“Awe, little sis, you took too much sun,” the man said in a loud voice. “Here, Mum sent a shawl. Put this over your bonnet and wrap up. Keep your face out of the light.”
He released her arm and shoved a wad of cloth at her, pistol still pressed firmly to her side. The moment she took the shawl, he grabbed her arm again.
“Wrap it around your head and shoulders,” he hissed. “If anyone recognizes you, I’ll shoot you first, and then them.”
Madelina doubted he would actually shoot her in the middle of the busy square, but she felt certain his tactic scared most young women into compliance. Dutifully, she wrapped the worn cloth about her, aware it would be difficult for anyone to recognize her once she was done.
“Come on,” he said, and yanked her arm, heading for the street opposite the inn.
The bustle of the square quickly faded behind them. The man led her along winding, narrow streets. After a short time, another young man spilled from an alleyway in front of them and cast her abductor a grin. Madelina recognized him as another from the group at the coach stop. Soon after, they turned onto a different lane, where a third man from the stop joined them. Peering ahead, Madelina concentrated on the maps she’d memorized, working to keep track of where they went.
“Where are you taking me?” she hissed.
“Stay quiet or I’ll put a ball in your side,” the man growled, squeezing her arm tighter. Apparently, he didn’t know any other threats.
They followed the other men into an alley so tight, they had to walk single file. At the end, the first man pulled free a large key and opened a door. The acrid smell of smoke fueled by pitch wafted out. The man entered and stepped down, and Madelina realized they were taking her into a cellar.
“I’m not going down there,” she squeaked, as if terrified.
The pistol barrel jabbed her ribs. “You’ll go where I say.”
They marched down a crumbling, torchlit staircase. The opposing stone walls wept moisture, leaving the air a fetid mixture of mildew and smoke. Madelina could just make out a second set of steps, these wooden, leading upward at the end of the corridor.
The man in the lead halted halfway down, outside the only door in the hall. He applied a different key, and Madelina felt relief as she caught a glimpse of the shaped metal. Nothing special distinguished the key. That meant there was nothing unique about the lock. The key turned with almost no sound. Despite the damp, the lock was kept in good working order.
The man with the key stepped back and Madelina’s abductor pushed her into the unlit space on the other side of the door. Sobs met her, and someone wailed. Madelina caught a glimpse of three huddled forms in the middle of a low ceilinged, stone room before the door slammed closed behind her, throwing the cell into darkness. The key turned in the lock.
Madelina returned to the door and pressed her ear against it. Without, three sets of footfalls moved off. Apparently, her abductors saw no reason to guard the girls. She turned back to the room and, voice pitched low, said, “Hello? Who is there?”
More sobs answered.
Madelina peered into the murk. The only light that filtered in came around the edges of the close-fitting door. “Have you been held here long?” she tried. “Where did they take you from?”
“They took me from in front of The Swan,” a tear laden voice said. “I-I don’t know how long ago. It feels like weeks. They’ve fed me over a dozen times.”
How long did they keep girls, Madelina wondered. Did they wait to ensure no one sought them? Most young women escaping an impoverished, labor filled life in the country would be missed by no one.
“And you’ve been here the longest?” Madelina whispered.
“No, I have,” a different voice replied.
“Once, I heard them say they only call the madam once they have enough girls,” a third speaker offered.
“Wh-who is the madam?” the first girl queried.
“I don’t think I want to meet her,” another whispered, too low for Madelina to sort out which spoke.
Madelina did, but she hadn’t counted on not meeting her immediately. How many girls were enough to bring Madam Dequenne?
Madelina better organized the dirty shawl, now glad the man who’d taken her insisted she wrap her face. Although it didn’t appear as if they would be permitted any light, she wanted to be sure none of the other women would be able to identify her.
“And other than bringing food and more girls, they leave you alone?” Madelina asked.
“So far,” said the girl who’d been there the longest.
“What time of day is it?” one of the other two asked. “Is anyone looking for us?”
This spurred a great many questions. Madelina tried to answer as if she were an innocent country miss. Eventually, food arrived, the open door offering a brief, blinding glimpse of one of the men she’d already seen. As soon as the door closed, Madelina went to it to listen and, once again, the man walked away, leaving them unguarded. After they ate, Madelina indulged in a nap, having been awake all night. When she woke, she knew she was losing track of time and wished she’d thought to secret a timepiece somewhere about her, not that she’d be able to read it in the dark.
