The Prisoner by Karyn Monk Page A

Redmond has escaped.”
    Genevieve regarded him blankly. “Who?”
    â€œThe murderer who shared a cell with the boy you took home with you last night, Miss MacPhail,” Constable Drummond explained. “He was Lord Haydon Kent, Marquess of Redmond. I believe you exchanged some words with him before leaving the prison.”
    Constable Drummond was a tall, dour man of some forty years, with unfashionably long hair that dripped in a scraggly fringe below his collar. More hair oozed in two dark stripes along the sides of his face, which only served to accentuate the thinness of his somber features. Genevieve had first met him when she had gone to rescue Charlotte a year earlier from prison, and she had taken an immediate dislike to him. It was he who had arrested the poor child, who was all of ten at the time, for the criminal offense of stealing a turnip and two apples from a garden. It was Constable Drummond’s impenetrable conviction that those individuals who did not uphold the law deserved to be dealt the harshest of consequences, be they adult or child, and he had not been supportive of Genevieve taking Charlotte into her tender custody.
    â€œOf course. I was not aware of his name.” Somehow Genevieve managed to keep her expression neutral.
The warder used to call him “his lordship.”
Jack had said. Her own father had been a viscount, and her former betrothed was an earl, so she was not easily impressed with aristocratic titles and the preposterous implication of social, moral, and intellectual superiority that accompanied them.
    Nevertheless, it was somehow disconcerting to think that the naked man whose battered, aching body she had swabbed throughout the night was a marquess.
    â€œMy maid told me when she returned from the prison last night that the prisoner from Jack’s cell was missing.” She drew her brow together in feigned worry. “I had hoped you would have found him by now.”
    â€œRest assured, he can’t have gone far,” said Governor Thomson, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His waistcoat was straining tautly against its buttons, which looked as if they might suddenly fly off at any moment. “Not in his condition.”
    He appeared to be trying to convince himself as much as her. Clearly it did not reflect well upon his abilities to have a dangerous murderer escape from his prison the very night before the man was to be executed. It occurred to Genevieve that the governor might well be in danger of losing his position for such a grave blunder. The possibility was troubling. Whatever his faults, she had carefully cultivated a valuable partnership with him over the years. With Governor Thomson running the prison, she was always informed when there was a child sentenced to languish behind its foul walls. She could not be certain a new governor would be nearly so accommodating—or so open to bribery.
    â€œI will find him.” Constable Drummond spoke with a harsh resolve that Genevieve found unsettling. “Have no fear of that. I expect he will be locked up again before nightfall, and hanged first thing tomorrow.”
    She managed what she hoped was a sufficiently bright smile. “How very reassuring. Just hearing you say that makes me feel much better. As I’m certain you can appreciate, a woman with young children becomes most anxious when she hears that a dangerous killer is lurking on the streets. Until you have succeeded in your capture of him, I shall be sure to keep careful watch over all of my family. Thank you both for taking the time to come here to warn me. It was most kind of you.” She rose, as if presuming their discussion was finished.
    â€œActually, that isn’t the sole purpose for our visit.” Governor Thomson shifted awkwardly once again. Genevieve thought he looked like a giant egg wobbling back and forth. “We wanted to speak to the lad.”
    She arched her brows in confusion. “You