Mr. Kynaston had returned and would see Evan in his study. Evan thanked Fidelis and followed where he was directed.
The study was obviously a room for use. The fire blazed in a large hearth, glinting on wrought brass shovel and tongs and gleaming on the fender. Evan was shivering with cold, and the warmth enveloped him like a welcome blanket. The walls were decorated with glass-fronted bookcases, and pictures of country domestic scenes. The oak desk was massive and there were three piles of books and papers on it.
Joel Kynaston sat behind it, looking at Evan curiously. It was impossible to tell his height, but he gave the impression of being slight. His face was keen, nose a trifle pinched, mouth highly individual. It was not a countenance one would forget, nor easily overlook. His intelligence was inescapable, as was his consciousness of authority.
"Come in, Mr. Evan," he said with a slight nod. He did not rise, immediately establishing their relative status. "How may I be of service to you? If I had known anything about poor Leighton Duffs death I should already have told you, naturally. Although I have been ill with a fever, and spent the last few days in my bed. However, today I am better, and I cannot lie at home any longer."
"I'm sorry for your illness, sir," Evan responded.
"Thank you." Kynaston waved to the chair opposite. "Do sit down. Now tell me what you think I can do to be of assistance."
Evan accepted, finding it less comfortable than it looked, although he would have sat on boards to achieve the warmth. He was obliged to sit upright rather than relax.
"I believe you have known Rhys Duff since he was a boy, sir," he began, making a statement rather than a question.
Kynaston frowned very slightly, drawing his brows together. "Yes?"
"Does it surprise you that he should be in an area like St. Giles?"
Kynaston drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No. I regret to say that it does not. He was always wayward, and lately his choice of company caused his father some concern."
"Why? I mean for what specific reason?"
Kynaston stared at him. Several reactions flickered across his face.
He had highly expressive features. They showed amazement, disdain, sadness, and something else not so easily read, a darker thing, a sense of tragedy, or perhaps evil.
"What exactly do you mean, Mr. Evan?"
"Was it the immorality of it?" Evan expanded. "The fear of disease, of scandal or disgrace, of losing the favour of some respectable young lady, or the knowledge that it might lead him to physical danger, or greater depravity?"
Kynaston hesitated so long Evan thought he was not going to answer.
When finally he did speak, his voice was low, very careful, very precise, and he held his strong, bony hands in front of him, clutched tightly together.
"I should imagine all of those things, Mr. Evan. A man is uniquely responsible for the character of his son. There cannot be many experiences in human existence more harrowing than witnessing your own child, the bearer of your name and your heritage, your immortality, treading a downward path into weakness, corruption of the mind, and of the body." He looked at Evan's surprise. His eyebrows rose. "Not that I am suggesting Rhys was depraved. There was a predisposition to weakness in him which required greater discipline than perhaps he received. That is all. It is common among the young, especially an only boy in a family. Leighton Duff was concerned. Tragically, it now appears that he had grave cause."
"You believe Mr. Duff followed Rhys into St. Giles, and they were both attacked as a result of something that happened because they were there?"
"Don't you? It seems a tragically apparent explanation."
"You don't believe Mr. Duff would have gone alone otherwise? You knew him well, I believe?"
"Very well!" Kynaston said decisively. "I am perfectly certain he would not! Why in heaven's name should he? He had everything to lose, and nothing of any conceivable value to gain." He smiled very slightly, a fleeting, bitter humour, swallowed instantly in the reality of loss. "I hope you catch whoever is responsible, sir, but I have no sensible hope that you will. If Rhys had a liaison with some woman of the area, or something worse," his mouth twisted very slightly in distaste, 'then I doubt you will discover it now. Those involved will hardly come forward, and I imagine the denizens of that world will protect their own, rather than ally