“S-she said fifty pounds more than usual for the older one,” another man replied in a fearful, halting stutter. “And one hundred more for the younger.”
“A hundred?” Mister Mclintock growled. “She’s a child.”
“M-madam s-said that’s why she’s worth more.”
“I’ll pay if he won’t,” a woman said, voice harsh.
“You already bought all the other six,” Mister Mclintock replied.
“Can always use more girls,” the woman countered.
“These aren’t your usual dairymaids, Madam Ester,” Mister Mclintock said. “Your customers wouldn’t know what to do with them or want to pay what they’re worth.”
“Maybe I’m thinking of fancying the place up,” Madam Ester replied. “Sweet little virgins like those will bring me better clientele.”
A feminine sob sounded somewhere beyond the stacks of crates. A sick weight settled in Madelina’s gut. They were selling girls. She’d stumbled upon an auction. It seemed an impossible coincidence to find Mister Mclintock at such an auction mere hours after he’d importuned her brother for money to prevent the practice. Was this what Mclintock really used the money for? Anger kindled in Madelina’s gut.
“You’ll never get anyone what’s not flea bitten in that shack you call a brothel,” yet another voice said.
“Flea bitten? Like your arse?” Madam Ester screeched.
Beyond the crates, the voices deteriorated into a squawking babble of argument, in which Mister Mclintock did not engage.
Part of Madelina’s mind sorted voices, totaling them abstractly, as one counts church bells after realizing they were ringing out the hour, but most of her thought was taken up with stark, absolute horror. More sobs joined the first, adding to the din.
This was where Mister Mclintock had raced off to. An illegal auction of poor, obviously kidnapped young women. He was…buying them…for…
Madelina’s mind revolted. A weighty layer of queasiness settled under the rage in her gut.
“Enough!” Mister Mclintock’s firm baritone silenced the squabble. “The two gentlewomen are mine. I’ll pay Madam’s additional fees.”
Madelina’s gaze slid to Lefthook. Why didn’t he act? Despite her role as an observer, she would aid him. They must charge over the crates, draw their weapons, and liberate the bereft, sobbing women.
Seven, her mind said. She’d counted seven voices, including the auctioneer, and excluding the sobs. Eight guards lingered in the alley. She doubted they’d all been left without. That meant there were likely eight below, plus the ones outside ready to charge in. At least sixteen armed, professional or semiprofessional men. Six brothel owners, at least one of which she suspected could fight, and the auctioneer. Steep odds for two people, let alone for Lord Lefthook on his own, and he didn’t know she was there, or on his side.
The bidders had moved on to counting out money. Lord Lefthook shifted. Madelina slipped right, to the outer wall. She layered her body along a truss to watch him pass. Completely silent, Lord Lefthook returned to the window and climbed out.
He must have a plan. From all she’d read, Lord Lefthook wouldn’t abandon those girls. She sorted back through the conversation. That madam, Ester, she’d bought six girls, the ones not gently born. Mister Mclintock had purchased two.
Suddenly, Madelina knew Lord Lefthook’s plan. He would wait until the auction broke up. Once one of the carriages separated from the others, he would strike. Furthermore, Madelina knew which carriage he would follow. It wasn’t a choice anyone would wish to make, but he could be in only one place, and all knew Lord Lefthook’s love for the downtrodden. He would value six dairymaids, or whatever occupation the poor country girls had given up to come to London, over two gentleman’s daughters.
Madelina headed for the window. She must hurry if she wished to find a vantage point from which she could observe what carriage Mclintock took, yet not be seen by Lord Lefthook or anyone below. With the river bordering one side of the warehouse, that would take some doing.
She knew she’d come out to observe, that her aunt would claim her not ready to intervene, but Madelina couldn’t turn her back on those two women. Besides, the best way to gain Lord Lefthook’s approval and trust was to mimic his good deeds, and that was exactly what Madelina intended to do.
Not only would she rescue the girls Lord Lefthook couldn’t save, but she would also put Mclintock in his place. How dare he saunter into a ballroom espousing charity, as upright and handsome as a knight of old, and then turn around and buy people?
All those gentlemen and ladies who’d shifted from his path were correct. Mister Mclintock was unfit for polite society. As she neared the open window, Madelina’s left hand brushed the hilt of one of her pistols. If he resisted her attempt to rescue the two girls too fiercely, he might even prove unfit for life in general.
Chapter Four
A prickling sensation ran between Jasper’s shoulder blades. He paused while climbing into his carriage, turned back to the warehouse, then looked up and down the street, before raising his gaze to the rooftops. The night sky had become cloaked in inky clouds, but nothing appeared amiss. He shrugged, trying to shake off a feeling of being watched so strong that he had to force down a shiver. Though he couldn’t locate a watcher, the person’s malevolence struck like a physical blow. With a second shrug, he alighted, and his carriage started forward.
That malice couldn’t have come from the two young woman he’d purchased, he reflected as he settled into his seat. He’d sent them out the side door with Clementine and his men. They should be almost to the second coach now, parked in an alley several buildings away.
Jasper didn’t care to take chances. Not with Madam Dequenne’s non-existent honor or the girls’ still-salvageable reputations. Once, and once only, she’d tricked him by retaking girls he’d bought, under the guise of robbing his coach as he neared The Black Aspen. Now, he snuck the young women out, concealed them amid clumps of men, and had them taken immediately under heavy guard to their waiting relations.
Clementine and his men would have the girls delivered to their aunt and uncle before the churches rang out two. On the way there, she would help them devise a story, likely something about missing the earlier coach when it made a stop and taking a later one, their baggage still on the first. The simpler the better, Clementine knew, and the young women would have ample reasons to keep their secret.
