She had dissolved in giggles, and knew that when he pulled out a large handkerchief and held it to his mouth, it was for the same reason. Then he had leaned across to her and whispered, "Shall we leave, before they ask us not to disrupt the performance?" and she had been delighted to agree.
Afterwards they had walked along the icy street still laughing, mimicking some of the worst lines and parodying the scenes. They had stopped by a brazier where a street peddler was selling roasted chestnuts, and he had bought two packets, and they had walked along together trying not to burn their fingers or their tongues.
It had been one of the happiest evenings she could remember, and curiously comfortable.
She was still smiling at its recollection when the hansom reached her destination in Ebury Street and set her down, with her luggage. She paid the driver and presented herself at the side door, where a footman helped her in with her case and directed her to where she should wait to meet the mistress.
Hester had been told little about the circumstances of Rhys Duffs injuries, only that they were sustained in an attack in which his father had been killed. She had been far more concerned with the nature of his distress and what measures she could take to help him. She had seen Dr. Riley at the hospital, and he had professed a continuing interest in Rhys Duffs ease, but it was the family doctor, Corriden Wade, who had approached her. He had told her only that Rhys Duff was suffering from profound bruising both external and internal. He was in a state of the most serious shock, and had so far not spoken since the incident. She should not try to make him respond, except in so far as to make his wishes known regarding his comfort. Her task was to relieve his pain as far as was possible, to change the dressings of his minor external wounds. Dr. Wade himself would care for the more major ones. She must keep him clean, warm and prepare for him such food as he was willing to take. This, of course, should be bland and nourishing.
She was also to keep his room warm and pleasant for him, and to read to him if he should show any desire for it. The choice of material was to be made with great care. There must be nothing disturbing, either to the emotions or the intellect, and nothing which would excite him or keep him from as much rest as he was able to find. In Hester's view, that excluded almost everything that was worthy of either the time or effort of reading. If it did not stir the intellect, the emotions or the imagination, what point was there in it? Should she read him the railway timetable?
But she had merely nodded and answered obediently.
When Sylvestra Duff came into the room she was a complete surprise.
Hester had not formed a picture of her in her mind, but she realised she had expected someone as anodyne as Dr. Wade's regimen for Rhys.
Sylvestra was anything but bland. She was, very naturally, dressed entirely in black, but on her tall, very slender figure and with her intense colouring, it was dramatic and most flattering. She was pale with shock still, and moved as if she needed to be careful in case in her daze she bumped into things, but there was a grace and a composure in her which Hester could not help but admire. Her first impression was most favourable.
She stood up immediately. "Good morning, Mrs. Duff. I am Hester Latterly, the nurse Dr. Wade engaged in your behalf, to care for your son during his convalescence.”
"How do you do, Miss Latterly." Sylvestra spoke with a low voice, and rather slowly, as if she measured her words before she uttered them. "I am grateful you could come. You must have nursed many young men who have been terribly injured.”
"Yes, I have." She considered adding something to the effect that a large number of them had made startling recoveries, even from the most appalling circumstances, then she looked at Sylvestra's calm eyes, and decided it would be shallow, and sound as if she were minim ising the truth. And she had not yet seen Rhys Duff, she had no idea for herself of his condition. Dr. Riley's pinched face and anxious eyes, his expressed desire to hear of his progress, indicated that his fears were deep that he would recover slowly, if at all. Dr. Wade had also seemed in some personal distress as he spoke of it to her when engaging her.
"We have prepared a room for you, next to my son's," Sylvestra continued, 'and arranged a bell so that he can call you if he should need you. Of course he cannot ring it, but he can knock it off on to the floor, and you will hear." She was thinking of all the practical details, speaking too quickly to cover her emotion. "The kitchen will serve you meals, of course, at whatever time may prove most suitable.
You must advise Cook what you think best for my son, from day to day. I hope you will be comfortable. If you have any other requirements, please tell me, and I shall do all I can to meet them.”
"Thank you," Hesteracknowledged. "I am sure that will be satisfactory.”
The shadow of a smile touched Sylvestra's mouth. "I imagine the footman has taken your luggage upstairs. Do you wish to see your room first, and perhaps change your attire?”
"Thank you, but I should prefer to meet Mr. Duff before anything else," Hester replied. "And perhaps you could tell me a little more about him.”
"About him?" Sylvestra looked puzzled.
"His nature, his interests," Hesteranswered gently. "Dr. Wade said that the shock has temporarily robbed him of speech. I shall know of him only what you tell me, to begin with. I should not like to cause him any unnecessary annoyance or distress by ignorance. Also…" she hesitated.
Sylvestra waited, with no idea what she meant.
Hester took a breath.
"Also I must know if you have told him of his father's death…”
Sylvestra's face cleared as she understood. "Of course! I'm sorry for being so slow to understand. Yes, I have told him. I did not think it right to keep it from him. He will have to face it. I do not want him to believe I have lied to him.”
"I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you," Hester acknowledged. "I am sorry I had to ask.”
Sylvestra was silent for a moment, as if she too were stunned even by the thought of what had happened to her in the space of a few days. Her husband was dead and her son was desperately ill, and locked in his own world of isolation, hearing and seeing, but unable to speak, unable to communicate with anyone the terror and the pain he must feel.
"I'll try to tell you something about him," Sylvestra replied to the request. "It… it is difficult to think of the kind of things which would help." She turned to lead the way out of the room and across the hall to the stairs. At the bottom she looked back at Hester. "I am afraid that because of the nature of the incident, we have the police returning to ask questions. I cannot believe they will trouble you, since naturally you can know nothing. When Rhys regains his speech, he will tell them, but of course they don't wish to wait." A bleakness came over her face. "I don't suppose they will ever find who did it anyway. It will be some pack of nameless ruffians, and the slums will protect their own." She started up the stairs, back very straight, head high, but there was no life in her step.
Following after her, Hester imagined that inside she was barely beginning to lose the numbness of shock, and only in her mind did she turn over and over the details as their reality emerged. She could remember feeling the same when she first heard of the suicide of her father, and then within weeks of her mother's death from loneliness and despair. She had kept on worrying at the details, and yet at the same time never really believed the man responsible for her family's ruin would be caught.
But that was all in the past now, and all that needed to be retained in her mind from it was her understanding of the changing moods of grief.
The Duff house was large and very modern in furnishings. Everything she had seen in the morning room and now in the hall dated from no further back than the accession of the Queen. There was none of the spare elegance of the Georgian period, or of William IV. There were pictures everywhere, ornate wallpaper, tapestries and woven rugs, flower arrangements and stuffed animals under glass. Fortunately both the hall and the upstairs landing were large enough not to give an air of oppression, but it was not a style Hester found comfortable.