“Which one?” Dougal asked, wiping mist from his eyes.
“The Lady Shore,” the constable said, pointing down the dock.
The second constable came up to them. “I canna hear anything. The sound is all muffled. No sign of light in any of the nearby warehouses.”
“If Tippett is correct, the ship with Lady Elizabeth on it will be leaving soon. He said the slavers don’t hold their cargo long because they’d have tae care for the women and they might escape.”
“Ach, then it’s got to be The Lady Shore,” the first constable said.
“I agree. Let us pray we are correct. Keep a keen eye out; they’re likely tae have guards watching.”
The three men formed a vee, with Dougal in the lead. He’d returned to his flat earlier, long enough to retrieve his two pistols and load them. With a packet of sandwiches and a canteen of water, he was ready to go to the train station immediately upon acquisition of Lady Elizabeth. The scenario was unlikely to play out so easily, unfortunately.
He held up his hand to stop the constables when he saw the telltale sign of a cheroot flaring mistily through the fog, across from the ship. The Lady Shore towered over the dock, and the gangplank was down. She could hold a goodly amount of cargo in that hold. Was the man standing in the doorway of a building opposite part of the crew?
“Let me walk by casually first,” he said to the constables. “You’re in uniform, so stay back. I’ll double around the back of the warehouse and return.”
The two men immediately melted against the dingy wall of the closest building. Dougal walked confidently on, wishing he had a cigar of his own. He was too well dressed to be crew, and no passengers were likely to be about. A warehouse owner, perhaps, checking on something?
He kept his pace steady as he walked by the man. His gaze drifted quickly over him. He hoped to memorize the villainous, pockmarked face. Nothing but grain sacks were evident through the warehouse door behind the meaty body, though they seemed heaped into odd piles instead of stacked neatly.
That seemed odd enough to warrant further investigation. He kept walking, past two more rickety buildings, and then moved along the side of one to return on the back side. He hoped to hear women’s voices, crying, pleading, something, as he slowly walked through the wynd. Nothing. But Lady Elizabeth and any other unfortunates could have been loaded onboard while they were checking other buildings.
Finally, he reached the windowless back of the building where the man was standing. Dougal peered in through a hole left by crumbled mortar, holding up his lantern. Waiting with his breath held for the sake of utter stillness, he scanned the room, glancing over the oddly piled grain sacks. At the very least the owner was careless of his goods. When he didn’t see any movement, he kept walking along the building and was rewarded by finding an ancient wooden door that would open onto the wynd. A padlock kept the hasp in place. He pulled out his picklocks. The simple lock offered up its mysteries in only moments, and he soon had it off the door. Mindful of the man on the opposite side, he put his whistle in his mouth, ready to alert the constables if he needed them, and closed the shutters on his lantern.
He tensed as he pulled the battered old door open, afraid it would squeak, but the hinges were oiled, suspicious in itself. Silently, he crept in, breathing as shallowly as possible. He saw the man in the doorway through the warehouse. Someone in the street called out to him and he stepped away.
Dougal took the opportunity to slide open one of his lantern shutters an inch and swept it across the room. He saw a strange, heavy shadow behind one waist-high mound of sacks and crept forward, half his attention on the open front door.
A faintish hitch of sound met his ears. When his ankle was grabbed, he nearly lost his balance and fell to one knee. He reached for a pistol as the lantern swayed.
“Lower it!” hissed a female voice next to him.
He closed the lantern shutter, but not before seeing the slack faces of two sleeping women above the open mouths of the sacks. “Lady Elizabeth?” he whispered.
“Ooo’s that?” said the voice. “Are you with those slavers?”
He bent over one of the women he thought was sleeping to make sure he could feel breath. When he put his palm over her mouth, he felt a soft exhalation. “No. I’m looking for Lady Elizabeth Shield.”
From his left came a strained female voice. “Manfred?”
“He’s not with me,” Dougal said. “But we need tae leave quickly. I have constables waiting.”
Immediately, the lump he was closest to started crawling toward the back of the room. He watched the shape tumble as her knees were caught in her skirts, but she righted herself and kept going. Soon, another dark shape detached itself from a pile of sacks, but instead of moving backward it gave a little grunt of pain and collapsed. Why weren’t any more of the shapes moving? Were they exhausted? Drugged? Dead? He could not help them all.
Dougal holstered his pistol and crawled over. “Are you ill?”
“My head hurts,” said a cultured voice with a Scots accent. “They hit me terribly hard and I seem to be too dizzy to walk.”
He set down his lantern. While it wasn’t the accent she’d used as a maid, he was willing to believe Lady Elizabeth capable of endless deception. “I’ll pick you up,” he said, feeling around on the floor.
The first thing his fingers touched was a lock of hair. He kept reaching until he found her shoulders, then found her knees with his other hand. When he had her slight body against his chest, he handed her the lantern. Then he heaved to his knees, then to his feet, and ran, crouched, to the door.
When his boots touched the bricks in the rear, the other woman gently closed the door.
“Where are them constables?” she asked.
“Take the lantern,” he instructed. “We’ll have tae circle the buildings, thanks to that wall blocking the way.”
A half-seen hand snatched the lantern from Lady Elizabeth’s grip and the woman trotted back the way Dougal had come. He could see the hitch in her step as her bare feet caught sharp edges and stray rocks. Had the villains taken her shoes?
He considered leading them to the Leith Central Railway station. It was only a mile to the first Edinburgh station from there. But at this time of the night, no trains would be running. No, it was best to get the girls to the constables at the police station, and hope Lady Elizabeth would depart for London with him as soon as they’d told their tale and divested themselves of the other victim of the white slavers.
The lady in question turned her head slowly, taking in their surroundings as they moved through the wynd. “I don’t remember being brought here,” she whispered.
He shushed her. As much as he wanted to hear her story, this was not the time.
They were past the warehouse prison and halfway down the length of the next building when he heard a door fly open and bang against stone.
“I ken there were more,” said a nasally voice.
Dougal froze and did his best to become part of the wall. In front of him, the woman did the same. He was grateful both women wore dark clothes.
“They aren’t ’ere now,” said a second voice.
“I’m not imagining ’er,” said the first man. “Ye ken, the pretty one we took from Cross’s flat. ’Is maid.”
The other man swore. “You’re right. And I willna ’ave that trip be taken for nothing. We found no valuables in the flat.”
“So where’s the girl, then?”
Dougal took a step forward, bumping the ambulatory girl. He heard her sharply exhaled breath. She crept forward, but he knew they were done for. If only Lady Elizabeth could walk. He balanced her against his shoulder and found her arms, trying to get her to understand that she needed to clasp them around his neck so he would have a hand free. After a moment, she seemed to understand and wrapped slim arms around his neck. He put his right hand to his holster, creeping forward all the while, and found his first gun.
One shot, two men. If he’d had two han
ds free, he could have taken them both, but he didn’t dare risk the words to ask her if she could walk. He suspected the answer anyway. She’d tried to walk before and failed.
Could he prop her against the back of the warehouse? No, she’d risk being shot. Really, she might be safer on the ground, crawling like a child.
He crept another step, trying to block her body with his shoulder as much as he could, while keeping his gun ready to fire.
“Oy!” called one of the men.
The blood froze in Dougal’s veins. Had they been spotted? He stepped again, the other woman’s breath harsh in his left ear.
He wanted to tell her to run, but if he spoke, they were surely done for. How much longer before they reached the edge of the building? Thick bursts of rain splashed onto his hat as they passed under a failed part of a gutter. He heard the woman’s breath catch. Had she reached the edge?
“I see ye,” said the man. “Stop moving, ye swine.”
Dougal fired, catching the man in the arm instead of the chest, as he had intended. “Run!” he yelled.
The woman broke away from him but ran straight, going deeper into the wynd instead of in between the buildings and back to the docks where the constables were. But surely they’d come running when they heard a shot. He shoved his smoking pistol into his jacket and ducked between the buildings, hearing the whine of a shot passing much too close to his ears.
Tempting fate, he set Lady Elizabeth down. “Can you stand, holding the building?”
She didn’t speak, just took a halting step, leaning against the wall where he’d placed her. He pulled out his other pistol, holding it in both hands as he stepped backward.
More shots, a scream off to the left as one of the men appeared, missing him and the lady around the building, and headed toward the first woman.
“We can’t let them get her,” Lady Elizabeth whispered.
“I have to keep ye safe. You’re hurt.”
“Get me to the constables, then go back for her.”
The hell he would. Lady Elizabeth was his prize, not some unfortunate who’d been caught in the white slavers’ net.
He heard halting footsteps along the building, probably the man he’d shot. Was his pistol loaded? He had to deal with the man, finish him. Anyone who knew about Lady Elizabeth’s presence this night would doom them. But another gunshot might bring the second, uninjured man running.
Damn the constables, where were they?
He shoved his loaded pistol into his belt and pulled the knife from his boot. It would do the business more quietly. Crouching down, he felt for stable footing on the slick bricks under his boots. When he found a dry spot, he sprang forward, finding a pair of shoulders with his free arm. He wrapped it around and held his knife to his opponent’s throat.
But it was wrong. Very wrong. The shoulders were slight. He felt a fluffy shawl rather than a coat. Spinning around, he pulled the woman into the space between the warehouses.
“Where’s the man?” he rasped, dropping his knife into a greatcoat pocket.
“He went back into the warehouse. He’s going to the boat to get help, but he was bleeding.” The voice was English.
“Were you one of the women inside?”
He felt her nod. “I was too scared to go with you. I thought it was a trick.”
“What’s your name?”
“Beth Cross.”
He frowned, his hand dropping from her throat. Beth Cross sounded a lot like an alias Lady Elizabeth Shield would use. He’d heard Lord Judah refer to his sister as Beth, and Cross was the jewel thief’s last name. But then who was the girl he’d carried? He pulled the new girl with him and followed the girl who still stumbled along the buildings.
In only a few steps he’d caught up with her and stopped her with a hand against her back. “We can’t go out that way. The man I shot got away.”
“We can’t go back; the other man is in the wynd.”
“We need to go between the buildings. Stay in the shadows. This rain will help. Can you walk without support?” He’d figure out their various identities later.
“I’m not as dizzy. The fresh air helps.”
He positioned himself between them and took an upper arm of each in a fist. “Sailor, two doxies, stumbling along,” he said. “Just shapes in the rain.”
Slowly, they stepped between the warehouses and out to the main road. He could see lanterns moving onboard The Lady Shore, but they hadn’t come down the gangplank yet. The man he’d shot must still be explaining his misadventures. No one spotted them.
They passed by one warehouse, then another, then a public house on the corner of two roads. He could no longer see the ship. Making a decision, he pulled the women up the street alongside the public house, hoping to make their way to the police station.
Light spilled from the door as it opened. A woman stumbled out, crying for help. Without meaning to, his eyes went to her. Could she be the first woman from the warehouse, come into the public house from a door off the wynd? Two men pushed her back as she leaned against the doorway, holding her side and breathing hard. Then a third man ran past, hulking yet puffing, like the woman, and knocked her down. He clutched at the red handkerchief around his neck with a beefy paw, but when Dougal saw the pistol in his other hand, he gripped the women at his sides more tightly and dragged them into a stumbling walk.
The woman in the doorway called out and stepped forward. The man with the gun stepped on her skirts, tripping her.
“Move!” Dougal yelled, hoping all three women would obey. They tried to comply, though Lady Elizabeth made it no more than a step or two. The newest of his charges, the one calling herself Beth Cross, had moved a few feet away before Dougal saw a flash from the gun.
He winced, waiting for pain, for something, but it didn’t happen.
The fallen woman came to her knees, then stood. He had to wait, to give her a chance.
The man dropped his gun, and Dougal saw a knife rise into the air. From his sleeve? He remembered his free hand now, his own loaded gun. He pulled it from his belt and fired it at the man.
The hulk fell against the door, clutching at his chest. The woman was within arm’s grasp now. He grabbed Beth Cross’s hand and pulled her along. She reached for the third woman. Lady Elizabeth was unable to do more than take baby steps up the steepening hill, leaned heavily against him.
He heard shouts behind them. Outraged sots? More crew from The Lady Shore, the constables? He couldn’t stop to check. For all he knew, he was bleeding to death. He heard a grunt of pain from the woman on his right and realized his gun was poking into her ribs at every step. With a muttered apology, he shoved it into his belt. Now all he had was his knife.
“We just need to make it tae the police station,” he said encouragingly.
“No,” said the nameless woman. “The police are involved.”
“The police told me where tae go to find you,” he countered.
“Which police?” she said cynically. “Not any o’ them in Leith.”
“We’ll never make it out of Leith without help,” he said. “Where do you live?”
Beth Cross had disappeared. He swore at the realization, then saw her at the edge of the street near a bakery with a faint light flickering behind closed curtains. He tugged his two charges in her direction, refusing to look behind himself to see their pursuers.
“Help me,” the Cross girl said.
“What are you doing?” When he realized she was untying a horse harnessed to a cart, perhaps ready for the baker’s early morning deliveries, from a post, he pulled out his knife and cut through the strap. He helped her into the driver’s seat and lifted Lady Elizabeth into the back. The third woman climbed in herself.
Shouts became audible again as his focus wavered. He directed the old horse into the street just as a man ran out of the bakery, waving his rolling pin. Below them, he saw the hulk in the red neckerchief pointing at them, two more men next to him.
He spanked the
horse’s rump, knowing this beast wasn’t built for speed. Still, better than the pace of a fainting woman. He blessed the mysterious Beth Cross for the idea.
Once they reached a flat part of the road, they were able to get the horse up to a trot. He kept alongside, encouraging the beast. A cry and a groan came from the back of the wagon.
“Oh sweet Lord, she’s shot,” one of the women said.
Dougal closed his eyes for a moment. Now he knew where the stray bullet from the public house had gone. “Who?” he asked.
The woman they’d lost and found jumped off the back of the wagon. Dripping dark hair hung down over her face. “I won’t be a part of this. I can’t.”
Dougal grabbed her by the shoulders, heedless of the cart moving away from them, up another steep street. “Where did they take you from?”
“I can’t do this,” she shouted. “You’d better get in the cart and try to stop the bleeding.”
“There are men chasing us. They might catch you again.” He stared hard, trying to see her. At least he was fairly certain she wasn’t the housemaid he’d seen at Cross’s flat. This one had a long, broad nose and looked to be in her midtwenties.
“I know my way from here. What’s your name?”
“Dougal Alexander.”
She touched his hand, one deathly cold bit of flesh pressed against another. “Thank you, Mr. Alexander, for stopping when you did.”
He saw a flash of teeth and then she was off like a gazelle, no longer winded after her rest. His gaze tracked her into a wynd, then he remembered her warning about a bullet wound. He ran to catch up with the cart.
“Where should I go?” Beth Cross asked from the driver’s seat.
“Head to Morningside.”
“That’s almost five miles from here,” she protested.
“We’ll be safe there,” he replied, climbing into the back. “And I can get us medical assistance.”
By the time they reached Queen Street, Dougal had his bearings again. At first, he couldn’t find where the now unconscious girl was bleeding, what with the rain and the chill of her unconscious body, though he did find a lump on her head, probably the source of her original dizziness.
The Kidnapped Bride (Redcakes) Page 4