"There are so many things I would like to forget," Sylvestra replied almost under her breath. "I can't forget what I don't understand!

Ridiculous, isn't it? You would think that would be the easiest. Why St. Giles? That is what the police keep asking me and I cannot answer them.”

"You probably never will," Fidelis said wryly. "You might be best advised, happiest, if you do not guess." She kissed Sylvestra lightly on each cheek, and then took her leave, Arthur a few steps behind her.

Hester offered no comment, and Sylvestra did not raise the matter.

Hester had been present as a courtesy, and she was owed no confidences.

They both went up to see if Rhys was still in the good spirits Arthur had described, and found him lying half asleep, and apparently at as much ease as was possible in his pain.

That evening Eglantyne Wade called. It was the first time she had come since the funeral, no doubt knowing how ill Rhys was, and not wishing to intrude. Hester was curious to see what kind of woman Dr. Wade's sister might be. She hoped she would prove to be not unlike him, a woman of courage, imagination and individuality, perhaps not unlike Fidelis Kynaston.

In the event she proved to be far prettier, or far more conventional in appearance, and Hester felt a stab of disappointment. It was totally unreasonable. Why should his sister have any of his intelligence or inner courage of the spirit? Her own brother Charles was nothing at all like her. He was kind, in his own way, honest, and infinitely predictable.

She replied politely to Sylvestra's introduction, searching Miss Wade's face for some sign of inner fire, and not finding it. All she met was a bland, blue stare which seemed without thought, or any but the mildest interest. Even Sylvestra's remark on her service in the Crimea provoked no surprise but the usual murmur of respect which mention of Scutari and Sebastopol always earned. It seemed as if Eglantyne Wade were not even truly listening.

Sylvestra had promised Hester that she might have the evening free to do as she pleased. She had even suggested she might like to go out somewhere, visit friends or relatives. Since Oliver Rathbone had asked that if she were permitted an evening's respite from her new case, she would use it to dine with him, she had sent a note to his office at midday. By late afternoon she received the reply that he would be honoured if she would allow him to send a carriage for her that they might dine together. Therefore at seven she waited in the hall, dressed in her one really good gown, and felt a distinct ripple of excitement when the doorbell rang, and Wharmby informed her that it was for her.

It was a bitter night, a rime of ice on the cobbles, steam rising from the horses' flanks, and the wreaths of fog curling around the lamps and drifting in choking clammy patches. Smoke and soot hung heavy in the air above, blotting out the stars, and a dagger-like wind scythed down the tunnels made by the high house walls on either side of the street.

She had dined at Rathbone's home before, but with Monk also present, and to discuss a case and their strategy to fight it. She had also dined with him several times at his father's house in Primrose Hill, but she had gathered from the invitation that this was to be in some public place, as was only proper if they were not to be accompanied by any other person.

The cab drew up at a very handsome inn, and the footman immediately opened the door and offered his hand to assist her to alight. She was shown into a small dining room where Rathbone was waiting.

He turned from the mantel where he had been standing in front of the fire. He was formally dressed in black with icy-white shirt front, the light from the chandelier catching his fair hair. He smiled, and watched her come in until she was in the centre of the room, and the door closed behind her, before he came forward. He took her hands in his.

Her dress was grey-blue, severely cut, but she knew it flattered her eyes, and her strong, intelligent face. Frills had always looked absurd on her, out of style with her character.

"Thank you for coming in such extreme haste," he said warmly. "It is a most ungentlemanly way of snatching an opportunity to see you purely for pleasure, and not some wretched business, either of yours or of mine. I am happy to say that all my current cases are merely matters of litigation, and require no detecting at all.”

She was not sure if that was an allusion to Monk, or simply a statement that for once they had no cause for their meeting but each other's company. It was an extraordinary departure for him. He had always been so guarded in the past, so very private where anything personal was concerned.

"And mine has no trial that would interest you," she replied with an answering smile. "In fact I fear probably no trial at all!" She withdrew her hands and he let her go. He walked back slowly towards the chairs near the fire and indicated one for her to sit, before he sat on the other. It was a delightful room, comfortable and private without being too intimate for decorum. Anyone might come or go at any moment, and they could hear the chatter and laughter, and the clink of china in another room very close. The fire burned hotly in the grate and there was a pleasant glow from the pink and plum shades of the furniture. Light gleamed on the polished wood of a side table. A main table was set with linen, crystal and silver for two.

"Do you want a trial?" he asked with amusement. His eyes were extraordinarily dark, and he watched her intently.

She had thought she would find it disconcerting, but although perhaps it was, it was also unquestionably pleasant, even if it made her skin a little warm, and very slightly disturbed her concentration. In a subtle way it was like being touched.

"I would very much like the offenders caught and punished," she said vehemently. "It is one of the worst cases I have seen. Often I think I can see some sort of reason for things, but this seems to be simply the most bestial violence.”

"What happened?”

"A young man and his father were attacked in St. Giles, and appallingly beaten. The father died, the young man, whom I am nursing, is very badly injured, and cannot speak." Her voice dropped unintentionally. "I have watched him have nightmares when it is quite obvious he is reliving the attack. He is agonised with terror, hysterical, trying over and over to scream, but his voice won't come.

He is in great physical pain, but the anguish in his mind is even worse.”

"I'm sorry," he said, regarding her gravely. "It must be very difficult for you to watch. Can you help him at all?”

"A little… I hope.”

He smiled across at her, the warmth in his eyes praise enough. Then his brow puckered. "What were they doing in St. Giles? If they can afford a private nurse for him, they don't sound like residents, or even visitors, of such a place.”

"Oh, they aren't!" she said quickly with a lift of amusement which vanished at once. "They live in Ebury Street. Mr. Duff was a senior solicitor, in property conveyancing. I have no idea what they were doing in St. Giles. That is one of the problems the police are trying to solve. It is John Evan by the way. I feel odd behaving as if I do not know him.”

"But it is best, I'm sure," he agreed. "I'm sorry you have such a distressing case." The servant had left a decanter of wine, and he offered it to her, and when she accepted, poured a glassful and passed it to her. He raised his own glass to his lips in an unspoken toast.

"I suppose many of your cases are trying, one way or another?”

She had not thought of it in that light. "Yes… I suppose they are!

Either the person is very ill, and to watch suffering is hard, or they are not, and then I feel I am not challenged enough, not really necessary." She smiled suddenly with real laughter this time. "I'm impossible to please!”