Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Catrin put her hand to her brow. “Papa, you have arrived at the most awkward time. I mean, it is lovely to see you and I am glad you came. Only, there have been two people killed upon the hills, and the police inspector tells me it isn’t the work of a wolf, but a man.”

  Rhys lifted his brow and looked toward the dining room, from where many male voices emerged. “The Inspector is here right now?”

  “Yes. He’s talking to Daniel.”

  “And how is Daniel?”

  Catrin hesitated. “It has been…difficult. So much has happened since I arrived.”

  “I noticed.” Her father peered through the windows once more. “Would I be permitted to take you for a short ride? Now I am here, I find I am keen to inspect the town. I would like to see how much it has changed.”

  Catrin looked back toward the dining room. “Do you remember a man called Devlin Pryce, Papa? He remembers you.”

  Her father rubbed his brow. “The name is familiar. A tall man, with blue eyes.”

  “That is him. He is an Inspector with the police now.”

  Her father wrinkled his brow. “You have a full house. Let me take you out for a while, for fresh air. Then I can return to Marblethorpe tomorrow and assure your mother you are fine. She was anxious to know how you fare.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa. My life has been confused, lately. I needed to speak to Daniel, before I could visit you.”

  “I am aware of that, darling daughter.” He kissed her forehead. “Indulge me for a few hours and after, I will leave you to speak to your Daniel. Then you may return to Marblethorpe and tell us all about Denmark and Bronwen.”

  HER FATHER HAD RENTED A local hack, which stood waiting behind Nevern’s black carriage. Her father gave the driver instructions, then climbed into the carriage with her. He gave her a short smile which seemed to have some tension in it.

  “I find being in Newport is stirring up memories I had forgotten about,” he said. “The smell of the sea here, the sight of Carninglis on the horizon. How narrow the streets are.”

  Catrin picked up his hand and held it. “Was your life here really so unhappy?”

  Rhys sighed. “You know how it is. I was the bastard son of an unmarried woman. Because my father would not recognize me, everyone presumed my lack of name meant I was a blackguard and a thief, if not destined to be an outright murderer. Suspicion rose easily when my name was spoken.”

  “Which makes it all the more admirable that you made such a good life for yourself.”

  “Devlin Pryce!” her father muttered, with a shocked note in his voice.

  “You remember him, now.”

  “Indeed. My word, Catrin, if that man is investigating the murders, it must be serious. He is as sharp as a tack. He worked upon a fishing boat until he joined the Army. He covered himself in glory during the Crimea war and the Queen knighted him for his services. And now you say he is working with the police force. It makes a great deal of sense, if you know the man at all. I wouldn’t want to have him on my tail, not for a moment.”

  “Has he ever been on your tail, Papa?”

  Her father laughed. “Once, yes. I stole a fish from his catch one day. I thought I had got clean away with it until he arrived at my mother’s house and demanded recompense for the fish.”

  “Did you give it back to him?”

  “We couldn’t. We had eaten it for dinner. I told him that and said I would work to pay for it. I was lucky. He agreed to the arrangement. I had to go out on his boat well before dawn every day and work my fingers to the bone hauling nets. Then back to Newport, to walk to the quarry and complete my night shift. It was the hardest three days of my life. I was never tempted to steal another thing, not even when we were so hungry we were faint with it.”

  Her father looked out through the carriage windows, but not at the landscape rolling past them, or the poor cottages and houses. He looked back through history.

  “Every week, sometimes twice a week, we found a fish on our doorstep, after that. The fish stopped arriving when Pryce left for the Army, but by then, my mother was dead and I left Newport.”

  The carriage came to a halt. They climbed out and her father tucked her hand under his elbow and patted her fingers. “I don’t think I have ever told you how much you look like my mother. She was an exquisite woman. You surpass her in beauty.”

  Catrin smiled at him. “I once wished I had been born plain and uninteresting.”

  “Why would you wish that?”

  “When I was younger, I presumed being plain and overlooked meant people would stop underestimating me. Now I am a little older and understand it wouldn’t have made any difference. Because I am a woman, I am underestimated. There is nothing I can do to change that.”

  Rhys sighed and nodded. “The quandary of most women. People fail to see beneath the surface. Although, you could always turn that inclination to the good. Sometimes being under estimated gives you a distinct advantage.”

  “It already has,” she said. “I am sure that if everyone knew I was Gresham King, they would hang off my elbows. As it is, I can go about my business in peace and quiet, while people like Charles Dickens cannot draw a breath without someone observing them and asking them about it.”

  “God rest his soul,” Rhys added.

  He stopped in front of an old cottage with a thatched roof and gray walls. It was as small and mean as any cottage Catrin had seen in Newport. The windows were tiny and dirty. It did not look as though anyone lived in it. Perhaps they had not been there for a long while. Dirt had built up in front of the door. Weeds had established themselves in amongst the thatch, which looked more green than brown.

  Cottages were on either side. As they peered at the disused cottage, a thin woman wearing a dirty apron stepped out of the cottage on the right and tossed a pan of greens and leftovers onto the ground, where chickens scratched and pecked.

  She looked at Rhys and Catrin with sharp interest. “There be no one living there anymore.”

  “My father lived here as a child,” Catrin told her.

  Rhys drew in a slow breath, as if she had surprised him. He had not told her this was his mother’s house, although it could be nothing else. He had come straight here, after talking about his mother.

  “That so?” The woman came closer, peering at Rhys with narrowed eyes. Her brow lifted. “My goodness… Rhys Davies? Is it really you?”

  “Yes, I am Rhys Davies,” her father said. A defensive note tinged his tone.

  The woman put her hand on her hip. “You likely don’t remember me. You were a big tall boy, when I was not yet at my mother’s waist. I remember you very well, though. I remember what they said about you. My mother told me never to play with you. I always wondered why. I never found out, until after I was married and had children of my own.”

  Catrin squeezed her father’s elbow. “My father overcame his birth. He is one of the most successful barristers in all of London, and he married a princess. My mother.”

  The woman’s mouth opened. Then closed. She opened it again. She shook her head. “A princess… I guess it proves birthright isn’t always the stain they say it is.” She looked around the decrepit the yard she stood in, and sadness touched her face. “Sometimes, anyway.” She moved back into the cottage without saying another word and closed the door.

  “Let’s go back,” Catrin said. “Have you seen enough, Papa?”

  “More than enough,” her father said softly.

  They returned to the carriage. Her father peered through the window at the old and disused cottage, straining to observe it until it disappeared from view. He sighed and sat back. He glanced at her with a grimace. “I had not realized how many bitter memories I still have of this place. I thought it was difficult stepping inside Ysgolheigion, but this was much harder.”

  “Why would stepping inside Ysgolheigion be difficult?”

  “It wasn’t difficult at all,” he said. “I only thought it would be before I got there, because it is the
place where my mother…”

  “Where she met your father,” Catrin finished.

  Rhys shook his head. “No, they met in London. Ysgolheigion is the place where he seduced her. He kept her as his mistress for nearly two years and stole away from London to visit her when he was so inclined. When she became pregnant, he tossed her from the house. She managed to find rent for the cottage we were just at by taking in washing. Her career as an actress was ruined. Her life was ruined.” He hesitated, his gaze removed from hers. “I did that,” he added in a murmur.

  Catrin gripped his hand once more. “You did not ruin her. Your father did that. You did everything you could to support her and take care of her, from a young age. Mother told me you got your first job in the quarry when you were thirteen. You lied about your age.”

  Rhys grimaced. “It sounds very shoddy and desperate, said that way. It was simply what I had to do.” He squeezed her hands and gave it back to her. “The one gift my mother gave me was to teach me to read and write, which she had learned when she was a child. Because I could read and write, I could make something of myself. So I did. I moved to London the year she died. It took another year of working in the factories there to convince Mr. Sutcliffe at the law firm to take me on as a clerk. I kept on at him until he agreed to it, because the alternative was to return here, and I could not have borne it.”

  Catrin smiled at him fondly. “You really didn’t come here to visit me today, did you?”

  For long moment, her father didn’t answer. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I only realized it just now, but you are right. You were just an excuse, my darling daughter. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “I will only mind if you do not return home with a changed mind about Newport.”

  Rhys considered her once more. “There is no danger of that,” he said, his voice low.

  The carriage returned to the yard with the plinth in the center and they got out. Nevern’s carriage still stood upon the gravel, the horse feeding from a nose bag. The driver sat on the step at the foot of the plinth, smoking a pipe, with his lined and weathered face turned up to the sun.

  Rhys examined the house with a critical eye, taking in the bluestone walls and the many windows. “If one looks at the house with an unjaundiced eye, one can see it is a pleasant place.”

  “Does it bother you still, Papa, that Aunt Natasha’s father never helped you in any way?”

  Rhys grimaced. “I never wanted his help,” he said softly. “I took care of myself and my mother. Only…I sometimes wish he had acknowledged me as his own, even if behind a closed door with no one to witness it. I spent long years believing he spurned me because I was flawed or incomplete.” His smile was sour and self-deprecating.

  Catrin tried to smile at him as her heart gave a little jolt. Was that the way Alice would look at Daniel in the years ahead, if Catrin did not tell him about her? Would Alice believe she was flawed, too?

  She pressed her hand to her bodice, uneasy.

  “Daniel was named for me. Did you know?” Rhys asked.

  “What?” she breathed, shock touching her all over again. Had her father plucked her thoughts from her mind?

  “Daniel Rhys Williams. Natasha gave him my name.” He smiled. “I told her it was about time. Daniel was her third son. I had to wait for years while she used every other man’s name. She told me she waited for the right son. Daniel was the right son to bear my name.” His gaze met hers. “Shall we rescue him from Pryce?”

  Shaken, Catrin took his arm once more. They moved inside, where everyone ranged about the drawing room. The Inspector stood by the fire, his pointed beard thrust forward as he glared at Daniel.

  Daniel sat upon the window seat, but he was not turned so his cheek was hidden. He sat squarely, glaring back at Pryce.

  His temper had been roused.

  “What is happening here?” Rhys asked loudly.

  Pryce tilted his head. “Rhys Davies. You’re still narrow in the face. How is it you are here?”

  “My daughter is here. I am entitled to visit her.”

  “Perhaps a guardian for the lady would be appropriate,” Pryce said, causing Catrin to suck in a breath in irritation. “As it seems Mr. Williams may not be the best company for her to keep.”

  “What does that mean?” Catrin demanded.

  “It means, he suspects I may have killed Blodwen and Finn,” Daniel said, his voice low and tight. He pressed his fingers to his temple, his eyes narrowing.

  He was in pain. When he was in pain, he said things he didn’t mean and his behavior looked like that of a mad man.

  There was no thought in it. Catrin turned and put herself in front of Daniel and faced Pryce. “Your suggestion is outrageous, sir!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Catrin’s father also stepped forward. “It is, indeed, a ludicrous notion. I have known Daniel Williams all his life. He is not your man, sir.”

  Devlin Pryce did not move. He barely blinked at their opposition. Simon stirred, looking from one person to the next, as if he was braced to lunge and protect the Inspector.

  “Sit down, both of you,” Daniel said, his tone sharp. “The fact is, I don’t properly remember where I walked last night. Or most nights. I only ever remember returning when…when my thoughts are clearer.”

  Catrin turned to him. “It doesn’t mean anything other than you cannot properly remember,” she pointed out.

  Daniel pointedly glanced at the other end of the long cushion he sat upon.

  Catrin sighed and sat on the edge of it. After a moment, her father took the other end of the sofa from the end where Kernigan sat.

  Nevern was at the table where Dr. Jones had been sitting. He had a cup of tea in front of him, too. As her father and she settled themselves, Catrin saw him tip the contents of a silver flask into his tea, then stir it vigorously.

  Inspector Sir Devlin Pryce stirred, shifting his weight on his feet. His hands were behind his back. “You must understand that I can only consider the facts I uncover. I cannot afford to allow my judgment to be swayed by affirmations about character, or friendships, or what I may personally think about a man. Do you understand?”

  Her father frowned. “Appeals to emotions are how barristers win cases.”

  “While you must consider the facts with a neutral disposition,” Catrin added. “Lest you misinterpret them. Yes?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Pryce said, with a small smile.

  “How extraordinarily modern-minded of you,” Nevern murmured.

  “It’s all rather too scientific for me,” Kernigan said. “There're no facts, anyway,” he added, glaring at Pryce. “Except paw prints and the howl of wolves at night, and gutted bodies—forgive me for mentioning it, Miss Davies. If I do as you say and interpret them neutrally, then I get the same answer. There’s a bloody wolf upon the hills, eating people.”

  The Inspector did not seem to be upset by Kernigan’s foul mood. “Ah, but there are facts available, Mr. Kernigan, which point to the summation I arrived at before I even reached Newport. Now I have spoken to all of you, even more facts present themselves.”

  “Such as?” her father demanded. He still looked as angry as she felt.

  “In this particular case,” Pryce said, “on the two nights when Blodwen Davies and Finn Doherty were killed, Mr. Williams can remember little of where he went.”

  Daniel didn’t respond. He didn’t lift his gaze from the floor at his feet. Catrin saw a vein pulsing in his temple.

  “Daniel can’t remember any night very well,” Nevern pointed out. “I suspect that if you were to question the men who drink at the Castle Inn every night, they would be just as incapable of recalling their evenings.”

  Simon gave a soft snort, then pressed his lips together, to smother the sound and not smile.

  “Mr. Williams also walks upon the hills at night, which means he is in the right location, at the right time,” Pryce said. “It is not something the locals at the Castle Inn can claim. In addi
tion, I must take into account the enmity between Mr. Williams, and Finn Doherty.”

  “What?” Rhys breathed.

  Catrin drew in a slow breath, to hide her shock. She remembered Nevern had said something about Finn and Daniel, when she had spoken to Finn about Blodwen. It had been a passing comment.

  Nevern laughed softly. “If you classify a drunken argument at the Castle as enemies sparring, then Newport has been at war for decades, most especially at the end of the month, when wages are paid. It was nothing.”

  Catrin considered Nevern, warmth stirring. He was making light of a moment which had lingered in his memory, at least. He was trying to defend Daniel, too.

  Pryce was unmoved. “Even I heard of the incident, all the way in Carmarthen. It is true, Mr. Williams, that Finn insulted your father’s memory?”

  Daniel rubbed his temple, his fingers digging in. “When I first arrived in Newport, I spent an evening or two at the Castle. I thought port and good company among honest men might…help. Doherty, though, was Irish and from Harrow. He knew of my father, and his reputation when he was a young man.”

  “He called your father a criminal, did he not?” Pryce asked. “A criminal, a scrapper, and base-born.”

  Daniel’s frown deepened. “I remember something like that,” he admitted.

  “At which point, you grabbed Doherty by the scruff, then drove your fist into the wall beside his face,” Pryce finished.

  Catrin winced.

  “I didn’t touch him,” Daniel said, his voice low. “Except for holding him by the shirt.”

  “Dr. Jones tells me you broke your hand upon the wall,” Pryce finished. “Hardly the act of a contained and sensible man.”

  Daniel said nothing. His gaze was back upon the floor.

  The infamous Seth Williams black Irish temper. Daniel had inherited it, just as Cian and Neil had, only he had learned to contain it, until now when pain lowered his resistance.