The Prisoner by Karyn Monk Page B

mean Jack? Why?”
    â€œIt is possible your new—” Constable Drummond’s mouth tightened as he searched for a palatable noun “—
charge
can provide us with some clue as to where Lord Redmond may have gone.” The word “charge” was laden with scorn.
    â€œWhat makes you think he has any knowledge of such a thing?”
    Constable Drummond leaned back and steepled his long fingers together, studying her. Genevieve regarded him with brittle calm.
    â€œThey must have talked about something, Miss MacPhail.” His manner was infuriatingly condescending, as if he were trying to explain the obvious to a dullard. “Lord Redmond is not from Inveraray, and was arrested for his brutal crime shortly after he arrived here. This leaves us with limited clues as to where he might be hiding. Given his severely weakened condition at the time of his escape, we do not believe he can have traveled very far. We know he did not return to the inn where he was staying prior to his arrest, or to the tavern at which he became intoxicated on the night of the murder. We need to find out from the lad if Lord Redmond made any mention of his acquaintances in Inveraray, or discussed some place where he might go were he to escape.”
    â€œI have known Jack only a short while, but I can tell you he is not a boy who engages much in conversation.” Her tone was light as she finished obligingly, “However, if you believe he may be of some assistance, of course you must speak with him. Oliver, would you be kind enough to fetch Jack and ask him to join us?”
    Oliver poked his scraggly white head around the door to the drawing room. “Aye.”
    He disappeared and returned a moment later, with Jack reluctantly following.
    The lad who entered the room bore scant resemblance to the filthy urchin who had left the prison the previous night. His skin had been scrubbed clean with fragrant soap and a brush, and his greasy tangle of brown hair had been washed, trimmed, and neatly combed. He was dressed in a tailored jacket, white shirt and dark pair of trousers, and on his feet were a pair of worn but well-polished shoes. His jacket hung a little too loose on his thin frame, and his shorter hair was springing into curls that had completely resisted Doreen’s efforts to make them lie flat. At first glance he looked like a perfect, albeit somewhat uncomfortable, young gentleman.
    Only the raw animosity burning in his gray eyes and the scar across his left cheek suggested otherwise.
    â€œJack, you remember Governor Thomson,” said Genevieve.
    Jack glared at the governor.
    â€œAnd this is Police Constable Drummond,” she continued, ignoring the hostility emanating from the boy. She would educate him on his manners later. At the moment, she was more concerned that he not lose his temper or say anything that might give their visitors reason to be suspicious.
    â€œActually, Jack and I are well acquainted.” Constable Drummond regarded the boy with obvious contempt. “Aren’t we, Jack?”
    Jack gave the constable a single curt nod.
    â€œThese gentlemen would like to ask you a few questions about Lord Redmond,” Genevieve continued. “He’s the man with whom you shared your cell at the prison,” she explained, realizing that Jack would be unfamiliar with his title. “As Doreen mentioned on returning from the prison last night, he has escaped.”
    Jack said nothing.
    â€œTell us, lad, did Lord Redmond ever mention anything to you about his plans for escape?” asked Governor Thomson hopefully.
    â€œNo.”
    Constable Drummond regarded him with barely contained derision. It was his unflinching conviction that Jack was a liar and a thief, and therefore could not be trusted. “Ever talk about having acquaintances in Inveraray?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid he ever mention any place in Inveraray at all—a tavern he was familiar with, or an