Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  With the flesh beside the scar addressed, she turned to the scar itself. Catrin dipped her finger back into the oil, then lightly touched the top of the scar where the red lumpy flesh began. She let the oil slide from her finger to spread over the flesh.

  Daniel closed his eyes.

  “I’m hurting you?”

  He swallowed. “No,” he said, his voice harsh.

  Catrin continued spreading the oil. “It is just skin, Daniel. Odd-looking, but not disgusting. There are other parts of a man’s body which might also be described that way.”

  His eyes snapped open.

  “Consider your big toe,” she suggested. “It is rather knobby and ugly, really.”

  His jaw worked. He relaxed. “While yours are simply delightful,” he breathed. His hand settled on her waist, warm and heavy. The flush in his good cheek receded. “The oil does seem to help…a little,” he admitted.

  Because she was so close, Catrin could not resist reaching up to kiss him.

  Daniel drew back, with a soft hiss.

  Disappointed, she whispered, “My kisses still hurt…”

  “It isn’t you,” he said quickly. “Even with the oil, the movement makes everything ache. Underneath the scar. I know that makes no sense—”

  “Actually, it makes more sense than you realize,” Catrin assured him, thinking of Gethin Merrick’s talk about internal scars.

  Daniel’s hand shifted against her torso. She recognized the shift in his thoughts. His gaze met hers. “You should go back to Marblethorpe with your father, Cat. Today. Now.”

  Fear made her breathe quickly, spreading it through her body and making her feel ill with the acid bite of it upon every nerve. “You gambled and now you think you will lose.”

  “Someone wants me blamed for the murders and I have no idea who, which means I can’t brace myself for what is to come. I can protect you, though.”

  “By sending me back to Sussex,” she concluded. “Back to the safe cocoon.”

  He put his other hand on her waist, too, and gave her a little shake. “Don’t fight me on this, Catrin. Go back. I can think better…I can fight this better, if you are out of the way.”

  She rested her clean hand on his chest. The Inspector had suggested Daniel might be so riddled with pain he no longer cared about real-world consequences. Before she had arrived, Catrin suspected it had been nearly true. Only, her arrival had turned that tide. She had fumbled and hurt Daniel with her actions and behavior, yet she had also drawn him out of the abyss. He had responded to her, while ignoring everyone else.

  “I am staying here,” she told him. “In front of you, or beside you. I don’t care which. You must put up with not being able to think properly, Daniel. Besides, I have always been able to think better than you.”

  His gaze narrowed and indignation grew in his eyes. Then they cleared. He touched his lips to hers briefly. “You might be right.”

  CATRIN COULD NOT IGNORE DANIEL’S lingering signs of pain and discomfort. The oil only helped the superficial scar.

  “I have been staring at bright sunlight and taking in too much noise and confusion,” he growled, squeezing his temples with one long hand. His whole body hunched over.

  “Would throwing a few plates help?” she asked. “I can have Sayers bring the entire pantry’s worth if it will.”

  Daniel gave a half-smothered, choking laugh.

  “What does help? Walking?”

  “Not in daylight,” he said quickly.

  “In here?” She glanced around the large room, which was empty of all but the bed and the washstand and the little table beneath the window.

  “That…and silence,” he admitted. He glanced at her. His eyes were slivers of pain. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

  Catrin shook her head. “No. If you want silence and darkness and time to walk, you shall have it.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Shall I have a bottle of port brought, too?” It had been port he had been drinking, the first day she arrived here.

  “If it gets bad enough.” He ended the sentence with a gasp and closed his eyes. “I think I should keep my wits, for now.”

  Catrin withdrew from the room and closed the door. She warned Sayers to keep the staff away from the room unless Daniel wanted something.

  Her father was not in the drawing room.

  “Mr. Davies said he had things to do in the village, Miss,” Sayers said. “He told me not to bother with supper for him, neither. Said he’d be back late tonight, he thought.”

  “Either,” Catrin corrected absently. Likely, her father had gone to the Castle Inn, the heart of Newport, to meet anyone who might remember him. It suited her that he was not here. She could not be sent back to Marblethorpe with him, like a too-much-underfoot kitten.

  She went to the library and her small desk. Her unanswered letters had been growing swiftly. She suspected she would be able to concentrate on them about as successfully as Daniel could concentrate right now. The work would make the time pass, though.

  When it grew dark enough to light the lamp, she asked that her supper be brought to her in the library. She ate at her desk, a bite before each dip of the pen into the inkpot.

  The sound of carriage wheels upon the gravel in the yard made Catrin put her pen down and stretch hard. She moved over to the windows on that side of the room and peered down at the gravel. The lights from the drawing room spilled upon the plinth and the battered Newport cabriolet, which stood there.

  Her father must have drunk too much and been forced to use the cab, instead of walking back.

  Only, when Rhys stepped down onto the gravel, he straightened easily and without swaying, then turned back to hold the door open.

  Cian jumped down to the gravel with one step of his long legs and glanced at the house before turning back to the carriage.

  Catrin’s lips parted in surprise.

  Cian held up his hand and a delicate lady’s hand rested on it. The lady herself stepped down, gleaming in yellow silk.

  Why…that was Eleanore Neville, the Duke of Gainford’s sister! Catrin had not spoken to her at Season events, because the Nevilles did not hide their dislike of the Williams. Catrin had kept her distance in support of her cousins.

  Eleanore Neville said something to Cian, her smile warm.

  Secondary shock rippled through Catrin’s body as she recognized the intimacy in the woman’s smile. She and Cian were together! How marvelous!

  And how much news had Catrin missed out on while in Denmark?

  Cian drew Eleanore aside and a third man stepped out of the carriage.

  Raymond, Daniel’s step-father. He straightened and considered the house, too, while Rhys moved over to the front of the cab and paid the driver.

  The carriage rolled away as they turned toward the house. Sayers strode out to greet them. Sayers would take them into the drawing room and serve refreshments before coming to find Catrin. There would be chatter and noise and the clink of glasses and more…

  Catrin rapped her knuckles sharply against the window pane and everyone looked up. She beckoned them to her and pointed at the far drawing-room door, though which they could enter and come straight up to the library.

  Then she hurried to the stairs herself, to meet them there.

  Rhys was the first one in the door. Catrin put her finger to her lips and beckoned everyone to follow her.

  She climbed up the stairs and made sure the door to the center wing corridor was firmly shut, then moved into the library and turned to greet everyone. “Daniel is suffering a headache,” she told them. “Noise bothers him. We’re far enough away from him in here.”

  Her father wore a guilty expression.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she asked Cian and Raymond.

  “I wired Raymond as soon as I arrived in Newport and heard about the fuss,” Rhys said.

  “We sailed up from Falmouth,” Cian added. He drew Eleanore forward. “Eleanore, this is my cousin, Catrin Davies, the youngest dau
ghter of the Davies family. Catrin, meet Eleanore Neville, heir of Gainford, and my fiancé.” His smile was self-conscious and proud…and happy.

  Catrin laughed and hugged him. “Oh, that is good news!” She turned to Eleanore. “I am very pleased to meet you, Lady Eleanore.”

  Eleanore’s smile was as warm and happy as Cian’s. “I am Ellie,” she replied. “Among the family, at least.” Her smile curved into a mischievous one. “I couldn’t resist a longer sail upon the open sea. Waves used to terrify me, you see, and…well, I think that is a story for another time. You are one of the last of Cian’s family I have left to meet,” she added. “Daniel, too.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry for the trouble which has found you.”

  “Is that why you came?” Catrin asked Raymond, who stood with his arms crossed behind the new couple.

  Raymond’s jaw rippled. “Daniel is not always in a position to defend himself vigorously—not these days.”

  Cian considered Catrin. “Although, he does have a champion here, after all,” he added.

  Catrin’s cheeks burned.

  Eleanore slid her gloves from her hands and took off her fur-edged coat and shook it out. “Would it disturb Daniel if I find my way to the kitchen and ask for tea and a sandwich? There was no food upon the Natasha Marie—none I would consider eating, at least.”

  “Oh, I can ring for Sayers—” Catrin began.

  “I am sure I can find the kitchen myself…with Cian’s help. Cian?” Eleanore raised her brow.

  “Yes, of course.” He moved to the door.

  “In the south wing,” Catrin said quickly.

  Eleanore gave her a bright smile and moved after Cian, the short train of her dress hissing softly the way only good silk did.

  Catrin decided there were hidden depths to Lady Eleanore which she must discover, one day. Not today, though. Her father and Raymond pulled the chairs from the front of Daniel’s cluttered desk and put them in the space between the two desks.

  Raymond picked up the big chair from behind Daniel’s desk and brought it around to the front, as well. He jolted the desk as he went and slapped his hand on a pile of pages which wavered and threatened to spill.

  He put the chair down in front of the other two.

  Rhys patted the chair. “Sit and tell us the part of the story we don’t know yet, darling daughter.”

  She settled on the chair, her heart sinking. “There are parts of the story I cannot share, Papa.”

  Rhys raised a brow. “If you think you might shock your poor father, you are mistaken. I was young once.”

  “And I am still young,” Raymond added with a growl and a glare at Rhys. “Is it true this Inspector Pryce thinks Daniel capable of these awful deeds?”

  “What happened out in the yard, Catrin?” Rhys added. “What did he say to you, out there?”

  Catrin glanced at her father. “Oh, it was awful…” she breathed. “With every truthful answer Daniel gave, it only seemed to make things worse—”

  Rhys held up his hand. “Slowly, slowly. Start at the beginning. I was only able to give Raymond the roughest details on the way here.”

  Catrin drew in a breath and let it out. She crossed her hands and assembled her thoughts, then spoke. It took time to tell the tale, for even though she thought she had started at the beginning she found herself moving back to explain something else in order to move forward.

  She told them everything—not because they asked, but because she trusted both absolutely. Raymond had been Daniel’s step-father for many years and Daniel respected him and was fond of him. Daniel was also pleased his mother was so happy with Raymond in her life. Rhys was Catrin’s father and he had never let her down or failed to help her when she asked him too.

  Catrin even told them Daniel had been with her last night. Both men shifted uneasily on their chairs as she admitted it, although neither looked shocked or grew angry. Rhys, instead, grew thoughtful. “The time Finn died has become critical,” he said, looking at Raymond. “I imagine that is what Pryce is working to establish now.”

  Raymond rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We should look into it ourselves. You know everyone here, Rhys.”

  Her father looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I knew many people here, a long time ago.”

  “My father was not thought highly of, when he lived here,” Catrin said, choosing her words carefully.

  Raymond raised a brow. “You?” he said to Rhys. “You’re one of the finest, most hard-working and morally upright men I know.”

  Her father’s high cheekbones tinged with pink.

  “Tell them he married a princess, Raymond,” Catrin suggested. “It seems to impress them greatly.”

  “That is because they don’t know the princess in question,” Raymond said, with a wicked grin. He patted Rhys’ shoulder. “A brandy and sleep, then we will get to the bottom of this bloody affair.”

  The movement of his arm stirred the air, which was the last nudge the pile of papers on Daniel’s desk needed. They slithered and wafted to the floor in a cascade of cream paper and violet ink, carried on the air to drift between their chairs and underneath them.

  “Oh, Daniel will be incensed!” Catrin breathed, scrambling to her feet.

  Both men jumped up and moved their chairs out of the way of the flood of paper. Catrin bent and scooped a handful of pages, trying to avoid changing their order. She had once dropped several chapters of a book and spent more than an hour sorting the pages back into their proper order. After that, she had learned to number her pages. If they were dropped, she could rearrange their order far more quickly.

  The pages she held were also numbered, she saw. Her heart gave a little jump of recognition.

  Only, Daniel was a journalist. Perhaps journalists always numbered their pages just as authors did.

  Catrin couldn’t help glancing down at the words on the page. She told herself it was purely to confirm she had, indeed, discovered for herself a professional journalistic practice, that the sheets she held were pages from an essay or article which Daniel had since published.

  Only, he had not published an article for the Times since he had returned from Algeria.

  The words on the page leapt into her mind. Unlike other people’s handwriting—such as Sharla’s terrible scrawl—Catrin could read Daniel’s script as easily and freely as her own, for she had seen so much of it.

  …this was too loud a compliment for Catrin to allow it to pass by without comment. Breathlessly, the blushing maiden admitted the connexion to that great family. Upon which, Mr. Felton expressed to Catrin his ardent, unceasing admiration—

  Rhys and Raymond were both picking up pages with swift economy, shuffling them together in any order. Catrin might have been bothered by the carelessness, only her heart was squeezing and her breath was too short to spare them any attention.

  Her heart thudded in her temples.

  Catrin.

  The style of the passionate words was familiar, even though she had never read the phrase before.

  Catrin moved over to the big desk and put the stack of pages upon the remainder of the pile they had disturbed. They would not be able to return them to their proper order—not now, and not before Daniel discovered what they had done.

  A small pile of pages sat on the left-hand side of the desk, tied together in one stack with tape. The tape was red and was the same style of tape which her own publishers used to bundle together her original manuscript to return it to her after publication.

  She looked at the top page.

  Miss Alderton’s Delightful Downfall

  By

  Mrs. Coralie Armistead

  It was Daniel’s handwriting.

  Catrin pressed her hand to her chest. She had read this story in the newspaper. Daisy Alderton had risked her reputation to say farewell to the soldier she loved in a night of passion…

  Her heart was hurting now. Catrin lifted the corner of the top page to peer at the first page beneath.

  Gentle
Reader,

  Let me tell you about my dearest and most loyal friend, Catrin Alderton—

  Catrin gasped. The page was full of red editorial ink, marking corrections and layout guides for the typesetters. The name—her name—had been scored across by red ink, and “Daisy replaces all” added above.

  She put the manuscript down, drawing in little sips of air, as dizziness swamped her. She pressed her hand upon the desk, propping herself up. Her stays were too tight. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Catrin,” her father murmured. He tapped her shoulder.

  Catrin made herself look up. It took effort to focus upon him. Rhys moved his chin and shifted his gaze, drawing her attention toward the door.

  Daniel stood in the library doorway, one hand on the door handle. He wore a heavy overcoat and thick scarf and held the hiking staff which he took with him on his nightly walks across Carninglis.

  His clear eyes were fury-filled, as he took in her telling position at the desk.

  Raymond cleared his throat. “Time for brandy,” he said. “Rhys?”

  “Yes. Coming…” The two men moved toward the door, slowing as they reached Daniel.

  Daniel moved into the room, giving them access to the doorway. They slipped past without murmur and Daniel shut the door behind them. He didn’t slam it, which Catrin half expected. He closed it with slow deliberation and the soft click made her flinch.

  Catrin made her way back to the big chair still sitting in the middle of the sea of pages and fell onto it. She hung her head, fighting to draw in enough air to calm her chaotic pulse.

  She heard Daniel’s measured tread and trembled. She didn’t have the strength to lift her head and confront him as she wanted to.

  He stopped by the side of the chair. She saw his feet from the corner of her eye.

  “Raymond bumped the table, and the pages fell…” she whispered.

  “How much did you read?” Daniel asked. His voice was harsh with control and held no emotion.

  “Enough to learn you are Coralie Armistead.” She put her hands over her face and gave a soft moan. “It is me you write about, isn’t it? I’m Daisy.”