William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

that end I call Miss Hester Latterly to the stand.”
    There was a slight stir of interest. Heads craned as Hester walked across the floor and up the steps, faced Rathbone and took the oath.
    “What is your occupation, Miss Latterly?” Rathbone began almost conversationally.
    “I am a nurse.”
    “Do you presently have a patient?”
    “Yes. I have been employed to nurse Rhys Duff since he returned from the hospital after the incident in Water Lane.”
    “Was there also a doctor in attendance?”
    “Dr. Corriden Wade. He has been the family physician for many years, I understand.”
    The judge leaned forward. “Please restrict yourself to what you know, Miss Latterly.”
    “I’m sorry, my lord.”
    “Have you any experience in the army of men injured in the same manner and degree as Rhys Duff was, Miss Latterly?”
    “Yes. I nursed many injured soldiers in Scutari.”
    There was a murmur of approval around the gallery. Two of the jurors nodded.
    “Did you treat his injuries yourself, or merely nurse him, keep him clean, feed him, attend to his wants?” Rathbone must be careful how he phrased his questions. So far no one elseseemed to have the slightest idea what he was seeking to prove. He must not lead her, neither must he leave any doubt in their minds, once he had shown them the truth.
    Goode was listening intently.
    “I treated those wounds above the waist,” Hester replied. “They were bruises, very severe, and the broken bones in his hands, and two broken ribs. There was very little to be done for them. The injuries below the waist Dr. Wade told me he bandaged. This was for the sake of Mr. Duff’s sensibilities.”
    “I see. So you never observed them yourself?”
    “That is correct.”
    “But you accepted Dr. Wade’s word for their nature and degree, and that they were healing as well as could be expected?”
    “Yes.”
    The judge leaned forward again. “Sir Oliver, does the nature or site of Mr. Duff’s wounds have any relevance to whether he was responsible for his father’s death? I admit, I fail to see it.”
    “Yes, my lord, it does.” Rathbone turned to Hester. “Miss Latterly, was Mr. Duff subject to any unusual degree of emotional turmoil during the time you cared for him?”
    Goode rose to his feet. “My lord, Miss Latterly did not know Mr. Duff before the tragedy. She cannot know if his distress was usual or not.”
    The judge looked at Rathbone. “Sir Oliver? Mr. Goode’s point is a fair one.”
    “My lord, I meant was he subject to emotions extraordinary in a man in his condition. Miss Latterly has nursed many men who were severely injured. I think she is in a better position than almost anyone else to know what to expect.”
    “I agree.” The judge nodded. “You may answer, Miss Latterly.”
    “Yes, my lord. Rhys had the most appalling nightmares when he would try to cry out, beat his arms, even though his hands were broken and it must have caused him fearful pain, and he would try to scream. And yet when he was awake, he refused absolutely to respond to questions about the incidentand became extremely distressed, to the point of violent reaction against people, especially his mother, when any pressure was placed upon him.”
    “And what did you conclude from that?” Rathbone asked.
    “I did not conclude anything. I was puzzled. I … I feared perhaps he had indeed killed his father, and the memory of it was unbearable to him.”
    “Are you still of that opinion?”
    “No …”
    “Why not?”
    She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
    In the courtroom no one moved. Goode was frowning, listening to her intently.
    “Because after I saw him fall this morning,” she replied, “I remembered for an instant something I had learned of in the army. It seemed too appalling to be true, but in his cell, where they carried him, I was alone with him for several minutes before the doctor came. I made a very brief examination of his injuries … below the waist.” She stopped. Her face was filled with pain.
    Rathbone wished he did not have to make her say this, but there was no possible alternative.
    She saw it in his eyes and did not flinch.
    “He had been raped,” she said very quietly, but very clearly. “Rhys was the rapists’ last victim.”
    There was a gasp, and then utter silence except for a moan from Sylvestra as such pain of mind tore through her as was beyond bearing.
    “Rhys and his father quarreled because Rhys knew a little of what