Degree of Solitude

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “News,” Pryce murmured. He glanced at her.

  Sayers came jogging up to them, his face sweaty, his head gleaming and his breath coming in hard pants. He dropped the torch, which was spluttering and burning down near his hand, bent over and put his hands on his knees, bellowing.

  Catrin wanted to shake the news out of him. She clenched her fists and her jaw and made herself wait.

  “They found them,” Sayers gasped. “Mr. Davies and Lord Marblethorpe say to send a carriage, something to carry them both.”

  Catrin pressed her hand to her mouth to stop herself from making a sound. Her heart threw itself against her chest.

  “Alive?” Pryce asked.

  Sayers shook his head.

  Catrin moaned and Sayers lifted his hand in a calming gesture and gulped in a breath. “The Baron is dead. At the bottom of the pit. Mr. Williams only fell part way. He’s awful cut up and broken but he’s alive. That’s why the carriage. He needs…” Sayers blew out his breath. “He needs fixing.”

  Pryce turned to Catrin. “Run, if you can. Nevern’s carriage is still hitched at the front of the house. Take it to the quarry.” He lifted the rifle once more and fired off three quick shots. “I’ll bring everyone back in. Go!”

  She ran.

  CATRIN REMEMBERED NOTHING OF THE rattling, jolting journey to the quarry. The driver shouted at the horses and whipped them into a rare speed, while she clung to the railing and held on, her heart shuddering and her thoughts held in check.

  There were dozens of men in the quarry, and the combined light from their torches and lanterns threw clawing shadows upon the wall of the pit. They were gathered in a tight knot of concern at the base.

  As the carriage raced across the quarry toward them, the knot broke up. A dozen men lifted something from the ground and moved toward the carriage as it turned to present the door to them.

  Catrin’s father threw open the door. He had not attempted to carry Daniel, thank heavens. He turned to speak to the driver, holding a torch high so they could see clearly.

  Raymond and the other men clambered into the carriage and deposited Daniel upon the other bench. Raymond stripped off his coat and laid it over Daniel, then took off his jacket and folded it and put it under Daniel’s bloody head.

  Catrin was too terrified to make any sound at all. Daniel laid still. Every visible part of him was red with blood. Cuts on his face and hands were oozing blood, still. It dripped to the carriage floor.

  Raymond seemed to notice her for the first time. “Catrin!”

  Her father cursed and looked inside. “Damn it to hell, daughter. Why did you come? You didn’t need to see this.” He handed the torch to someone and climbed into the carriage as Raymond settled on Catrin’s other side and thumped the roof.

  The carriage rattled off once more.

  “He really lives?” Catrin breathed. She couldn’t take her gaze away from Daniel’s still figure.

  “If he’s of a mind to,” Rhys said softly.

  “It is a slate quarry,” Raymond reminded her. “Raw slate is sharp. He fell twenty feet onto one of the working platforms.”

  Rhys made a soft, annoyed sound.

  “She’s here and she hasn’t fainted,” Raymond pointed out. “Stop coddling her, Davies. Women are stronger than you give them credit for.”

  Daniel stirred and made a soft sound. It was a groan.

  Rhys pushed Catrin toward him. “Talk to the man,” he whispered. “Give him a reason to stay with the living.”

  Catrin drew in a shuddering breath and moved to settle on her knees beside Daniel. She didn’t care that she was kneeling in his blood. She picked up his hand and held it. “Daniel.”

  He didn’t open his eyes. Instead, his hand gave the smallest of squeezes about her fingers.

  Catrin realized she was crying only when she felt her tears drip from her chin. She leaned closer to Daniel so her lips were by his ear. “You must listen to me, Daniel. Listen to my voice. Will you do that?”

  Again, the tiny pressure came upon her fingers.

  “You must fight to stay with me, through whatever happens next. No matter how it hurts or how much you want to give up. I want you to fight for me…and…” She closed her eyes. “And your daughter, Daniel. She was born at Christmas, and her name is Alice.”

  Catrin heard her father draw in a loud and unsteady breath, although he said nothing.

  She tightened her hand about Daniel’s fingers. “We have spent our lives sending each other away because we did not want to ruin the other. Only, I have learned that my life is a ruin if you are not in it, Daniel. Alice’s life will be, too. I didn’t want to tell you about her, not until I knew you would not resent the burden she would put upon you. Only I cannot wait any longer, Daniel. We both need you.”

  He didn’t squeeze her hand again. His throat worked. From the corner of his bloody eyes, clear tracks appeared.

  Tears.

  “I love you, Daniel,” she whispered. “I don’t care about public declarations or ruin or how it might seem to anyone else in the world. I care about nothing but you. Please come back to me.”

  CATRIN CONTINUED TO HOLD DANIEL’S hand, even when she knew he no longer felt it. The jolting and the shaking of the carriage had proved too much. He had become unconscious.

  When the carriage stopped, Rhys thrust open the door. “Get in, Merrick.”

  “I just had some breathless lad tell me to get myself down to the footpath and stand here. What on earth is going on, Davies?” Gethin Merrick said, as he climbed into the carriage and fell onto the bench between Rhys and Raymond.

  His gaze swept over Catrin and Daniel’s body. “Oh, sweet lord…”

  Raymond rapped on the roof once more, as Rhys shut the door. The carriage rolled forward again.

  “Dr. Jones’ surgery is closest,” Rhys said. “He will have everything you need.”

  Merrick pushed his thick gray hair back. “Along with gallons of bleach, I hope. The man has the working habits of a pig in swill.” He tilted his head, studying Daniel. “Is that…slate in the wounds?” He drew forward, leaning closer to examine him, until he was on his knees beside Catrin. He lifted Raymond’s coat and blew out his breath.

  Then he rested his hand on Catrin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweet one. I know exactly what to do.”

  Catrin believed him.

  DAWN WAS APPROACHING WHEN CATRIN crept from Dr. Jones’ cottage and found the iron bench in the fallow garden. She was cold, her dress was ruined by bleach and blood, and she was very afraid.

  Gethin had sent all of them from the room once it was cleaned to his satisfaction, including Dr. Jones, who was sober enough to understand why he was being removed from his own surgery. He had trudged upstairs with her father and Raymond, while Catrin walked in tight little circles in the tiny front room.

  As time wore on, she sank upon the hard chair in the corner. Then she had come out here. It was where her father found her.

  He pushed a steaming cup into her hands. “Tea with brandy,” he told her and sank tiredly onto the bench beside her.

  She sipped, appreciating both the warmth of the tea and the burn of the brandy.

  “About…the child,” Rhys said softly.

  “Alice,” Catrin supplied.

  “She is why you went to Denmark?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhys shut his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I might have helped.”

  “You would have judged me, Papa. And you would have tried to make me give her up.”

  He let out a breath. “Yes, I would have,” he said softly. “Your life has been hard enough, Catrin. I’ve seen loneliness far too often in your eyes.”

  “If Daniel…if he survives…” She swallowed. She couldn’t continue.

  Her father picked up her blood-stained hand. “No matter what happens, you should bring your Alice home to Marblethorpe. I would like to meet my grand-daughter.”

  Catrin rested her head on his shoulder and we
pt a few fear-induced tears.

  Rhys tapped her arm. “Look…” he breathed.

  She opened her eyes. The sun was rising over Carninglis and the orange glow raced across the garden, lighting it, making it warm and pretty, even on this most bitter February day.

  MERRICK EMERGED FROM THE COTTAGE shortly after. Rhys got up and he sank onto the bench with a tired groan and stretched his shoulders and flexed his fingers. “Dr. Jones is watching Daniel,” he told them. “He’s competent enough for that.”

  “Daniel lives…” Catrin breathed.

  “Oh, yes, he will live. To a ripe old age if he can just stop having adventures,” Merrick said dryly. “There was nothing much wrong with the lad, which stitches couldn’t fix. Oh, and his ribs. There’s not a doctor on earth who can do anything about broken ribs. They will mend on their own.”

  Stitches. Catrin’s heart sank. Scarring came from stitches.

  Merrick put his arm around her. He didn’t seem to care that she was covered in blood and grime. “Oh, don’t worry,” he told her, giving her a shake. “All those cuts gave me the perfect excuse to poke around under the flesh and find out what that bloody ship’s surgeon had done. I released all the muscles and sorted things out.”

  Catrin held her breath, trying to squash her hope flat. “He’ll have more scars now?” she asked.

  “Lots of them,” Merrick said cheerfully. He glanced at her and raised his brow. “They will be my scars, though,” he added. “Properly formed scars. Once he’s healed, you’ll barely notice them.”

  Rhys blew out his breath in a great gusty sigh. “It just leaves the first one he needs to deal with.”

  Merrick looked offended. “Did you hear nothing of what I just said? I got rid of the damn thing. It wasn’t doing him any service at all. There’ll be another one there, but as I said…”

  “It will be your scar,” Rhys finished.

  Catrin closed her eyes, as giddy relief and joy swamped her.

  Merrick lifted his arm from her shoulders and reached beneath his jacket and withdrew the silver flask. “I don’t know if you are aware, Mr. Davies, that by encouraging me to operate on young Williams, you have participated in an illegal activity? I have no medical license and even less reputation to lean upon for an excuse.”

  “Thank god for that,” Catrin said. “Or you would not have been here in Newport when we needed you.”

  Merrick peered into the interior his flask. The corners of his mouth twitched. Silently, he screwed the lid back on and put his flask away once more.

  WHEN DANIEL OPENED HIS EYES, Catrin was there. She held his hand and tried to smile and to not cry.

  Daniel blinked. “You are the most unholy mess I have ever seen.” His voice was hoarse and weak.

  Catrin did cry then. “Most of the mess is yours,” she told him.

  “You’re still beautiful,” he whispered. “Blood and all.”

  Catrin couldn’t help herself. She kissed him, leaning into it and pouring her heart and soul into it.

  Daniel groaned.

  She drew back, appalled. “I’m sorry!”

  His hand gripped hers, drawing her back toward him. “No, do it again,” he said, his tone urgent.

  Catrin kissed him again. He brought his hand up and held her face and the kiss extended and grew deeper…until he gasped against her mouth.

  She drew back, alarmed.

  Daniel caught her face. “No, no…it hurts, only it doesn’t hurt. Not the way it used to.” He lifted his hand from her face and looked at the back of it, where a curved line of stiches snaked over the back of it.

  His eyes narrowed as he examined the stitches. Catrin held her breath, waiting.

  He reached for his face, and touched it, feeling the stitches on both sides and on his forehead. “Oh, god…” he breathed.

  Catrin shook her head. “No, it will be fine. Merrick says they will fade, and there will be barely anything left.”

  “Merrick?” Daniel dropped his hand to the cover, astonishment warring with indignation on the parts of his face not bruised or held immobile by the stitches.

  “He fixed the old scar, too,” Catrin told him. She picked up his hand. “You shouldn’t have any more pain from it.”

  Daniel picked up a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I don’t care if there is pain or not. Is it true, Catrin? About…Alice?”

  Catrin drew in a breath. “Yes. She is in Denmark with Bronwen, for now.”

  Daniel’s jaw worked. “If she was born at Christmas, then you must have known, when you came to Innesford, the last time, when I sent you away.”

  “I did.” She kissed his hand.

  He turned his face away. “How can you love me, after that?”

  “It wasn’t you who sent me away,” she said gently. “Not the Daniel I loved, at any rate. I can see that Daniel now. I have caught glimpses of him here and there, since I came to Newport.”

  “Alice is the reason you came, isn’t she?”

  “No, Daniel. She is not.”

  He brought his gaze back to her. Surprise showed in his wounded face.

  “I came because I could not bear the idea of moving on…of living life without you in it, if I did not try one last time. If I had come here merely to tell you about Alice and force you into my life, then I could have sent you a letter and achieved the same thing.”

  Daniel’s clear eyes filled with warmth. “You want me to commit to you, with no conditions or pressures or leverage.”

  Catrin smiled. “There. See? You are capable of occasional moments of clear thinking.”

  Daniel laughed and drew her to him and kissed her. It was the sweetest kiss she ever remembered him giving her. Then he whispered, his lips brushing her cheek. “Find a priest. The nearest one will do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Grand Duchy of Silkeborg, Silkeborg, Denmark. April, 1872. (Two months later.)

  The palace of the Grand Duke of Silkeborg was a beautiful, symmetrical and colonnaded building of white marble, with gilt and banners and fountains. Few visitors who were allowed onto the grounds noticed the modest thatched cottage at the far end of the grounds, tucked up against the ancient firs with their heavy, snow-laden branches.

  Which was just as Catrin had hoped it would be. They had enjoyed two silent, almost perfect months, surrounded by snow and bothered by no one. It had been idyllic in a way she had not thought such a simple life would provide.

  She drew her gaze away from the window, back to her desk, to frown over the latest letter from her publisher.

  “Uh-oh,” Daniel said, from where he laid upon the sofa. “Is Gresham King’s latest story not flowing smoothly from your pen?”

  Catrin put her pen down. She tried to frown at Daniel, as he lifted Alice up in the air, making the baby laugh down at him. Then he returned her to his chest, where she gurgled and smacked at him with her tiny hand, encouraging him to do it again.

  She had the same clear gray eyes as Daniel, and Catrin’s black hair.

  “And she has your stubbornness,” Daniel had told Catrin, within a week of meeting his daughter.

  Catrin tried to school her features into sternness. “And how is Mrs. Armistead’s latest story coming along?” she asked, for Daniel spent rather less time at his desk than she did at hers. His desk was on the other side of the fireplace, although he preferred to linger upon the sofa and play with Alice.

  The patchwork of scars on his face and hands and on other parts of his body were healing just as Merrick had said they would. The stitches had been removed several weeks ago and now the scars were flat, pale red marks which seemed to fade with each passing day.

  “Mrs. Armistead’s editor has been nagging for two weeks now about telling the world who Mrs. Armistead is,” Daniel said, with a scowl. Then he smiled at Alice as she gurgled at him.

  Catrin sighed. “Gresham King faced that same hurdle, once.” She told him about her meeting with Sullivan Cornell. “Of course, they gave up the
idea the moment they learned who I really was.”

  Daniel sat up and put Alice on his knee, his hands around her tiny body. “You could be Mrs. Armistead.”

  Catrin laughed. “And you are to be Gresham King?”

  “Why not?” He touched his face. “We could say these are from an encounter with tigers in Africa—”

  “Tigers are in India, dear husband.”

  “My point is, why should we not be each other’s creation?” He bounced Alice and scowled. “If it was known Mrs Armistead is in fact married to Gresham King, I suspect sales of both stories would soar. We can simply fail to explain that you are Gresham King and I am Mrs. Armistead.”

  Catrin put her chin on her fist. “You really think it would work?”

  “Why not?” He lifted Alice and put her in her crib, then moved over to the chair which sat beside Catrin’s desk and sat. His gaze met hers. “We have done remarkable things, you and I, when we were alone and without each other. Imagine what we could do together.”

  Catrin let out a deep sigh.

  Daniel picked up the silver and cream wedding invitation which had been sitting on the edge of Catrin’s desk for the last week. Cian and Eleanore were to be married at Westminster Abbey next month. “While you are putting your proposal to your publisher about Gresham King, you should also reply in the affirmative to this.” He put the invitation down again.

  Catrin’s heart leapt. “You are sure, Daniel?”

  He brought his fingers to his cheek. “Not entirely, but I never will be, as long as I hide away in the depths of Denmark. Eventually, I must face the world. Standing and witnessing my elder brother’s marriage to his true love seems like a good reason to do it.”

  Catrin’s heart swelled with peace and joy. “I am blessed,” she breathed.

  Daniel’s gaze met hers. He rested his hand over the top of hers and stroked her flesh. “I told you there was something I would not say to you, not until I thought there was no danger that saying it would ruin your life. Now, I know I can say it, freely and with feeling.” He swallowed. “I love you, Catrin Davies Williams. I thought I was a man of the world, who needed no one, but you have ruined my solitude…” He drew in a breath which shook. “Thank god,” he finished, his voice hoarse.