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As soon as he saw Arthur, Rhys’s face lit up, then instantly was shadowed by self-consciousness. He was in bed, helpless, unable even to welcome him.
If Arthur Kynaston had any idea of such things, he hid it superbly. He walked in as if it were the way they naturally met. He sat down in the chair beside the bed, ignoring Hester, facing Rhys.
“I suppose you’ve got rather more time to read than you can use?” he said ruefully. “I’ll see if I can find a few new books for you. I’ve just been reading something fascinating. Trust me to get there years after everyone else, but I’ve got this book about Egypt, by an Italian called Belzoni. It was written nearly forty years ago, 1822 to be exact. It’s all about the discovery of ancient tombs in Egypt and Nubia.” He could not help his face’s tightening with enthusiasm. “It’s marvelous! I’m convinced there must be much more there, if only we knew where to look.” He leaned forward. “I haven’t told Papa yet. But although I keep saying I’ll study the classics, actually I think I might like to be an Egyptologist. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would.”
In the doorway, Hester already felt herself relaxing.
Rhys stared at Arthur, his eyes wide with fascination.
“I must tell you about some of the stuff they’ve found,” Arthur went on. “I tried to tell Duke, but you know him. He wasn’t even remotely interested. No imagination. Sees time like a series of little rooms, all without windows. If you are in today, then that’s all that exists. I see it all as a vast whole. Any day is as important and as real as any other. Don’t you think so?”
Rhys smiled and nodded.
“Can I tell you about this?” Arthur asked. “Do you mind? I’ve been longing to tell someone. Papa would be furious with me for wasting time. Mama would just listen with half her mind and then forget it. Duke thinks I’m a fool. But you’re a captive audience …” He blushed hotly. “Sorry … that was a wretched thing to say. I wish I’d bitten my tongue!”
Rhys smiled with sudden brilliance. It changed his whole face, lighting it with an extraordinary charm. It was a warmth Hester had never had a chance to see.
“Thanks,” Arthur said with a little shake of his head. “What I mean is, I know you’ll understand.” And he proceeded to describe the discoveries Belzoni had made in Egypt, his voice rising with eagerness, his hands moving quickly to outline them in the air.
Hester slipped out silently. She was perfectly confident that Arthur Kynaston would cause Rhys no unnecessary harm. If he reminded him of other times, of life and vigor, that was unavoidable. He would think of those things anyway. If he made the occasional clumsy reference, that was bound to happen too. They were still best left alone.
Downstairs, the maid Janet told her that Mrs. Duff would be pleased if she would join her in the withdrawing room for tea.
It was a courtesy, and one that Hester had not expected. She was not a servant in the house, but neither was she a guest. Perhaps Sylvestra wished her to know as much as possible about family friends in order to be able to help Rhys, to explain the rage in him. She must feel a consuming loneliness, and Hester was the only bridge between herself and her son, except Corriden Wade, and he was there only briefly.
She was introduced and Fidelis Kynaston betrayed no surprise at accepting her as part of both the afternoon’s visit and the conversation.
“Is he …?” Sylvestra began nervously.
Hester answered with a smile which must have shown her pleasure. “They are having an excellent time,” she answered with confidence. “Mr. Kynaston is describing the discoveries along the Nile by a Signore Belzoni, and they are both enjoying it greatly. I admit I too was much interested. I think when I have spare time, I shall purchase the book myself.”
Sylvestra gave a sigh of relief and her whole body eased, the muscles of her shoulders and back unknotting, the silk of her dress ceasing to strain. She turned to Fidelis.
“Thank you so much for coming. It is not always easy to visit people who are ill or bereaved. One never knows what to say.…”
“My dear, what kind of a friend would one be if the moment one was needed, one chose to be somewhere else? I have never seen you adopt that course,” Fidelis assured, leaning forward.
Sylvestra shrugged. “There has been so little …”
“Nothing like this,” Fidelis agreed. “But there has been unpleasantness, even if largely unspoken, and you have felt it, and been there with companionship.”
Sylvestra smiled her acknowledgment.
The conversation became general, of trivial current events, family affairs. Sylvestra recounted the latest letters from Amalia in India, of course still unaware of events in London. She wrote of the poverty she saw, and particularly of the disease and lack of clean water, a subject which seemed to trouble her greatly. Hester was drawn in sufficiently for good manners. Then Fidelis asked her about her experiences in the Crimea. Her interest seemed quite genuine.
“It must feel very strange to you to come home to England after the danger and responsibility of your position out there,” she said with a puckered brow.
“It was difficult to alter the attitude of one’s mind,” Hester admitted with massive understatement. She had found it utterly impossible. One month she was dealing with dying men, terrible injuries, decisions that affected lives, then a month later she was required to behave like an obedient and grateful dependent, to have no more opinions upon anything more important or controversial than a hemline or a pudding.
Fidelis smiled and there was a flash of amusement in her eyes as if she had some awareness of what the truth might be.
“Have you met Dr. Wade? Yes, of course you have. He served in the navy for many years, you know? I imagine you will have a certain amount in common with him. He is a most remarkable man. He has great strength, both of purpose and of character.”
Hester recalled Corriden Wade’s face as he had stood on the landing talking to her about the sailors he had known, the men who had fought with Nelson, who had seen the great sea battles which had turned the tide of history fifty-five years before, when England stood alone against the massive armies of Napoleon, allied with Spain, and the fate of Europe was in the balance. She had seen the fire of imagination in his eyes, the knowledge of what it had meant, and the cost in lives and pain. She had heard in the timbre of his voice his admiration for the dedication and the sacrifice of those men.
“Yes,” she said with surprising vehemence. “Yes he is. He was telling me something of his experiences.”
“I know my husband admired him very much,” Sylvestra remarked. “He had known him for close to twenty years. Of course, not so well to begin with. That would be before he came ashore.” There was a pensiveness in her face for a moment, as though she had thought of something else, something she did not understand. Then it passed and she turned to Fidelis. “It is strange to think how much of a person’s life you cannot share, even though you see him every day and discuss all sorts of things with him, have a home and family in common, even a destiny shared. And yet the parts which formed so much of what he thinks and feels and believes all happened in places you have never been to, and were unlike all you have experienced yourself.”
