William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

shift in their relationship. What should she talk about? For once there was no cause in which they had a common interest. It wasyears since she had dined alone with a man for other than professional reasons.
    But she had forgotten how sophisticated he was. She had seen the vulnerable side of him in the slander case. At dinner and at the theater he was utterly different. There he was in command. As always, he was immaculately dressed in the understated way of a man who knows he does not need to impress, his position is already assured. He had talked easily of all manner of things—art, politics, travel, a little philosophy and a touch of trivial scandal. He had made her laugh. She could picture him now, sitting back in his chair, his eyes looking at her very directly. He had unusual eyes, very dark in his lean, narrow face with its fairish hair, long nose and fastidious mouth. She had never known him so relaxed before, as if for a space of time duty and the law had ceased to matter.
    Once or twice he had mentioned his father, a man Hester had met several times and of whom she was extraordinarily fond. He even told her a few stories about his student days and his first, disastrous cases. She had not been sure whether to sympathize or be amused. She had looked at his face and ended laughing. He had not seemed to mind in the least.
    They had nearly been late for the theater and had taken their seats almost as the curtain rose. It was a melodrama—a terrible play. She had sat trying not to acknowledge to herself how bad it was. She must keep facing the stage. Rathbone, sitting beside her, would be bound to be aware if she gazed around or took more interest in the other members of the audience. She had sat rigidly facing forwards, trying to enjoy the play.
    Then she had glanced at him, after one particularly dreadful sequence of lines, and saw him wince. A few moments later she had looked at him again, and this time found him looking back, his eyes bright with rueful amusement.
    She had dissolved in giggles, and knew that when he pulled out a large handkerchief and held it to his mouth, it was for the same reason. Then he had leaned across to her and whispered, “Shall we leave before they ask us not to disrupt the performance?” and she had been delighted to agree.
    Afterwards they had walked along the icy street stilllaughing, mimicking some of the worst lines and parodying the scenes. They had stopped by a brazier where a street peddler was selling roasted chestnuts, and Oliver had bought two packets. They had walked along together trying not to burn their fingers or their tongues.
    It had been one of the happiest evenings she could remember, and curiously comfortable.
    She was still smiling at its recollection when the hansom reached her destination in Ebury Street and set her down with her luggage. She paid the driver and presented herself at the side door, where a footman helped her in with her case and directed her to where she should wait to meet the mistress.
    Hester had been told little about the circumstances of Rhys Duff’s injuries, only that they had been sustained in an attack in which his father had been killed. She had been far more concerned with the nature of his distress and what measure she could take to help him. She had seen Dr. Riley at the hospital, and he had professed a continuing interest in Rhys Duff’s case, but it was the family doctor, Corriden Wade, who had approached her. He had told her only that Rhys Duff was suffering from profound bruising, both external and internal. He was in a state of the most serious shock and had so far not spoken since the incident. She should not try to make him respond, except insofar as to make his wishes known regarding his comfort. Her task was to relieve his pain as far as was possible and to change the dressings of his minor external wounds. Dr. Wade himself would care for the more major ones. She must keep her patient clean and warm, and prepare for him such food as he was willing to take. This, of course, should be bland and nourishing.
    She was also to keep his room warm and pleasant for him, and to read to him if he should show any desire for it. The choice of material was to be made with great care. There must be nothing disturbing, either to the emotions or the intellect, and nothing which would excite him or keep him from as much rest as he was able to find. In Hester’s view, that excluded almost everything that was worthy of either the