Lord of Legends

Her stomach taut with foreboding, she picked up the chair, moved it back to its place in the antechamber and continued through the door. The prisoner made not a sound. She poked her head out the second door, saw no one, left the chamber and hastily locked the door.

She leaned against it for a moment, breathing fast, until she was certain of her composure. Then she assured herself that there was no observer in the vicinity, replaced the key under the stone and set out for the house.

He hates Donnington, she thought, sickened by the implications of the prisoner’s reaction. Why? And what if he knew that I am Lady Donnington?

It didn’t bear thinking of. And it didn’t really matter. She would do exactly as she said. Help him, as she hadn’t been able to help Mama.

Perhaps that would be enough to save her.

D O YOU KNOW who you are?

He had understood the question, but he had not been able to answer it, just as he had been unable to tell the female what he wanted above all else.

Freedom. Memory. All the bright and beautiful things that had been stolen from him, though he had no recollection of what they had actually been.

She had not known him, though he had seen her before. She had been present on that day of pain and turmoil, when he had tried to escape his captors. The female.

Woman, he reminded himself, pronouncing the word inside his mind. The woman who had been with the man, his tormentor, in that time he couldn’t remember.

She had been afraid then, as he had been afraid. She had fallen and grown quiet, so quiet that he had believed her dead. Then Donnington had taken her away, and he had been compelled to endure this numb emptiness of captivity.

Until today. Until she had come to him with her soft voice and a warm, half-familiar scent gathered in the heavy folds of her strange garments.

And asked him who he was.

He backed against the wall and slid down until he was crouching on the cold floor. He had greeted her with rage, for that was all he had known for so long. He had flung himself against the bars, ignoring the pain searing into his flesh, and sought to drive her away even as the silent voice within begged her to stay.

And she had stayed. She had told him her name.

Mariah. He rolled the name over his tongue, though it emerged as a moan. Ma-ri-ah. It was a good sound. One that he might have spoken with pleasure if his mouth would obey his commands.

I want to help you.

He grunted—a sound of amusement he had heard in some other life—and remembered the first thought that had come to him then. He had wanted her to open the cage door, but not merely to release him. He had wanted her to come inside, remove the heavy weight of fabric that bound her, open her arms to him and kneel beside him. He would place his head in her lap, and then … and then.

With a shudder, he flung back his head and plunged his fingers into his hair. There was still so little he grasped, so little he understood, yet he knew why she drew him. Male and female. It had been the same in that long-ago he had only begun to put together in his mind.

But never like this. Never like her.

Once more he tried to remember the events that had brought him to this cage. He pieced together terrible images of being violently reborn in this world, finding himself horribly changed, hearing a harsh and unlovely voice that made no sense. Men had taken him and carried him to this place where the taint of iron held him prisoner as surely as the bars themselves.

For the first while after he had been locked inside, he had staggered about on his two awkward legs, bumping into the high curved walls and fighting for balance. When at last he was able to walk, he had circled the room again and again, looking for a way out that did not exist.

They had left him alone for two risings of the sun, though he could see nothing but filtered light through the holes in the roof high above. Then another man, ugly and bent, had brought him food, water and a scrap of cloth to cover the most vulnerable part of his body. The man hadn’t spoken to him, and after a few days he had realized that his keeper was as mute as he. When the man had returned, he had flung a slab of flesh, saturated with the smell of newly shed blood, into the cell.

Stomach churning with disgust, he hadn’t touched it. It wasn’t until after another sun’s rise that the men had brought him things he could eat. Fruit. Bread. The same things the girl had promised him.

Girl. Mariah. She had seen only a man in him, not what he had been.

He had been mighty once. No one had dared.

Who am I?

There must be an answer. Mariah had promised to help him. He had believed her, until she had spoken the word he hated with all his heart.

Donnington.

He leaped up again, clenching and unclenching his fists, those useless appendages that could do nothing but pull at the bars until his palms were burned and raw.

And yet she had let him hold her hand.

He struggled to compose a picture of her eyes, far brighter than the sky lost somewhere above him. Captivating him. Holding him frozen with need.

Donnington. She spoke as if she knew him well; she had asked if he knew the man, and she was not afraid of him. He could not trust her, despite all her gentle speech.

No. He must learn to understand her—and himself. And until he could speak in her tongue, there could be no further communication.

He returned to his corner and began to memorize every word she had spoken.

MARIAH REACHED THE house in ten minutes, shook the worst of the wetness out of her skirts and strode into the entrance hall. As always, it was dark and grim, with its heavy wood paneling and mounted heads, daring the casual visitor to penetrate the manor’s secrets. She walked at a fast pace for the stairs, hoping to avoid the dowager Lady Donnington.

She was out of luck. Just as if Vivian had anticipated her return, she swept out of the main drawing room and accosted Mariah at the foot of the staircase.

“Lady Donnington,” she said, a false smile on her handsome face. Her gaze swept down to Mariah’s hem. “I see that you have been out walking again. How very industrious of you.”

Mariah faced her. “I must contrive to keep myself occupied somehow, Lady Donnington,” she said, “considering my current state of solitude.”

“Yes. Such a pity that my son felt the need to leave so suddenly after your wedding.”

It was the same unpleasant veiled accusation the dowager had flung at her immediately after Donnington had left. You were never really his wife, Vivian’s look said. You drove him away.

Mariah lifted her chin. “I assure you,” she said, “he was not in the least displeased with me.”

If her statement had been truly a lie, she might not have been able to pull it off. But it was at least half-true, for Donnington had shown no more disgust for her than he had affection. He’d simply ignored her, remained in his own room and left the next morning.

He’d said he loved her. Had it been the money, after all? Plenty of wealthy men could never be content with what they had, and she’d brought a large marriage settlement, in addition to her own separate inheritance.

But surely no healthy man would choose not to take advantage of his marriage bed. The other reasons why he might have left her alone were disturbing. And that was why, if the dowager did believe that her son hadn’t consummated the marriage, she must feel compelled to blame that fact on Mariah.

“I’m certain that Giles will return to us very soon,” Mariah said calmly.

“Let us hope you are correct.” Vivian’s stare scoured Mariah to the bone. “You had best go up and change, my dear. Donnington would never approve of your wild appearance.”

And of course he would not. The quiet unassuming wife he’d desired must be proper at all times.

Mariah nodded brusquely and continued up the stairs. Halfway to the landing, she paused and turned. “By the way,” she said, “Donnington doesn’t have any brothers besides Sinjin, does he?”

“Why … why do you ask such a question?”

The outrage in the dowager’s voice told Mariah that she had made a serious mistake. “I do apologize,” she said. “It was only a dream I had last night.”

“A dream?” The older woman followed Mariah up the stairs. “A dream about my son?”

“It was nothing. If you will excuse me …”

Mariah continued to the landing, Vivian’s stare burning into her back, and went quickly to her room.

A hidden brother. How could she have been so stupid? It was all too bizarre to be credible. If she hadn’t seen the prisoner with her own eyes.

You did see him. You touched him. He is real.

Preoccupied with such disturbing thoughts, Mariah opened the door to find one of the chambermaids—Nola, that was her name—crouched before the fireplace, cleaning the grate.

“Oh!” the maid cried, leaping to her feet. “Lady Donnington! I’m so sorry.” She curtseyed, so nervous that she dropped her broom and nearly upset the contents of her scuttle. She bent to snatch the broom up again.

Mariah tossed her hat on the bed. “I’m not angry, Nola,” she said.

The girl, her face smudged above the starched collar of her uniform, paused to meet Mariah’s gaze. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said, her country accent a little thicker as she relaxed. “I’ll be gone in a trice.”

“No need to hurry.” Mariah sank into the chair by her dressing table and pulled the pins from her hair. She knew she ought to ring for her personal maid, Alice, but she had no desire to be fussed over now.

Not after what had happened an hour ago. Not after visiting a prisoner who had been treated so abominably, worse than any of the patients she had encountered in the asylum.

“Your ladyship?”

Mariah looked up. Nola was standing with her scuttle and supplies, watching Mariah anxiously. “Are you all right?”

It was a presumptuous question from a servant, at least by English lights. Mariah took no offense.

“I’m fine,” she said. She took a better look at the girl, wondering why she hadn’t really noticed her before. Nola must have been close to eighteen, with a round, rather plain face, vivid red hair tucked under her cap, light gray eyes, and a mouth that must smile frequently when she wasn’t in the presence of her supposed betters. “How are you, Nola?”

The girl couldn’t have been more surprised. “I … I am very well, your ladyship.”

As well as anyone could be in this mausoleum of a house, Mariah thought. But Nola’s reply gave her a sudden peculiar notion. If there was one thing she’d learned, both at home and at Donbridge, it was that the servants—from the steward to the lowliest scullery maid—always knew everything that went on in a household. If anyone at Donbridge had heard of a prisoner in the folly, they would have done so.

But she had to be very careful not to frighten Nola. Mariah had few enough allies, and Nola, so easily ignored by everyone else, might be just the ticket. “Sit down, Nola,” she said.

The maid looked about wildly as if someone had threatened to cut her throat. “I—I should go, your ladyship.”

“I’d like to have a talk, if you don’t mind.”

She realized how she sounded as soon as she spoke. Nola undoubtedly believed she was in for a scolding for being caught cleaning up, and that was the last thing Mariah wanted her to think.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Mariah said. “I really only want to talk. I’m alone here, you see.”

Comprehension flashed across the girl’s face. “You … you wish to talk to me, your ladyship?”

“Yes. Please, sit down.”

Nola returned to the fireplace, set down her scuttle and brushed off her skirts before venturing onto the carpet again. She sat gingerly in the chair next to the hearth, her back rigid.

“Don’t be concerned, Nola,” Mariah said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the house, if you don’t mind.”

“I … of course, your ladyship.”

Mariah folded her hands in her lap, hoping she looked sufficiently unthreatening. “How long have you been here, Nola?”

“Well … mmm … almost six months, your ladyship.”

“You must observe a great deal of what goes on at Donbridge.”

Nola blanched, and Mariah knew she’d moved too fast. “I realize you really don’t know me well, Nola,” she said. “If you don’t feel comfortable confiding in me …”

“Oh, no, your ladyship! You’ve never been anything but kind to everyone.” She paused, evidently amazed by her own frankness. “It must be very different in America.”

“In many ways it is.” Mariah leaned forward a little. “The former Lady Donnington hasn’t been kind, has she?”

Nola glanced toward the door. “Why should she care about the likes of us?”

That was close to downright rebellion. Mariah might have smiled if not for her more sober purpose. “I don’t believe she cares much about anyone but her son.”

The girl dropped her gaze. “That’s not for me to say, your ladyship.”

“Please don’t call me that, Nola. My name is Mariah.”

A stubborn expression replaced the unease on Nola’s face. “It isn’t right, your ladyship.”

The subject certainly wasn’t worth arguing over. “Very well. But this is very important, Nola. I believe you can help me with something that matters a great deal to me. Will you answer my questions honestly?”

The armchair creaked as Nola shifted her weight. “Yes, your ladyship.”

“Do you know if Lord Donnington has a relative … a cousin, perhaps … who looks very much like him?”

Nola’s eyes widened. “A cousin, your ladyship?”

“Anyone who might resemble him strongly, except for the color of his hair.”

Mariah thought that Nola would have bolted from her chair and out the door if she’d thought she could get away with it. But the maid must have seen that Mariah was very serious indeed, for she gave up the battle.

“There are rumors,” she whispered, her head still half-cocked toward the door. “Only rumors, your ladyship.”

“What sort of rumors?”

“Of someone … someone being kept at Donbridge.”

“Kept against their will?”

Nola shivered. “Yes, your ladyship.”

This conversation was proving to be far more productive than Mariah could have hoped. “Do the rumors tell why?” she asked.

The maid shook her head anxiously.

“It’s all right, Nola. Do you know who is supposed to be guarding this prisoner?”

She could almost feel the girl’s trembling. “There’s a strange man who lives in a cottage at the edge of the estate. They say he never speaks, and no one knows what he does. I heard—”

CHAPTER TWO

FOOTSTEPS SOUNDED IN the corridor outside, and Nola leaped from her seat.

“Begging your pardon, your ladyship,” she gasped. “I must go!”

She was out of the room before Mariah could rise from her own chair. She listened for a moment, hearing the rapid patter of Nola’s feet as she hurried toward the servants’ stairs. There would be no more questioning her today, that was certain.

But she’d confirmed what Mariah had already surmised; the prisoner’s captivity was not a complete secret. Was it possible that she’d been too hasty in assuming that Vivian didn’t know about it?

Could she have kept such a secret from her own daughter-in-law for the ten weeks since Mariah had arrived at Donbridge? A secret her son must share.

Mariah shook her head. She was jumping to conclusions, which was a very dangerous habit. She had no evidence whatsoever, only the prisoner’s reaction to Donnington’s name. And confronting Vivian directly was unthinkable. Mariah could only hope that Nola wouldn’t go running directly to the dowager, though the tone of dislike in the maid’s voice when she’d spoken of her former mistress suggested she wouldn’t. Nevertheless, their conversation might very well be the talk of the house by noon.

You’ve gone about this the wrong way, Mariah told herself. In her eagerness to discover the truth, she’d trusted a girl she knew nothing about. She’d made wild assumptions based upon one meeting with a man she didn’t know.

But that man still needed her. From now on, she had to be extremely cautious. If Nola held her tongue, no one else should guess what Mariah had discovered. She must, with utmost discretion, collect the things the prisoner required.

There was only one place in Donbridge where she might find them. It wouldn’t be difficult to enter Donnington’s rooms; they were directly next door to her own, with a small dressing room between them. And there was no time to waste.

Donnington hadn’t locked his door. Mariah stepped into his room, briefly arrested by the faint smell of the man she’d married. He was prone to using a certain cologne, one she had liked when he was courting her.

She had never been in his suite before. It was his domain, like his study and the billiard room. The furniture was unmistakably masculine, and Donnington had managed to find space on the walls to mount a few more of the smaller animal heads.

Shaking off an uncomfortable blend of disgust and regret, Mariah went directly to his wardrobe. She opened one of the drawers, selected appropriate undergarments—which might have made her blush, had she not seen far worse at the asylum—chose two of the shirts he’d left behind, then moved quickly to the trousers. Stockings were next, along with a pair of walking shoes that had seen hard use. She filched the towels from his washstand, along with a spare shaving kit, a comb and a bar of soap.

She paused, quite in spite of herself, to glance in his mirror, wondering what Donnington had seen in her.

Black, slightly waving hair, now loose around her shoulders. An oval face with rather common blue eyes, straight brows, and a well-shaped nose and mouth. Not pretty, perhaps, but perfectly acceptable.

Was it really my fault that he left? Did he find out about Mama, despite all Papa’s efforts to buy off anyone who might tattle?

Mariah turned away from the mirror and glanced once more about the room. A waistcoat? No, that was hardly necessary now. A jacket. The prisoner would need its warmth in that cold chamber, though it might be pleasant enough outside. She returned to the wardrobe and removed one of Donnington’s hunting jackets, the one he preferred to wear on the estate. Searching for something in which to wrap the clothing and supplies, she found a rucksack tucked in a corner of the room, along with several empty crates and a pair of lens-less binoculars.

Stuffing the clothing into the bag, she returned to her own room. On impulse, she went straight to her small bookcase, where she kept the books she’d loved as a child. Most were volumes of fairy tales, which for months after Mama’s death Mariah hadn’t dared to open.

Now she had some use for them. If the prisoner was capable of regaining his speech—presuming he’d ever had it to begin with—reading to him would surely assist in the process.

I can’t keep calling him the prisoner, she thought. But no appropriate name came to her.

She set down the bag, thumbed through a book of Perrault’s fairy tales and found the story of Cendrillon, Cinderella. When Mariah was very young, Mrs. Marron had liked to collect stories from every country.

Cinderella in the German language was Aschenbrödel. Mariah vaguely remembered a variation on the tale where the main character had been a boy, not a girl.

Aschen. Ash. Ashton was a proper name, especially in England.

“Ash.” She spoke the name aloud, nodded to herself and placed three of the books in the bag. Then she hid the bag under her bed. She would go out again tonight, when the dowager was asleep.

Caution. Discretion …

A knock at the door broke into her thoughts. It was Barbara, the parlor maid, who bobbed a curtsey as Mariah let her in.

“The dowager Lady Donnington requests your presence in the morning room, your ladyship,” she said, never meeting Mariah’s eyes.

Mariah wondered if Vivian had already heard about her conversation with Nola. “What does she want, Barbara?” she asked warily.

Barbara was clearly dismayed by Mariah’s directness. “Mr. Ware has come, your ladyship,” she said.

“Sinjin!” Mariah instantly forgot her worry and smoothed her skirts. Not that he would care about her appearance; he had excellent taste in ladies’ fashions and an extraordinary eye, but he was, after all, her brother-in-law. He and Mariah had been friends from their first meeting.

“Please inform the dowager that I’ll be down directly,” Mariah told the maid, who was off in a flash. Mariah glanced at the mirror over her washstand to make certain her pins were still in place, and then descended to the morning room.

St. John Ware rose to his feet as soon as she entered. He smiled at her … that sly, enigmatic smile that suggested he and she shared a secret no one else would ever know. Mariah nodded to the dowager and greeted Sinjin with an extended hand.

“Mr. Ware,” she said. “How delightful to see you again.”

He rolled his eyes at her unaccustomed formality and turned to Vivian. “The dowager was kind enough to let me in despite the early hour.”

Vivian looked askance at him. “And why should I not welcome my own son at any hour?” she asked crisply.

“Your scapegrace son,” he said. “Or ought that title now go to Donnington?”

The very room froze as Vivian understood his jest. She stiffened, her spine as rigid as one of Donnington’s elephant guns.

“You will not speak so of your elder brother,” she said.

Sinjin managed to seem chastened. “You’re quite right, Mother,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

Forgiveness was not in Vivian’s nature, but she nodded with the graciousness of a queen. “You may ring for tea.”

He moved swiftly to the bellpull and summoned Parish, the butler. Barbara arrived with the tray a short while later. The dowager poured without acknowledging Mariah’s right to do so.

She is still angry about the question I asked her, Mariah thought. But why? Is it merely because it might have implied …

“What brings you to Donbridge, Sinjin?” Vivian asked briskly.

Sinjin examined his fine china teacup. “Why shouldn’t I pay my respects to my own mother?”

“You have never shown much respect for anything, let alone your mother,” Vivian said.

“You quite wound me,” Sinjin said, too lightly to be reproachful. “I have the utmost respect for you, my dear.”

Vivian was incapable of being less than dignified, but she came very close to a snort. “What do you require, Sinjin? A loan for the repayment of your debts?”

Sinjin’s expression grew pained. “I am not so mercenary as you think, Mother.”

She sipped her tea delicately. “If you had gone into the army as your father intended, you would not be in such straits.”

For all the relative brevity of their acquaintance, Mariah knew how much Sinjin despised this topic. “Lady Donnington,” he said pointedly, “must find such a subject tedious, Mother.”

Mariah knew it would have been politic to absent herself, but Sinjin’s eyes begged her to stay, and she wasn’t of a mind to hand the dowager an easy victory. “The army is a fine vocation,” she said. “For those suited to it.”

“Indeed,” Sinjin said. “A vocation to which I could not have done proper justice.”

A teacup rattled in its saucer. Vivian waited while Barbara mopped up the almost invisible spillage where the dowager had set down her cup with a little too much force. “You do proper justice to very little,” she said in a brittle voice. “If your brother were here …”

“But he is not, is he?” Sinjin stood abruptly. “I shall not impose upon your sensibilities any longer.”

Vivian looked almost surprised at the vehemence beneath his veneer of unruffled courtesy. “There is no need for you to go.”

“But I cannot replace the earl as company for you and Lady Donnington,” he said. He bowed with soldierly precision, first to his mother and then to Mariah. “If you will excuse me …”

His stride was brisk as he left the room. Mariah excused herself with equal haste, earning a glare from the dowager, and hurried after him.

“Sinjin!”

He turned, slightly flushed, and doffed the hat he’d already retrieved from Barbara. “Lady Donnington,” he said. “I apologize for my hasty departure.”

“Oh, pish,” Mariah said. “Don’t come all formal with me, Sinjin.”

His anger evaporated into his usual good humor. “How you deal with her every day is beyond my capacity to understand.”

“No it isn’t. You’ve dealt with her all your life.”

He offered his arm, and she took it. They left the house, and Mariah was distracted by thoughts of Ash, so near and yet so far away.

Ask Sinjin. He would be glad to help.

But what if he already knew about the prisoner?

She refused to believe it. Not Sinjin. He was a good man.

As Donnington is not?

“A penny for your thoughts,” Sinjin said, peering at her face with his keen brown eyes. “You look positively pensive, my dear. Are you yearning for Donnington?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, refusing to rise to his bait.

“Ha! Mother won’t leave it alone, will she? How can she blame you?” He laughed. “Then again, how can she not? It’s in her nature. My brother can do no wrong.”

It wasn’t the first time the subject had come up between them, and ordinarily Mariah would have been glad for his sympathetic ear. But self-pity seemed very unimportant in light of this morning’s encounter.

“I do find it a bit odd that she has remained so calm,” he went on, oblivious. “I should have expected her to go a little mad, not knowing where her darling has gone.”

Mariah flinched at the mention of madness. It’s only a word, she thought. But it wasn’t. Not today. Not ever.

“Mariah.”

She looked into Sinjin’s eyes. He wasn’t laughing now. “How has it been with Mother?” he asked. “I am perfectly fine, Sinjin.”

He drew her hand from the crook of his arm and held it in his. “Has she made any sort of comment … any kind of intimation that you … that you might be …”

“Might be what?”

Seldom had she seen Sinjin look as uncomfortable as he did in that moment. “Seeing someone,” he said.

“Seeing someone? I see Lady Westlake, Lady Hurst …”

“A man, Mariah. Seeing a man.”

Slowly she began to take his meaning. “A man?” Her face grew hot. “Do you mean—”

But she really didn’t have to ask. He was talking about an affair. Something she’d only read about in books and heard of in the ghosts of rumors about a society to which she didn’t belong.

“Don’t look so shocked, Merry,” Sinjin said, using her nickname in the familiar way to which they both had become accustomed since her arrival at Donbridge. “You may not have much experience of the world, but I know you aren’t that naïve. Mother’s wanted an excuse to end your marriage to my brother ever since he brought you to England. She’d love to think the worst of you.” He sighed. “She mentioned to me once—just in passing, you understand—that she thought it odd that you spend so much time walking alone in the early mornings. Ridiculous, I know. There is no one in the world less likely to be unfaithful than you.”

But she scarcely heard his reassurances. All she could wonder was how long the dowager had harbored such suspicions. Since the very night Donnington had left? A week after? A month? Did she have someone specific in mind?

“I shouldn’t have spoken up,” Sinjin said, his voice tight with remorse. “I just thought that perhaps it would never occur to you that she might think such a thing. She isn’t quite rational when it comes to Donnie.”

Mariah removed her hand from Sinjin’s. “I’m glad you did,” she said. “I knew there was something more to her anger than blaming me for Donnington’s sudden absence.”

Sinjin puffed out his cheeks. “Well, then,” he said. “You’ve handled the whole thing admirably.” He caught her hand again and lifted it to his lips. “You know you may always count on me for anything.”

She managed a smile. “And you may count on me. I shall send a check for whatever you need.”

If he had been as mercenary as his mother supposed, he wouldn’t have looked so uneasy. “I’m not so badly off as all that. I shall recoup.”

“If only you’d stop the gambling—”

“For God’s sake, Merry. One Lady Donnington is quite enough.”

“I apologize. Sinjin …?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you very busy at Marlborough House?”

“Not terribly. I come and go. Why?”

“If you can spare the time, I might ask for your assistance.”

“With what?”

“I would prefer to explain when I have … certain additional information.”

“How very mysterious.” She could see he was about to make an unfortunate joke before he thought better of it. “Just as you wish, little sister.”

They turned and walked back to the house. After Sinjin had gone, Mariah wrote a letter to her banker in London, authorizing a transfer of funds to the Honourable St. John Ware. At least it was her money to do with as she chose, now that Parliament had passed the act allowing wives to keep at least some of their own wealth.

Somehow she made it through the rest of the day, trying not to think about what Sinjin had told her of Vivian’s suspicions. She wrote a cheerful letter to her father, sketched flowers in the garden and supervised the running of the household as much as the dowager permitted.

But she couldn’t forget. The dowager wanted to end her marriage to Donnington. She wanted to believe that Mariah was capable of being unfaithful to her husband, a notion that offended Mariah deeply.

And yet you already knew you must hide your next visit to the folly, she thought. Even if her reasons had been entirely innocent, based upon her desire to keep anyone else from learning that she had discovered Donbridge’s strange prisoner.