William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

allow you to cause him the distress—and the real damage it may do—if you try in any way at all to bring back to his mind what he saw and felt. And if you had witnessed his nightmares as I have, you would not argue with me.” Her eyes were dark with her own distress, her facepinched with it, and he knew her well enough to read in her expression far more than she said.
    “And Dr. Wade has forbidden it,” she added. “He has seen his injuries and knows the damage further hysteria on his part might cause. His wounds could be torn open so easily were he to wrench his body around or move suddenly or violently.”
    “I understand,” he conceded, trying not to imagine too vividly the horror and the pain, and finding it hideously real. “I came principally to report to Mrs. Duff.”
    Her eyes widened. “Have you found something?” She remained curiously still, and for a moment he thought she was afraid of the answer.
    “No.” That was not totally true. She had not asked him openly, but had he been honest to the question which was understood between them, he would have said he had new suspicions about Sylvestra. He had returned not because of a discovery but a realization. “I wish there were new facts,” he went on. “It’s only a matter of trying better to understand the old ones.”
    “I can’t help you,” she said quietly. “I’m not even sure whether I want you to find the truth. I have no idea what it is, except that Rhys cannot bear it.”
    He smiled at her, and all the memory of past tragedies and horrors they had known was there with its emotion, for an instant shared.
    Then the door opened and Sylvestra came in. She looked at Hester with dark eyebrows lifted in question.
    “Miss Latterly says that Mr. Duff is not well enough to be spoken to,” Evan explained. “I am sorry. I had hoped he was better for his own sake, as well as for the truth.”
    “No … he’s not,” Sylvestra said quickly, relief filling her face, and a softening of gratitude towards Hester. “I’m afraid he still cannot help.”
    “Perhaps you can, Mrs. Duff.” Evan was not going to allow her to close him out. “Since I cannot speak with Mr. Duff, I shall have to speak with his friends. Some of them may know something which can tell us why he went to St. Giles and whom he knew there.”
    Hester went out silently.
    “I doubt it,” Sylvestra said almost before Evan had finished speaking, then seemed to regret her haste, not as having said something untrue but as being tactically mistaken. “I mean … at least I don’t think so. If they did, surely they would have come forward by now. Arthur Kynaston was here yesterday. If he or his brother had known anything at all, they would surely have told us.”
    “If they realize the relevance,” Evan said persuasively, as if he had not thought she was being evasive. “Where may I find them?”
    “Oh … the Kynastons live in Lowndes Square, number seventeen.”
    “Thank you. I daresay they can tell me of any other friends whose company they kept from time to time.” He made his tone casual. “Who would know your husband in his leisure hours, Mrs. Duff? I mean, who else might frequent the same clubs or have the same hobbies or interests?”
    She said nothing, staring at him with wide, black eyes. He tried to read in them what she was thinking, and failed completely. She was different from any woman he had seen before. There was a composure to her, a mystery, which filled his mind even when he had thought he was concentrating on something else, some utterly different aspect of the case. He would never understand her until he knew a great deal more about Leighton Duff, what manner of man he had been: brave or cowardly, kind or cruel, honest or deceitful, loving or cold. Had he had wit, charm, gentleness, imagination? Had she loved him, or had it been a marriage of convenience, workable but without passion? Had there even been friendship in it, or trust?
    “Mrs. Duff?”
    “I suppose Dr. Wade, and Mr. Kynaston principally,” she replied. “There are many others, of course. I think he had interests in common with Mr. Milton, in his law partnership, and Mr. Hodge. He spoke of a James Wellingham once or twice, and he wrote to a Mr. Phillips quite regularly.”
    “I’ll speak with them. Perhaps I may see the letters?” Hehad no idea what possible use they could be, but he must try everything.
    “Of course.” She seemed perfectly at ease with the idea. If