Degree of Solitude

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Then the headache arrived.

  Now, even though his head pounded, he strode out onto the lower slope of Carninglis, his face muffled and the walking stick in his hand.

  He had not gone far when he heard his name being shouted. Daniel turned to look behind him. The sheep track he followed trailed around the base of Carninglis, passing Nevern’s house and the old castle, then bent around to the east to follow the curve of the hill.

  Nevern strode toward him. He raised his arm when Daniel looked, so Daniel halted and waited.

  Nevern came up to him, panting with the speed of his walk. “I saw you leave the house,” he said. He wore a long overcoat and a warm, soft hat, just as Daniel did. “Tonight is no night to be out by yourself. I will walk with you.”

  “There’s no need—”

  “I will walk with you,” Nevern said firmly.

  “As long as you do not insist upon talking or dawdling,” Daniel told him. “I have no patience for either.” His cheek, by the corner of his mouth, burned from being forced to form words.

  “Lead the way,” Nevern said, smiling.

  Daniel turned and strode away. Nevern followed. And even though he would never admit it, Daniel was touched by Nevern’s thoughtfulness. It kept him warm as they walked into the cold night.

  Danica Morgan fussed at the sideboard with her butler, while Catrin and Pryce sat on the corner chairs the butler had shown them to.

  Catrin detested corner chairs and avoided them whenever she could. She had never found an agreeable way to sit upon them. The sharp angle at the front of the chair forced her to spread her knees. Even though her gown and petticoats hid the impropriety, everyone in the room, including men, could guess her limbs were arranged in that unladylike way.

  She sat on the front of the seat and kept her ankles together, instead, although the uncomfortable posture did not help her equanimity at all. Pryce, on the other hand, did not seem in the slightest bit disturbed by his surroundings. Nothing ever appeared to ruffle his composure. He watched the Baroness with a neutral expression.

  “The Baron is not at home, Lady Nevern?” he asked.

  Danica pushed at the back of her dark curls with a nervous gesture. “I am not entirely sure.”

  Then send for him and find out. Catrin did not speak the sensible suggestion aloud, though.

  Not for the first time, Catrin’s gaze drew back to the piano in the corner of the room. It was closed and no music sheets could be seen. The last time she had seen the piano, it had appeared considerably different. Dr. Jones had been shuffling through pages of music, in search of favorites.

  The butler came forward with a silver tray bearing tiny sherry glasses. Catrin took one, murmured her thanks and pretended to sip.

  Pryce, she noticed, did not bother even taking a sip, pretend or not. He put the glass on the little table beside his chair and fixed Danica Morgan with his steady gaze.

  She gave him a nervous smile. “I would be more than happy to have the guest list copied and provided to you, Inspector Sir Pryce, only I am afraid we have no such list.”

  Catrin reflected upon the informality of the deep countryside. In London, during the Season, a guest list for a formal dinner was essential. Everyone from the scullery maid to the butler, the cook and the head of the house consulted the list in preparation for the evening.

  “My husband does tend to invite guests spontaneously,” Danica Morgan added. “It makes for pleasant evenings, for the guests are always unexpected. Such as Miss Davies.” She barely glanced at Catrin.

  Catrin didn’t bother being slighted by the lack of acknowledgement of her presence. Such silly games of one-upmanship were played in London salons and drawing rooms, too, and by far better players than Danica Morgan. Instead, Catrin’s gaze drew back to the piano. Something about the piano was attempting to rise from the depths of her mind.

  Then she gasped and the sherry glass jolted, splashing golden liquid upon the rug.

  Pryce glanced at her.

  “He was late,” Catrin told him, keeping her voice down low.

  “Nevern?” Pryce murmured.

  Catrin turned to Danica, who watched them exchange comments with a puzzled expression. “Baroness, you said on the night of the party that the Baron very nearly missed his own party. It was why the music was scattered across the piano—because he had not had time to collect it and put it away.”

  Danica Morgan’s cheeks turned a slight pink. “Nevern was nearly late,” she said stiffly. “He was here before the first guest arrived, as he should be.”

  “But not early enough to tidy up his music,” Catrin replied.

  “Your husband is the piano player, Baroness?” Pryce asked.

  “He is,” Danica said stiffly.

  “Is he a good player?”

  “He is a maestro, Inspector.” Danica’s voice was full of pride.

  “Dr. Jones hunted for music he intended to ask Nevern to play,” Catrin added softly.

  Pryce didn’t react. Catrin admired his control. He merely gazed at Danica Morgan. “So your husband has an affinity for music. Is he one of those extraordinarily talented men, who can play any instrument handed to them, perhaps?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” Danica said gustily. “I once saw him use a violin as a type of guitar and pluck out a merry little tune which had all of us tapping our toes and laughing…” She trailed off, as Catrin sat unmoving, horror swirling through her.

  Pryce had not moved, either, but surely the same dawning dismay built in his eyes, too.

  “Why do you look like that?” Danica demanded.

  “Stringed instruments. Wind instruments,” Catrin breathed.

  “Horns,” Pryce added. “Have you ever seen your husband play a horn, Baroness?”

  “You mean like a regimental horn?” She looked confused and anxious, as if Catrin’s and Pryce’s tension communicated itself to her. “No, but he was the hall monitor at Eton—”

  “Reveille,” Pryce breathed. “The hall monitor calls reveille.”

  Catrin put her glass to one side. She could barely hold the tiny thing. She felt sick.

  Pryce got to his feet. “Where is your husband, Baroness? I must speak to him at once. It is now urgent.”

  Looking frightened, Danica Morgan rang the little bell. The butler hurried in so quickly, Catrin knew he had been standing at the door, eavesdropping.

  “Where is the Baron, Henley?” Danica asked.

  The man cleared his throat. “I believe he went walking upon Carninglis, Baroness.”

  Catrin surged to her feet. “Daniel…!”

  The route through the thin trees and rolling hillside was well known to Daniel. Even when full night had fallen, he could still move at a speed which let the cold air stream over his face.

  For the first mile, Nevern did not speak as requested. The distance between them ebbed and waned. Then Nevern picked up his pace, until he trod right behind Daniel.

  “Do you think the Inspector will arrest you tomorrow?” Nevern asked.

  Daniel’s breath hitched in surprise. He kept walking. He wasn’t nearly tired enough yet to pause. A big loop around the quarry, then up to the peak of Carninglis, then perhaps another circuit.

  “Daniel?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps. I don’t care.” Not right now, anyway.

  Daniel scrambled over the tiny stream.

  Nevern cursed as he put his foot in it. Nevern didn’t know these hills nearly as well as Daniel, even though he had been born here.

  “Why don’t you care?” Nevern said, breathing hard. “They’ll hang you.”

  “Hanging might be a relief,” Daniel growled. His cheek was not yet chilled enough to take the pain away from speaking.

  “You didn’t kill them. They would be hanging the wrong man. That does not bother you?”

  Daniel thought of the day he had spent trapped in a cloud of misery and self-pity. “When I look at the alternative, death seems like an easy cho
ice,” he admitted.

  “Good. I was hoping you would say that,” Nevern replied, with relief tinging his voice.

  Daniel’s heart gave an extra hard thud. He spun to face Nevern. “What did you say?”

  Nevern put his damp boot on a fallen branch and scraped mud from it. The smell of sharp green wood and the stink of river mud drifted upward as he scraped away the bark from the branch. “I said I’m glad you think it would solve your problems. I was hoping you would see it that way.”

  Daniel’s thoughts skittered and reformed. Wariness touched him. “I only said it seemed to be the easier choice, not that I would choose it.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to choose at all,” Nevern said. “That’s why I am here.”

  Daniel’s wariness rose. His fear lifted with it. “Marc…what have you done?” he breathed. Yet in his belly, in his heart, he already knew.

  “Nothing really,” Nevern replied, his tone casual. “A little creative problem solving.”

  Problem solving. Daniel would have looked away in disgust, except he needed to keep his gaze upon Nevern.

  Nevern threw out his hand. In the dark, Daniel saw his pale flesh fling to one side. He had removed his gloves. “She said she carried my child. What else was I to do?”

  “Support her, perhaps?” Daniel said, making his tone as light and indifferent as Nevern’s, to give himself time to think.

  Nevern shook his head. “She wanted money. An enormous amount, for her to go away and never speak of it again.”

  “Why not pay her and be done with it?”

  “How could I be sure it was mine? She had been seen with Finn Doherty, and a dozen other men claimed to know her, too.”

  “Yet you are the only lord among them,” Daniel guessed. “If Blodwen claimed publicly that the bastard was yours, it could inherit from the estate, as you don’t have an heir of your own yet.”

  “I have no money. Not the amount she wanted, not in coins. Everything is tied up in the estates.” Nevern’s voice took on a whining note. “All I wanted to do was get rid of the child. That was the real problem. Once it was gone…”

  Fresh horror churning in Daniel’s middle. “You used the claw to get rid of it…” he breathed.

  “I remembered you talking about the Indian thing. It was a creative touch, don’t you think? Everyone in the village screamed about wolves, so I took the horn—I knew it was a horn, not the staff of office you thought it to be. I saw one at the Natural History Museum in London, close enough in details I recognized yours at once. A few bugles on the thing, some paw prints in the mud—” He scraped at his shoe once more. “It was pure luck, your cousin remembering the horn and drawing Pryce’s attention to it. I had just returned it that night, after dealing with Doherty.”

  “He caught you with the horn and the claw, out here,” Daniel guessed.

  “Out walking the hills, pining for his love,” Nevern said scornfully. “He put up a good fight, I admit. I think he would have bled to death if I hadn’t been forced to make it look as though a wolf had got him. He was weak, at the end. Enough for me to deal with him.” Nevern sighed. “Then Pryce and his bloody detective work ruined it all. Now he’s looking for someone. So, I must give him someone to blame.”

  “Me,” Daniel breathed.

  Nevern dug in his coat and Daniel braced himself.

  Nevern extracted a letter, folded, with no seal. “Would you be so kind as to put this in your pocket, old chap?” He held it out.

  Daniel didn’t reach for it. “What is it?”

  “Your confession, Williams. I’ve spent a good while staring at those pages on your desk in the library, while you paced your floorboards. I did a rather good job copying your handwriting, even if I do say so myself.” He waved the letter.

  Daniel shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh, come along,” Nevern said. “You want this. And it will help me out enormously.”

  From far away, at the extent of his hearing, Daniel heard his name being called. He drew in a startled breath. It was a woman’s voice.

  Catrin.

  “Damn,” Nevern said. “Time’s up, Daniel.” He reached into his coat once more, stuffing the letter in his outer pocket.

  Daniel rammed the end of the thin staff into Nevern’s chest. The staff cracked and the splintered end drove up against Nevern’s chin. He staggered back with a shocked cry.

  Daniel turned and ran. He had no issues with running away instead of fighting Nevern and succumbing, the way an upper-class man would consider the only fitting response a gentleman could make.

  Nevern cursed again. Daniel heard him break into a run. Daniel had longer legs and had always been faster on the track than Nevern. He had spent weeks walking the hills and was fit…and he had fear on his side.

  A rifle cracked, the shot echoing against the cold hills and Daniel flinched, even though the rifle was far out of range. A warning shot across the bows? Who was firing?

  He continued to run, though, for Nevern was close on his heels, pounding with steady steps just behind him. He pushed through thin trees, changed directions, and tried to lose the man, as he pushed farther east.

  Nevern held on doggedly. Once or twice he lunged to grab Daniel by the coat or the arm. Daniel wrenched himself out of the way and lurched forward, fear exploding in his chest.

  He had lost track of where he was. The edge of the quarry pit loomed up as a dark crescent in the night and Daniel skidded to a halt, pinwheeling his arms. There had been no fence or warning signs on this side of the pit. Everyone knew it was here, after all.

  “No you don’t,” Nevern shouted and yanked him back from the edge. “Not until you have your confession upon you. I don’t want anyone to mistake who you are.”

  Daniel punched him directly between the eyes, as hard as he could. He was no boxer, not like Ben or Jack, but he was Seth Williams’ son and he would not go down without a fight.

  Nevern cried out and staggered back again. Daniel was free and he could have run again, only he was abruptly tired of it. “Damn you to hell,” he breathed and threw himself at Nevern.

  Nevern got his hands up and gripped Daniel’s coat. Nevern bled freely from the nose.

  They grappled, seeking an advantage, a way to beat each other, only they were too evenly matched.

  Nevern got a hand free, reached up and clawed his nails across Daniel’s scored cheek.

  Daniel cried out and reared backward, pain searing through his face, blinding him. He hung onto Nevern with a desperate grip. Still blinded, he yanked Nevern toward him and butted his head into Nevern’s.

  The agony exploded in his mind, like lightning and thunder together.

  Nevern sagged and struggled to find his feet as they staggered like drunken fools.

  Daniel felt nothing but air beneath his foot. They were on the brink of the pit. Nevern still staggering, pushed them over.

  They fell together, Nevern clawing for Daniel’s face and screaming aloud his frustration and fury that he had been thwarted.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The rifle shots brought a stream of people into the hills, carrying torches and lanterns, stirred by ancient instincts to investigate the alarm and fend off any danger it posed. As the flickering lights drew closer, Pryce guided them to him by firing into the air the rifle Nevern’s butler had thrust into his hands as they ran from the house.

  One of the first people to reach them, as they were closer than the village, was Catrin’s father and Raymond, with Sayers accompanying them. All three carried knots of wood dipped in oil and flaming.

  Pryce was clipped and direct. “Nevern is the man I seek. He’s out here and so is Williams. We must find both as swiftly as possible.”

  “Nevern?” Rhys said, his tone amazed.

  “We haven’t properly put it together yet, Papa,” Catrin told him. “If we are right, Nevern wanted Daniel blamed for this.”

  “I don’t like that Nevern is out here where Williams is known to wander at nigh
t,” Pryce added.

  “Neither do I,” Raymond said, his tone firm.

  “Stay in pairs at least,” Pryce said. “You three head in that direction.” He pointed with the rifle, then lifted it toward the sky and fired another shot. “I’ll spread the others out as they reach me. Go.”

  Rhys, Sayers and Raymond turned and hurried away at a pace which was not quite a run, the torch flames trailing behind them like wind-blown manes.

  As the townsfolk reached Pryce, he directed them with the same curt instructions, spreading the searching parties over the hills in all directions. By then, carts and traps and people on horseback arrived. Pryce sent a handful back to the village to rouse men he wanted.

  Catrin offered to go with any single participants, to create the pair which Pryce insisted everyone keep.

  “No, Miss Davies. If Nevern is trying to do what I think he is and he were to come across you out in the hills, then he would not hesitate to use the leverage you would give him over Mr. Williams. You will stay right here by my side, where I can keep an eye on you.” He gave her a small smile which leavened his wrinkled features and made him seem astonishingly young. “Yours is the hardest role. You must wait.”

  Catrin waited. She watched the flicker of flames moving over the hills and among the trees, shivering in the cold. She had only the shawl about her shoulders, although she wouldn’t move from where she stood even if she wore the lightest of muslin dresses.

  The moon had risen. It provided only a little more light.

  Catrin spotted one flame flickering, moving down the hill in a direct line for where they stood upon the flat outcrop behind Nevern’s white house.

  “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.