The Silent Cry

"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 here, 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 co

"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 fu

"It is not as bad as that," she said gently, although in essence it was true. He 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 it?

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 by like this and simply watching him. I feel so… useless!”

"You are not useless," she assured him. "Your visits are greatly encouraging. Friendship always helps.”

His smile came and vanished in a moment. "Then I suppose I'll go back and talk to him a while. Thank you.”

But he did not remain as long as usual, and when Hester went in to see Rhys after Arthur and Duke had left, she found him staring at the ceiling, his eyes thoughtful, his lips pursed in an expression of withdrawn unhappiness she had come to know well. She could only guess what had disturbed him. She did not want to ask, it might only make it worse. Perhaps seeing Duke Kynaston, less tactful than his brother, had reminded him of the past when they had all been virile, a little reckless, thinking themselves capable of anything. The other two still were. Rhys entertained them lying silently on a bed. He could not even offer wit or interest.

Or was it memory of an appalling secret they all shared?

He turned slowly to look at her. His eyes were curious, but cold, defensive.

"Do you want to see Duke Kynaston again, if he comes?" She asked. "If you had rather not, I can have him turned away. I can think of a reason.”

He stared at her without giving any indication that he had heard.

"You don't seem to like him as much as you do Arthur.”

This time his face filled with expression; humour, irritation, impatience and then resignation. He sat up an inch or two, and took a deep breath. His lips moved.

She leaned towards him, only a little, not enough to embarrass him if he failed.

He let out his breath, and tried again. His mouth formed the words, but she could not read them. His throat tightened. His eyes were fixed desperately on her.

She placed her hand on his arm, above the bandages, tightening her fingers to grip him.

"Is it something about Duke Kynaston?" she asked him.

He hesitated only a moment, then shook his head, his eyes full of loneliness and confusion. There was something he ached to tell her, and the harder he tried, the more his helplessness thwarted him.

She could not walk away. She must guess, she must take the risk, in spite of what Dr. Wade had said. This frustration was hurting him as much.

"Is it to do with the night you were hurt?”

Very slowly he nodded, as if now he were uncertain whether to go on or not.

"Do you know what happened?" she said very quietly.

His eyes filled with tears and he turned his head away from her, pulling his arm roughly out of her grip.

Should she ask him directly? What would it do to him? Would forcing him to remember and answer to someone else shock him as violently as Dr. Wade had warned her? Could she undo any of the harm to him if it did?

He was still turned away from her, motionless. She could no longer see his face to guess what he was feeling.

Dr. Wade cared for him deeply, but he was not a soft or cowardly man.

He had seen too much suffering for that, faced danger and hardships himself. He admired courage and that i

Her judgement of him answered her question. She must obey his instructions, in fact they had been quite unequivocal commands.

"Do you want to tell me about something?" she asked.

He turned back slowly. His eyes were bright and hurt. He shook his head.

"You would just like to be able to talk?”

He nodded.

"Would you like to be alone?”

He shook his head.

"Shall I stay?”

He nodded.

In the evening Rhys was exhausted and slept very early. Hester sat by the fire opposite Sylvestra. There was no sound in the room but the rain beating on the windows, the fire flickering in the hearth, and the occasional settling of the coals. Sylvestra was embroidering, her needle weaving in and out of the linen, occasionally flashing silver as it caught the light.

Hester was idle. There was no mending to do and she had no one to whom she owed a letter. Nor was she in the mood to write. Lady Callandra Daviot, the only person to who me she might have considered confiding her feelings, was on a trip to Spain, and moving from place to place.