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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.
