Page 96 of The Silent Cry (William Monk 8)

She found him lying exactly as she had left him, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open. She sat down on the bed.

“We won’t give up,” she said quietly.

He looked at her, searching her face, then suddenly anger twisted his features and he swung his head away.

She thought of getting up and leaving. Perhaps he would rather be alone. Then she looked at him more closely and saw the despair beneath the anger, and she could not leave. She simply sat and waited, silent and helpless. At least he knew she cared enough to remain.

It was the middle of the evening when Rathbone returned. He was shown into the dining room, where Hester and Sylvestra were picking at dinner, pushing it around the plate in an attempt to eat sufficient not to offend the cook.

Rathbone came in looking grave, and immediately both of them stopped.

“Good evening, Sir Oliver,” Sylvestra said huskily. “Have you … learned something? May I offer you something to eat? If you would like to dine … I …” Her voice trailed off and she stared up at him, too frightened of what he was going to say to continue.

He sat down but declined to eat. “No, I have not learned anything new, Mrs. Duff. I have been to speak to Mr. Kynaston, in the hope that he might shed some light on what has happened. He has known your family for twenty-five years, I believe. I also intend to meet his sons, who were with Rhys in St. Giles. I wanted to form some opinion as to whether we should call them to testify. I imagine the prosecution may do that anyway.”

Sylvestra swallowed and seemed almost to choke.

“You speak in the past, Sir Oliver, as if it were no longer true. Do you mean that Joel Kynaston is so … so repelled by what Rhys has done, that he will not … that what he says will … will hurt Rhys?”

“It is not favorable, Mrs. Duff,” Rathbone said unhappily. “I tell you because I wonder if there is some reason you are aware of why Mr. Kynaston may have such a view. He expressed the opinion that Rhys has been a poor influence upon his sons, especially the elder, Marmaduke, whom he feels has led a more”—he hesitated, searching for the right word—“libertine life than he would have done without Rhys’s example and encouragement.”

Hester was amazed. The arrogance in Duke Kynaston had been so apparent, as had the natural assumption of leadership, that it was inconceivable to her that Rhys had influenced him and not the other way around. But then she had not known Rhys before the incident. She hardly knew Duke at present. All she had seen of him was a young man’s swagger and bravado, and a considerable rudeness to one he felt his social and intellectual inferior.

She looked at Sylvestra to try to judge the surprise in her face.

“Joel Kynaston is a very strict man,” Sylvestra said thoughtfully, staring not at Rathbone but down at her plate. “He believes in great self-discipline, especially among the young. It is the foundation of strong character. It is what courage and honor are built upon, and without it all else may fail, eventually.” Her voice was careful, full of long-held, familiar conviction. “I have heard him say so many times. He is much admired for it. It may appear like hardness to others, but in his position, if he were to make exceptions, be seen to be lenient towards one, it would invalidate the principles for which he stands.” Her face was intent, but there was a slight frown between her brows, as if she were concentrating on what she was saying and it flowed from memory rather than understanding.

“And he felt Rhys set a poor example?” Rathbone said gently. “Was he not a good student?”

Sylvestra looked surprised. “Yes, he was excellent. But it was not only in aca

demic studies Joel felt passionately—above all, it was moral worth. His school has a very high reputation, and it is largely due to his own example.” She looked down at her hands. “Sometimes I think he expected too much of boys, forgetting they cannot have the strength of character one would hope of men. He did not understand the need of youth to discover boundaries for itself. Rhys was … an explorer … of thought, I mean. At least …” She gave up suddenly, her lip trembling. “I am not sure what I do mean.” She swallowed and regained control with an intense effort. “I am sorry. I know my husband had a deep respect for Joel Kynaston. He believed him a most remarkable man.” She hurried on, as if she feared interruption. “I should not be surprised that Joel feels his dead? profoundly and cannot forgive anyone who was involved in causing it. I am sorry, Sir Oliver, but you will have to look elsewhere for anyone to help us.”

Before Rathbone could answer her, the door opened and Corriden Wade came in. He looked deeply concerned, his face was gaunt as if he had slept little, and there was a tension in him which was apparent even before he spoke. He looked at Rathbone with surprise and some anxiety.

Sylvestra stood up immediately and went over to Wade, relief and expectation in her eyes.

“Corriden, this is Sir Oliver Rathbone, whom I have engaged to defend Rhys. We are searching for anything whatever which may help. He has spoken to Joel, but it seems Joel feels Rhys was an unfortunate influence upon Arthur and Duke, and being the man he is, he cannot speak anything but the truth. I suppose I should admire him for that, and if it were of anyone else, I should be the first to applaud him.” She bit her lip. “Which proves what a hypocrite I am, because I cannot. I wish desperately that he could bend a little, I suppose be less honorable. Isn’t that a dreadful thing to say? I never thought I would hear myself say such a thing. You will be ashamed of me.”

Wade put his arm around her.

“Never, my dear. It is only human to wish to protect those one loves, especially when there is no one else to do so. You are his mother. I should expect no less of you.” He glanced at Rathbone, looking past Sylvestra. “How do you do, sir. I am Corriden Wade, physician to the family, and at present Rhys is in my care for his physical needs.” He nodded towards Hester. “And Miss Latterly’s care, of course. She has done excellently well for him.”

Rathbone had risen when Sylvestra did; now he came forward and bowed in acknowledgment of Wade’s introduction.

“How do you do, Dr. Wade. I am very pleased you have come. We shall need your medical assistance when the time comes. I believe you have known Rhys a long time?”

“Since he was a small child,” Wade answered. He looked worried, as if he feared what Rathbone might ask him. “I wish, more intensely than you can know, that I could offer some testimony which would mitigate this appalling tragedy, but I have been unable to think of any.” He still had his arm resting lightly on Sylvestra’s. “What will be your defense, Sir Oliver?”

“I do not yet know sufficient to say,” Rathbone replied smoothly. If he was as frightened as Hester felt, he hid it superbly. She thought he probably was. There was a stiffness to the way he stood, a hesitation in his voice which she had seen before, at the worst times in past cases, when it seemed there was no escape from disaster, no solution but tragedy and failure.

“What more is there to learn?” Wade asked. “Mrs. Duff has told me what the police believe: that Rhys had been keeping company with women of the street, the lowest element in our society, spreaders of disease and depravity; that he had exercised a certain amount of violence in these relationships; and that Leighton had come to suspect as much. When he followed him and taxed him with his behavior, they fought. Rhys was injured, as you know, and Leighton, perhaps being an older man, taken by surprise, was killed. Is it any defense to suggest the fight was not intended to go so far and that death was accidental?” He looked doubtful even as he said it.

“If two men fight and one of them dies, unless it can be demonstrated that it was accidental,” Rathbone replied, “it will be proved to be murder. For it to be manslaughter, we should have to show that Leighton Duff tripped over by mischance, or fell on some weapon he was carrying himself, or something of that nature. I am afraid that was very clearly not so. The injuries were all inflicted by fist or boot. Such things are not accidental.”

Wade nodded. “That is what I had feared. Sir Oliver, do you think we might continue this discussion in private. It can only be most distressing for Mrs. Duff to listen to.”

“No,” Sylvestra said sharply. “I will not be excluded from … something which may affect my son’s life! Anyway, if it is evidence, I shall hear it in court. I should prefer to hear it now and at least be prepared.”

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