Degree of Solitude

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  Catrin pursed her lips, holding back all the other words which wanted to pour from her. She glanced at Daniel.

  As if he had heard what she was thinking, Daniel leaned forward. “This changes the matter,” he said softly.

  “Possibly,” Pryce admitted. His gaze met Daniel’s. “You are a virile young man,” he pointed out. “Fathering a child is not beyond you.”

  Daniel touched his cheek. “This puts it beyond me,” he said. “Women like Blodwen Jones would run screaming from me if I attempted any such dalliance.”

  “Yet Miss Davies does not seem to object to your appearance,” Pryce remarked.

  Catrin jumped. How much had he surmised? Or had he seen something? She kept her lips together, though.

  Daniel sat back. “What about the uncle?”

  “Merrick?” Pryce asked.

  Catrin opened her mouth to protest. She held it back. Pryce had not appreciated her contribution, before.

  Pryce leaned back in his chair and glanced at the other occupied table. Merrick, who sat with his back to the wall, glanced up.

  Pryce beckoned.

  Merrick scowled and murmured something to Catrin’s father and Raymond. He got to his feet and buttoned his coat. He moved across the room, his tanned face impassive, and gave a tiny inclination of acknowledgement to Pryce. “Inspector.”

  “Pull up a chair, Sir Merrick,” Pryce said. “I presume the three of you were discussing the only subject of interest in Newport at the moment.”

  “Actually, we were not,” Raymond said, coming up behind Merrick. Raymond stood a good head taller than Merrick, and his shoulders were broader. Catrin’s father was also a good deal taller.

  “Oh? Then you have succeeded in surprising me,” Pryce said dryly. “Even the inn keeper’s wife had her own theory on who had done the deed.”

  “Did she?” Rhys asked, his tone curious.

  “Vengeful spirits,” Pryce said, with a grimace. “Sir Merrick, it has come to my attention that your niece, Blodwen, may have been…shall we say…in a distressed state.”

  Merrick looked at Pryce sharply. His high forehead creased. “Pregnant,” he said flatly. He sank down onto the edge of the table behind him, his arms crossing.

  “It has been proposed that perhaps part of Blodwen’s hard feelings toward you were because you had…um…created the condition.”

  Merrick’s gaze shifted to Catrin and away. She wondered if Pryce had seen it. Pryce did not seem to miss any telling details.

  Merrick laughed softly. Dryly. He shook his head. “I cannot possibly be the father, if that is what you are so delicately trying to establish. Although this explains why Blodwen arranged a meeting with me. Possibly she thought I could help. Either with money, or…in some other way.”

  Catrin drew in a shaky breath as she realized what the other way would be.

  “Blodwen met with you?” Pryce said sharply.

  “Arranged to meet me,” Merrick said. “She sent me a letter, asking me to meet with her the night she died. I was late to Nevern’s dinner party because I waited too long for her to appear. She did not.”

  Pryce did not move. He didn’t twitch or show any reaction at all, although Catrin thought he had become abruptly far more alert. His mind was racing.

  “What time was the meeting supposed to be, Sir Merrick?” Pryce asked, his tone light and almost disinterested.

  Contrariwise, Catrin suspected that Pryce was very interested in the answer.

  “Half-past six that evening,” Merrick said.

  “And she failed to make the meeting…” Pryce murmured.

  With a jolt, Catrin realized why Pryce was so interested in the meeting. If Blodwen had failed to meet Merrick at the time she had arranged, it could well have been because she was already dead, or dying…

  Catrin drew in a sharp, shaky breath.

  Pryce glanced at her. His eyes narrowed. His head moved by the slightest fraction from side to side.

  Stay silent. She read the message clearly. Catrin sat back in her chair and gripped her hands together.

  Pryce looked at Merrick once more. He turned the teacup around on the saucer again. It made him look relaxed and unconcerned. “Why did you not tell anyone about your meeting, Merrick?”

  Gethin Merrick shrugged. “Blodwen asked me not to. If you are right about her pregnancy, it explains why she wanted discretion. Besides, you are the first person to ask me about the early evening.”

  Catrin knew why that was so.

  Merrick got to his feet. “If that is all, Inspector?”

  “Yes, it is, Sir Merrick. Thank you for your frankness.”

  Merrick turned without another word and strode from the dining room.

  Catrin caught the Inspector’s glance at her. His gaze flickered toward Merrick.

  Catrin got to her feet and hurried after the man. She didn’t comprehend why Pryce wanted her to speak to him alone, yet she had understood clearly it was what he wanted. She moved through the reception area of the inn and gave the inn keeper’s wife a small smile as the woman watched her curiously.

  Merrick stepped out into the morning sunshine and moved along the footpath. Catrin followed. He didn’t seem to be surprised to see her. He settled his hips upon the same window sill he had used before and pulled a silver flask from his inner pocket and unscrewed the lid. His hand shook.

  “Are you quite well?” Catrin asked him.

  “No, my dear. I am not well at all. I can guess what the Inspector was thinking, for I am thinking it, too. I might have saved my niece from a most horrible death, if I had been just a little more tolerant of her mother’s hatred toward me.” He lifted the flask and drank deeply.

  “You cannot blame yourself for what happened to Blodwen,” Catrin replied.

  “I can,” Merrick said calmly. “It was the second time she requested to meet with me, you see. I refused the first time, because I was not interested in listening to her insults and criticism. Everything Blodwen ever said was a faint echo of her mother.”

  He drank again. A tiny drop of the liquid in the flask trickled from the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away quickly, but not before Catrin spotted it. The liquid was a green color.

  “Absinthe…” she breathed. “Really, Sir Merrick?” Disappointment touched her. “You are one of those people who swears they function in a superior fashion when drinking Absinthe?”

  Merrick raised the flask and considered it. “That is the excuse I used when I first drank it. I know better now, of course.” His tone was dry. He rolled his eyes at Catrin’s puzzled look. “Why do you think I was ejected from the medical association in full disgrace, girl?”

  Catrin drew in a breath. “I didn’t realize. People speak of your advanced methods. They say you challenged the established way of thinking and the establishment resented it.”

  “That, too,” Merrick said softly. “One cannot win at politics if they have a weakness the opposition can leverage.” He hoisted the flask. “And all I was insisting upon was keeping my surgery and my hands clean.” He drank. “Well, some other genius will come to the same conclusion eventually and he’ll become famous for it. I certainly will not.”

  “Empirical evidence,” Catrin breathed.

  “Indeed.” Merrick looked past her. His gaze was not on the buildings across the narrow road, but on some time in the past. “New mothers stopped dying, if we washed our hands. Only, that was too simple and inconvenient for them.” The bitterness in his voice was deep.

  He stirred and looked at her again, his gaze refocusing upon her face. He smiled. It was a strained expression. “So I drink myself into forgetfulness, instead. I and all my fellow medicos who must face mediocrity.”

  Catrin frowned. “There are other doctors who use Absinthe?”

  “It is the habit of choice for geniuses and creatives,” Merrick said. “Just ask the good Dr. Jones.”

  Catrin took a step back. “Dr. Jones…”

  “My cousin,” Merrick ad
ded.

  She recalled the doctor’s sweaty face when he had come to the door of his surgery, his leather apron bloody and gored. Catrin whirled back toward the door of the inn, her heart pounded.

  Daniel and Pryce were still sitting at the table. Pryce watched her approach with narrowed eyes. Raymond and Rhys had pulled up chairs to the table, too. Daniel lifted hers away from the table, so she could seat herself. Instead, she clutched the back of it. She could not sit. Not now.

  “Dr. Jones uses Absinthe,” she told Pryce. “And if Blodwen failed to meet Merrick at half-past six, then she might already have been dead. Yet Dr. Jones said she died later that night. What if he was wrong? He was sweating heavily when he examined her. I saw his face. He drank excessively that night at the Baron’s. He might be an excellent surgeon, Inspector, but what if he was not working with his full faculties when he examined her?”

  Pryce smiled. It was an astonishing expression, revealing white teeth behind his gray beard. Catrin felt as though she had been rewarded in some way.

  “If Blodwen died earlier in the day, it makes a very large difference,” her father said.

  “It does,” Pryce said simply. He got to his feet.

  “I was in the house all afternoon,” Daniel said. His voice was strained. He rubbed at his temple, frowning heavily. Catrin wondered if he knew he was doing it. “Falling down drunk and smashing dishes, just to…to make it stop.” He looked up at Pryce. His eyes were narrowed. “Ask anyone at the house. Ask Gwen, whom I scared into next month.”

  “I saw him there,” Catrin added.

  Pryce nodded. “You are not a disinterested witness, Miss Davies. I will speak to the staff—after we have re-examined the bodies.”

  Daniel gave a soft, smothered sound and bent forward, one hand gripping both temples and squeezing.

  Pryce considered him. “Go home, Mr. Williams. Recover from your efforts. I think a few simple questions of your staff will be enough to establish you are merely a man with an unfortunate condition. I will come out to the house later today.”

  Catrin rested her hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Her father pulled her aside and hoisted Daniel to his feet. Raymond touched Catrin’s shoulder. “How did you come here?”

  “The trap is at the back of the inn,” she said.

  “I can manage the trap,” Rhys said. “I’ll take him home.”

  “I’m fine,” Daniel breathed, only his voice was hoarse.

  “If I let you go, you’ll fall over, man,” Rhys said, his voice just as low.

  Pryce cleared his throat.

  “Damned light,” Daniel muttered.

  “Daylight bothers you. Yes, of course…” Pryce said.

  “Yes, it bothers him,” Catrin snapped. Really, was it not obvious? Pryce had seen Daniel wincing at the bright sunlight at Ysgolheigion, just yesterday.

  Pryce tilted his head. “Then it is quite unlikely Mr. Williams would have been out upon the hills during the afternoon.” His tone was speculative and distant, as if he were thinking hard once more. “Go home, sir,” he added to Daniel. “We will finish this matter later today, when you have had time to recover.” He bowed his head toward Catrin. “Miss Davies, you have been most helpful. Thank you.” He walked away, a tall sprightly figure.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The day seemed to stretch endlessly, while Catrin waited for the Inspector to return to Ysgolheigion to speak to Daniel.

  By the time she and Raymond walked back to the house, Daniel was already locked in his room.

  “He took two bottles of port, Miss. Then he staggered up the stairs as if he’d already drunk them,” Sayers informed her, as Raymond and Rhys selected a brandy for themselves and a pair of glasses.

  Catrin considered knocking on Daniel’s door. She badly wanted to speak to him about what had happened at the inn, especially her conversation with Merrick—both conversations.

  Only the brightness of the day had severely discomforted Daniel. She should abide by the silent request the locked door made and leave him alone.

  Instead, Catrin went to the library and spent the morning tidying the papers on Daniel’s desk, including the drift of pages still sitting in the middle of the room. She had read all of Mrs. Armistead’s published stories. Sorting out even the unnumbered pages presented no difficulty.

  Because space on the desktop was severely limited, she packed the published stories in the drawers beneath.

  For a moment Catrin considered reading the unpublished stories. Only, she would be upset if someone read Gresham King’s unpublished and unedited stories without asking her first, so she left them alone.

  Then she tackled her own desk, which took far less time.

  Aware that she was putting off necessary work, Catrin settled at the desk and dealt with her correspondence. She tried to write, after that—even a few words in Rigby Blue’s latest adventures would progress the story a little.

  Only the adventure, which had seemed so glorious and pulse-raising when she first devised it, now seemed bland. Her thoughts continued to circle back to events in Newport, instead.

  Finally, she put the page on the top of the pile of manuscript pages and took out a fresh sheet of paper. She dipped her pen and tapped the ink off thoughtfully, then set out for herself everything she knew of the troubling events in Newport and the people involved in them.

  There were cousins and lovers, enemies and friends, with secrets and ages-old squabbles.

  Dr. Jones, with a dependence upon Absinthe. Gethin Merrick, who was similarly afflicted. Marc Morgan, Baron Nevern, who liked to think he had a way with ladies but was a true friend to Daniel. Mr. Kernigan, the mayor, who resented women and actively suppressed them. Maggie O’Shay, of whom the entire town disapproved. Finn Doherty, the angry Irishman with a love for fighting. Blodwen’s mother, Mercy, who resented her brother’s success and taught her children to do the same. The fragile and absent-minded Mrs. Howell, who lived next door to Blodwen and thought so highly of the girl. Gwen and Sayers should be included, too, for they were local people, although they had a far more distant connection to either Blodwen or Finn. Mary was newly arrived in Newport, although that did not exclude her, either. Young Simon Evans, the constable who tried hard to fulfill his responsibilities, who was a simple lad at heart. Danica Morgan, Baroness Nevern, who was so proud of her husband. They were merely the people Catrin was aware of, who lived in Newport and might have some connection with Blodwen.

  Although, even the Inspector had presumed a man had done the deed.

  Catrin drew a line through the names of every woman on her list with some irritation because she could not dispute the Inspector.

  She put down her pen, wiped her fingers of ink, and considered the list.

  Sayers brought a tray with tea, a bowl of beef stew and fruitcake for her lunch, sometime later. Catrin was still staring at the list. She ate and drank absently, letting her mind drift, making odd associations and connections.

  It was sunset before she heard the crunch of carriage wheels and the clop of hooves on the gravel in the yard. Catrin picked up her shawl and moved downstairs and out onto the gravel to meet the black carriage with its red trim.

  Only Inspector Sir Devlin Pryce stepped out.

  Catrin peered at the empty carriage behind him. “This is the Baron’s coach, is it not?”

  “The Baron kindly gave me the use of his conveyance while I investigate this matter,” Pryce told her. “Is Mr. Williams still indisposed?”

  “Yes,” Catrin replied shortly. “Then you have spoken to Nevern today?”

  “As I alighted from his carriage, that would follow.” Pryce seemed amused.

  Catrin pressed her hand to her temple. Her head ached. “Did you learn when Blodwen died, Inspector?”

  “Dr. Jones has reluctantly agreed the lady may have died at any time during the hours we cannot account for,” Pryce said. He hesitated. “A commitment made under pressure is not a strong one and I had to force Jones to reconsider his op
inion. We cannot rely upon his expertise—as much as it pains me to admit it. Jones was a fine man, once.”

  “He still is,” Catrin assured Pryce. “His true nature is merely hidden beneath the effects of his excesses, which he cannot help.”

  Pryce met her gaze. “Of course, you are familiar with such considerations. Shall we go inside, Miss Davies?”

  Catrin stepped closer to him. “I would rather we didn’t,” she admitted. “The sounds of strangers in the drawing room bother Daniel and it has been a hard day for him.”

  Pryce glanced toward the house. “I see.”

  “Inspector, if Blodwen died before half-past six that night, then everyone at the party would now need to account for themselves, wouldn’t they?”

  Pryce rested both hands on the top of his cane. “They would,” he agreed and waited.

  Catrin resettled the shawl about her shoulders. “I thought of it this afternoon. My first impulse was to speak to Baroness Nevern and acquire a guest list for the party from her, then speak to everyone on the list. I did not do that because this is your investigation, Inspector. It seemed presumptuous to do so. Perhaps I could accompany you instead?”

  The Inspector considered her at length. Then he stepped aside and waved toward the carriage.

  Catrin looked at him, surprised. “You will do as I suggest?”

  “It is an excellent suggestion, Miss Davies. In fact, my next stop, once I spoke to you as I promised, was to return the carriage and speak to the Baroness while I did so.” One eye fluttered almost shut. A wink.

  Encouraged, Catrin climbed into the carriage. As the carriage rounded the plinth and turned onto the road to Newport, she saw the very last curve of the sun on the horizon, the sea turned purple and red before it.

  She hoped everyone stayed in their houses, tonight, until the monster lurking among them was discovered.

  Daniel barely waited for the sun to lower beneath the sea. The day had been interminably long and the room he paced seemed to grow smaller with each passing hour. He longed to be out in the cool air, walking so his lungs burned and his body ached with the effort. In that way he might find some peace from the day’s agony. It had been particularly bad today because he had extended himself too far this morning. He had known within a minute or two of sitting at Pryce’s brightly lit table that the light was too strong. Sounds wavered, warning him.