The Silent Cry - Anne Perry [29]
“Mr. Duff?” Evan prompted.
“He is unwell,” Sylvestra said, staring back at him.
“He is,” Hester reinforced. “He had a most difficult night. I cannot allow you to press him, Sergeant.”
Evan looked at Hester questioningly. He must have seen some of her feelings, the memories of Rhys cowering against the pillow as his mind relived something unspeakable, so terrible he could not say it in words … any words at all.
“I will not press him,” he promised, his voice dropping. “But he may wish to tell me. We must give him the opportunity. We need to know the truth. It may be, Mrs. Duff, that he needs to know it also.”
“Do you think so?” She looked at him skeptically. “No vengeance, or justice, is going to change my husband’s death or Rhys’s injuries. It will help some distant concept of what is fair, and I am not sure how much I care about that.”
Hester thought for a moment Evan was going to argue, but he said nothing, simply standing back and waiting for her to lead the way.
Upstairs, Rhys was lying quietly, splinted hands on the covers, his expression peaceful, as if he were nearly asleep. He turned his head as he heard them. He looked guarded but not frightened or unduly wary.
“I’m sorry to trouble you again, Mr. Duff,” Evan began before even Hester or Sylvestra could speak. “But investigation has taken me very little further forward. I know you cannot speak yet, but if I ask you a few questions, you can indicate yes or no to me.”
Rhys stared back at him, almost unblinkingly.
Hester found herself gritting her teeth, her hands sticky. She knew Evan had no choice but to press. Rhys was the only one who knew the truth, but she also knew that it could cost him more than even his mother could guess, let alone Evan, who stood there looking so gentle and capable of pain himself.
“When you went out that evening,” Evan began, “did you meet anyone you knew, a friend?”
A shadow of a smile touched Rhys’s mouth, bitter and hurt. He did not move.
“I’ve asked the wrong question.” Evan was undeterred. “Did you go in order to meet a friend? Had you made an arrangement?”
Rhys shook his head.
“No,” Evan acknowledged. “Did you meet someone by chance?”
Rhys moved his shoulder a little; it was almost a shrug.
“A friend?”
This time it was definite denial.
“Someone you do not like? An enemy?”
Again the shrug, this time angry, impatient.
“Did you go straight to St. Giles?”
Rhys nodded very slowly, as if he had trouble remembering.
“Had you been there before?” Evan asked, lowering his voice.
Rhys nodded, his eyes unwavering.
“Did you know your father was going there also?”
Rhys stiffened, his body tightening till the muscles seemed locked.
“Did you?” Evan repeated.
Rhys cringed back into the pillow, wincing as the movement hurt him. He tried to speak, his mouth forming the words, his throat striving, but no sounds came. He started to tremble. He could not get his breath and gasped, the air dragging and catching in his throat.
Sylvestra bent forward. “Stop it!” she commanded Evan. “Leave him alone.” She placed herself between them as if Evan were offering some physical threat. She swiveled to face Rhys, but he cowered away from her too, as if he could not distinguish the difference.
Sylvestra’s face was ashen. She struggled for something to say to him, but it was beyond her reason or even her emotion to reach. She was baffled, frightened and hurt.
“You must both leave,” Hester said firmly. “Please! Now!” As if assuming their obedience, she turned to Rhys, who was shuddering violently and sounded in danger of choking. “Stop it,” she said to him loudly and clearly. “Nobody is going to hurt you now. Don’t try to say anything.… Just breathe in and out steadily. Very steadily. Do as I tell you.”
She heard the door close as Evan and Sylvestra left.
Gradually, Rhys’s hysteria