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“Where did he say he was going?” he persisted.
She was very pale, her eyes bright and defensive.
“He did not say, specifically,” she answered him. “But I believe he went out after my son. They had had words about Rhys’s behavior. I was not in the room, but I heard raised voices. Rhys had left in anger. We had both believed that he had gone to his own room upstairs.” She was sitting very upright, her shoulders high and stiff, her hands folded. “Then when my husband went up to resume the discussion, he discovered he was absent, and he was very angry. He went out also … I believe to try to find him. Before you ask me, I do not know where Rhys went or where Leighton did find him … which obviously he did. Perhaps that was how they became hurt?”
“Perhaps,” Evan agreed. “It is not unusual for a young man to frequent some questionable places, ma’am. If he is not squandering money, or paying attentions to another man’s wife, it is generally not taken very seriously. Was your husband strict in his moral views?”
She looked confused. To judge from her expression, it was a question she had never considered.
“He was not … rigid … or self-righteous, if that is what you mean.” Her eyebrows rose, her eyes widened. “I don’t think he was ever … unfair. He did not expect Rhys to be … abstinent. It was not really a … a quarrel. If I gave that impression, I did not mean to. I did not overhear their words, simply their voices. It may even have been something else altogether.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps Rhys was seeing a woman who was … married? Leighton would not have told me. He could have wished to spare me.…”
“That may be the case,” Evan conceded. “It would explain a great deal. If her husband confronted them, violence might have followed.”
Sylvestra shuddered and looked away towards the fire. “To commit murder? What kind of a woman can she be? Would it not have taken several men
… to … to do such terrible things?”
“Yes … it would,” he agreed quietly. “But perhaps there were several … a father or a brother, or both.”
She put her hands up to cover her face. “If that is true, then he was wrong—very wrong—but he did not deserve a punishment like this! And my husband did not deserve any punishment at all. It was not his fault!” Unconsciously, she ran her slender fingers through her hair, dislodging a pin, letting a long, black strand of hair fall. “No wonder Rhys will not face me.” She looked up at him. “How do I answer it? How do I learn to forgive him for it … and teach him to forgive himself?”
Hester put her hand on Sylvestra’s shoulder. “First by not supposing it is true until we know,” she said firmly. “It may not be the case.” Although looking across at Evan, and remembering the scene in the bedroom during the night and today when Sylvestra had been there, she found it very easy to believe they had guessed correctly.
Sylvestra sat up slowly, her face white.
Evan rose to his feet. “Perhaps Miss Latterly will take me up to see Mr. Duff. I know he cannot speak, but he may be able to answer with a nod or a shake of his head.”
Sylvestra hesitated. She was not yet ready to face even the questions, let alone the answers Rhys might give. Nor was she ready to return to the scene where only a short while ago she had witnessed such a sudden and vicious side of her son. Hester saw it in her eyes; she read it easily because she shared the fear.
“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.
