"He is," Hester reinforced. "He had a most difficult night. I cannot allow you to press him, Sergeant.”

Evan looked at her 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 sceptic ally "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.

"No." Evan acknowledged. "Did you meet someone by chance?”

Rhys moved his shoulder a little, it was almost a shrug.

"A friend?”

This time it was definite denial.

"Someone you do not like? An enemy?”

Again the shrug, this time angry, impatient.

"Did you go straight to St. Giles?”

Rhys nodded very slowly, as if he had trouble remembering.

"Had you been there before?" Evan asked, lowering his voice.

Rhys nodded, his eyes unwavering.

"Did you know your father was going there also?”

Rhys stiffened, his body tightening till the muscles seemed locked.

"Did you?" Evan repeated.

Rhys cringed back into the pillow, wincing as the movement hurt him. He tried to speak, his mouth forming the words, his throat striving, but no sounds came. He started to tremble. He could not get his breath and gasped, the air dragging and catching in his throat.

Sylvestra bent forward. "Stop it!" she commanded Evan. "Leave him alone." She placed herself between them as if Evan were offering some physical threat. She swivelled round to Rhys, but he cowered away from her too as if he could not distinguish the difference.

Sylvestra's face was ashen. She struggled for something to say to him but it was beyond her reason or even her emotion to reach. She was baffled, frightened and hurt.

"You must both leave," Hester said firmly. "Please! Now!" As if assuming their obedience, she turned to Rhys who was shuddering violently and sounded in danger of choking. "Stop it!" she said to him loudly and clearly. "Nobody is going to hurt you now! Don't try to say anything… Just breathe in and out steadily! Very steadily!

Do as I tell you!”

She heard the door close as Evan and Sylvestra left.

Gradually Rhys's hysteria subsided. He began to breathe regularly. The scraping sound in his throat eased and he trembled instead of shaking.

"Keep on breathing slowly," she told him. "Gently. In out. In -out.”

She smiled at him.

Warily, shakily, he smiled back.

"Now I am going to get you a little hot milk, and a herbal draught to make you feel better. You need to rest.”

Fear darkened his eyes again.

"No one will come in.”

It was no comfort.

Then she thought perhaps she understood. He was afraid of dreams. The horror lay within him.

"You don't need to sleep. Just lie there quietly. It won't make you sleep.”

He relaxed, his eyes searching hers, trying to make her understand.

But he did sleep, for several hours, and she sat beside him, watching, ready to waken him if he showed signs of distress.

Corriden Wade came in the late afternoon. He looked anxious when Hester told him of Rhys's distress, and of the nightmare which had produced such prolonged pain and hysteria. His face creased with sharp concern, his own physical discomfort of the fall forgotten.

"It is most worrying, Miss Latterly. I shall go up and examine him.

This is not a good turn of events.”

She made to follow him.

"No," he said abruptly, holding his hand up as if physically to prevent her. "I will see him alone. He has obviously been profoundly disturbed by what has happened. In his best interest, to keep him from further hysteria, I shall examine him without the possible embarrassment of a stranger, and a woman present." He smiled very briefly, merely a flicker, more of communication than any lift of mood.

He was obviously deeply distressed by what had happened. "I have known Rhys since he was a child," he explained to her. "I knew his father well, God rest his soul, and my sister is a long-standing and dear friend of Sylvestra. No doubt she will call in the near future and offer whatever help or comfort she may…

.”

"That would be good…" Hester began.

"Yes, of course," he cut her off. "I must see my patient, Miss Latterly. It seems his condition might have taken a turn for the worse. It may be necessary to keep him sedated for a while, so he does not further injure himself in his turmoil of mind…”

She reached out to touch his arm. "But he is afraid of sleep, Doctor!

That is when he dreams…”

"Miss Latterly, I know very well that you have his interests at heart.”

His voice was quite quiet, almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the iron in his will. "But his injuries are severe, more severe than you are aware of. I cannot risk his becoming agitated again and perhaps tearing them open. The results could be fatal." He stared at her earnestly. "This is not the kind of violence either you or I are accustomed to dealing with. We know war and its heroes, which, God knows, are horrible enough. This is the trial of a different kind of strength. We must protect him from himself, at least for a while. In a few weeks he may be better, we can only hope.”

There was nothing she could do but acquiesce.

"Thank you." His face softened. "I am sure we shall work together excellently. We have much in common, tests of endurance and judgement we have both passed." He smiled briefly, a look of pain and uncertainty, then turned and continued on up the stairs.

Hesterand Sylvestra waited in the withdrawing room. They sat on either side of the fire, stiff-backed, upright, speaking only occasionally, in stifled, jerky sentences.

"I have known Corriden Wade for years," Sylvestra said suddenly. "He was an excellent friend of my husband's. Leighton trusted him absolutely. He will do everything for Rhys that is possible.”

"Of course. I have heard of him. His reputation is excellent. Very high.”

"Is it? Yes. Yes, of course it is.”

Minutes ticked by. The coals settled in the fire. Neither of them moved to ring the bell for the maid to add more.

"His sister… Eglantyne, is a dear friend of mine.”

"Yes. He told me. He said she may call upon you soon.”