"Yes, of course," Hesteragreed, 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 air. 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. His face was filled with pity so profound it stood naked, startling, and it was a moment or two before Evan realised 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 de fences utterly.
He 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. He 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.
"Sergeant…”
"Yes, Doctor?”
"Have…" he bit his lip. What he was about to say seemed to hurt him intensely. He struggled with it, hovered on the edge of decision, and finally summoned the strength. "Have you considered the possibility that he is not sane… not responsible, as you and I understand the term?”
So Wade accepted that he was guilty! Was it simply the evidence they had presented? Or did he know something from Rhys himself, some communication, some long knowledge and perception of his nature over the years?
"No man could do what was done to those women, Doctor, and be what you and I understand as sane," he replied quickly. "Blame is not for us to decide… thank God.”
Wade took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, then nodded his acknowledgement, and walked past Evan to the withdrawing room door.
Chapter Ten
After Monk and Evan had left, Corriden Wade remained in the withdrawing room, pacing the floor, unable to be still long enough to sit.
Sylvestra was motionless, staring into space as if all will and strength within her had died. Hester stood by the fire.
"I'm sorry," Wade said passionately, looking at Sylvestra. "I'm so sorry! I had no conception this would happen… it is the most ghastly thing.”
Hester stared at him. Had he seen some darkness in Rhys all the time, and feared disaster, but something less than this, less intense, less irretrievable than death? Looking at his face now, cast in deep shadow, his eyes hollow, his cheeks sombre with draining emotion and lack of sleep, it would be easy to believe he was seeing the realisation of a long-held dread, but something he had been helpless to prevent.
Then another thought occurred to her. Was Corriden Wade the missing link in Evan's chain of evidence? Was it he, perhaps, who had tried to warn Leighton Duff of his son's weakness, his propensity for real vice?
Had it been something Wade had said which had made him ultimately piece together all the sharp words, looks, little facts here and there, and realise the terrible truth?
With a shiver of horror she realised she had accepted within herself that Rhys was guilty. She had fought against it so long, and then in a moment had surrendered without even being conscious of it.
Wade stopped pacing and stared down at Sylvestra.
"You must rest, my dear. I shall give you a draught to help you sleep.
I am sure Miss Latterly will sit up with Rhys should it be necessary, but I doubt it will. You will need your strength." He turned to Hester. "I am sorry to place so much upon you, but I have no doubt both your courage and your compassion are equal to it.”
It was a profound compliment, and gravely given. It was not a time for thanks, only acceptance.
"Of course," she agreed. "Tomorrow we shall begin what is to be done.”
He nodded and at last seemed to relax a fraction. Hester believed it prudent to allow him a few moments alone with Sylvestra. His care for her was apparent. Now, of all times, they should be permitted a privacy to reach towards each other through the tragedy which engulfed them.
"I shall go and see how Rhys is now," she said. "Goodnight." She did not wait for a reply, but turned and went out, closing the door behind her.
Rhys did not call her in the night. Whatever Dr. Wade had given him was sufficient to induce in him not rest, but unconsciousness. She had no idea how long he had been awake when she heard the bell fall on the floor.
She rose immediately. It was full daylight. She grasped her shawl and opened the connecting door.
Rhys was lying facing her, his eyes wide and terrified.
She went in and sat on the bed.
"Tell me again, Rhys," she said quietly. "Did you kill your father?”
He shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes on her.
"Not even by accident?" she pressed. "Did you fight with him, not realising who he was, in the dark?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. His expression was filled with horror, his lips drawn back, his jaw clenched, the muscles of his neck corded with tension inside him.
"Could you see in the alley?" she pressed, the evidence heavy in her mind. "If someone accosted you, attacked you, are you sure you would know who it was?”
He gave a curious little jerk. If he had had a voice, it might have been laughter, but bitter, self-hurting. There was some dreadful irony in what he knew, and he could not tell her, even if he would have.
"Could you see?" she asked again.
He stared at her without moving.
There were so many questions. She thought desperately which would be the right one.