The Silent Cry (37 page)

"Rhys, this is Sir Oliver Rathbone. He is going to speak for you in court.”

Rhys stared at her, then at Rathbone. He was lying on his back, propped up on pillows as she had left him, his splinted hands on the covers in front of him. He looked frightened and stiff.

"How do you do," Rathbone said with a smile and an inclination of his head, as if Rhys had replied quite normally. "May I sit down?”

Rhys nodded, then looked at Hester.

"Would you pre ferme to leave?" she asked. "I can go next door and you can knock the bell off if you need me.”

He shook his head immediately and she could sense his anxiety, his loneliness, his feeling almost of drowning under the weight of confusion inside him. She retreated to the corner of the room and sat down.

"You must be honest with me," Rathbone began quietly. "Everything you tell me will remain in confidence, if you wish it. I am bound by law not to act other than in your interests, as long as I remain honest myself. I cannot lie, but I can and will keep anything secret, if that is what you wish.”

Rhys nodded.

"The same applies to Miss Latterly. That is her bond as well as mine.”

Rhys stared at him.

"Do you know what happened the night your father was killed?”

Rhys winced and seemed to shrink within himself, but he did not move his eyes from Rathbone's face, and he nodded slowly.

"Good. I know you can indicate only "yes" or "no". I shall ask you questions and if you can answer them so, then do. If you cannot, then wait, and I shall re-word it." He hesitated only a moment. "Did you go with your friends, Arthur and Duke Kynaston, to the area of St.

Giles, and when there use the services of prostitutes?”

Rhys bit his lip, and then nodded, a dull flush of pink in his cheeks.

His eyes remained steady on Rathbone's face.

"Did you at any time injure any of these women, fight with them, even accidentally?”

Rhys shook his head violently.

"Did either Arthur or Duke Kynaston do so?”

Rhys remained still.

"Do you know if they did or not?”

Rhys shook his head.

"Did you also go with them to Seven Dials?”

Rhys nodded very slowly, uncertainly.

"You want to add something?" Rathbone asked. "Did you go often?”

Rhys shook his head.

"Only a few times?”

He nodded.

"Did you injure any women there?”

Again he shook his head, sharply, his eyes angry.

"Did your father go with you?”

Rhys's eyes widened in amazement.

"No," Rathbone answered his own question. "But he knew you went, and he did not approve?”

Rhys nodded, a bitter smile twisting his mouth. There was rage in it and hurt and a blazing frustration. He tried to speak, his throat muscles knotting, his head jerking forward.

Hester started up from her chair, then realised she must not interrupt.

She might protect him for the moment, and damage him for all the future. Rathbone must learn all he could, however painful.

"Did you quarrel about it?" Rathbone continued.

Rhys nodded slowly.

"Here at home?”

He nodded.

"And when you went to St. Giles the night of his death?”

Again the sharp, violent movement of denial, and the jolt forward as if he would laugh, had he the power.

"Did you quarrel about something else?”

Rhys's eyes filled with tears and he banged his broken hands up and down on the bedclothes, his body locked in an inner pain far worse than the sickening jolting of the bones.

Rathbone turned to Hester, his face white.

She moved forward.

"Rhys!" she said sharply. She sat down on the bed and took hold of his wrists, trying to force him to be still, but his muscles were clenched so hard she could not. He was stronger than she had expected, and his whole body was caught in the emotion. "Rhys!" she said again, more urgently. "Stop it! You'll move the bones again. I know you think you don't care, but you do! Please…”

He unclenched his hands slowly, and the tears spilled over his cheeks.

He stared at her, then turned away, and she saw only the back of his head.

"Rhys," she said firmly. "Did you kill your father?”

There was a long silence. Neither Hester nor Rathbone moved. Then slowly he turned back to her and shook his head, his eyes intent on her face.

"But you know who did?" she pressed.

This time he refused to answer even by a look.

She turned to Rathbone.

"All right, for now," he conceded, standing up. "I will consider what to do. Try to rest and recover as much as you can. You will need your strength when the time comes. I will do everything I can to help you, that I promise.”

Rhys looked at him without blinking and Rathbone looked back for a long moment, then with a slight smile, not of hope but only of a kind of warmth, he turned and left the room.

Outside on the landing he waited until Hester had joined him and closed the door.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"I may have been a little rash," he acknowledged with a tiny shrug, his voice so low she could only just hear him.

Her heart sank. For a moment she had allowed herself to hope. She realised just how much she trusted him, how deep her confidence ran that he could accomplish even the impossible. She had not been fair to lay such a burden on him. She had seen people do it to doctors, and then they had struggled under the weight of impossible hope, and then the despair which followed, and the guilt. Now she had done the same thing to Rathbone, because she wanted it so much for Rhys.

"I am sorry," she said humbly. "I know there may not be anything to be done.”

"There'll be something," he replied with a tiny frown between his brows, as if he were puzzled. "I am confused by him. I went in persuaded by circumstance and evidence of his guilt. Now that I have spoken to him, I don't know what to think. I am not even sure what other possibilities there are. Why will he not answer as to who killed his father, if it was not him? Why will he not say what they quarrelled over? You saw his face when I asked!”

She had no suggestions to give. She had lain awake and racked her brains night after night searching for the same answers herself.

"The only thing I can imagine is that he is defending someone," she said quietly. "And the only people he would defend are his family or close friends. I cannot see Arthur Kynaston doing this, and his only family here is his mother.”

"What do you know of his mother?" he asked, glancing towards the hall below them as he heard footsteps crossing it and fading away in the direction of the baize door through to the servants' quarters. "Is it conceivable she has done something for which Rhys is willing to suffer even this to protect her?”

She hesitated. At first she had thought to deny even the possibility.

She could recall far too vividly Rhys's anger with Sylvestra, the joy he had taken in hurting her. Of course he could not be protecting her!

Then she realised that neither love nor guilt were always so clear. It was possible he loved and hated her at the same time, that he knew something which he would never betray, but that he still despised her for it.

"I don't know," she said aloud. "The more I think of it, the less sure I am. But I have no idea what.”

He was looking at her closely. "Haven't you?”

"No! Of course not. If I knew I would tell you!”

He nodded. "Then if we are to help Rhys, we are going to have to know more than we do now. Since he cannot tell us, and I imagine Mrs. Duff either cannot or will not, we shall have to employ some other means." A flicker of amusement touched his lips. "I know of none better than Monk, if he will consent to it, and Mrs. Duff is prepared to agree.”

"Surely she cannot refuse?" Hester said, fearing as she spoke that Sylvestra might very well. "I mean… unless… without suggesting she fears there is something even worse to conceal?”

"I shall frame it so she will find it extremely difficult to refuse,” he promised. "I should also like to speak with Arthur and Duke Kynaston. What can you tell me about them?”

"I find it hard to believe Arthur is the chief protagonist in this,” she said sincerely. "He has honesty in him, an openness I could not but like. His elder brother Marmaduke is a different matter." She bit her lip. "I should find it far easier to imagine he reacted with violence if challenged or criticised, and certainly if he felt himself in any danger. His words are quick enough to attempt to hurt." Honesty compelled her to go on. "But he has been here to visit Rhys, and he certainly was not involved in a fight of anything like the proportions that killed Leighton Duff and left Rhys like this. I wish I could say that he was!”

Rathbone smiled. "I can see that, my dear, and hear it in your voice.

Nevertheless, I shall visit them. I must begin somewhere, apart from engaging Monk. Perhaps we had better go and set Mrs. Duffs mind at ease that at least we shall begin, and give the battle all we have.”

Rathbone did as he had said, and asked Sylvestra's permission to employ someone to learn more of the events, with the view to helping Rhys, not simply finding material proof as the police had done. He phrased his request in such a way she could scarcely refuse him without appearing to wish to abandon Rhys, and to have something of her own to conceal.

He also asked her for the address of the Kynaston family, and she explained that Joel Kynaston had known Rhys since childhood, and she was certain he would offer any assistance within his power.

After Rathbone had left she turned to Hester, her face pale and tense.

"Is there really anything he can do, Miss Latterly? Or are we simply fighting a battle we must lose, because to do less would be cowardly, and a betrayal of courage and the sense of honour we admire? Please answer me honestly. I would rather have truth now. The time for reassuring lies, however well meant, is past. I need to know the truth in order to make the decisions I must.”

"I don't know," Hester said honestly. "We can none of us know until the case is heard, and concluded. I have seen many trials, several of which have ended far from the way we had expected and believed. Never give up until there is nothing else left to try and it is all over. We are very far from that point now. Believe me, if anyone can mitigate even the worst circumstances, it is Sir Oliver.”

Sylvestra's face softened in a smile, sadness touching her eyes.

"You are very fond of him, aren't you." It was barely a question.

Hester felt the heat in her face.

"Yes… yes, I have a high regard for him." The words sounded stilted and absurd, so very half-hearted, and Rathbone deserved better than that. But the shadow of Monk was too sharp in her mind to allow Sylvestra to misunderstand, as she seemed willing to do. It was not difficult to comprehend. It was one sweet and gentle thing, one thing which led on into the future, in a world which for Sylvestra was full of darkness and violence and the ending of all the peace and hope she knew.

"I…" Hester started again. "I do have a great… regard for him.”

Sylvestra was too sensitive to probe any further, and Hester excused herself, saying she must go up and see how Rhys was.

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 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 Hesterand 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 favourable, 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, 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 now. 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 honour 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.