William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

looking grave but not more concerned than when Hester had shown him in. As always, he had chosen to see Rhys alone. Bearing in mind the site of some of the injuries, and a young man’s natural modesty, it was easy to understand why. Hester was not as impersonal a nurse to him as she had been to the men in the hospitals of the Crimea. There were so many of them she had had no time to become a friend to any one, except in brief moments of extremity. With Rhys she was far more than merely someone who attended to his needs. They spent hours together; she talked to him, read to him, sometimes they laughed. She knew his family and his friends, like Arthur Kynaston, and now also Arthur’s brother, Duke, a young man she found less attractive.
    “Satisfactory, Miss Latterly,” Wade said with a very slight smile. “He seems to be responding well, although I do not wish to give false encouragement. He is certainly not recovered yet. You must still care for him with the greatest skill you possess.”
    His brows drew together and he looked at her intensely. “And I cannot impress upon you too strongly how important it is that he should not be disturbed or caused anxiety, fear or other turbulence of spirit that can be avoided. You must not permit that young policeman, or any other, to force him to attempt a recollection of what happened the night of his injury.I hope you understand that. I imagine you do. I feel that you are very fully aware of his pain and would do anything, even place yourself at risk, to protect him.” He looked very slightly self-conscious, a faint color on his cheeks. “I have a high opinion of you, Miss Latterly.”
    She felt a warmth inside her. Simple praise from a colleague for whom she had a supreme regard was sweeter than the greatest extravagance from someone who did not know precisely what it meant.
    “Thank you, Dr. Wade,” she said quietly. “I shall endeavor not to give you cause ever to think otherwise.”
    He smiled suddenly, as if for an instant he forgot the care and unhappiness which had brought them together.
    “I have no doubt of you,” he replied, then bowed very slightly and walked past her and down the stairs to where Sylvestra would be waiting for him in the withdrawing room.
    Early in the afternoon Hester tried to spin out small domestic tasks, getting smears out of Rhys’s nightshirt where one of his bandages had been pulled crooked and blood from the still-open wound had seeped through; mending a pillowcase before the tiny tear became worse; sorting the books in the bedroom into some specific order. There was a knock on the door, and when she answered it the maid informed her that a gentleman had called to see her and had been shown to the housekeeper’s sitting room.
    “Who is he?” Hester asked with surprise. Her immediate thought was that it was Monk, then she realized how unlikely that was. It had come to her mind only because some thought of him was so close under the surface of her consciousness. It would be Evan, come to see if he could enlist her help in solving the mystery of Rhys’s injuries, at least in learning something more about the family and the relationship between father and son. It was absurd to feel this sudden sinking of disappointment. She would not know what to say to Monk anyway.
    Nor did she know what to say to Evan. Her duty lay to the truth, but she did not know if she wanted to learn it. Her professional loyalty, and her emotions, were toward Rhys. Andshe was employed by Sylvestra; that required of her some kind of honesty.
    She thanked the maid and finished what she was doing, then went downstairs and through the green baize door, along the passage to the housekeeper’s sitting room. She went in without knocking.
    She stopped abruptly. It was Monk who stood in the middle of the floor, slim and graceful in his perfectly cut coat. He looked short-tempered and impatient.
    She closed the door behind her.
    “How is your patient?” he asked. His expression was one of interest.
    Was it politeness, or did he have a reason to care? Or was it simply something to say?
    “Dr. Wade tells me he is recovering fairly well but still far from healed,” she replied a trifle stiffly. She was angry with herself for the elation she felt because it was him and not Evan. There was nothing to be pleased about. It would only be another pointless quarrel.
    “Haven’t you got an opinion of your own?” He raised his eyebrows. He sounded critical.
    “Of