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hands to her temples, trying to focus on her surroundings. A rustling came from her left, and she heard someone breathing. A guard? How long was she to be held here, and why?
    “Hello?” she said, her voice coming out in a fractured whisper. Right temple throbbing, she attempted to stand, but she wobbled.
    “Are ye tied up?” asked an anxious female voice.
    Beth blinked. She had to actively consider this question. “My hands aren’t.” Gingerly, she reached for her legs. “No, no ropes.”
    “I thought ye were dead when they brought ye in. Slung over Carter’s back like a deer. They must not’ve bothered. They force most of us tae drink laudanum when they drag us in, but not ye.”
    “I’m glad of that, though my head aches dreadfully. Where are we?” Did the voice belong to an ally? Could Freddie be here too?
    “Canna ye smell the water?” asked another, coarser voice, though also female. “We are near the firth.”
    A rectangle of light appeared at the far end of the room. Beth blinked and distinguished a door. A large-framed man stood in the doorway, blackness pooling around his lantern.
    “Tie these around their mouths,” he said to a confederate who stepped in behind him. “We can’t have any noise when we take them tae the ship.”
    A ship? No, she couldn’t go on a ship. Hester needed her. Beth rolled onto her belly, hoping to crawl over the grain sacks and hide. But she was slow and in pain. Did these men know how many girls they had?

Chapter 3
    T he sound of heavy boots followed Dougal wherever he went. Mist filled the night, making his lantern light diffuse until it was all but worthless. Water splashing against piers pounded his eardrums, making it difficult to hear what he needed to—the sounds of distressed women.
    Had they been searching for hours to no good purpose? Had Tippett been fantasizing about the white slavers? Yet the man was rarely wrong, improbable as his theory was. Why couldn’t Cross have had a nasty associate who’d taken Lady Elizabeth in retaliation for some slight? It would have been so much simpler.
    One of the constables came running up, a lad who looked too young for his mustache and top hat. “Ach, I just spoke tae the harbormaster. Only one ship is scheduled tae leave for France tonight.”
    “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