woman is likely not strong enough, shall we?” Pryce suggested.

  “I concede the point,” Catrin replied. “It is immaterial in one respect—on the night Blodwen Jones was murdered, I was attending a dinner party hosted by Baron Nevern. So was Mr. Kernigan and Simon.”

  “Which I established with the Baron. Thank you,” Pryce replied. “However, I will speak to everyone associated with the victim. That includes Sir Merrick, who I believe was at the dinner party, too.”

  Catrin wanted to ask him why Merrick was associated with Blodwen, only Sayers cleared his throat at the doorway, drawing everyone’s attention. “Miss Davies, a gentleman is here to speak to you. He is in the drawing room.”

  Everyone in the room look as startled as Catrin felt. Few people in Newport might call upon her without notice, and all of them stood in this room.

  Catrin put her napkin on the table and got to her feet. Everyone jumped to theirs and she hesitated. “I’m sorry Inspector. I don’t know who the caller is. Let me deal with them and I will return at once.”

  “Do not hurry, Miss Davies,” the Inspector said. “I have more questions for Mr. Williams.”

  Catrin saw Daniel’s brow lift, before she hurried from the room. Why did the Inspector have more questions for Daniel?

  She moved into the drawing room and came to an astonished halt. Her father stood by the fire, examining the flames and the copper flue above. He turned to face her when he heard her enter. He held his hat in one hand and wore a warm smile.

  Catrin hurried over to Rhys and kissed his cheek. “Papa! What on earth are you doing here?”

  “You came here straight from Denmark, without a pause to visit us at Marblethorpe. I thought I would come to you instead.” He looked around the room. Then out the window at the crest of Carninglis. “I have not been back to Newport since I left at sixteen. If you can stand to be in this place, so can I. I thought…perhaps I could show you the town. The parts of it I remember, at least.”