William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

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 to find 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 honor 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 several trials, many of which have ended far from the way we had expected and believed. Never give up until there is nothing elseleft 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 halfhearted, 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. Love 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 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. “Haveyou … 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