William Monk 08 - The Silent Cry

you do not wish to keep Mr. Duff waiting.” And before he could find a reply to that, she smiled charmingly at Arthur and went up the stairs ahead of them, her temper still seething.
    An hour later there was a knock on her door, and when she opened it, Arthur Kynaston was standing on the threshold.
    “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “He can be awfully rude. There’s no excuse for him. May I come in and speak with you?”
    “Of course.” She could not have refused him anyway, and Monk was right, she would search for the truth, however much against her will, hoping with every step that it would prove Rhys innocent, but compelled to know it anyway. “Please come in.”
    “Thank you.” He glanced around in curiosity, then blushed. “I wanted to ask you if Rhys really is getting better, and if …” His brows furrowed and his eyes darkened. “If he’s going to speak again. Is he, Miss Latterly?”
    Instantly she wondered if it was fear she saw in him. What was it Rhys would say if he could speak? Was that why Duke Kynaston was there, to see if Rhys was any danger to him … and perhaps to ensure that he was not? Should she leave them alone with him? He could not even cry out. He was utterly at their mercy.
    No, that was a hideous thought. And nonsense. If anything happened to him while they were there, they would certainly be blamed for it. There was no way they could explain or escape. They must know that as surely as she did. Was Duke alone with him now? Instinctively she turned towards the connecting door.
    “What is it?” Arthur asked quickly.
    “Oh.” She turned back to him, forcing herself to smile. Was she virtually alone with a young man who had raped and beaten a dozen or more women, and were there two more only the thickness of the door away? She should be frightened, not for them but of them … for herself. She collected her wits. “I wish I could give you more hope, Mr. Kynaston …” She must protect Rhys. “But there is no sign at all. I am so sorry.”
    He looked stricken, as if she had destroyed a hope in him.
    “What happened to him?” he said, shaking his head a little. “How was he hurt that he can’t speak? Why can’t Dr. Wade do anything for him? Is it something broken? It should heal then, shouldn’t it?”
    He looked as if he cared intensely. She found it almost impossible to believe his wide stare concealed guilt.
    “It is not physical.” She answered with the truth before weighing if it was the wisest thing to do. Now she could not stop. “Whatever he saw that night was so fearful it has affected his mind.”
    Arthur’s eyes brightened. “So he could regain his speech any day?”
    What should she say? What was best for Rhys?
    Arthur was watching her, the anxiety clouding over his face again.
    “Couldn’t he?” he repeated.
    “It is possible,” she said cautiously. “But don’t expect it yet. It can take a long time.”
    “It’s awful!” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Rhys used to be such fun, you know?” He looked at her earnestly, willing her to understand. “We did all kinds of things together, he and I … and Duke some of the time. Rhys had a great sense of adventure. He could be terribly brave—and make us all laugh.” His face was full of distress. “Can you think of anything worse than having hundreds of things to say and lying alone not able to say a single one of them? Thinking of something funny and not being able to share it? What’s the point of a joke if you can’t tell it to people and watch their faces as they grasp it? You can’t share anything beautiful, or awful, or even ask for help, or say you are hungry or scared rigid.” Heshook his head a little. “How do you even know what he wants? You might be giving him rice pudding when he’s asking for bread and butter.”
    “It is not as bad as that,” she said gently, although in essence it was true. Rhys could not share his real pain or terror. “I can ask him questions, and he can answer with a nod or a shake. I’m getting quite good at guessing what he would like.”
    “It’s hardly the same, though, is it?” he said with a sudden touch of bitterness. “Will he ever be able to ride a horse again, or race one? Will he dance or be able to play cards? He used to be so quick with cards. He could shuffle them faster than anyone else. It made Duke furious, because he couldn’t match it. Can’t you do anything to help, Miss Latterly? It’s awful standing