William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

moment either to serve whatever was required or to deliver a message.
    “Come in?” Sylvestra said with a lift of surprise.
    The man who entered was lean and dark with a handsome face, deep-set eyes and a nose perhaps a trifle small. Now his expression was one of acute concern and distress. He all but ignored Evan and went immediately to Sylvestra, but his manner was professional as well as personal. Presumably he was the doctor Wharmby had sent for.
    “My dear, I cannot begin to express my sorrow. Naturally, anything I can do, you have but to name. I shall remain with you as long as you wish. Certainly I shall prescribe something to help you sleep and to calm and assist you through these first dreadful days. Eglantyne says if you wish to leave here and stay with us, we shall see that you have all the peace and privacy you could wish. Our house will be yours.”
    “Thank you … you are very kind. I …” She gave a little shiver. “I don’t even know what I want yet … what there is to be done.” She rose to her feet, swayed a moment and graspedfor his arm, which he gave instantly. “First I must go to St. Thomas’s Hospital and see Rhys.”
    “Do you think that is wise?” the doctor cautioned. “You are in a state of extreme shock, my dear. Allow me to go for you. I can at least see that he is given the very best professional help and care. I will see that he is brought home as soon as it is medically advisable. In the meantime I shall care for him myself, I promise you.”
    She hesitated, torn between love and good sense.
    “Let me at least see him!” she pleaded. “Take me. I promise I shall not be a burden. I am in command of myself!”
    He hesitated only a moment. “Of course. Take a little brandy, just to revive yourself, then I shall accompany you.” He glanced at Evan. “I am sure you are finished here, Sergeant. Anything else you need to know can wait until a more opportune time.”
    It was dismissal, and Evan accepted it with a kind of relief. There was little more he could learn there. Perhaps later he would speak to the valet and other servants. The coachman might know where his master was in the habit of going. In the meantime there were people he knew in St. Giles, informers, men and women upon whom pressure could be placed, judicious questions asked, and a great deal might be learned.
    “Of course,” he conceded, rising to his feet. “I shall try to bother you as little as possible, ma’am.” He took his leave as the doctor was taking the decanter of brandy from the butler and pouring a little into a glass.
    Outside in the street, where it was beginning to snow, Evan turned up his coat collar and walked briskly. He wondered what Monk would have done. Would he have thought of some brilliant and probing questions whose answers would have revealed a new line of truth to follow and unravel? Would he have felt any less crippled by pity and horror than Evan did? Had there been something obvious which his emotion had prevented him from seeing?
    Surely the obvious thing was that father and son had gone whoring in St. Giles and been careless, perhaps paid less than the asking price, perhaps been too high-handed or arrogantshowing off their money and their gold watches, and some ruffians, afire with drink, had attacked them and then, like dogs at the smell of blood, run amok?
    Either way, what could the widow know of it? He was right not to harry her now.
    He put his head down against the east wind and increased his pace.

2
    R hys Duff was kept in the hospital for a further two days, and on Monday, the fifth day after the attack, he was brought home, in great pain and still without having spoken a word. Dr. Corriden Wade was to call every day or, as Rhys progressed, every second day, but of course it would be necessary to have him professionally nursed. At the recommendation of the young policeman on the case, and having made appropriate enquiries as to her abilities, Wade agreed to the employment of one of the women who had gone out to the Crimea with Florence Nightingale, a Miss Hester Latterly. She was of necessity used to caring for young men who had suffered near-mortal injuries in combat. She was considered an excellent choice.
    To Hester herself it was an agreeable change after having nursed an elderly and extremely trying lady whose problems were largely matters of temper and boredom, only slightly exacerbated by two broken toes. She could probably have managed just as