The Silent Cry

by Anne Perry

  Evan hesitated. It was ugly, very ugly, but it was indefinite, all implications and insubstantial pain. There was nothing he could get hold of to prove … or disprove … nothing to take to Monk for him to retrace his own steps and understand himself.

  “Did Monk betray you, sir?” he said aloud, then instantly wished he had not. He did not want to hear any of it. Now it was unavoidable.

  Runcorn stared at him.

  “Yes, he betrayed me. I trusted him, and he destroyed everything I ever wanted,” he replied bitterly. “He saw the trap in front of me, and he watched me walk right into it.”

  Evan drew in his breath to question how much it was fair to blame Monk for such a thing. Maybe he had not seen the pitfall any more than Runcorn himself had. Or maybe he had assumed Runcorn had seen it also. Then he realized that it was pointless to argue over the letter when the spirit was what drove. In his heart Monk believed himself guilty.

  “I see,” he said quietly.

  Runcorn faced him. “Do you? I doubt it. But I’ve done all I can. Go and arrest Rhys Duff. And don’t mention anything about the other two men, do you hear me, Evan? I forbid it. You could jeopardize any chance we have of getting them in the future.” His eyes betrayed the anger and frustration of his helplessness now. It scalded inside him to see them escape and know it could be forever.

  “Yes sir. I understand.” He turned and walked out, his mind already made up to take Monk with him when he went to Ebury Street. Monk had solved this case, and his own case too. He deserved to be there.

  It was cold and growing dark as Monk, Evan and P.C. Shotts arrived in a cab at Ebury Street. Evan had considered taking the police wagon, and decided against it. Rhys was still too ill to be transported in such a vehicle, if he could be moved at all. The fear that he could not was the reason he had brought Shotts. He expected to leave him to guard Rhys and watch against the extreme event of Sylvestra trying to smuggle Rhys away.

  The cab drew up and they alighted. Evan paid the cabby and, pulling his coat collar up, walked ahead of the other two across the pavement. He had never made an arrest which gave him less sense of achievement. In fact, now that his foot was on the step and his hand stretched towards the bell, he admitted he dreaded it. He knew that Monk, a yard behind him, felt the same, but Monk did so for Hester’s sake. He had never met Rhys. He had not seen his face. To Monk, Rhys was only the sum of the evidence he had found, and above all the cause of pain in the women he had listened to, whose bruised lives he had witnessed.

  The door opened and the butler’s face darkened as soon as he recognized Evan.

  “Yes sir?” he said guardedly.

  “I’m sorry,” Evan began, then straightened his shoulders and continued. “But I require to speak to Mrs. Duff. I am aware it may not be convenient, but I have no alternative.”

  The butler looked beyond him to Monk and Shotts. His face was white.

  “What is it, sir? Has there been another … incident?”

  “No. Nothing further has happened, but we now understand more of what occurred the night of Mr. Duff’s death. I am afraid we need to come in.”

  The butler hesitated only a moment. He had caught the authority in Evan’s voice and he knew suddenly the weight of his office.

  “Yes sir. If you will please follow me I shall inform Mrs. Duff you are here.” He stood back for them to enter. Evan and Monk did so, leaving Shotts outside as previously agreed. He was there only as a precaution. He expected the possibility of remaining all night, until he was relieved by someone else in the morning. His only release lay in Rhys’s being deemed sufficiently well to be moved to a place of imprisonment pending his trial.

  Inside the hall was warm and bright, a different world from the icy gloom of the street. The butler walked across the hall towards the withdrawing room door.

  “Wharmby,” Evan said suddenly.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Perhaps you had better ask Miss Latterly to come downstairs.”

  “Sir?”

  “It might be easier for Mrs. Duff to have someone else present, someone who can offer her some … assistance …”

  “Wharmby turned even paler. He swallowed so his throat jerked.

  “I’m sorry …” Evan repeated.

  “What … what have you come for, sir?” Wharmby asked.

  “To tell Mrs. Duff what we know of how Mr. Duff met his death, and then the duty which follows from that. Tell her we are here, and then please ask Miss Latterly to come.”

  Wharmby pulled his jacket down and straightened his back, then opened the withdrawing room door.

  “Mr. Evan is here to see you, ma’am, and another gentleman with him.” He said no more but backed out again, gave Evan one more look, then went to the stairs, leaving them to go in alone.

  Sylvestra was standing on the carpet in front of the fire. Naturally she was still dressed in black, with her dark hair piled in a great coil on the back of her head and falling to her neck. In the firelight she looked beautiful with her high cheekbones and slender throat.

  “Yes, Mr. Evan. What is it?” she asked with a slight surprise arching her brows. She looked beyond him to Monk.

  Evan introduced them briefly, without explanation.

  “Good evening, Mr. Monk …” She did no more than acknowledge him.

  “Ma’am.” He inclined his head. To have wished her “Good evening” in return would have been a mockery. He closed the door and went farther into the room.

  Evan wished there were any way whatever to escape this moment. He was acutely conscious of Monk standing at his shoulder, his mind filled with the cruelty whose results he had seen, the rage smoldering inside him.

  “Yes, Mrs. Duff. We have learned a great deal of what happened the night your husband was killed. First I would like to ask you one or two last questions.” He ignored the look of astonishment on her face, and Monk shifting from one foot to the other behind him. “Did Mr. Duff express to you, or in any way show, anxiety as to what Mr. Rhys was doing during the evenings he was away from home or the company he was keeping?”

  “Yes … you know he did. I told you so myself.”

  “Did he indicate, either in words or by his behavior, that he had learned anything recently which troubled him additionally?”

  “No. At least, he said nothing to me. Why?” Her tone was getting sharper. “Will you please be plain with me, Mr. Evan? Have you discovered what my husband was doing in St. Giles, or not? I told you when you first came here that I believed he had followed Rhys to try to reason with him about the type of young woman he was associating with. Are you telling me that is true?” She lifted her chin a little, almost as if challenging him. “That hardly warrants your coming here, with Mr. Monk, at this hour.”

  “We also believe we know how he met his death, Mrs. Duff, and we must act accordingly,” Evan replied. He had not intended to be cruel, but he realized that by stretching out what he had to say, he was doing so. A swift blow was better in the end. “We have witnesses who saw Rhys several times in St. Giles, sometimes with others, sometimes alone. One young woman places him there that evening—”

  “Obviously he was there that evening, Mr. Evan,” Sylvestra cut in. “What you are telling me we already know. It is obvious.”

  Monk could bear it no longer. He stepped forward into the circle of candlelight from the shadows, his face grim.

  “I have been investigating a series of violent rapes, Mrs. Duff. They were committed by three men together. They raped women, sometimes as young as twelve or thirteen years old, then beat them, breaking their bones, kicking them … sometimes into insensibility.”

  Her face registered her horror. She stared at him as if he had risen out of the ground, carrying the stench of terror and pain with him.

  “The last of the rapes was committed in St. Giles the night your husband was murdered in the same manner,” he said very quietly. “It is impossible to escape the evidence he followed Rhys to St. Giles and caught up with him i
mmediately after the crime was committed. It happened less than fifty yards from the spot where his body was found.”

  She was ashen pale. “What … are … you … saying?” she whispered.

  “We have come to arrest Rhys Duff for the murder of his father, Leighton Duff,” Monk answered her. “There is no choice.”

  “You cannot take him away.” It was Hester. Neither of them had heard her come in behind them. “He is too ill to be moved. If you doubt my word, Dr. Wade will attest to it. I have sent a message for him to come immediately.” She glanced at Sylvestra. “I thought his presence might be necessary.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Sylvestra swayed for a moment but regained her composure. “This … this is … absurd. Rhys would … not …” She looked from Evan to Hester. “Could … he?”

  “I don’t know,” Hester said gravely, coming right into the room. “But whatever the truth of it is, he cannot be taken away from here tonight, or within the near future. He may be charged, but he is not yet proven guilty of anything. To move him from proper medical care might jeopardize his life, and that cannot be permitted.”

  “I am aware of his state of health,” Evan responded. “If Dr. Wade says he cannot be moved, then I shall leave a constable on duty outside.” He turned to Sylvestra. “He will not intrude upon you unless you give him cause to believe you plan to move Mr. Duff yourself. If that should happen, he will naturally arrest him immediately and place him in prison.”

  Sylvestra was speechless.

  “That will not happen.” Hester spoke for her. “He will remain here, in Dr. Wade’s care … and mine.”

  Sylvestra nodded her assent.

  “I will go up to inform him of his situation,” Evan said, turning towards the door.

  Hester stood in front of him. For a moment he was afraid she was going to try to bar his way physically, but after an instant’s hesitation she went to the door ahead of him.

  “I shall come with you. He may need some … help. I …” She met his eyes with both challenge and pleading. “I intend to be there, Sergeant Evan. What you say will cause him great distress, and he is still very weak.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. “I am not trying to cause him harm.”

  She turned and led the way across the hall. It seemed Monk intended to remain with Sylvestra. Perhaps he thought he could elicit some information from her where Evan had failed. He might be right.

  Hester went up the stairs and across the landing, opening the door to Rhys’s room, then, as soon as she was inside, standing away so Evan could face the bed.

  Rhys was lying on his back, his broken hands on the covers. He was simply staring at the ceiling. He was propped up on sufficient pillows to be able to meet Evan’s eyes without discomfort. He looked surprised to see the policeman, but the blue bruising was gone and the swelling had entirely disappeared. He was a handsome young man in an unconventional way: nose a little too long, mouth too sensitive, dark eyes dominating his white face.

  Evan was reminded sickeningly of when he had found him. He felt responsible. He had been part of willing him to live, bringing him back from the brink of darkness and into this white light of pain. He should have been able to protect him somehow. It was his duty to find a better answer than this.

  “Mr. Duff,” he began with a dry mouth. He swallowed and felt worse. “We have traced your movements on the night your father was killed, and on at least three other nights before that. You regularly went to St. Giles, and there used the services of a prostitute—in fact, several prostitutes …”

  Rhys stared at him. A faint flush colored his cheeks. It embarrassed him that that sort of thing should be mentioned in front of Hester; it was plain in his eyes, in the way he glanced at her and away again.

  “On the night in question, a woman was raped and beaten—” Evan stopped. Rhys had gone ashen, almost gray-faced, and his eyes were filled with such horror Evan was afraid he was suffering some kind of seizure.

  Hester moved towards him, then stopped.

  The room seemed to roar with the silence. The lights flickered. A coal fell in the fire.

  “Rhys Duff … I am arresting you for the murder of Leighton Duff on the night of January 7, 1860, in Water Lane, St. Giles.” It would be a cruel brutality to warn him that anything he said might be used in evidence at his trial. He could say nothing, no defense, no explanation, no denial.

  Hester swung in front of Evan and sat on the bed between them, taking Rhys’s hands in her own and turning him to look at her.

  “Did you do it, Rhys?” she demanded, pulling his arms, hurting him to break the spell.

  He looked at her. He made a choking sound in his throat almost like a laugh, the tears spilled over his cheeks and he shook his head, a little at first, then more and more violently till he was thrashing from side to side, still making the desperate, tearing sounds in his throat.

  Hester stood up and faced Evan.

  “All right, Sergeant, you have fulfilled your duty. Mr. Duff has heard your charge, and he has told you he is not guilty. If you wish to wait for Dr. Wade to confirm that he is too ill to be moved, you may do so downstairs, perhaps in the morning room. Mrs. Duff may also need to be alone …”

  “It will not be necessary to wait.”

  Evan swung around to find Corridon Wade behind him looking exhausted, hollow-cheeked but absolutely unflinching.

  “Good evening, Dr. Wade.”

  “Hardly,” Wade said dryly. “I have been fearing this would happen, but now that it has, I must inform you officially, in my capacity as Rhys’s physician, that he is not well enough to be moved. If you do so you may jeopardize not only his recovery but possibly even his life. And I must remind you that you have made a charge but you have not yet proved it. Before the law he is still an innocent man.”

  “I know that, Dr. Wade,” Evan answered calmly. “I have no intention of forcing the issue. I shall leave a constable on duty outside the house. I came only to inform Mr. Duff of the charge, not to attempt to take him into custody.”

  Wade relaxed a little. “Good. Good. I’m sorry if I was a little hasty. You must understand it is extremely distressing for me on a personal level, as well as professionally. I have been a friend of the family for many years. I feel their tragedies very keenly.”

  “I know that,” Evan conceded. “I wish my errand were something other.”

  “I’m sure.” Wade nodded, then walked past Evan into the room, glancing at Hester with a look of quick appreciation. “Thank you, Miss Latterly, for your part. I am sure you have been of great strength. I shall remain with Rhys for a while, to make sure the shock of this has not affected him too seriously. Perhaps you would be good enough to be of what comfort you may to Mrs. Duff. I shall be down very shortly.”

  “Yes, of course,” Hester agreed, and instantly shepherded Evan out of the room and down the stairs.

  “I’m sorry, Hester,” Evan said, going down behind her. “There really is no alternative. The proof is overwhelming.”

  “I know,” she answered without turning. “William told me.” She was stiff, holding herself upright with an effort, as if once she let go she might never find the strength to regain her composure. She crossed the hallway and went into the withdrawing room without knocking.

  Inside, Sylvestra was sitting on the sofa near the fire, and Monk was standing in the middle of the carpet. Neither of them had been speaking at that moment.

  Sylvestra looked at Hester, her eyes terrified, questioning.

  “Dr. Wade is with him,” Hester said in answer. “He is distressed, of course, but he is not in any danger. And naturally he will remain here.” Her voice dropped. “I asked him if he was guilty, and he shook his head vehemently.”

  “But …” Sylvestra stammered. “But …” She looked at Monk, then at Evan, behind Hester.

  “That is not helpful, Hester,” Monk said sharply.

  Sylvestra looked bemused. Her hands moved as if to grasp at something, and closed on ai
r. Her body was rigid and she moved jerkily, increasingly close to hysteria. At this very moment, her need was greater than Rhys’s.

  Hester went over to her and touched her, taking her arms.

  “There is nothing we can do tonight, but in the morning we must plan ahead. The charge has been made. It must be answered, whatever that answer is. Mr. Monk is a private agent of enquiry. There may yet be more to discover, and naturally you will employ the best legal counsel you can. Just now you must keep up your strength. No doubt Dr. Wade will tell his sister, but I will tell Mrs. Kynaston, if you would find that easier.”

  “I … don’t know …” Sylvestra was shaking violently and her skin was cold where Hester held her.

  Evan moved uncomfortably. He should not be witnessing this agony. His task was completed here. This was an intrusion, as it was for Monk. He looked at Hester. She was absorbed in her feelings for Sylvestra. He and Monk barely touched the periphery of her mind.

  “Hester …” It was Monk who spoke, but hesitantly.

  Evan looked at him. Monk’s face was filled with pity so profound it stood naked, startling, and it was a moment or two before Evan realized it was for Hester, not the woman who had received such a devastating blow. It was not only pity, there was also in it a burning admiration and a tenderness which betrayed his defenses utterly.

  Evan longed for Hester to turn and see it, but she was consumed by her anguish for Sylvestra.

  Evan walked towards the door. He was in the hall when he saw Dr. Wade coming down the stairs. The doctor looked haggard, and he still had the trace of a limp remaining from his accident.

  “There will be no possibility of your moving him,” he said as he neared the bottom. “Whether he will be fit to stand a trial I cannot say.”

  “We will have to have a medical opinion of more than one man to that,” Evan answered him. He looked at Wade’s strained expression, the darkness in his eyes and what he thought might even be fear, or the shadow of fear to come.