The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [135]
Rathbone smiled, and there was a very faint touch of color in his cheeks.
“For Miss Latterly’s sake, Mrs. Duff. She feels very strongly for Rhys’s plight, regardless of whether he should prove guilty of this or not. She persuaded me that he needs the best defense he can obtain. With your agreement, I shall do all in my power to see that he has it.”
Hester felt the blood burn up her own face and she looked away, avoiding Rathbone’s eyes, in case he should glance in her direction. She had used his feeling for her, perhaps even misled him, because she was uncertain of her own emotions. She was guilty, but she did not regret it. She would do the same again. If she did not fight for Rhys, there was no one else who could.
Sylvestra relaxed at last, the rigidity easing out of her shoulders.
“Thank you, Sir Oliver, both for your honesty and for your compassion for my son. I fear there will be few others, if any at all, who will feel the same for him. He … he will be regarded … I think … as a monster.” She stopped abruptly, unable to go on. The words were too hard, too painfully true, and it was a future which loomed within days, not weeks. It would be the pattern of life from then on. The world would be changed forever.
Hester wanted to argue, just to offer any comfort at all, but it would be a lie, and they all knew it. Anything she said would only belittle the truth and imply that she did not understand.
Rathbone rose to his feet. “It will be my task to see that everything that can be said for him is put as eloquently as possible, Mrs. Duff. Now, I would like to speak to Rhys myself. Perhaps you would allow Miss Latterly to take me upstairs.”
Sylvestra rose also, taking a step forward.
Rathbone held up his hand in a very slight gesture.
“If you please, Mrs. Duff, I require to see him in effect alone. What passes between a barrister and his client is privileged and must be confidential. Miss Latterly will be party to it only in her capacity as his nurse, in case he should become distressed and need her. She will be bound by the same absolute rules.”
Sylvestra looked taken aback.
“It is necessary,” he assured her. “Otherwise I cannot proceed.”
Reluctantly she fell back, her face still filled with uncertainty, her eyes moving from Rathbone to Hester.
“I shall see he is not distressed more than is absolutely necessary in order to learn what we must,” Hester promised.
“Do you really think …” Sylvestra began, then faltered. She was afraid. It was stark in her eyes; she was afraid of the truth. She hesitated on the brink of telling Rathbone not to seek it. She turned to Hester.
Hester smiled at her, pretending she did not understand, and walked to the door.
She led Rathbone upstairs and after a knock on Rhys’s door, merely as a courtesy, she led him in.
“Rhys, this is Sir Oliver Rathbone. He is going to speak for you in court.”
Rhys stared at her, then at Rathbone. He was lying on his back, propped up on pillows as she had left him, his splinted hands on the covers in front of him. He looked frightened and stiff.
“How do you do,” Rathbone said with a smile and an inclination of his head, as if Rhys had replied quite normally. “May I sit down?”
Rhys nodded, then looked at Hester.
“Would you prefer me to leave?” she asked. “I can go next door and you can knock the bell off if you need me.”
He shook his head immediately and she could sense his anxiety, his loneliness, his feeling almost of drowning under the weight of confusion inside him. She retreated to the corner of the room and sat down.
“You must be honest with me,” Rathbone began quietly. “Everything you tell