The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [148]
Monk thanked him and left, seeking another cab.
At the Kynaston house he asked to speak to Mr. Kynaston.
He was received, reluctantly, in the library. There was no fire burning, but the ashes were still warm. Joel Kynaston came in and closed the door behind him, looking Monk up and down with distaste. He was a highly individual man with thick, very beautiful hair of an auburn color, a thin nose and an unusual mouth. He was of average height and slight build, and at the moment he was short of patience.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he said briskly. “My butler informed me you wish to make an enquiry about Rhys Duff, to do with the forthcoming trial. I find the whole matter most disturbing. Mr. Leighton Duff was a close personal friend, and his death is a great tragedy to my whole family. If I can assist the cause of justice, then it is my public duty to do so, and I do not shirk from it. But I must warn you, sir, I have no desire and no intention of involving myself in further hurt to the Duff family, nor will I injure or cause unhappiness to my own family in your interest. What is it you wish of me?”
“Did Mr. Rhys Duff visit your home on the evening of the day before Christmas Eve, Mr. Kynaston?”
“I have no idea. I was not at home myself. Why is it important? Leighton Duff was perfectly well and unharmed at that time. What affair is it of yours if Rhys was here?”
Monk could understand the man’s desire to protect his sons, whom he might well fear had been involved deeply and tragically with the Duff family. He might feel he was to blame for not having been aware of their behavior, as apparently Leighton Duff had been. But for chance, had he been the one to know instead, he could have been beaten to death in Water Lane and Monk could have been asking these questions of Leighton Duff. It was not difficult to see Mr. Kynaston was tense, unhappy, and unwilling to have Monk, or anyone else, prying further into the wound. Perhaps he was owed some explanation.
“It seems to me possible that the night of Mr. Duff’s death may not have been his first quarrel with his son over his conduct,” Monk replied. “There is evidence to suggest they met and had some heated disagreement on the night before Christmas Eve. I would like to know if that is true.”
“I cannot see why,” Kynaston said with a frown. “It seems tragically apparent what happened. Leighton realized what Rhys was doing, that his behavior was unacceptable by any standards at all, let alone those of a gentleman. His temper and self-indulgence had gone beyond all control, his latest weaknesses had slipped into open vice. His father followed him and remonstrated with him, at which Rhys became vicious with rage and attacked him … with the consequences which we know only too well.”
“Did Rhys always have a temper, Mr. Kynaston?”
“I am afraid so. When he was a boy it was held in check. He was never permitted to lose it while in my charge. What he was allowed at home, of course, I do not know. But his father was concerned about him. He confided that much to me. I do not wish to speak ill of the poor woman, who, God knows, has more grief than any person should be asked to bear, but Mrs. Duff has indulged the boy over the years. She hated to discipline him, and his character has suffered for it.”
“I see. Is there someone I could ask if Rhys was here on that evening?”
“You might ask my wife, I suppose. She was at home, as, I believe, were my sons.”
Monk was disconcerted, but not set out of countenance. It was just possible Rhys had gone alone on this occasion. Or more likely Kynaston was wrong about all of them.
“Thank you,” Monk accepted, uncertain whether Mrs. Kynaston’s word would satisfy him. As soon as Kynaston turned to the door, Monk made to follow him.
Kynaston stopped. “You are on my heels, Mr. Monk. I should prefer if you were to wait here, and I shall ask my wife and inform you of the answer.”
“Possibly,” Monk agreed. “Then I shall have to inform Sir Oliver that I was not permitted to speak to Mrs. Kynaston personally, and he may feel the necessity to call her