The Prisoner (32 page)

Oliver frowned. “And what new evidence might that be?”

“I don't know yet,” Genevieve acknowledged. “But at least if we gain some time, we can do some investigating—starting right here in Inveraray. Someone must know something about the men who attacked him that night. I intend to find out who those men were and why they wanted to kill Haydon.”

 

G
OVERNOR THOMSON WAS SITTING AT HIS DESK WITH
a pair of silver scissors in hand, poised to trim an obstinate strand off his otherwise impeccably manicured beard.

“Where is he?” Genevieve demanded, throwing open the door to his office.

Startled, his hand jerked, causing a gray shower of hair to fall onto the polished surface of his desk.

“Look what you did!” he cried, staring at the amputated hairs in dismay. He held his elegant hand mirror close to the damaged area and gasped. “You made me cut a wedge in my beard!”

“Where is he?” Genevieve repeated coldly.

Governor Thomson stared forlornly at his reflection, raking his fingers through his remaining hair to see if it could be coaxed to cover up the crudely chopped gap. “Who?”

“You know very well who. Kindly take me to see Lord Redmond immediately.”

He regarded her in complete bewilderment. “Lord Redmond?”

She could not understand why he was being so obtuse. “He was arrested this morning. I want to see him to assure myself that he has not been mistreated in any way, and I promise you that if I find he has been—”

“I'm afraid there must be some mistake, Mrs. Blake,” Governor Thomson interrupted, laying down his mirror. “There have been no new prisoners brought here today.”

“Of course there have,” she insisted. “The marquess of Redmond was captured over two hours ago.”

“Really?” He looked genuinely intrigued. “By whom?”

“By three police officers—I don't know their names. They must have brought him here.”

Governor Thomson shook his head. “No prisoner is put into a cell without my direct authority. I have been here since seven o'clock this morning, and he has not been brought to me.”

Genevieve frowned. “If he is not here, then where would the officers have taken him?”

“I can assure you that if a dangerous fugitive such as Lord Redmond had been captured, he would have been brought here and locked up forthwith.”

“But he was captured—”

“How do you know?”

She stopped, suddenly uneasy. If the police had arrested Haydon, then why hadn't he been delivered here directly?

“Where is Constable Drummond?” she asked, deciding that Governor Thomson was obviously ill-informed. Constable Drummond had been leading the search for Haydon. Surely he would know about the officers who had descended upon her house that morning.

“I'm afraid you just missed him,” he replied, picking up his mirror once again. “He was testifying at a trial in the courthouse, and stopped by afterward to discuss how the search for Lord Redmond is faring. Constable Drummond has been in contact with the police forces in both Glasgow and Edinburgh, as he believes the marquess may not be in Inveraray at all, but has likely escaped to—”

No,
thought Genevieve, shutting out Governor Thomson's ramblings.

Like giants, they were, and twice as fierce.

Oliver hadn't said he recognized the police constables. But it didn't make sense that he wouldn't have recognized at least one of them. After all, Oliver had been a criminal in and about Inveraray for his entire life. He had been arrested and imprisoned numerous times over the years, and had made acquaintance with most, if not all, of the men who comprised its police force. Moreover, if Constable Drummond was leading the investigation to find Haydon, how could he possibly not have known about the raid on Genevieve's home? Even if he hadn't been aware of it beforehand, why hadn't he been informed by now?

Terror surged through her as the answer became horribly clear.

“—therefore he is preparing to travel to Glasgow himself tomorrow, to investigate whether any of these reported sightings might be reliable….”

Governor Thomson blinked in confusion as Genevieve tore from his office, leaving him alone to contemplate the debacle of his ridiculously clipped beard.

Chapter Thirteen

G
ENEVIEVE
'
S MIND WAS REELING AS SHE AND
Oliver raced into the house. Haydon had been abducted. And he was going to be killed.

Unless he was already dead.

No,
she thought, fighting the despair slashing at the frayed thread of her composure.
He is alive. He has to be.

“Thank the Lord, ye're back,” cried Eunice, wringing her handkerchief as she hurried toward them. Annabelle, Grace, Charlotte, and Simon were seated in the drawing room, their faces pale and grave. “Are the lads with ye?” Eunice demanded anxiously.

Genevieve's chest tightened until she could scarcely breathe. “What do you mean?”

“Jack and Jamie have disappeared,” explained Doreen. “The children say Jack dashed out the kitchen door as those blackguards were takin' his lordship away, and Jamie took off after him. The last they saw of them, they were both running down the street in the direction the carriage had gone.”

“We thought ye'd surely have found them hangin' about the prison,” added Eunice.

Genevieve stared at the children, torn between fury and fear. “Why didn't you children tell Oliver the minute Jack and Jamie were gone?”

“Jack made us swear not to.” Simon looked close to tears.

“He said that Oliver would only try to stop him,” explained Annabelle in a small, contrite voice, “and that if Oliver tried, then he would have to knock him to the ground.”

“He didn't want to hurt Oliver,” Charlotte quickly interjected, lest anyone misconstrue Jack's intentions. “Jack would never hurt any of us—it's just that he was most determined not to lose sight of the carriage that was taking Haydon away.”

“He didn't know Jamie was following him when he set out,” Grace added miserably. “But Jamie just bolted after him and disappeared.”

“We know it was wrong, Genevieve.” A tear leaked down Simon's cheek. “But we didn't see how we could tell anyone that Jamie was gone and not have you find out that Jack had run off as well.”

“'Twas only after Eunice and I had called the children down for their tea that we realized the boys were missin',” finished Doreen. “By then they were long gone. We thought ye'd just find them outside the prison and bring them home.”

“The carriage didn't go to the prison,” Oliver told her.

Eunice's plump face puckered in confusion. “Then where did those police constables take him?”

“We don't know.” His expression was grim. “No one at the prison knew anything about the lad's arrest.”

“But those police—”

“They weren't police constables,” said Genevieve.

“Then who were they?”

“I don't know. All I know is they mean to kill Haydon.”

“Sweet Saint Columba!” swore Doreen. “And the boys have gone after them!”

Genevieve sank into a chair. They could be anywhere, she realized, feeling as if she were drowning. A street or two away—or gone from Inveraray completely. If Jack and Jamie were discovered by Haydon's captors, they would be killed. She squeezed the heels of her hands against her eyes until they throbbed, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill from them.
I must not cry. I must not scream. I have to remain focused and think. How am I going to find them?

“Dinna fear, now, lass,” Oliver was saying as he laid a stiff hand upon her shoulder. “We'll find them. They couldn't have kept up with the carriage, so 'tis more likely that they ran until they were winded and are now walkin' back. I'll just take the carriage and go lookin'—”

The front door crashed open and Jack and Jamie staggered inside, gasping greedily for air.

“Haydon's in trouble,” Jack rasped breathlessly. He hunched over and inhaled several hoarse breaths, fighting to replenish his lungs.

“We have to help him!” Jamie's little face was red and streaked with grime, and his trousers were filthy and torn at one knee.

With a cry Genevieve threw her arms around him, burying her face in his hair as she fought to harness her wildly fluctuating emotions. He smelled cold and sharp, and his hair was damp from exertion. He was safe. And so was Jack.

Thank you, God.

She kissed the top of Jamie's head, then wrapped her arms tightly around Jack.

Jack stood awkwardly as Genevieve held him, bewildered by her unexpected demonstration of affection. He could not recall anyone ever embracing him so.

“We have to go after him, Genevieve,” he said urgently, wondering why she was clasping him so tightly. “Those men who took him weren't the police.” Had she thought that he had run away? he wondered. Even if he had, why would that make her hug him? He dismissed the question, determined to concentrate on Haydon. “We have to get him out of there!”

She broke her embrace and regarded him seriously. “Do you know where they have taken him?”

He nodded. “We followed the carriage to Devil's Den.”

“That's where all the thieves and whores live,” explained Jamie excitedly. “Jack told me so.”

“Not only thieves and whores, though there's enough of them livin' there, to be sure,” Oliver agreed. “There's mostly a rough type there, who love nothin' more than a drink and a brawl to help 'em forget the misery of their lives. I've lived there from time to time myself,” he confessed, “when I was a wee bit down on my luck.”

“So have I.” Jack's gray eyes glittered with barely suppressed fury. “It's a place where you can beat your wife or child half to death and no one gives a bloody damn. They just bang on the walls and shout at you to stop makin' so much noise while you do it.”

“That's why they've taken him there, most like,” mused Doreen worriedly. “That way they can do their dirty business and no one will give them any mind—even in that crowded hellhole.”

“Haydon was staggering when they pulled him out of the carriage,” Jack continued. “They had taken off their uniforms so no one would notice them, and they pretended Haydon was drunk and that they were helpin' him to walk. I could see that his hands were still manacled—it looked like they had beaten him bad.”

“He must have gotten in a few blows as well,” added Jamie fiercely, “because the others didn't look so good either.”

“Why bother to take him to Devil's Den?” Oliver scratched his head, thinking. “If ye're set on murderin' someone, why not just take him to the countryside and sink a knife in his belly or put a pistol to his head? That way ye can leave the body in the woods and ride away, clean and easy.”

“I don't think they're plannin' to kill him right away,” Jack speculated. “As they were draggin' him into a building, the big one swore at the others because Haydon was bleedin' and could hardly walk. He said something about havin' to keep him alive long enough for his lordship to see him.”

Oliver frowned. “Who do they mean?”

“Whoever it is, it must be the man who wants Haydon dead,” Genevieve decided. “That's why Haydon was attacked the first night he came to Inveraray. He told me he was too drunk to see the faces of his assailants clearly. The three men who came to the house today pretending to be the police may well be the same three who attacked him and then ran off that night after he killed their accomplice. It seems they have been hired by someone to kill Haydon. Perhaps they are under orders to show him to their employer before they can finish the job.”

“We must tell the police straightaway,” Eunice decided. “They can go to Devil's Den and get his lordship out.”

Genevieve shook her head. “Constable Drummond has no interest in proving Haydon's innocence. All he wants to do is find him and make sure that this time nothing interferes with his hanging.” She briskly pulled on her gloves. “Jack, I want you to show Oliver and me where they have taken Haydon. I'll find a way to get him out of there.”

Oliver, Eunice, and Doreen stared at her, aghast.

“Have ye completely taken leave o' yer senses, lass?” demanded Oliver, scowling.

“A fine lady like yerself, traipsin' about Devil's Den looking for a pack of cutthroats?” Eunice looked horrified by the notion.

“Why, ye'll be lucky not to be robbed and killed yerself afore ye come anywhere near to where those black dogs are hiding his lordship!” finished Doreen.

“I'll take that chance,” Genevieve replied evenly.

“Now, lass, ye're nae thinkin' clearly,” Oliver chastised, gentling his voice. “I know ye'd be willing to do anythin' for the lad, but if ye go marchin' into Devil's Den and get yerself robbed and killed, ye'll nae have done anyone any good, now will ye? Best to let me and Jack go after the lad. I'm sure between the two of us we can get him out of there.”

“A bent old man and a scrawny lad against three savage murderers?” Doreen snorted in disbelief. “Unless they laugh themselves to death, ye'll do naught except get yerselves killed. I'll go with ye—at least then they'll have three of us to contend with. After a lifetime of dealin' with drunken louts in a tavern, I know a thing or two about crackin' heads together!”

“I'll go as well,” offered Eunice. “After all, another pair of eyes canna hurt.”

“I want to go too.” Grace leaped up suddenly from the sofa. “When I was picking pockets I spent some nights in Devil's Den. I know my way about, and I'll be able to look around the building without making anyone suspicious.”

“Absolutely not,” Genevieve said flatly.

Grace raised her chin in defiance. “Why can Jack go and not me?”

“Jack is older.”

“Jack is only fourteen, and I'm nearly thirteen,” Grace argued.

“I'm almost fifteen,” retorted Jack. “That's a lot older than twelve.”

“Well, having someone younger with you will help you look less suspicious,” Grace amended, shifting her tactics. “We could pretend to be a family looking for a place to live. No one would find that strange—I could put together some outfits that would make us all look poor and wretched.”

“Ye know, that's not a bad idea.” Oliver stroked his grizzled chin, considering Grace's plan. “If we go as a group, we need to look as if we belong there, so folk are less likely to bother us with questions.”

“If Grace is going then so am I,” declared Annabelle. “Grace and I do everything together.”

“And I want to go as well,” said Charlotte.

“No.” Jack's voice was hard.

Charlotte looked injured. “Just because I tripped the last time doesn't mean I'll do it again, Jack. Haydon helped me when I needed him, and now I want to help him.”

“If Haydon were here, he would never let you go,” Jack informed her.

“I know,” said Charlotte softly. “And that's why I must help him.”

“If everyone else is going then I'm going too,” chirped Jamie. “After all, I helped Jack to follow the carriage in the first place.”

“More like you kept falling and I had to keep stopping to pick you up again,” Jack grumbled.

“None of you is going except for me, Oliver, and Jack,” Genevieve insisted, trying to assert her authority over the situation. “It's too dangerous.”

“And that's exactly why 'tis better if we all go,” insisted Doreen. “The bigger we are as a group, the better our chances of dealin' with those scoundrels. Doesn't hurt to have ears and eyes on every corner, watchin' for trouble. Moreover, everyone here will be able to blend in easily with the common folk in Devil's Den.”

“Except for Genevieve,” pointed out Grace. “She doesn't look like she belongs there.”

“I'm afraid she's right, lass,” Oliver agreed, studying Genevieve with a frankly critical eye. “If there's anyone who might cause trouble for us, it's you.”

Genevieve looked at him in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“Ye've a look of quality to ye,” Doreen explained. “A bit uppity like, if ye take my meanin'.”

“That's not to say that ye're snooty, ye understand,” Eunice assured her, fearing that her feelings might be injured. “I've worked in many a grand household, and ye're nothin' like the folk who would just as soon have their lessers disappear down a great, black hole when they didn't need them to scrub dung off their boots or empty their chamber pots anymore. 'Tis only that with yer fancy ways and fine airs, ye dinna look like someone who belongs amongst the like of Devil's Den.”

“I don't have fancy ways,” Genevieve protested.

“Now, lass, dinna go feelin' all touchy,” said Oliver, sensing Genevieve's hurt. “Ye could hardly be raised the daughter of a viscount in a fine house and nae have it show every time ye open yer mouth. Trouble is, there's no reason for a lady like you to be roamin' about Devil's Den with the likes of us. 'Tis best if ye stay right here and let the rest of us find the lad.”