Page 96 of Never a Duke
“We don’t have time to unload a pile of damned chickens in the middle of the Pool,” Walden groused. “I did not part with my cuff links to—”
“We need the chickens to allay suspicion.” Ned passed Bob a crate. “We need space for the women too.”
They soon had half the cargo clucking on the dock, and were rowing away from the quay.
“Not so vigorously,” Ned said, when Walden would have rowed them clear down to the Channel. “We’re looking for a boat full of women departing from a dock other than the one where all the crying is coming from.”
As he watched, the last group of women—the aged and infirm—were herded into a boat.
“What do you want to bet,” Bob murmured, “they simply row them across and turn them loose on the Isle of Dogs?”
“Some of them would not have survived the voyage,” Walden said, as the boat left the dock. “Transportation used to be a more carefully regulated affair, but now it’s causing more problems than it solves. The colonies accepted the free labor at first, but now…”
“Now?” Ned asked, scanning the darkening water for another boat full of women. Young, strong, healthy women caught up in a vile, greedy scheme.
“Nowwe know that the dire threat of transportation has done nothing to reduce the incidence of crime here at home,” Walden said. “Transportation was supposed to be a deterrent, a terrible fate that frightened the criminal class into a sober re-evaluation of their felonious ways.”
Bob, sitting in the prow, snorted. “Some lord thought up that reasoning, some lord who believes an empty belly can sort out levels of hell according to the Crown’s convenience. I ate better on the transport ship than I had in years.”
“Or some lord,” Ned said, “wanted another colony settled for the good of merry olde England, and to hell with crime rates, deterrents, and starving lads. Rosalind and Artie are on the quay.”
“Getting ready to make a diversion?” Walden asked.
Darkness was falling in earnest, and still no little boat full of young women had pushed away from the shore.
“Tide’s about to change,” Bob said. “You live in a port town, you learn to feel it. You can feel the storms coming, the hot spells bearing down. I’d go inland to deliver an order, and be surprised by a passing shower, but on shore, I know what’s coming, and I know from what direction.”
Direction.Ned swung his gaze across the water, toward the London side of the river. “There,” he said softly. “They’re rowing them over from the other bank. That boat.”
“Awfully quiet for a boatload of kidnapped women,” Walden said, taking up his oar. “Let’s treat with the pirates, shall we?”
“Let me spell you, Ned,” Bob said, shifting to the middle of boat. “You’ll sound like you mean business without coming off like a nob.”
“Right,” Ned replied, taking up the perch in the prow. “Walden, do not open your mouth unless you can summon your best Yorkshire dialect.”
“Ye’ll nowt hear a waird from me, sair.”
As the two boats drew closer, Ned sent up a prayer that Reggie Sharp was not on the other vessel. Even in the dim light, recognition was possible.
“Ahoy, lads,” Ned called when the boats were several yards apart. “Been a change in plans.”
“Nobody said nothin’ about a change in plans,” came the reply.
“Captain of theTantalusis on deck,” Ned rejoined. “Checkin’ off this and pokin’ ’is nose into the middle of that. We’ll take the ladies the rest of the way.”
A muttered exchange took place on the other boat. “Says who?”
“Says the man whose job it is to get these women on board without a fuss. You either swap with us, or the tide will settle the argument and you’ll be left to make the awkward explanations to himself.”
The women were silent, sitting on the benches three abreast. Ned counted a dozen huddled and cloaked figures, hoods drawn up, in addition to the four men rowing the boat.
“How do I know you won’t keep the ladies for yourself?” the largest of the four asked, as the tide brought the two boats into bumping proximity.
“I will keep ’em for myself,” Ned said, “all the way to Botany Bay if they’re pretty and willing, but I don’t have time to dicker with you lot when theTantalusis about to weigh anchor. Off your arses and take this load of chickens back to the dock. No room in the hold for ’em.”
“This ain’t the plan. We take the women to the ship, we don’t hand ’em over to—”
“Stop, thief!” Rosalind’s voice sang out from the quay, as Artie darted off down the shore. “He has my reticule. That boy stole my reticule!”
