At first she had felt rather awkward at the sudden shift in their relationship. What should she talk about? For once there was no case in which they had a common interest. It was years since she had dined alone with a man for other than professional reasons.

But she had forgotten how sophisticated he was. She had seen the vulnerable side of him in the slander case. At dinner and at the theatre he was utterly different. Here he was in command. As always he was immaculately dressed in the understated way of a man who knows he does not need to impress, his position is already assured. He had talked easily of all manner of things, art, politics, travel, a little philosophy and a touch of trivial scandal. He had made her laugh. She could picture him now sitting back in his chair, his eyes looking at her very directly. He had unusual eyes, very dark in his lean, narrow face with its fairish hair, long nose and fastidious mouth. She had never known him so relaxed before, as if for a space of time duty and the law had ceased to matter.

He had mentioned his father once or twice, a man Hester had met several times, and of whom she was extraordinarily fond. He even told her a few stories about his student days and his first, disastrous cases. She had not been sure whether to sympathise or be amused. She had looked at his face, and ended laughing. He had not seemed to mind in the least.

They had nearly been late for the theatre and had taken their seats almost as the curtain rose. It was a melodrama a terrible play. She had sat trying not to acknowledge to herself how bad it was. She must keep facing the stage. Rathbone sitting beside her would be bound to be aware if she gazed around or took more interest in the other members of the audience. She had sat rigidly facing forwards, trying to enjoy it.

Then she had glanced at him, after one particularly dreadful sequence of lines, and saw him wince. A few moments later she had looked at him again, and this time found him looking back, his eyes bright with rueful amusement.

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…”