William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

sort of woman to seize her own desires even at the expense of someone else’s life. Had she the strength of will, the courage, the blind, passionate selfishness? But how did you say that to anyone? How did you elicit it from him without his wish?
    Not by pacing the floor alone in a cold room, thinking about it. He wished he had Monk’s skill. Monk might have known how to proceed.
    He went to the fireplace and pulled the bell rope. When the maid answered he asked if he could see Mrs. Kynaston. The maid promised to enquire.
    He had no picture in his mind, but still Fidelis Kynaston surprised him. He would have said at a glance that she was plain. She was certainly over forty, nearer to forty-five, and yet he found himself drawn to her immediately. There was a composure in her, an inner certainty which was integrity.
    “Good evening, Mr. Evan.” She came in and closed the door. She had fair hair which was fading a little at the temples, and she wore a dark gray dress of simple cut, without ornament except for a very beautiful cameo brooch, heightened by its solitary presence. The physical resemblance to her son was plain, and yet her personality was so utterly different she seemed nothing like him at all. There was no antagonism in her eyes, no contempt, only amusement and patience.
    “Good evening, Mrs. Kynaston,” he said quickly. “I am sorry to disturb you, but I need your help, if you are able to give it, in endeavoring to learn what happened to Rhys Duff and hisfather. I cannot question him. As you may know, he cannot speak and is too ill to be distressed by having the subject even mentioned to him. I dislike raising it with Mrs. Duff more than I am obliged to, and I think she is too deeply shocked at present to recall a great deal.”
    “I am not sure what I know, Mr. Evan,” she answered with a frown. “The imagination answers why Rhys may have gone to such an area. Young men do. They frequently have more curiosity and appetite than either sense or good taste.”
    He was surprised at her candor, and it must have shown in his expression.
    She smiled, a lopsided gesture because of the extraordinariness of her face.
    “I have sons, and I had brothers, Mr. Evan. Also, my husband is the principal of a school for boys. I should indeed have my eyes closed were I to be unaware of such things.”
    “Did you not find it difficult to believe that Rhys would go there?”
    “No. He was an average young man, with all the usual desires to flout convention as he thought his parents considered it, and yet to do exactly what all young men have always done.”
    “His father before him?” he asked.
    Her eyebrows rose. “Probably. If you are asking me if I know, then the answer is that I do not. There are many things a wise woman chooses not to know, unless the knowledge is forced upon her, and most men do not force it.”
    He hesitated. Was she referring to the use of prostitutes, or something else as well? There was a shadow in her eyes, a darkness in her voice. She had looked at the world clearly and seen much unpleasantness. He was quite sure she had known pain and accepted it as inevitable, her own no less than that of others. Could it be to do with her son Duke? Might he have a great deal to do with the younger, more impressionable, Rhys’s behavior? Duke was the kind of youth others wanted to impress—and to emulate.
    “But nevertheless, you guess?” he said quietly.
    “That is not the same, Mr. Evan. What you only guess youcan always deny to yourself. The element of uncertainty is enough. But before you ask: no, I do not know what happened to Rhys or to his father. I can only assume Rhys fell in with bad company, and poor Leighton was so concerned for him that in this instance he followed him, perhaps in an attempt to persuade Rhys to leave, and in the ensuing fight, Leighton was killed and Rhys injured. It is tragic. With a little more consideration, less pride and stubbornness, it need not have happened.”
    “Is this guess based on your knowledge of the character of Mr. Duff?”
    She was still standing, perhaps also too cold to sit.
    “Yes.”
    “You knew him quite well?”
    “Yes, I did. I have known Mrs. Duff for years. Mr. Duff and my husband were close friends. My husband is profoundly grieved at his death. It has made him quite unwell. He took a severe chill, and I am sure the distress has hindered his recovery.”
    “I’m sorry,” Evan said automatically. “Tell me something about Mr.