“Only a few moments, then I will find Travers and ask him to make some of that mulled wine you like.”
“The one with the cloves. Mmm…”
They had played among the trails of the maze since they were old enough to walk. It was simple enough to move directly to the heart of the maze, where the bench sat with a white cushion of snow on top.
Daniel brushed it off.
“This does bring back memories,” Catrin murmured. Her tone was not happy, though.
Daniel waved toward the bench. “Sit, if you wish.”
“You will not?” she asked.
“Sitting makes it difficult to prostrate oneself and beg for forgiveness.”
Catrin didn’t smile at his simple joke and Daniel’s heart gave another extra squeeze and hurried on. He pushed his hands into his coat pockets, for he had failed to bring his gloves with him. Knowing he could not put this off for a moment longer, he made himself speak. “I was wrong, Catrin…so wrong—about so many things. I’ve spent a year denying it, but I—”
“No, Daniel,” she said softly.
The words jammed in the back of his throat, making it ache. “I am apologizing,” he made himself say.
Catrin pulled the shawl more closely about her face. “This isn’t what I expected. I thought you might apologize for running off to China and not writing to me.”
He stared at her. His heart beat so hard, he could feel it in his temples. Somehow, this was all going wrong. “I am apologizing for that. For all of it, Cat. I’ve been a complete and utter fool—”
She pressed her gloved fingers against his mouth. She applied barely any pressure, yet his voice was silenced as if she had gagged him.
Worse, her eyes were sparkling with more than warmth. No happiness showed in them. She shook her head. “Don’t say any more, Daniel. Please.”
Her hand dropped away. She pulled the shawl around her once more. “I should go in…” She glanced passed him, as if she sought escape. “I accept your apology,” she added, her tone wooden.
Daniel couldn’t help himself. He took her arm, in an overt attempt to make her stay. He could feel her reluctance. “I was a cad, in London, when Will was shot. I was a louse for running away to China. I admit it, Catrin. I admit it all. I can’t justify anything I’ve done, except to say I haven’t been thinking clearly lately. Will getting shot just as my father did…it shook me.”
“Is that why you went to Ireland?” Catrin asked. Her tone was the same disinterested one.
“I thought finding out about my father—about his younger years—I thought it might explain this frantic restlessness I have been feeling for…years, I suppose.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “God above, I can’t find the words! I’m applauded for my clarity and preciseness of thought upon the printed page and now I can’t pull a single sentence together.”
Catrin’s smile was ghostly. Her eyes had not lost their extra degree of sparkle. “You are doing rather well, under the circumstances,” she said, her voice low.
“Not writing to you anymore was the single most disastrous thing I have done in my entire life, Cat.” It burst from him, the full sentence, with the heat of truth driving it.
She actually took a small step back, her eyes growing wider.
“That year I traveled—Canada and India and Egypt and Singapore…it was the happiest year of my life. I thought it was because I was traveling—seeing the world and broadening my horizons, only it wasn’t that at all.”
Her eyes seemed to grow even larger. The herald of tears grew.
It was too late to take this back. He had to get it out now, even though the pressure in his chest was swelling. He recognized the fear building there. He spoke the words, even though they emerged dull and unpolished. “I was happy because you shared the adventure with me, Catrin. Since I stopped writing—since last Christmas, in fact—I have been completely miserable, because everywhere I go, anywhere I go, I don’t get to share it with you.”
Her eyes glittered. Then, her tears spilled. He watched each one fall. It felt as though they were collecting at the bottom of his belly, making it roil.
Catrin didn’t wipe her cheeks or hide her tears. She just watched him, her expression miserable. The hurt in her eyes speared him, making him writhe internally. “Oh, Daniel…” she whispered. “If only you had spoken, so much sooner than this!”
A wave of heat rushed through him. “There is someone else…” he breathed. He felt sick.
“He’s a good man,” she whispered. “He’s not part of society—thank goodness. He is an editor at a magazine.”
“You’re engaged?” Daniel breathed. It was almost impossible to get the words out. They tasted like ash.
“We understand one another,” Catrin said softly. “I don’t have to pretend, with him—”
“You have never had to pretend with me, either!” Daniel ground out.
“You were never here! Sullivan likes me—he likes the way I think—”
“I love you.” Daniel’s voice was hoarse. He couldn’t help it. The words were etched into his heart and he had to speak them.
Catrin’s tears fell faster. “Did you think I just froze in place when you left me sitting on that stone bench last year, Daniel? Did you think while you were off on your adventures, I stayed exactly as I was? That I waited for you?”
Daniel swallowed. “No…” he whispered. Only, her words held a core of truth. He felt as though his chest had been clawed open because he had failed to take Catrin’s nature into account. She wasn’t a woman to stand still, or even move slowly. She knew her mind. And he had made his own mind very clear, exactly one year ago.
Catrin shook her head, as if she knew he was lying, too. “You gave me no hope, nothing to even wish upon.”
He closed his eyes. “Do you love him?” The question tore itself from deep inside, where the pain began.
“That, Daniel Williams, is none of your business.” Despite the stiff words, her tone was kind. Gentle, even. “You are better off not knowing,” she added. She reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then stepped around him and walked back out of the maze.
That had been Christmas of 1870.
Last year he had spent Christmas alone—and had been just as miserable.
Daniel watched Catrin sleeping and remembered her final kiss. He reached up and touched his unmarked cheek. It tingled whenever he remembered the touch of her lips.
He didn’t remember much of the days which followed that Christmas, though. For once, he followed the Williams prescription for recovery and drowned his senses in brandy. It was the first time he had ever become so drunk he could not stand. He had remained in that state for two days, until he realized the inebriation did not muffle his thoughts or feelings in any way at all.
The awful Christmas and the days after flickered through his thoughts as he watched Catrin sleeping.
Why was she back in his life? Why was she here in Newport? Why was she sleeping in his house?
Why now? Just as he had been too late to speak his feelings, now Catrin was the one with the unfortunate timing. He had no life to share with her now, even if he wanted to.
If he was sensible, he would get up, put the stool back and slide out of this room and let her sleep.
Only, Daniel couldn’t make himself move. The walking had eased the pain for a while, and she was here in the room with him. It was a poor man’s idyll. He wanted just a few more moments to absorb it.
He froze, as Catrin sighed and shifted. Her eyes fluttered open by the smallest margin and closed again.
“Come back to bed, Daniel…” Her voice was the softest sigh.
His chest ached. Daniel closed his eyes once more. This was a different sort of pain.
Then, because she would properly wake if he didn’t answer, he made himself speak. “Go back to sleep, Cat,” he breathed. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“V’well…” She sighed and turned over again and grew still, her glorious
black hair spread upon the pillow, making his fingers itch to slide over it and taste the silkiness.
Daniel lurched to his feet, his body tight with longing. He breathed hard, as if he had just raced to the top of Carninglis. He willed himself to walk to the door, swing it open just enough to pass through and shut it again.
He leaned his head against the closed door, his heart racing. His head ached once more. He should have gone directly to bed when he returned home.
How could he possibly sleep now?
Chapter Thirteen
Catrin found the dressing table stool placed on the far edge of the rug beside her bed, the next morning. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at it, her heart hurrying.
She hadn’t dreamed Daniel was here, at all! She recalled seeing him…or perhaps she had sensed his presence and not seen him at all, for in her dream-hazed mind, it had been the old Daniel, without scar or pain or the madness and fury which came with both.
He had spoken to her. It had been a warm, gentle murmur. She didn’t remember what he had said, only that it reassured her he was not going away.
Now the stool sat empty, proclaiming he had been here after all…and he had gone away again.
Catrin’s eyes prickled hard with tears. It did not bother her in the slightest that he had stolen into her room while she slept. Daniel was the only man in the world she would allow such a liberty, and he knew that. She suspected he had done so when he returned from his walk upon the hills.
She blinked, clearing her eyes of the pressure of the tears, and rose and dressed. There was much to do, today. Yesterday she had planned. Today, she would put those plans into place.
It was clear Daniel could not properly care for himself or the house. Someone must take care of everything for him. As she was here and capable, it must be her. Daniel had tentatively approved of the cleaning of his room. He would surely be content with her directing the rest of the household affairs—at least until a housekeeper could be appointed. He must know he was failing to manage the house properly. It was likely he didn’t have the capacity to care about such matters.
So.
Catrin ate a quick breakfast. As she finished the meal, Sayers coughed at the door. “There’s a young miss here, who is interested in serving, Miss Davies. She’s a friend of Gwen’s.”
“Show her in, please, Sayers.”
Sayers turned and waved outside the door and stood aside. “Step in. The lady doesn’t bite,” he said softly.
The woman who did step through the doorway looked as though she had only just reached womanhood. She was a small, slight thing—the complete opposite of Gwen in every respect. She had fine, traditional Welsh features—dark hair and eyes and white skin, which Catrin had also inherited. Oddly, the girl’s hair was shorn short. She wore a simple gown in a dark material.
“Hello,” Catrin said. “What is your name?”
“I’m Mary, Miss. Mary Davies.”
Catrin tilted her head. “I am Davies, too. Are we related?”
The girl frowned, which was an odd expression on such an elfin face. “I don’t think so, Miss. There’s lots of Davies in Wales.”
“My father was born here in Newport,” Catrin added.
Mary shook her head. “My family is in Cwm yr Eglwys, Miss.”
“Why are you in Newport, then?”
“Because of them, miss.” Mary’s grin was sunny. She touched her short hair. “They’re a lot of no-goods, Miss. If you don’t mind me saying so. Me mum’s slovenly. We all ended up with the lice and scurvy. They shaved my head, to be rid of them. Other parts, too.”
Catrin swallowed and put her bowl aside.
“Oh, the lice and stuff has gone now, Miss,” Mary said quickly. “Only, losing my hair and being scrubbed from top to bottom with lye soap…well, that was the last straw, if you follow me?”
“You came to Newport to…start fresh?” Catrin asked.
“Exactly, Miss. There was supposed to be a position for me, here in Newport, with a doctor, but that didn’t work out. Gwen said you were looking for someone, and I’m a hard worker, Miss. Just ask Gwen.”
“I will,” Catrin assured her. “Did Gwen tell you much about Ysgolheigion?”
“Only that it’s a good house and could be a great house. I’d like very much to be in service to a great house, Miss.” Mary’s smile was infectious. “Gwen told me about the Master…about his ailments. That don’t bother me none—my da was a drunk, you see. He was inclined to screaming and using his fists most nights. Ducking plates will be nothing.”
Catrin felt breathless trying to keep up with Mary’s rapid narrative. “You are being very frank, Mary,” she said carefully.
“Enough to make you wonder who else I’d be frank with, if I was working here and privy to everything?”
“Yes, exactly,” Catrin said, pleased the girl had understood.
“You needn’t worry, Miss.” She touched her hair. “I tell everyone I was sick, to explain this away. Everything else I just told you…well, it’s none of their business, is it? I told you, because you need to know and I thought if I told you the worse, then you’d know I could put up with…well, the Master.”
Catrin hid her smile. She couldn’t help liking Mary. She had the same rough competent air as Gwen, while being completely different in appearance and nature.
“Can you start immediately, Mary?” Catrin asked.
Mary’s smile was warm and brief. “I can, Miss. Fact is, my case is sitting at the front door, because I was asked to vacate the room I was using. I was hoping you might be in need of me at once.”
“Tell Sayers I am hiring you at the same rate as Gwen. Then find Gwen, get settled in a room, and put on an apron. Meet me in the northern wing. We have some work ahead of us today.”
Mary gave a little bob. Catrin realized it was a curtsy of sorts. “Yes, Miss. And thank you.” She hurried away.
Catrin finished her breakfast, thought-filled. Then she put on her own pinafore and moved through the drawing room to the north wing. She had used the stairs on this side of the house to climb up to the study, yesterday, but had not explored the lower level.
There was only one door off the hallway, which she opened curiously. The corridor she had expected was as wide as the one upstairs between the bedrooms, but it did not extend for the length of the wing. There were only four doors along it, two on each side. Another door pierced the end of the corridor. It was unadorned.
Catrin moved along the corridor, opening each door and letting it stay open. All four of the rooms were dusty and empty. They might have been intended as bedrooms or servant’s quarters…she had no idea. Nothing about the rooms provided a hint of their intended use.
The door at the end of the corridor was rusty with disuse. It squealed alarmingly as she opened it and dust drifted around her. Catrin stepped carefully in to the room behind.
The room took up the whole width of the wing, just as the drawing room did for the middle wing and the library did, on the floor above this one. Windows were on both sides of the room, giving it the same bright aspect as the drawing room and library. All similarity ended there.
The floor of the room was bare stone, making the air chilly even though there was a flue in the wall, high up by the ceiling, feeding warm air from the drawing room fire.
The unappealing aspects of the room, including the undecorated walls and lack of drapes at the windows, must be the reason why it had accumulated this plethora of forgotten objects. Tables were piled upon tables and chairs upon those. Armchairs and sofas were covered in dust clothes. Side tables and bookcases jammed together in corners. Boxes without labels and lumpy, anonymous sacks of things sat in every other spare space.
What lay hidden in the nooks and crannies? The collection must extend back to when the house was first built, over a century ago, and had likely grown with each passing year, as people tossed in unwanted objects.
Dust was everywhere, covering the room with a thick coat of bone-col
ored chalky dirt.
Catrin heard the murmur of voice and glanced through the open door. Gwen and Mary moved along the corridor, both wearing aprons and carrying buckets and brooms. Mary looked bright with happiness and excitement.
Catrin moved over to the closest corner, where the dust did not seem as thick. There were trunks and tea chests and crates piled in this corner with barely any dust on them at all.
She examined the labels on the trunks.
“Crikey, miss!” Gwen exclaimed, waving her hand in front of her nose. “I had no idea this was here.”
Catrin rested her hand on the tea chests. “These are Daniels…” she said wonderingly.
“Aye, I think you’re right, Miss,” Gwen said, coming closer and peering at the collection. “I remember a cart of stuff arriving a few weeks after Mr. Williams himself. I didn’t remember until just now, but I think this was on the cart. The footmen complained for days after about having to move it all.”
“That was when there were footmen,” Catrin surmised. “These are from Daniel’s travels. See the label there, with the odd writing? That is Arabic, I think. And this one…” She rested her hand on the crate, where the label had been plastered upon the rough wood. “This is from China. I know the script, for Daniel once gave me a book filled with it.”
“China, Miss?” Mary asked, peering at the label. “Oh, how exciting! Whatever is in it?”
“I couldn’t tell you what is in the crate from China, but this one…” She rested her hand on the label with roughly written Arabic. She could remember so many treasures and trinkets from Daniel’s letters. “Among other things, there are ancient, hand-written books, a staff which some high-up leader used, jewelry worn by the Pharaohs, and statues of their gods. Including one of Bast.”
“Bast, Miss?”
“Bast is their cat god.”
“They think moggies are gods, miss?” Mary asked, startled.
“They did,” Catrin said.
Gwen giggled. Then she sneezed twice.
Mary bent forward to peer at the pile of tea chests. “These are in English, but it’s funny writing, all the same.”
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