Free The Silent Cry by Anne Perry

life there." She looked not at Hester, but into the dancing flames of the fire. "She says things can never be the same again. She used to love it, even when it was most boring for many of the wives. During the heat of the summer the women would all go up to the hill stations, you know?" It was a rhetorical question. She did not expect Hester to have any knowledge of such things. She had forgotten she had been an army nurse, or perhaps she did not understand what it really meant. It was another world from hers.
    "They can never trust now as they used to. It has all changed," she went on. "The violence was unimaginable, the torture, the massacres.”
    She shook her head. "But of course they can't come home. It is their duty to remain." She said it without bitterness or the slightest resentment. Duty was a strength and a reason for life, as well as its most rigid boundary.
    "I understand," Hester said quickly. She did. Her mind flew back to officers she had known in the Crimea, men, clever ones and foolish ones, to whom duty was as simple as a flame. At no matter what cost, personal or public, even when it was painful or ridiculous, they would never think of doing other than what was expected of them. At times she could have shouted at them, or even lashed out at them physically, through sheer frustration at their rigidity, at the sometimes unnecessary and terrible sacrifices. But she never ceased to admire it in them, whether at its noblest, or its most futile or both together.
    Sylvestra must have caught something in her voice, a depth of answering emotion. She turned to look at her and for the first time smiled.
    "Amalia is in India too, but her husband is in the Colonial Service, and she takes a great interest in the native peoples." There was pride in her face, and amazement for a way of life she could hardly imagine.
    "She has friends among the women. Sometimes I worry that she is very rash. I fear she intrudes where Westerners are not wanted, thinking she will alter things for the good, when in truth she may only do damage. I have written advising her, but she was never good at accepting counsel. Hugo is a nice young man, but too busy with his own tasks to pay sufficient attention to Amalia, I think.”
    Hester's imagination pictured a rather stuffy man shuffling papers on a desk, while the spirited, more adventurous Amalia explored forbidden territories.
    "I'm sorry they are not closer, to be with you at this time," she said gently. She knew it would be months before any letters from Sylvestra with the news of her father's death could circle round the Cape of Good Hope and reach India, and the answers return to England. No wonder Sylvestra was so terribly alone.
    Mourning was always a time for family closeness. Outsiders, no matter how excellent their friendship, felt intrusive, and did not know what to say.
    "Yes…" Sylvestra agreed, almost as if speaking to herself. "I would dearly like their company, especially Amalia. She is always so… positive." She shivered a little, in spite of the warmth of the room, the heavy curtains drawn across the windows against the rain and the dark, the empty tea tray with the remains of crumpets and butter. "I don't know what to expect… the police again, I suppose. More questions, for which I have no answers.”
    Hester knew, but it was kinder not to reply. Answers would be found, ugly things uncovered, even if only because they were private, and perhaps foolish or shabby. They would not necessarily include finding the man who had murdered Leighton Duff.
    Again Rhys ate only beef tea and a little dry toast. Hester read to him for a while, and he fell asleep early. Hester herself did not put out her light until after midnight, and awoke again in the dark with a ripple of horror going over her like an icy draught. The bell had not fallen, yet she rose immediately and went through to Rhys's room.
    The fire was still burning well and the flames cast plenty of light.
    Rhys was half