Chapter 3 #2
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.
“Jack, you remember Governor Thomson,” said Genevieve.
Jack glared at the governor.
“And 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.
“Actually, 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.
“These 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.
“Tell us, lad, did Lord Redmond ever mention anything to you about his plans for escape?” asked Governor Thomson hopefully.
“No.”
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?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention any place in Inveraray at all—a tavern he was familiar with, or an inn where he might have taken a meal?” Governor Thomson prompted.
“No.”
Constable Drummond tapped his fingertips thoughtfully on the arm of his chair. “Did he talk at all about his family or friends?”
Jack shook his head.
“Well, then, just what did you talk about?” asked Governor Thomson, perplexed.
He shrugged.
“You must have talked about something.” Constable Drummond’s voice was vaguely menacing. “All those hours you spent together.”
Jack flashed him a look of undiluted loathing. “He was sick most of the time, and just lay on his bed. And I wasn’t there to make friends with a bloody murderer,” he finished bitterly.
There was a moment of uneasy silence.
“Yes, well, fine then,” said Governor Thomson, somewhat chagrined at having the fact that he had placed a mere boy in the same cell with a deadly killer pointed out. “I guess that’s that, then.” He regarded Constable Drummond hopefully. “Is it?”
“That’s all for the lad—for now.” Constable Drummond met Jack’s glare with cool disdain, neither convinced nor impressed by his protest of ignorance. “I should like to ask Miss MacPhail a few questions, however.”
“Thank you, Jack.” Genevieve gave the boy an encouraging smile. “You may go.”
He hesitated, as if he wanted to stay and hear what she was going to say.
It was obvious he was not convinced that he could trust her.
Genevieve suspected there had been far too many betrayals in his life for him to believe that she would keep her word and protect the man lying helpless in her room.
“Come on, then, laddie.” Oliver placed his hand upon the boy’s bony shoulder. “Let’s see if we canna convince Eunice to give us a chunk of that shortbread she just took from the oven.”
Jack shot Genevieve a final hard look before permitting himself to be led from the room.
Constable Drummond’s thin mouth curled in disgust. “He’s a liar and a thief, and he always will be—no matter how hard you try to clean him up. You would be best to return him to the prison, Miss MacPhail, and let the iron fist of the law deal with him.”
“Jack has been under my roof for only a few hours, and already he is being questioned by the police, even though he hasn’t done anything,” Genevieve replied evenly. “One could hardly expect him not to be angry and defensive.”
“Even so, I’d wager the lad knows more than he’s letting on.” Governor Thomson stroked his gray beard, trying to appear astute. “You must watch him at all times, and let us know if anything seems amiss. Anything at all.”
“I can assure you, I have every intent of keeping a very careful watch over Jack. And I have no intention of returning him to the prison system, or letting him come to any further harm. What will you do now about finding Lord Redmond?” she asked, changing the subject.
“At this moment we have men visiting every tavern, inn, store or other place of business in Inveraray, asking if anyone has seen him,” replied Constable Drummond.
“We’re searching the coach houses and sheds of each home in the surrounding area, and are questioning people to see if they have noticed anything strange—particularly if any food or clothing has gone missing.
We are also keeping careful watch over the coaches leaving Inveraray, in particular those that are traveling to Edinburgh and Glasgow.
Dangerous criminals often flee to the cities to find work and disappear amidst the thousands of people there.
Of course, we are sending word to the authorities in Inverness to arrest him immediately should he turn up there.
The marquess has an estate just north of there. ”
“Nasty piece of business, the murder he committed,” commented Governor Thomson. Finally surrendering to his girth, he released one of the straining buttons of his waistcoat. “Truly horrid.”
Constable Drummond regarded Genevieve intently. “As brutal a slaying as I’ve ever seen in over twenty years.”
She didn’t want to hear this. She was certain of it. After all, she couldn’t believe that the man lying so helplessly upstairs in her bed could be capable of such a thing.
Even so, she could not help but ask, “What happened?”
“Bashed some poor fellow’s head in with a rock.” Governor Thomson shook his head in disbelief. “But that was a mercy, because Lord Redmond had already beaten him half to death.”
Bile began to seep up the back of Genevieve’s throat.
Was it possible that the man she had permitted into her home and was trying to protect was actually a vicious murderer?
I would like you to believe that I am innocent.
She wanted to believe him. But a man was dead, and a jury had decided that he was responsible.
“Who did he kill?”
“The authorities were unable to identify him.” Constable Drummond’s dark eyes seemed to be boring into her as he finished, “His face was all but gone.”
Hands filled her mind. Large, powerful, elegantly formed.
With long fingers that she could imagine stroking the keys of a piano, or perhaps caressing the softness of an adoring woman’s cheek.
She had carefully bathed and dried those hands, had washed them clean of all trace of the prison’s filth, and placed them gently upon the cool linen that covered him.
At the time she had thought of them as the caring hands that had come to Jack’s rescue.
Were they also the savage hands that had beaten a man to death?
“Did anyone see him do this?” Her mouth was suddenly dry, making it difficult to force the words out.
“There were no witnesses to the actual murder,” Constable Drummond allowed.
“But several people saw Lord Redmond running from the docks where the body was found. It was amply clear from his bloodied hands and clothes that he had been involved in a brutal assault. They served as witnesses at his trial.”
She pretended to be distracted by an imaginary speck of lint upon her gown, trying to appear no more than mildly curious. “And what was Lord Redmond’s explanation?”
“Just exactly what you would expect him to say. That he had been set upon by several men, and had, unfortunately, killed one of them. He claimed to have no knowledge of who they were or what their motive might have been for attempting to kill him, other than simple robbery. The jury did not accept his explanation.”
She looked up. “Why not?”
“There was no one who could substantiate his claim that he was attacked by four men instead of just one. If there were four assailants, how could he possibly have emerged the victor? Nothing was taken from him during the course of this alleged robbery. And if he was rightfully defending himself, then why didn’t he contact the authorities afterward, as any innocent person would do, instead of running away?
Finally, he was unable to secure anyone to come and testify on behalf of his good character. ”
“Surely he had some family to speak for him—or perhaps a close friend?”
“No one, except for his lawyer, who traveled from Inverness for the trial. For their part, the prosecution was able to secure statements from numerous acquaintances establishing that Lord Redmond is well known to have a dangerously volatile temper that is frequently roused by his inordinate fondness for drink. There were witnesses who testified that he had been drinking heavily in a tavern on the evening of the murder, and had nearly engaged in a fight with the owner before he was thrown out.”
“A shame,” said Governor Thomson, who had rolled back in his chair and laced his pudgy fingers over the bloat of his belly. “To be blessed with a title and fortune, and have so little self-control.” He sounded as if he thought that he should have been so blessed instead.