William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

interesting things?”
    Slowly he smiled.
    She turned and went out to tell Wharmby.
    Arthur Kynaston came up the stairs slowly, his fair face creased in concern.
    “Are you the nurse?” he asked when he stood in front of her.
    “Yes. My name is Hester Latterly.”
    “May I see him?”
    “Yes. But I must warn you, Mr. Kynaston, he is very ill. I expect you have already been told that he cannot speak.”
    “But he will be able to … soon? I mean, it will come back, won’t it?”
    “I don’t know. For now he cannot, but he can nod or shake his head. And he likes to be spoken to.”
    “What can I say?” He looked confused and a little afraid. He was very young, perhaps seventeen.
    “Anything, except to mention what happened in St. Giles or the death of his father.”
    “Oh God! I mean … he does know, doesn’t he? Someone has told him?”
    “Yes. But he was there. We don’t know what happened, but the shock of it seems to be what has robbed him of speech. Talk about anything else. You must have interests. Do you study? What do you hope to do?”
    “Classics,” he replied without hesitation. “Rhys loves the ancient stories, even more than I do. We’d love to go to Greece or Turkey.”
    She smiled and stood aside. There was no need to say that he had answered his own question. He knew it.
    As soon as he saw Arthur, Rhys’s face lit up, then instantly was shadowed by self-consciousness. He was in bed, helpless, unable even to welcome him.
    If Arthur Kynaston had any idea of such things, he hid it superbly. He walked in as if it were the way they naturally met. He sat down in the chair beside the bed, ignoring Hester, facing Rhys.
    “I suppose you’ve got rather more time to read than you can use?” he said ruefully. “I’ll see if I can find a few new books for you. I’ve just been reading something fascinating. Trust me to get there years after everyone else, but I’ve got this book about Egypt, by an Italian called Belzoni. It was written nearly forty years ago, 1822 to be exact. It’s all about the discovery of ancient tombs in Egypt and Nubia.” He could not help his face’s tightening with enthusiasm. “It’s marvelous! I’m convinced there must be much more there, if only we knew where to look.” He leaned forward. “I haven’t told Papa yet. But although I keep saying I’ll study the classics, actually I think I might like to be an Egyptologist. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would.”
    In the doorway, Hester already felt herself relaxing.
    Rhys stared at Arthur, his eyes wide with fascination.
    “I must tell you about some of the stuff they’ve found,” Arthur went on. “I tried to tell Duke, but you know him. He wasn’t even remotely interested. No imagination. Sees time like a series of little rooms, all without windows. If you are in today, then that’s all that exists. I see it all as a vast whole. Any day is as important and as real as any other. Don’t you think so?”
    Rhys smiled and nodded.
    “Can I tell you about this?” Arthur asked. “Do you mind? I’ve been longing to tell someone. Papa would be furious with me for wasting time. Mama would just listen with half her mind and then forget it. Duke thinks I’m a fool. But you’re a captive audience …” He blushed hotly. “Sorry … that was a wretched thing to say. I wish I’d bitten my tongue!”
    Rhys smiled with sudden brilliance. It changed his whole face, lighting it with an extraordinary charm. It was a warmth Hester had never had a chance to see.
    “Thanks,” Arthur said with a little shake of his head. “What I mean is, I know you’ll understand.” And he proceeded to describe the discoveries Belzoni had made in Egypt, his voice rising with eagerness, his hands moving quickly to outline them in the air.
    Hester slipped out silently. She was perfectly confident that Arthur Kynaston would cause Rhys no unnecessary harm. If he reminded him of other times, of life and vigor, that was unavoidable. He would think of those things anyway. If he made the occasional clumsy reference, that was bound to happen too. They were still best left alone.
    Downstairs, the maid Janet told her that Mrs. Duff would be pleased if she would join her in the withdrawing room for tea.
    It was a courtesy, and one that Hester had not expected. She was not a servant in the house, but neither was she a guest. Perhaps Sylvestra wished her to know as much as possible about family friends in order to be able to help