The Silent Cry

And then the son had attacked, perhaps out of rage, or guilt, perhaps out of some kind of fear that he would be caught by the law, and he imagined he could escape the consequences if he fought his way out. And they had beaten and punched and kicked at each other until Leighton was dead, and Rhys was so badly hurt he lost consciousness and lay there on the stones, soaked with his own blood.

And now it was so terrible to him he could not accept that it was he who had done it. It had been another person, another self, one he did not own.

"We must find a barrister for him," Hester said aloud. "He must have some defence when he comes to trial. Do you have someone you wish?”

"A barrister?" Sylvestra blinked. "Will they really try him? He is too ill! He must be mad, won't they realise that? Corriden will tell them…”

"He is not too mad to stand trial," Hester said with absolute certainty. "Whether insanity will be the best defence or not, I ca

Sylvestra seemed to find it difficult to concentrate. Her eyes looked without focus. "A barrister? Mr. Caulfield has always dealt with our affairs. Of course I have never spoken to him. Leighton handled business, naturally.”

"Is he a solicitor?" Hesterasked, almost sure of the answer. "You need a barrister for this, someone who will appear in court to represent Rhys. He must be engaged through Mr. Caulfield, but if you do not have any preferences, I am acquainted with Sir Oliver Rathbone.

He is the best barrister there is.”

"I… suppose so…" Sylvestra was uncertain. Hester was not sure if it was her shock at the turn of events, or if now she doubted whether she wished to engage an unknown barrister, at unknown expense, to defend Rhys, when she feared him guilty. Maybe it was simply too big a decision for her to make alone. She was not used to decision.

She had always had her husband to see to such things. He would find and assess the information. His word would be final. She would probably not even be expected to contribute an opinion.

It was up to Hester to see Rhys was defended. Possibly no one else would.

"I'll speak to Sir Oliver, and ask him to come to see you." She chose not to make it a question, so Sylvestra could not so easily refuse. She smiled encouragingly. "Will it be reasonable if I go first thing in the morning?”

Sylvestra drew in her breath, but could not make up her mind.

"Thank you," Hesteraccepted, her voice gentle, full of an assurance she was far from feeling.

She was in Rathbone's office at nine o'clock. She waited until his first client had been and gone, then she was ushered into his office, the clerk advised that the next client should be handsomely entertained and informed that Sir Oliver was regrettably kept by an emergency, which was at least half true.

She did not waste his time with preamble. She was sufficiently conscious of the fact that he had seen her without an appointment, and she was presuming on his regard for her to ask a favour. She hated doing it, the more so since their last encounter, and her belief as to his feelings towards her. Had Rhys's life not depended upon it, she would not have come. Sylvestra's solicitor could have briefed whomever he wished.

"They have arrested Rhys for the murder of his father," she said bluntly. "They have not removed him, of course, because he is too ill, but they will bring him to trial. His mother is at her wits' end, and not in a position or a state of mind to find for him the best barrister for his defence." She stopped, acutely aware of his dark eyes on her and his expression of concern leaping ahead of what she had already told 'him.

"I think you had better sit down and tell me the facts of the case, so far as you know them." He indicated the chair opposite his desk, and moved around to sit at the one behind it. He did not yet reach for the quill to make notes.

She tried to compose her mind so that she could tell him sensibly, so that she could make it comprehensible, without overweighing it with emotion.

"Rhys Duff and his father, Leighton Duff, were found in Water Lane, an alley in the area of St. Giles," she started to explain. "Leighton Duff was beaten to death. Rhys was severely injured, in a similar ma

"That is an added complication," he agreed gravely. "I have read something of the case. It is impossible to pick up a newspaper and not at least be aware of it. What evidence is there that leads the police to presume that Rhys killed his father, rather than the more natural assumption that both of them were attacked, and possibly robbed, by thieves or general ruffians of the area? Do you know?”

"Yes. Monk has found evidence which ties them to the rape cases in Seven Dials…”

"Just a minute!" he interrupted, holding up his hand. "You said "them". Who are we talking about? And what rape cases in Seven Dials?

Is he charged with rape as well?”

She was not being as clear as she had intended after all She had seen the fractional change in his face when she had mentioned Monk's name, and she felt guilty. What had he seen in her eyes?

She must speak intelligently, in an orderly fashion. She started again.

"Monk was engaged by a woman from Seven Dials to discover who had been first cheating, then with increasing violence raping and beating factory women, amateur prostitutes in Seven Dials…” she stopped.

He was frowning. Did he disapprove of Monk, or of the women, or did he fear it made Rhys's case even worse?

"What is it?" The words were out before she intended.

"It is a very ugly crime," he said quietly. "But it is one the courts will not pursue… for a dozen different reasons, both social…”

He wrinkled his nose very slightly in a wealth of distaste, subtle and deep. "And legal impossibilities also," he added. "Rape is a difficult crime to prove. Why did Monk pursue it? Whatever else he has forgotten, he must be aware of these things!”

"I argued it with him," she said with a very slight smile. "It is not what you fear." She hoped as she was saying it that it was the truth, not merely her wish. "He intended only to expose them to their own society, not to provoke the people of St. Giles to take their revenge.”

Rathbone's lips curled in a faint, ironic smile. "That sounds like Monk. A nice irony using society's hypocrisy to make it punish its own for the very crime it pretends does not exist, and will not strengthen the law to judge." He kept his eyes on her face. "But what has this to do with Rhys Duff, and the death of his father?”

"For some time Rhys had been keeping company with women of whom his father did not approve, and to the exclusion of suitable young ladies,” she explained. "At least that is what his mother believed." She was twisting her hands in her lap without realising it. "Perhaps in fact he had some idea of what Rhys was really doing. Anyway, on that particular evening they quarrelled, Rhys left the room, and apparently the house. Leighton Duff left about half an hour afterwards, when he realised that Rhys had gone, and perhaps suspected to where." She looked at him to make sure he was following her explanation.

"Proceed," he directed. "It is all perfectly clear so far.”

"One woman was raped and beaten in St. Giles that night," she went on.

"Within a few yards of Water Lane. A short time after that, the bodies of Rhys and his father were found in Water Lane itself. Rhys was insensible, and has not spoken since. Leighton Duff was dead.”

"And the assumption," he concluded, 'is that Leighton Duff caught up with Rhys and his friends, while it was still apparent they were the rapists of the woman… either they were in the act, or they had just completed it. He was furious, endeavoured to reason with them or apprehend them, and one, or all of them, attacked him. He drove off the other two quite quickly, but Rhys, knowing he would not escape the matter, fought until he had killed him.”