Hester was upstairs when the doorbell rang and Wharmby showed in a woman of unusual appearance. She was of average height and fair, unremarkable colouring, but her features were strong, decidedly asymmetrical and yet possessed of an extraordinary air of inner resolution and calm. She was certainly not beautiful, yet one gained from her a sense of well-being which was almost more attractive.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Kynaston," Wharmby said with evident pleasure.

He looked at the youth who had followed her. His hair and skin were as fair as hers, but his features quite different. His face was thin, his features finer and more aquiline, his eyes clear light blue. It was a face of humour and dreams, and perhaps a certain loneliness. "Good afternoon, Mr. Arthur.”

"Good afternoon," Mrs. Kynaston replied. She was wearing dark browns and blacks, as became one visiting a house in mourning. Her clothes were well cut but somehow devoid of individual style. It seemed evident it did not matter to her. She allowed Wharmby to take her cloak, and then to conduct her into the withdrawing room where apparently Sylvestra was expecting her. Arthur followed a pace behind.

Wharmby came up the stairs.

"Miss Latterly, young Mr. Kynaston is a great friend of Mr. Rhys's.

He has asked if he may visit. Is that possible, do you think?”

"I shall ask Mr. Rhys is he wishes to see him," Hester replied. "If he does, I would like to see Mr. Kynaston first. It is imperative he does not say or do anything which would cause distress. Dr. Wade is adamant on that.”

"Of course. I understand." He stood waiting while she went to enquire.

Rhys was lying staring at the ceiling, his eyes half closed.

Hester stood in the doorway. "Arthur Kynaston is here. He would like to visit you, if you are feeling well enough. If you aren't, all you have to do is let me know. I shall see he is not offended.”

Rhys's eyes opened wide. She thought she saw eagerness in them, then a sudden doubt, perhaps embarrassment.

She waited.

He was uncertain. He was lonely, frightened, vulnerable, ashamed of his helplessness, and perhaps of what he had not done to save his father. Maybe, like many soldiers she had known, the sheer fact of his survival was a reproach to him, when someone else had not. Had he really been a coward, or did he only fear he had been? Did he even remember with any clarity, any approximation to fact?

"If you see him, shall I leave you alone?" she asked.

A shadow crossed his face.

"Shall I stay, and see that we talk of pleasant things, interesting things?”

Slowly he smiled.

She turned and went out to tell Wharmby.

Arthur Kynaston came up the stairs slowly, his fair face creased in concern.

"Are you the nurse?" he asked when he stood in front of her.

"Yes. My name is Hester Latterly.”

"May I see him?”

"Yes. But I must warn you, Mr. Kynaston, he is very ill. I expect you have already been told than he cannot speak.”

"But he will be able to… soon? I mean, it will come back, won't it?”

"I don't know. For now he cannot, but he can nod or shake his head.

And he likes to be spoken to.”

"What can I say?" He looked confused and a little afraid. He was very young, perhaps seventeen.

"Anything, except to mention what happened in St. Giles, or the death of his father.”

"Oh God! I mean… he does know, doesn't he? Someone has told him?”

"Yes. But he was there. We don't know what happened, but the shock of it seems to be what has robbed him of speech. Talk about anything else. You must have interests. Do you study? What do you hope to do?”

"Classics," he replied without hesitation. "Rhys loves the ancient stories, even more than I do. We'd love to go to Greece, or Turkey.”

She smiled and stood aside. There was no need to say that he had answered his own question. He knew it.

As soon as he saw Arthur, Rhys's face lit up, then instantly was shadowed by self-consciousness. He was in bed, helpless, unable even to welcome him.

If Arthur Kynaston had any idea of such things, he hid it superbly. He walked in as if it were the way they naturally met. He sat down in the chair beside the bed, ignoring Hester, facing Rhys.

"I suppose you've got rather more time to read than you can use?" he said ruefully. "I'll see if I can find a few new books for you. I've just been reading something fascinating. Trust me to get there years after everyone else, but I've got this book about Egypt, by an Italian called Belzoni. It was written nearly forty years ago, 1822 to be exact. It's all about the discovery of ancient tombs in Egypt and Nubia." He could not help his face tightening with his enthusiasm.

"It's marvelous! I'm convinced there must be much more there, if only we knew where to look!" He leaned forward. "I haven't told Papa yet.

But although I keep saying I'll study the classics, actually I think I might like to be an Egyptologist. In fact I'm pretty sure I would.”

In the doorway Hesteralready felt herself relaxing.

Rhys stared at Arthur, his eyes wide with fascination.

"I must tell you about some of the stuff they've found!" Arthur went on. "I tried to tell Duke, but you know him! He wasn't even remotely interested. No imagination. Sees time like a series of little rooms, all without windows. If you are in today, then that's all that exists.

I see it all as a vast whole. Any day is as important and as real as any other. Don't you think so?”

Rhys smiled and nodded.

"Can I tell you about this?" Arthur asked. "Do you mind? I've been longing to tell someone. Papa would be furious with me for wasting time. Mama would just listen with half her mind, and then forget it.

Duke thinks I'm a fool. But you're a captive audience…" He blushed hotly. "Sorry… that was a wretched thing to say! I wish I'd bitten my tongue!”

Rhys smiled with sudden brilliance. It changed his whole face, lighting it with an extraordinary charm. It was a warmth Hester had never had a chance to see.

"Thanks," Arthur said with a little shake of his head. "What I mean is, I know you'll understand." And he proceeded to describe the discoveries Belzoni had made in Egypt, his voice rising with eagerness, his hands moving quickly to outline them in the air.

Hester slipped out silently. She was perfectly confident that Arthur Kynaston would cause Rhys no unnecessary harm. If he reminded him of other times, of life and vigour that was unavoidable, he would think of those things anyway. If he made the occasional clumsy reference, that was bound to happen too. They were still best left alone.

Downstairs the maid Janet told her that Mrs. Duff would be pleased if she would join her in the withdrawing room for tea.

It was a courtesy, and one that Hester had not expected. She was not a servant in the house, but neither was she a guest. Perhaps Sylvestra wished her to know as much as possible about family friends in order to be able to help Rhys, to explain the rage in him. She must feel a consuming loneliness, and Hester was the only bridge between herself and her son, except Corriden Wade, and he was here only briefly.

She was introduced and Fidelis Kynaston betrayed no surprise at accepting her as part of the afternoon's visit and of the conversation.

"Is he…?" Sylvestra began nervously.

Hesteranswered with a smile which must have shown her pleasure. "They are having an excellent time," she answered with confidence. "Mr.

Kynaston is describing the discoveries along the Nile by a Signor Belzoni, and they are both enjoying it greatly. I admit I too was much interested. I think when I have spare time, I shall purchase the book myself.”

Sylvestra gave a sigh of relief and her whole body eased, the muscles of her shoulders and back un knotting the silk of her dress ceasing to strain. She turned to Fidelis.