Would they ever see the light of day again? What had their captors in mind... Don't be silly. You know what they want. You know what your fate will be.
For a moment despair overwhelmed her, made more desperate by the sound of weeping from behind her and the pain of her bruised face.
Ma and Pa taught you better than this. So did Soomey. If I only had her derringers... She stiffened her resolve and her spine. There would come a moment, and she had to be prepared. The best way was to watch and learn. Sooner or later she'd get an opportunity to escape.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened a barred gate. "Inside," he said, gesturing with the pistol he held.
Regina instinctively set her feet, only to find herself flying forward, propelled by a brutal shove against the small of her back. She stubbed her toe on something fixed to the floor and fell, catching herself on her hands. The rough stone cut through her white kid gloves and into the soft skin beneath. Before she could collect herself, she heard the gate clang shut.
As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she looked around. Minerva and Pamela huddled together, arms about each other, in a forlorn heap against a wall of shadowy bars. The English girl was a darker shape in the dimness, a lump upon the floor. Her sobs were soft, but more hopeless. A servant would have a far more realistic view of life than children of wealthy Americans. She knew what her fate was bound to be.
What did I do? I just kept walking. I couldn't go back--there was no place to go back to. So I just kept going. Her mother's words were clear in her memory. Hattie Lachlan had been left a widow on the long trail to Oregon, alone and at the mercy of the fates. And she'd kept going. She'd never given up.
But Pa came along and married her. "I offered your father fifty dollars in gold if he'd marry me," Ma had said, with a laughing glance at Pa. "I could see he had no more use for a wife than he had for a pink bonnet, but the gold tempted him."
Pa always laughed at that point in the story. "Oh, there was more than that tempted me, Hattie girl," he'd say. "And you still owe me that gold, don't you?"
Until she was grown, Regina hadn't understood what else it was had tempted her pa.
Surely she was as strong as her mother. "Stop sniveling, girls. We need to determine a way to escape this place, not sit around feeling sorry for ourselves." Pa wasn't here, nor was any other knight in shining armor. It was up to her to rescue herself and them.
This wasn't Idaho Territory, though. It wasn't anything like the places she knew. For the first time in her life, Regina felt completely helpless. She was more than competent in the wilderness, at home in a university, comfortable in a town at the edge of the frontier. But big cities were a different matter. Too big, too crowded, with too much going on. Paris was a hundred times worse than Boston had been, because she couldn't even make herself understood half the time, for all she was considered, at home, to be reasonably fluent in French.
"Be quiet, Minerva," she said again. "Crying isn't going to accomplish anything."
She gazed around her. Her first impression had been correct. Their prison was a cage, like a zoo would house wild animals in. Against the bars to her left were a table and a crude bench. A large rectangular shape in the far corner turned out to be a crate, filled with blankets, rough wool, musty smelling, but enough to protect them from the chill of the stone floor. A smaller crate sat upon its side nearby. On its top sat two bottles, a basket full of hard bread, and a fat sausage, greasy and smelling strongly of garlic. They intend us to be here a while. Regina clamped tightly on the fear that kept threatening to break free.
But where is here?
She felt her way along the sides of the cage. The bars were all solid. They weren't going to escape by bending them or working any loose, not three slight girls and one Junoesque woman.
At the back, she could, if she stretched as far as possible, touch the rough stone wall into which the high windows were set. As she explored, extending her arm between one pair of bars after another, she discovered a vertical post, set into the stone and mortar. A door's frame, perhaps. But of no use to her, since the door appeared to be boarded up, even if she could get to it.
She continued, past one corner, then another, counting her steps on the way. The cage seemed to be almost square, about fifteen feet on a side, and was situated near the corner of a an enormous, high-ceilinged space.
In the last corner she stumbled against a bucket, its purpose obvious from its noisome odor. Regina shivered, and admitted she was scared stiff.
The light from outside gradually grew dimmer. After a while she could barely see the girls who still huddled in the center of the cage. "Come, she said, forcing a false cheerfulness into her voice, We're getting nowhere just sitting. While there is still light, let us make our beds, for it appears we'll be here through the night."
She pulled out blankets, firmly closing her mind against speculation about what creatures they harbored. "Fold these double to make pads, and put them next to one another, It will be very dark in here soon, and we want to stay close for comfort."
"Aren't we going to try to escape, Miss Lachlan?"
"Not immediately. I am strangely without a battering ram or a gun. And I lack the ability to squeeze between the bars or clamber up a stone wall to windows that are surely too small to allow the passage of my body." She put her arm around Pamela. "We will eat to keep up our strength and sleep to prepare ourselves for tomorrow. Perhaps an opportunity to escape will present itself. If it does, we want to be at our full strength and well rested."
"What will they do with us?" Minerva wailed.
"Hold us for ransom, I imagine," Regina said, knowing she lied. "They must have discovered how wealthy your parents are."
"They ain't gonna hold nobody for ransom," Marcy said. "They're white slavers, mum. White slavers, and they'll sell us to some filthy pasha to be in his harem." The girl's voice had become more shrill with each word. "I want to go home. I want my ma."
So do I. The words fought to be spoken. Even at her age, Regina wanted her ma.
"Thinking of what might happen is the quickest route to despair," she said, forcing a brisk tone into her voice. Now then, I want you all to loosen your laces as much as you can. You'll want to be able to breathe deeply and sleep soundly." Thank goodness Pamela and Minerva were slim. They needed little in the way of corset lacing to disguise excess avoirdupois.
A pathetic sniffle told her how likely sound sleep would be.
She ignored it. "You may want to loosen your shoelaces as well, but only enough for comfort. If we get an opportunity to escape, there will be no time to be searching for lost shoes."
The bread was hard and the sausage at the edge of rancid, but they choked them down. The wine was surprisingly palatable. But this is Paris after all, and one expects good wine in Paris. Regina felt, for a moment, on the verge of hysterical laughter.
She urged more bread and sausage on the girls, and was pleased to see them nodding soon after they had eaten. Feeling like a mother hen, she sent them, one at a time, to the bucket, then tucked them into their hard beds. Instead of lying down beside Marcy, she went close to the bars and stared up at the faintly visible windows.
* * * *
The room to which Heureaux's henchman had escorted him retained heat from the summer day, and was airless with the stale, dead odor of a space rarely open to the outdoors. They had climbed three flights of stairs, so Gabe was pretty sure they were just under the roof. He was also reasonably certain they were in a warehouse district near the river. He'd smelled oakum and sewage and the curious mélange of odors that seemed to tinge the air in ports around the world, even those like this one, far from the sea.
He didn't have to pretend being impressed as he looked around. The walls were hung with paintings worthy of a museum, the floor carpeted with glowing color more commonly seen in eastern palaces. The brandy in his glass was superb.
He accepted a cigar from the carved wooden box Heureaux held out. Rolling it between his fingers,
he pretended to listen to whatever subtle sound it was that cigar smokers thought so important. He would smoke it if he had to. A man in his apparent position who didn't indulge was viewed with suspicion. "How long must I wait?" he said, making his voice a bit querulous. "I'm a busy man--no time for delays."
Heureaux dipped his cigar into his wine, licked the wet end, and placed it between his lips.
Filthy habit. With an effort, Gabe kept his distaste from showing.
"We have four parcelles for you now, but have encountered unexpected difficulties in obtaining more. Another two days, or perhaps three..."
Gabe leaned forward. "Listen to me, M. Heureaux, and listen well. I am a busy man, with much to occupy my time. I have been in Paris five days now, waiting for you to produce your...ah, consignment. I have no more time, for I must be back in Rome on Tuesday next. So I will take what you have, but I will not pay so much as you asked. Three thousand, five hundred pounds for the lot. That's a bit more each, to make up for your loss"
"I cannot--"
"Have you another buyer then? Or are you planning on keeping them...the merchandise...on ice until you find one." From all he'd learned, Heureaux and his cohorts moved the women out of Paris as quickly as possible. He was counting on that fact to work in his favor. "Three thousand, five hundred pounds, and I will take them off your hands tonight."
Heureaux stared at Gabe for a long moment. "You have transportation for them? I thought--" He shook his head. "I must consult." He rose, bowed slightly, and left the room.
I hope I'm not making a mistake, pushing like this. Those poor women... The woman he'd spoken to, who'd been sold to Jonathon by her original owner in Istanbul, had said the women awaiting transportation were given little food and no opportunity to wash. They were held in a dark cage like wild animals, then drugged and packed in barrels for transport.
Chapter Eight
Gabe stretched out his legs, forcing himself to relax, to look as if he were bored by the whole situation. A sense of being close to his quarry crawled, like a ghostly hand, up his spine. This was the closest they had come to the core organization. His concern about Regina and her young charges nagged at the back of his mind, but he kept it firmly there. Tonight could end this whole operation and he couldn't afford distraction.
She's all right, he told himself. The girls were waiting at the hotel and she's fine. Bjorn and Alastair are watching over them.
He hoped Dom had been able to keep up with him. Heureaux's henchman had changed cabs four times on the way here. Gabe was sure they'd retraced their route more than once. The dilapidated building they'd entered could have been a warehouse at one time. The narrow street it stood upon had been littered with trash. In a nearby doorway, a bundle of rags had moved as they descended from Heureaux's carriage, revealing itself to be a man. At least he assumed the ragged, hairy apparition had been a man. He knew of no wild animals who appeared thus.
He drew on his cigar, let the smoke trickle from between his lips, as he again inspected the room. Despite the shabby exterior of the building, this room was comfortable, well-kept, and obviously well-used. Heureaux had poured the excellent brandy from a crystal decanter. The chair in which he sat was one of a pair upholstered in rich, dark leather. A massive mahogany desk occupied the opposite end of the long, narrow room. Its tambour top was open, revealing several ranks of pigeon-holes, all stuffed with papers.
A door slammed somewhere, startling him. Where the hell is Heureaux? Consult? With whom? And why? He led me to believe he was the principal in this deal. Even as he wondered, he heard voices raised in what sounded like an argument, but was unable to distinguish words. With the greatest of effort, he remained in his seat. If this were his operation, he would have someone watching. Trust no one was a byword in the dark underground where he worked.
Eventually Heureaux returned, with lowered brows. Anger? I hope so. Angry men make mistakes. Gabe ground out his cigar and rose. "I haven't all night. Can we settle our transaction now?"
"You do not wish to see the consignment?" There was a slight quaver to Heureaux's voice. Suppressed excitement? Anger? Or fear?
"I supposed I should, although I have no reason to believe you won't deliver what you have promised. Are they nearby?"
"A short walk. Come with me." Heureaux picked up the candelabra and waved him toward the door. As he led the way along a dim corridor, he said over his shoulder, "I trust, M. Basilio, that you have the funds at hand?"
"I have, monsieur. When you turn the consignment over to me, I will pay you. However, I must arrange for the transportation first."
"But I thought--"
"I am not a fool, Heureaux, to bring cash with me until I know if we have a deal. If you have someone I can send with a message, my assistant will meet us at a designated place, bringing both transportation and funds."
The way Heureaux's body relaxed made Gabe instantly suspicious. Or was he simply relieved that the deal was going forth? Thirty-five hundred pounds wasn't a great fortune, but it wasn't pocket change either. "Well? Are we to view the women? Or stand here idly?"
* * * *
Regina paced the floor, fighting the sleep that now threatened to consume her thoughts, sure there had been a sleeping draught in the wine. She listened to the girls' soft breathing and wished she could be so confident that all would be well. Minerva and Pamela had believed her assurance that they would be safely ransomed. Marcy had remained skeptical until Minerva spoke of how rich her papa was and promised that she would insist on taking the little maid with them when they were ransomed.
Older and wiser, Regina knew better. There would be no ransom. Unless she could come up with some plan for their escape, they would disappear into the vast underworld of white slavery. Now she wished she'd taken Gabe's warning more seriously, listened more closely to some of her brother's stories about the Coalition and what it did. She'd deliberately closed her mind to any mention of the organization Buff and Gabe served. Had she ignored their tales because she resented the work that had taken Gabe away from her? Or was she guilty of deliberate ignorance, of not wanting to believe there was such evil in the world?
How could she have disregarded the real and horrendous experiences of her own aunt, her own sister-in-law?
How could she have been so blind? So stupid?
She had her knife, strapped to her thigh. She knew how to fight dirty, thanks to the men in the family, who'd insisted that everyone, boys and girls, learned early on how to defend themselves. "Fight to win," her Pa had always said. "There's no such thing as rules when you're fighting for your life."
"If It were only me, I'd have a good chance to escape." Expecting three innocents to be ready to risk injury or even death would be asking too much. It would be like putting puppies and kittens up against a grizzly.
A distant door slammed and footsteps echoed in a vast space. She turned her head toward the wall she was sure they had entered through. Yes. There was a faint square of light high up, broken by horizontal bars. As she watched the light grew brighter, and flickered, as if from a candle. Quickly she lay on her pallet, twisting around so she had a good view of where the light was coming from.
As the light brightened, she saw a shallow balcony two-thirds of the way up the high wall opposite the windows. A crude railing enclosed it, and a ladder stood on it, leaning against the wall. She wondered if the ladder was long enough to let someone descend to the lower floor. Now, if I could somehow get up there...
Two men appeared, one holding a branched candelabra that lit his face enough for her to recognize the wide man who'd managed her capture. The other remained in shadow, but he was tall, broad-shouldered.
The wide man used one candle to light a lantern suspended from a rope, before he set it on the floor of the passageway whence they'd emerged. He said something, then the lantern started moving toward her, descending until it hung a few feet above the cage.
She snapped her eyes closed, knowing how they could reflect the light. She mov
ed restlessly, as if turning in her sleep. Once on her side, she was able to open her eyes a slit. Yes, there were just the two men. The wide man spoke as he waved his arm in an expansive gesture. The other stepped forward. For a brief instant as he did so, his face and upper body were illuminated, before he was once again in shadow. He was tall, with swarthy skin and dark hair.
As he drew close to the balcony railing, his white shirt gleamed in the dim light. So did his white teeth when he spoke. His voice... Was it familiar, or was she grasping at straws of hope?
* * * *
Great god. Regina. Gabe fought to conceal his reaction.
Fear such as he'd never felt for himself coiled like a deadly serpent in his gut. For a moment he was poised for attack, before common sense--and duty--overcame his instinctive reaction.
His mission was to entrap these monsters, and in doing so, he would free their captives. He'd do Gina far more good carrying out his assignment than acting as the man who... Who loved her.
He forced boredom into his voice. "Are they drugged?"
"Of a necessity. But only lightly. We want compliance, not unconsciousness."
"Good, I would find it inconvenient should they create a disturbance." He leaned forward, pretending to inspect the merchandise. "All blonde. Good. The one with the bruised face, she appears more mature."
"Oui. But she is magnifique. Tall, with a certain poitrine--" Heureaux gestured with both hands, cupping large breasts. "--and hair like newly minted gold. She will bring a good price."
Gabe had to clench his fist and his jaw to keep from killing the man.
After a few minutes, while he pretended to inspect the women, but was really reining his temper, Gabe said, "They are satisfactory. Shall we discuss the means of transferring the funds?"
"As you wish." Heureaux led the way back to this office. A dark, scruffy fellow lounged near the door. "Maurice will carry your message. Do you require paper?"
"Not if he is capable of repeating exactly the words I give him. Does he speak English?"
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