Kingston?”
Sulter and William exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Graham knew their answer before they said a word. “I searched everywhere.” Sulter’s voice was low. “He was not to be found.”
“Blast!” Graham slammed his fist against the wall next to him. His cravat grew unbearably tight as thoughts fired at him in rapid succession. He needed to fight the sinking feeling and stay calm. For Lucy. And now, for Amelia.
“Sorry, Graham.” Sulter spoke with utter sincerity.
“We don’t need him,” Graham blurted, giving rise to his own confidence. “Littleton’s in that warehouse. I’ll get Lucy and Amelia back if I have to rip it down brick by brick.”
Sulter’s voice, as ever, was calm. “Consider, Graham. We do not know how many men are in there. May I suggest we wait un—”
“No!” Graham would not hear of waiting. Not now. Not when he was so close. He’d made a mistake trusting Kingston, and he would deal with the rogue later. But he would not make another mistake and risk losing everything. He whirled around. “Do you have a firearm?”
Sulter opened his coat just enough so Graham could see the flash of metal tucked in his waistband. William nodded, his face flushed. The thought of William fumbling to clean the pistol in the library flashed into Graham’s mind. He eyed William. “Do you even know how to fire that thing?”
“Well, I told you I’m more of a horseman, but I’m not ignorant. I can shoot well enough.” William’s nervous laugh did little to convince Graham. He needed everyone to be confident. Disciplined. And William’s experience in this type of pursuit was limited at best. But what choice did he have? He had these two men willing to help, and he needed each one. He slapped his hand on William’s shoulder.
“All right, men. Here is what we are going to do.”
Amelia tucked her feet below her as she watched a beetle scurry along the wall’s edge and disappear in a crack. A shiver pulsed through her limbs, and she bit her lower lip. The lengthening shadows slipping in from behind the curtain hinted dusk was about to fall. Not since she demanded to speak with Edward Littleton had she heard so much as a peep, save for a whimper from Lucy. How much time had passed? Six hours? More?
She wrapped her cape around her, grateful for the little warmth it provided. Her thoughts turned to Helena. The shock of seeing her in Liverpool with Edward had not worn off. The argument Amelia witnessed had been heated indeed. Had Helena been helping Littleton with the kidnapping, or had she been trying to intervene?
Amelia scanned her surroundings, now barely visible in the dying light. How long would she be kept here? How on earth would Graham find her? Jane had said that God would never leave her nor forsake her. Was he watching her now, protecting her? Was he watching Lucy and Mrs. Dunne?
A tapping on the wall startled her. She scrambled to her feet and searched anxiously for the source of the noise. The tapping continued, then a finger poked through a small hole at the bottom of the wall. Amelia’s heart leapt to her chest, and a cry escaped her lips. But the whisper that followed had a familiar Irish lilt. “Miss Barrett. Miss Barrett, are you there?”
Mrs. Dunne! Desperate for contact, she fell against the filthy floor and grabbed the finger with her own. “Mrs. Dunne, are you all right?”
The older woman’s pudgy finger wrapped around hers, and its warmth seemed to spread through Amelia like hot tea on a frosty day. “I’m fine. And Lucy’s fine, praise be to God. It’s Mr. Littleton who’s behind this. None other.”
Amelia’s heart raced faster than ever. “What else do you know?”
“Shhh . . . you’ll need to stay quiet now. The man who’s keeping guard—Jack’s his name—he’s finally nodded off.”
“My door is closed. Locked. I can’t see a thing.”
“From what I heard, they’re planning on exchanging us in the morning for money. But if Captain Sterling doesn’t deliver it, then they’ll put us on a ship bound for Barbados.”
“Barbados?” Amelia had heard lurid tales about orphans being kidnapped and sold in the islands where abolition had created the need for cheap labor. She never imagined the stories could actually be true. Fear trailed down her back as a scene played across her mind.
She squeezed Mrs. Dunne’s finger. “Is Lucy all right? Is she frightened?”
“She is doing just fine. Doesn’t seem to know a thing is different. She’s