The Silent Cry

It took him another complete day, but at last he found her, a woman in her forties, still pretty in spite of her tiredness and persistent cough. Her cheekbone was broken and she limped badly. She was severely bruised. Yes, they had raped her, but she had not had the strength to fight, and that in itself had seemed to anger them. She was lucky. They had been interrupted.

"Don' tell anyone!" she begged. "I'll lose me job!”

He wished he could promise her that. He said what he could.

"They went on to commit murder, within a few minutes of leaving you,” he said grimly. "You won't need to say you were raped. You can swear you were walking along the street and they fell on you… that will be good enough.”

"Yeah?" she looked doubtful.

"Yes," he said firmly. "Where was it?”

Her voice was husky, her face pale. "Just orff Water Lane.”

"Thank you. That will be enough… I promise.”

It was sufficient. He would have to take it to Evan. He could not conceal it any longer. It was material evidence on the murder of Leighton Duff. If Rhys and his friends had been using prostitutes in St. Giles, which was now unarguable, and it had escalated in violence over the months, then it seemed more than likely that Leighton Duff had found out and had followed him, going to St. Giles just the once. That was borne out by Monk's lack of ability to find anyone who had recognised him. That was ample motive for the quarrel which had followed, the battle which had gone so far it could only end in the death of the one person who knew the truth of what he had done… his father. Whether Arthur and Marmaduke Kynaston had been present or not, what part they had played, would have to be proved.

But Monk must go to Evan.

First he would tell Hester. She should not learn it when Evan came to arrest Rhys. He hated having to tell her, but it would be worse if he evaded the issue. As the man in the street who had named Fa

It was late when he arrived at Ebury Street. A pale moon glittered in a frosty sky and over towards the east the clouds obscured the faint light and promised more snow.

The butler opened the door and said he would enquire whether Miss Latterly was able to receive him. Ten minutes later he was in the library beside a very small fire when Hester came in. She looked frightened. She closed the door behind her, her eyes fixed on his face, searching.

"What is it?" she said without preamble. "What has happened?”

She looked so fierce and vulnerable he ached to be able to shield her from it, but there was no way. He could lie now, but it would open a chasm between them, and in a few hours, a day or two at most, and it would happen anyway. She would be here, and see it. The shock, the sense of betrayal would only be worse.

"I've found someone who saw Rhys, and Arthur and Duke Kynaston together in St. Giles," he said quietly. He heard the regret in his own voice.

It sounded harsh, as if his throat hurt. "I'm sorry. I have to take it to Evan.”

She swallowed, her face white. "It doesn't prove anything!" She was struggling and they both knew it.

"Don't, Hester!" he begged. "Rhys was there, with two of his friends.

Together they answer to descriptions exactly. If Leighton Duff knew, or suspected, and followed Rhys to argue with him, to try to prevent him from doing it again, then there was plenty of motive to kill him.

He may even have found them immediately after they attacked the women that night. Then they would have no defence.”

"It… it could have been Duke, or… Arthur…" Her words trailed away. There was no belief in them, or in her eyes.

"Are they injured?" he asked gently, although he knew the answer from her face.

She shook her head minutely. There was nothing to say. She stared at him. The facts closed in like an iron mesh, unbendable, inescapable.

Her mind tried every direction, and he watched her do it, and fail each time. There was no real hope in her, and gradually even the determination died.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He thought of adding how much he wished it had not been so, how hard he had looked for other answers, but she knew it already. There was no need for such explanations between them.

They understood pain and reality far too well, the dull ache of knowledge that must be faced, the familiarity of pity.

"Have you told Evan yet?" she asked when she had mastered the tension in her voice, or almost.

"No. I shall tell him tomorrow.”

"I see.”

He did not move. He did not know what to say, there was nothing, and yet he wanted to say something. He wanted to remain with her, at least to share the hurt, even though he could not ease it. Sometimes sharing was all there was left.

"Thank you… for telling me first." She smiled a little crookedly.

"I think…”

"Perhaps I-shouldn't have," he said with sudden doubt. "Maybe it would have been easier for you if you had not known? Then your response would have been honest. You would not have had to wait tonight, knowing, when they didn't. I…”

She started to shake her head.

"I thought honesty was best," he went on. "Perhaps it wasn't. I thought I knew that, now I don't.”

"It would have been hard either way," she answered him, meeting his eyes with the same candour as in the past, in their best moments. "If I know, tonight will be hard, and tomorrow. But when Evan does come, then I shall have prepared myself, and I shall have the strength to help, instead of being stu

Please don't doubt it.”

He hesitated for an instant, wondering if she were being brave, taking the responsibility upon herself to spare his feelings. Then he looked at her again, and knew it was not so. There was a kind of understanding in her which bridged the singleness of this incident and was part of all the triumphs and disasters they had ever shared.

He walked over to her and very gently bent forward and kissed her temple above the brow, then laid his cheek against hers, his breath stirring the loose tendrils of her hair.

Then he turned and walked away without looking back. If he did, he might make an error he could never redeem, and he was not yet ready for that.

Chapter Nine

Evan knew that Monk had crossed into St. Giles, although of course they were on different cases.

"Wot does 'e want?" Shotts said suspiciously, as they were walking back towards the station.

"To find out who raped the women in Seven Dials," Evan replied. "It's a problem we can't help.”

Shotts swore under his breath, and then apologised. "Sorry, guy.”

"You don't need to be," Evan said sincerely. His father might have been offended, but that case angered him so profoundly the release of shouting and using language otherwise forbidden seemed very natural.

"If anyone can deal with it, it will be Monk," he added.

Shotts gave a snort of derision, edged with something which could have been fear. "If 'e catches the bastards I'll lay they'll wish they were never born. I wouldn't want Monk on my back, even if I hadn't done anything wrong!”

Evan looked at him curiously. "If you hadn't done anything wrong, would he be on your back?”

Shotts looked at him, hesitated a moment on the edge of confiding, then changed his mind.

"Course not," he denied.

It was a lie, at least in intent, and Evan knew it, but it was pointless to pursue. Nor was it the only time Shotts had told him something which he had later learned to be false. There was time unaccounted for, small errors of fact. He glanced sideways at Shotts' stolid face as they crossed the street, avoiding the gutter and the horse dropping awash in the rain, ducked past a coal cart and on to the farther footpath. What else was there that he had not yet learned? Why should Shotts lie to him about anything?