The Prisoner Read Online Free PDF Page A

he desperately needed assistance. If he could only hide in Miss MacPhail’s shed or coach house for a few days, with a little food and water brought to him occasionally, he could regain his strength.
    Then he’d get the hell out of Inveraray and try to clear his name.
    The fact that there had been no carriage waiting for Miss MacPhail outside the prison, coupled with the relative simplicity of her attire, had suggested that her financial situation was modest. Haydon was therefore surprised to follow her to this fashionable street and watch her enter a large, elegant house of smooth gray stone with numerous windows and a handsomely carved front door. The house was not grand by Haydon’s standards, but it bespoke gentility and affluence, as did the homes surrounding it. Jack had appeared utterly indifferent to his new residence, striding up the stairs and into the building without sparing it a second glance. It was clear to Haydon that the boy had no intention of staying there. Perhaps when they had a chance to talk he would be able to make the lad understand what a rare opportunity he was being given.
    The draperies in the house had been drawn, leaving only a soft, buttery glow permeating the fabric. Nearly overcome with exhaustion, Haydon had forced himself to stand in the shadow of a neighboring house and wait. After an hour or more, the curtains in an upstairs window parted slightly, and a pale young face stared out at the street below. Haydon retreated farther into the darkness, watching. The face hesitated a moment, then disappeared behind the draperies once again.
    Haydon could not be certain it had been Jack. He thought it had looked like him. Did the lad suspect that Haydon had followed him? It was possible. Jack had lived much of his life on the streets, and was undoubtedly more attuned to his surroundings than those who had enjoyed more sheltered existences. On the other hand, the lad might simply have been curious about his new environs, and was taking a moment to contemplate his situation before climbing into a clean, comfortable bed.
    Haydon raised a hand to his brow, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.
    One by one the lamps in the house were extinguished, until all the windows were sheets of black. Shivering with fever and weary beyond measure, Haydon slowly emerged from the shadows.
    Finally, realizing he had no choice, he picked up a handful of stones and began to fling them at the boy’s window.
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    T HERE IS A MAN THROWING STONES AT OUR WINDOW !” shrieked ten-year-old Annabelle, her pale blonde hair flying out behind her as she raced into Genevieve’s room and leaped excitedly upon her bed.
    â€œHe’s been doing it for a few minutes,” Grace added, clumsily banging into Genevieve’s nighttable before joining Annabelle on the mattress. Grace was two years older than her stepsister, but contrary to her name, she lacked the charming mannerisms that came to Annabelle so effortlessly.
    â€œWhat do you think he wants?” wondered Charlotte, limping in after them. A quiet, serious child of eleven, she had glossy auburn hair and large hazel eyes. Unfortunately, few people noticed anything about her beyond the fact that she walked with a limp.
    â€œMaybe he is a secret admirer of Genevieve’s, come to profess his undying love,” rhapsodized Annabelle dreamily.
    Grace frowned. “Why wouldn’t he come and profess his undying love during the day, when Genevieve is awake?”
    â€œBecause then we would all be awake to see him and he wouldn’t be a secret admirer anymore,” explained Annabelle.
    â€œBut we’re all awake now,” pointed out Charlotte.
    In fact, Genevieve was only half-awake as she fumbled to light the oil lamp by her bed. Nevertheless, Charlotte’s point seemed a valid one. “There is a man throwing stones?” she murmured groggily, staring at the three excited little faces in