She was in Rathbone's office at nine o'clock. She waited until his first client had been and gone, then she was ushered into his office, the clerk advised that the next client should be handsomely entertained and informed that Sir Oliver was regrettably kept by an emergency, which was at least half true.
She did not waste his time with preamble. She was sufficiently conscious of the fact that he had seen her without an appointment, and she was presuming on his regard for her to ask a favour. She hated doing it, the more so since their last encounter, and her belief as to his feelings towards her. Had Rhys's life not depended upon it, she would not have come. Sylvestra's solicitor could have briefed whomever he wished.
"They have arrested Rhys for the murder of his father," she said bluntly. "They have not removed him, of course, because he is too ill, but they will bring him to trial. His mother is at her wits' end, and not in a position or a state of mind to find for him the best barrister for his defence." She stopped, acutely aware of his dark eyes on her and his expression of concern leaping ahead of what she had already told 'him.
"I think you had better sit down and tell me the facts of the case, so far as you know them." He indicated the chair opposite his desk, and moved around to sit at the one behind it. He did not yet reach for the quill to make notes.
She tried to compose her mind so that she could tell him sensibly, so that she could make it comprehensible, without overweighing it with emotion.
"Rhys Duff and his father, Leighton Duff, were found in Water Lane, an alley in the area of St. Giles," she started to explain. "Leighton Duff was beaten to death. Rhys was severely injured, in a similar manner, but he survived, although he is unable to speak, and both his hands are badly broken, so neither can he hold a pen. That is important, because it means he cannot communicate, except by a nod or a shake of his head.”
"That is an added complication," he agreed gravely. "I have read something of the case. It is impossible to pick up a newspaper and not at least be aware of it. What evidence is there that leads the police to presume that Rhys killed his father, rather than the more natural assumption that both of them were attacked, and possibly robbed, by thieves or general ruffians of the area? Do you know?”
"Yes. Monk has found evidence which ties them to the rape cases in Seven Dials…”
"Just a minute!" he interrupted, holding up his hand. "You said "them". Who are we talking about? And what rape cases in Seven Dials?
Is he charged with rape as well?”
She was not being as clear as she had intended after all She had seen the fractional change in his face when she had mentioned Monk's name, and she felt guilty. What had he seen in her eyes?
She must speak intelligently, in an orderly fashion. She started again.
"Monk was engaged by a woman from Seven Dials to discover who had been first cheating, then with increasing violence raping and beating factory women, amateur prostitutes in Seven Dials…” she stopped.
He was frowning. Did he disapprove of Monk, or of the women, or did he fear it made Rhys's case even worse?
"What is it?" The words were out before she intended.
"It is a very ugly crime," he said quietly. "But it is one the courts will not pursue… for a dozen different reasons, both social…”
He wrinkled his nose very slightly in a wealth of distaste, subtle and deep. "And legal impossibilities also," he added. "Rape is a difficult crime to prove. Why did Monk pursue it? Whatever else he has forgotten, he must be aware of these things!”
"I argued it with him," she said with a very slight smile. "It is not what you fear." She hoped as she was saying it that it was the truth, not merely her wish. "He intended only to expose them to their own society, not to provoke the people of St. Giles to take their revenge.”
Rathbone's lips curled in a faint, ironic smile. "That sounds like Monk. A nice irony using society's hypocrisy to make it punish its own for the very crime it pretends does not exist, and will not strengthen the law to judge." He kept his eyes on her face. "But what has this to do with Rhys Duff, and the death of his father?”
"For some time Rhys had been keeping company with women of whom his father did not approve, and to the exclusion of suitable young ladies,” she explained. "At least that is what his mother believed." She was twisting her hands in her lap without realising it. "Perhaps in fact he had some idea of what Rhys was really doing. Anyway, on that particular evening they quarrelled, Rhys left the room, and apparently the house. Leighton Duff left about half an hour afterwards, when he realised that Rhys had gone, and perhaps suspected to where." She looked at him to make sure he was following her explanation.
"Proceed," he directed. "It is all perfectly clear so far.”
"One woman was raped and beaten in St. Giles that night," she went on.
"Within a few yards of Water Lane. A short time after that, the bodies of Rhys and his father were found in Water Lane itself. Rhys was insensible, and has not spoken since. Leighton Duff was dead.”
"And the assumption," he concluded, 'is that Leighton Duff caught up with Rhys and his friends, while it was still apparent they were the rapists of the woman… either they were in the act, or they had just completed it. He was furious, endeavoured to reason with them or apprehend them, and one, or all of them, attacked him. He drove off the other two quite quickly, but Rhys, knowing he would not escape the matter, fought until he had killed him.”
"Yes… more or less." It was a terrible admission, and she could not make it easily. Her voice sounded tight and brittle.
"I see." He sat silently for several moments, deep in thought, and she did not interrupt him. He looked up. "Have they anything to link Rhys or his companions who are they, do you know?”
"Yes, Arthur and Marmaduke Kynaston. They answer the descriptions given, and one girl, who actually named Rhys, named them also, Arthur and Duke. He is known as Duke.”
"I see." He nodded very slightly. "Were they injured at the time Rhys was, do you know?”
"Yes, I do know, and no, they do not appear to have been." She realised what he was thinking. "But that only makes them cowards as well!”
"I am afraid so. But can anyone place any of the three in Seven Dials, or connect them to the earlier rapes?”
"Not so far as I know.”
"And is there evidence to prove these rapes are not random, committed by several people? There must be many rapes in London in a week.”
"I don't think many are carried out by three men together, answering the descriptions of one tall and slight, one average and one slender, and all three gentlemen, arriving and leaving by hansom," she said bleakly.
He sighed. "You sound as if you believe him guilty, Hester. Do you?”
She did not want to answer. Now that the question was put so bluntly, and she faced Rathbone's clever, subtle gaze which would not permit evasion, and to whom she could not lie, she must make a decision.
He waited.
"He says he didn't," she answered very slowly, choosing her words. "I am not sure what he remembers. It frightens him, horrifies him. I think maybe when he says that, he is saying what he wishes were true.
Perhaps he does not entirely know.”
"But you think physically, for whatever reason, he committed the act,” he said.
"Yes… yes, I think so. I can't avoid it.”
"Then what is it you wish me to do?”
"Help him… I…" Now she realised how much she was being emotional rather than rational, not only regarding Rhys, but in her plea to Rathbone. Still she could not turn aside from doing it, even now she was aware. "Please, Oliver? I don't know how it happened, or why he should have let himself fall into such a desperate situation. I… I can't argue anything in mitigation for him… I don't know what there is, I just have to believe there is something." She looked at his face with its humour and intelligence, sometimes so cool and just now, gazing back at her, so gentle.