Stolen

By Sheila Dalton

Devon, England, 1633: Lizbet Warren's parents are captured by Barbary Corsairs and carried off to the slave markets in Morocco. Desperate to help them, Lizbet sets out for London with the only other survivor of the raid, the red-haired orphan, Elinor. The unlikely pair are soon separated, and Lizbet is arrested for vagrancy. Rescued from a public whipping by a mysterious French privateer, Jean Vallée, she is taken to his Manor House in Dorchester, where he keeps her under lock and key. Later, Lizbet is captured at sea by the pirate Gentleman Jake, and forced to join his crew. She forms complex bonds with both of her captors; but never forgets her parents and uses all her skills to enlist the aid of these men to find them. Her quest leads her to the fabled courts and harems of Morocco and the tropical paradise of Barbados.
Rich in historical detail and based on true events, Stolen is the story of a brave but very human young woman who perseveres in the face of incredible odds to establish her place in a new world. It is also the story of friendship, the mother-daughter bond -- and a daring rescue.  From the author of The Girl in the Box, a Giller People's Choice Top Ten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drayton Hill Books
• Release date: Jan 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781502258557

Sheila Dalton

Sheila Dalton has published novels and poetry for adults, and picture books for children. Her YA mystery, Trial by Fire, published by Napoleon Press, was shortlisted for the Crime Writers of Canada Arthur Ellis Award. Her literary mystery, The Girl in the Box, published by Dundurn Press, reached the semi-finals in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest, and was voted a Giller People’s Choice Top Ten.  Stolen is her first book of historical fiction.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Enslavement was a very real possibility for anyone ...  who lived along the shore ... even as far north as England or Iceland.

Robert Davis, Christian Slaves, Muslim Masters: White Slavery in the Mediterranean, the Barbary Coast and Italy, 1500 - 1800.

––––––––

Vagrancy had always been a concern in sixteenth century England, resulting in the passing of four anti-vagrancy bills in 1547 alone. This resulted in legislation so harsh that a person charged with vagrancy could be sentenced to two years enslavement, which could be extended to life enslavement if they tried to escape.

Sara Byrnes, Vagrancy in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century England.

––––––––

Early on a spring morning, in the year of Our Lord 1633, I stood on the seashore with my mother, waving to my father as the wind pillowed the sails of his small fishing craft and propelled it out to sea.

It was a day of particular beauty; the sun a benevolent smile, the sky a blue sea scudded by clouds. The breeze off the ocean carried the scent of saltwater as if the small frothy waves had rolled up the essence of the ocean herself then unfurled it into the air, as easily as they spilled foam upon the beach. There was not a whisper of foreboding in my heart as I watched the small fleet sail.

All these years later, I dream still about that awful day. Nightmares, for the most part, all jumbled up with other horrors I have faced since. There are some, though, wherein I clutch my mother’s hand and persuade her to accompany me to Newton Abbot. She gets into the bullock cart beside me, and we set off. Usually the rocking of the cart wakens me, and I curl up against the pain of remembering, wishing for the thousandth time that I had taken her with me out of Teignmouth that morn, and saved her from a terrible fate.

––––––––

With my father out of sight, my mother and I began the journey home, past the button maker’s and the empty stocks. In front of the baker’s, she bade me stop. I ‘most forgot, Lizbet. Here is some coin, to buy yourself new shoes. She handed me two silver half crowns and a groat. You have quite worn out your old ones. She smiled down at my feet. I turned my ankles to examine the threadbare soles of my boots.

No wonder, my mother went on, sighing, with all the rain this year, it seemed we had not a day’s rest between the harvest and the shearing of the sheep.

I looked at her weary face, and marvelled once again that nothing could dull her beauty. Teignmouth had its share of pretty women, but my mother’s face was so lovely it seemed to ring out like a chiming bell. Wherever she went, people could not take their eyes off her.

She was as kind as she was comely. Take this, daughter, she said to me that morn. It is no more than you deserve.

When I opened my mouth to protest, for shoes cost very dear, she added, There is no time for argument, dear girl. The butcher will set off soon, and take you with him in his cart. You must return on foot, but he is your best hope of arriving before the choicest footwear is all gone.

We did not deal often in coin. I liked the weighty feel of it in my apron pocket, the jangle it added to my walk as we turned in the direction of the butcher’s shop. I put an extra bounce in my step just to hear it clink.

My mother, hurrying to stay beside me, said, There is something else, Lizbet, that your father and I have been discussing ...

Oh dear God, not again, I thought. Why now?

I slowed. When she caught my eye, she pressed her lips together, sighing. I need not say it, need I, daughter?

I shook my head. No, Mother, you need not. We must hurry. I do not want the butcher to leave without me.

She gave a shrug and grumbled, You weren’t in such a rush but moments ago! We can hurry and talk at the same time. She linked her arm through mine and picked up her pace. You persist in accepting no suitors ... Her tone was dogged.

Oh, Mother.

You have admirers, Lizbet.

I thought with dismay of Jacob, with his knobby knees, and curly-headed William who screeched like a blackbird at his own jests. I know, Mother. We have talked of this before. Many a time. I gave her a disapproving look.

Of course, I too was concerned about finding a husband. At nineteen years of age, I thought it high time I fell in love. Am I not supposed to feel strongly for the one I am to wed? I protested. As you did for Father? There is no one here who stirs my heart. Am I to die without discovering the delights of true love?

The smile that tugged at her lips lingered a moment too long. I was stung.

Then she added in a caring tone, That is indeed a problem, my girl. She patted my arm. Your father and I have been thinking that perhaps it is time you went into service, in a larger place, such as Newton Abbot. It is only fair you are given a chance to find a match which suits you. Teignmouth is small, and does not offer much choice.

Newton Abbot was both bigger and more prosperous than our village. We went there a few times each year, when the fruits of our small harvest ran low, or we needed new leather goods. We also sold or picked up wool to spin and dye and trade for other wares. The streets — lined with shops, churches, alehouses — seemed always to teem with people. There was an air of excitement sadly lacking here at home.

Think on it, Lizbet, she urged. You can read and write, and are possessed of a lively mind. We have been considering that perhaps Newton Abbot might be a good place to put those skills to use.

Why do you bring this up today, Mother? I said, eyeing her narrowly. Right before I am to go there?

She squeezed my arm affectionately and shoved me lightly with her shoulder. Young William’s parents are pressing for an answer. It would perhaps be better all-round if you were away when we give it. Your father has been speaking with merchants and tradesman in Newton Abbot, friends of his, about allowing a bright young maid to help them in their work. They are good family men, with wives and daughters, who would keep you safe.

When I sighed, she added, Lizbet, I know you do not like to think on these things, but without protection, your figure alone could bring you grief at the hands of men. She reached out and tugged the laces on my bodice more snugly over my bosom, then pulled the bodice down to meet my skirt. Not to mention your pretty face.

I grimaced. I thought my mother exaggerated my comeliness, for where she had blue eyes, mine were brown, and I thought blue eyes among the loveliest things in all creation, like cornflowers, the sky, the sea. Her hair was soft and pale as moonlight, while mine fell in thick, dark waves to my shoulders, often knotted, for it tangled easily in the wind. I suspected she was overprotective because of her own experiences with male attention, not mine.

Oh, to be sure, I was aware that young men found me at least somewhat pleasing to the eye; I was not blind to their glances and smiles. Nor was I above a little flirtation. But Mother made it sound as though I could not walk a yard without attracting a horde of eager swains; worse, ones whose intentions were dishonorable.

Yet I was tempted by Newton Abbot. Torn between a love of village life, and a growing restlessness to discover more of the world, I knew that I must soon arrive at a decision.

However, scarce did I know that less than three hours later, the decision would be made for me, in the cruelest manner imaginable.

––––––––

When I returned to the village on foot, proudly shod in my new shoes, that pinched but a little despite the long trek, I stared ahead of me at Teignmouth, puzzled. I walked nearer, and was worried; closer yet, and my heart began to pound. People should be in view, and horses, carts, cattle. I saw nothing but a few cows running loose at the outskirts, back and forth and back again, as though lost, swinging their great heads aimlessly.

I called out. Only silence answered. The miller’s dog came hurtling towards me, barking as it ran. I reached down to pat it; it collapsed panting at my feet. When I stroked its head, it got up and raced away from the village that had always been its home.

My breath now coming in sharp gasps that hurt, I broke into a run until I reached Teignmouth, where I stopped as suddenly as I had started, and stared ahead of me, transfixed. Doors swung on their hinges, broken chairs and barrels spilled across the lanes, an empty cradle rocked up and down on a mound of refuse, rustling the ghostly silence. A hatchet poked, blade up, out of a pile of hay.

A sudden gust of a wind, and a tin pot rattled down the street, coming to rest against my feet. I kicked it away, and sat down hard upon the ground. A lone sheep stood amidst the wreckage and stared at me out of a blank, black face. By its open mouth, I knew it bleated, but I heard nothing save a roar that came in equal measure from the sea behind me, and the devastation of my heart.

What in God’s good name had happened? Where was everyone?

On the beach, I found them, strewn like broken dolls, each one a villager I had known, who had known me. It wasn’t until I recognized the back of little Thomas’s head, his long blond curls, his cheek resting on his arm as though sleeping, a rope of blood running from his head to his waist, that I screamed. He was only four years old. I’d taught him how to button his shirt just the morning previous.

My feet felt heavy as though my new shoes were cast in lead or stone. I forced myself amongst the bodies, crouching down beside those who bore even the remotest resemblance to my mother, or my father who may have come back early from the sea. I turned some over with the toes of my new shoes. The heaviness, the staring eyes, the flesh like candle wax made me swallow bile and shudder. Twice, I sat down amongst the dead, and cried into my hands. Many I cared for lay lifeless on the sand. Many others were gone I knew not where.

As I stumbled away, a girl stepped from behind a pile of stones, her face as white as those of the corpses. It was Elinor from the Workhouse for Abandoned and Unwanted Children. I often called her, in my mind, the Red-Haired Fury, for her temper and wild ways. To see her, such a spirited little thing, so pale and subdued struck such fear in me, I very nearly ran from her.

She fell towards me. I had no choice but to fold her into my arms and let her cry, though I was in sore need of comfort myself. I begged her to tell me what had happened. At first she could not speak for tears.

Two great ships come in, she said at last, in a voice like dark brown ale, unusual in such a tiny girl, even one a deal older than she looked. The Red-Haired Fury was then about fifteen years of age, though if I had not known better, I might have guessed her to be twelve. For though the huge eyes in her small sharp face had a knowing look about them, I’d seen that look in beggar children, grown old before their time.

Them ships was all bristly with oars. She smeared the tears across her cheeks with both grubby hands at once. Hordes of awful men spilled off ‘em and spread across the beach like ... oh, oh, I dunno ... summat you knew were going to swallow you up. She held her hands to her ears. "It were awful. They was shouting and yelling, our folk screaming and running and everything were so awful, I didn’t know what to do.

They ... she choked out, cut folks down with these huge great swords. I ent never seen swords so big and wide. I ran for my life, tripped up behind them rocks and stayed where I fell. I saw ‘em chaining people up and dragging them onto their ship. Then they sailed away. Oh, dear God.

Who where they? My mouth was dry; I had to run my tongue under my lips to free them from my teeth. Where did they come from? Where is my mother? I thought, in anguish. Had Elinor seen her killed? I dare not ask, for details of her treatment at the hands of these fierce villains would be more than I could bear.

I ent never seen men like ‘em before. She was twisting her hands in the apron of her homespun dress, and scrunching up her face like a raisin. They had on robes like clergy almost, but their arms was bare. Dark-skinned they was, and ugly, their faces horrible and mean. Her eyes grew wider. It was as if her words came at me from far away, I heard them but did not grasp them. They wasn’t speaking English, I don’t what they was speaking. Whatever else about ‘em, there’s one thing sure—they had no hearts. The smithy ... She gulped and took a big breath. ... the smithy were screaming that his legs was broke. They tried to make him walk all the same. Till someone picked up a rock and bashed his head in. Oh, they was terrible!

Is there no one left at all? I said.

After the coast was clear of ‘em, I come out from the rocks, and looked round everywhere. I did not find a single soul. Them that got in the way was killed, and them that was wounded, once they got ‘em on the beach, they killed them, too.

Babies? Old folk?

They killed the old, and took the babies along with their mams.

I fought the rising panic that would take away my reason if I did not push it down. What about our fishermen? Though they were not due till nightfall, oftentimes they sailed home early. Had they come back?

No. She shook her head so vigorously her hair flew out like rusty water from a pail. The only boats I seen were those them heathens sailed.

My heart near stopping in my chest, my head pounding so hard I could barely hear my own words, I whispered, My mother, Elinor ...?

She threw herself into my arms once more, and curled like a fist against me. They took her. Her words were muffled in my bodice; still they rang clear as day over the noises in my head. A monster of a fellow picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her out into the water to the ship. She was crying and calling on God. They did hit her once or twice to tame her, then carted her off like she were a sheep or a goat.

I sobbed, and clutched Elinor tighter to me, seized by a spasm so hard I near crushed her in my arms.

I’m sorry, Lizbet, she said, her small, grubby face now looking up at mine. She were alive, remember.

It was true that was some comfort, though not much, for I thought I could guess why they wanted her alive. My dear mother—lovely in the fashion we English most admire, fair of skin and hair—to hear of her being treated so roughly near broke my heart in two.

I shuddered with a cold deeper than any wind or weather, and could offer no comfort to Elinor, who was sobbing again so hard it made her hiccup.

––––––––

We staggered from the shore, and plopped down on the grass behind some scrubby trees, still close enough that we could view the beach, should we dare. I shuddered, for I felt the press of death against my heart. Elinor wanted to go farther into the village, but I was held by the desperate hope that the fishing fleet would return or, stranger by far, that the raiders’ boats would sail back in, and return our people to us, declaring they had taken them up in error. My mind was not my own, that much was sure.

When darkness fell, and still no vessels, we shifted into the trees, away from the carnage, and lay down, wrapping our arms around one other for warmth. My eyes were open wide, staring into the pitiless night. I was afraid to sleep lest nightmares overcome me.

But it was Elinor who woke me with shouting in the middle of the night, when the sky was at its blackest. I shook her.

Wake up, Elinor. You are having a dream, I said.

Even as she rubbed the cobwebs from her eyes, still she shivered and cried. Oh, Lizbet, I wish I could kill every last one of ‘em. I hate ‘em, oh, I do!

I held her scrawny body tighter to mine, a bony bundle in the dark. Hush, hush, I said, squeezing her hard. I did not want to hear any more, I was near sick with dread already.

It seemed she could not stop. We was on our way to church, she said. As she spoke, I saw them. Rows of children, orphans mostly, all in the same rough dresses and white aprons, walking with their eyes cast down. Out of nowhere come the savage barbarians, with flashing cutlasses and wooden clubs. Knocked down, pinned, tied—I could almost hear their screams.

I ran like the devil, and when I dared look out from behind my rock, I saw all of ‘em seized and chained together and thrown onto ships like they was baggage.

I swallowed as I stroked her head, and breathed hard, unable to offer her the comfort of words that stayed lodged in my throat like clumps of molten tar. She exhausted herself at last. Again we slept, though fitfully.

CHAPTER TWO

By morning, Father had not returned. I stood on the beach, still foggy from sleep, the images in my head clearer than the sea before me. Had the raiders attacked the fleet, and kidnapped every fisherman in it, or pierced them through with their fearsome swords, or sunk the boats and left the men to drown? I tried to shake these thoughts away, for fear they would drown me, too.

Our boats were no strangers to raids  the port of Teignmouth was home to smugglers, and pirates often plundered our fishing vessels on their return from Newfoundland heavy with cod. But nothing had prepared me for this — savage men who stole away our old and young as heedlessly as they snatched our sheep and cows.

I sat down on the sand. The moment I closed my eyes, the inside of my head felt dark as pitch, heaving with shades and shadows — Sally and Mary who helped with our cattle, Pearl from the butcher’s, Johnny and Paul who lived down the lane and liked to tease as I walked by, my Aunt Alice, my little cousins — all taken, or killed. I let out a cry.

Elinor came up beside me, her hair in a great snarl round her head, and put a hand on my arm. I stared at her. Dear God, I thought, she is all I have.

The Workhouse children had always been just ‘the orphans’ to us. They went everywhere together in starched rows. We judged them pitiable, when we thought of them at all. My mother called them ‘unfortunates’. Others were less kind. Degenerates, like their parents, some said. There were those who wondered why the church took care of them at all. Free labor, was my mother’s answer. We village children kept our distance. Now here we were, Elinor and I, different as snails and soot, thrown together whether we liked it or not ...

I took Elinor’s sparrow-boned hand in mine and tried my best to smile.

P’raps they ent gone forever, Lizbet, she said, her voice and eyes kind. Your mam waren’t killed, but carried off, and maybe your da come ashore somewhere far from here, and safe.

I shook my head, my lips trembling.

Well, you can’t be sure, can you, girl? Now her voice was like clipping shears. Least you got parents you don’t know for certain is dead.

Her thin little mouth turned down at the corners, and she plopped her chin onto her hands where they lay folded on her tented knees.

I did not know what had happened to her parents and, in truth, had not even thought of it till now, the Workhouse children being so much unheeded by us. But ‘now’ did not seem the time to ask, not with all that had come to pass, and Elinor scrunched over like an ailing cat, her knees drawn to her chest.

Lizbet, she said at last, I don’t want to go to no children’s workhouse, ever again anywhere.

I looked at her dirt-streaked face and sunken eyes. Other redheads I’d known put flour in their hair to dull it down. Elinor’s sprang round her head in a strawberry halo that added flames to the fires already burning in her cheeks. Wasting flour on vanity would not be permitted at the Workhouse, that much I knew. I think we’re too old for that, Elinor, I said, wondering at the experiences that caused her such dread. They’d likely put us in the regular poorhouse now. If we were lucky. The real danger is being packed off to the colonies.

Elinor sniffed and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. Well, we can’t stay here forever, she said. What shall we do?

Tears pricked my eyes suddenly. I don’t know, I said. I can’t leave. What if my father’s boat sails in? I must be here for that.

Lizbet, we been here all night. Why would he be sailing all night and not come home till dawn?

I shook my head, pressing my lips together against tears.

How long d’you think we should wait, then? Elinor said.

I swallowed, clasping my hands together. I don’t know. I can’t leave now, I can’t.

––––––––

After several hours spent alternately sitting and wandering aimlessly back and forth along the sand, gazing out over the vast, blank sea, Elinor gripped my arm and cried plaintively, Lizbet, he ent coming back here anytime soon, you know he ent.

I felt my face crumbling, and she quickly added, "I ent sayin’ he won’t be back at all, but when he gets here, and sees what’s up, he will look for you in Newton Abbot, won’t he? It’s the first place he’ll think of, to seek you out or ask for you. Meantime, the pair of us could be at least trying to get some help. Here we can do nought for him or us. You know folk in Newton Abbot. That’s our only hope."

Still I could not tear myself away. A little longer, Elinor, I begged.

We have to go now, she said, her voice sharp. Afore the market’s all packed up and gone.

I knew her to be right. If the market was still underway, we could blend with the crowd, until I found a vendor who remembered me.

Yes, Elinor, I said reluctantly, casting one last longing glance across the sea, but we must be careful.  

There was much to fear for lone girls far from home, from the vagrancy laws to people who liked to pass judgement on others, for the power of it. I remembered my mother’s tales of the witch-mongers, though I thought us safe from them just yet, there being no plague or pestilence to lay at our door.

Well, of course we must be careful, Lizbet! I said so, didn’t I, afore? We won’t speak to a soul we don’t know. We got to risk going, you know we do.

I did know, and so we set out, hand in hand. We were scarce off the beach before Elinor stopped and said, I want to see it afore we leave.

See what? I said.

She pulled me down a lane by way of answer and, though I protested, did not slacken her pace until we reached what remained of the Workhouse for Abandoned and Unwanted Children.

That, she said, pointing towards the ravaged building with a look of triumph. Shutters hung at odd angles, and the big main door, torn from its hinges, lay flat upon the grass. The emptiness was as thick as the brick walls still shoring the place up.

It was then I remembered catching sight of her only a few days previous. The orphans had been on their way to church. The formidable matron who ran the Workhouse was pulling her out of line by the ear, for pinching the boy ahead of her.

I ent never pinched him, I heard her shriek. Besides, he pinched me first.

Now she ran from me and pocketed a broken piece of brick. So’s I remember it’s really gone, she said when she returned.

Dazed, I scarcely heard her. How could my parents have disappeared, I was thinking, when I remembered them so clearly still, heard conversations we’d had only days before? How could they be gone whilst I yet carried in my pocket coin given to me by my dear mother? When I closed my eyes, I could feel the touch of her hands as I set off. I had not finished fellgathering for my father, as he had requested. In my mind, I saw his disappointed eyes then his sweet, forgiving smile.

––––––––

The journey to Newton Abbot took upwards of two hours. The lanes were deserted. We took this as a blessing in our current state, but, oh, it was eerie.

You’d think there would be someone about, Elinor said. It ent usually like this, is it? You’d know. You come this way sometimes, don’t you?

I go only on market days. I don’t know about other times. I frowned, thinking. Yesterday, I was late back from the market, but surely there were others returning before and after me? What happened to them?

They got snatched up, too, I s’pose, Elinor responded, gazing round. Maybe they had a watch set up along the roads. But there weren’t no watch when you come along, or they would have got you, too. If you weren’t the last, those behind you must have run off, scared. Or run off to tell someone. Maybe we will get to Newton Abbot, and find the news has spread before us.

We would be safe then, wouldn’t we? I said, and picked up my pace.

––––––––

When at last set we foot on Newton Abbot’s cobbled streets, we clutched one another and stumbled past the thatched cottages and stone churches in our hurry to reach the market.

It was late into the morning. I gazed nervously about, for though the stalls were still crowded, many vendors had already departed. Others were in the process of packing up their wares. Clearly, news had not yet spread of the horror at Teignmouth, for all were going about their business as usual.

There was no sign of the man from whom I had bought my shoes the day before. I was not surprised, though my heart sank, for the shoemakers often packed up early, their goods being much in demand. Farmers still hawked their wares in braying voices that rivaled the tinker’s donkey. The tanners’ rows of belts, shoes, reins and halters sent out pungent, stinking waves of hide and the piss used to cure it. Shoppers chatted and laughed, bumping against each other in a stifling sea of homespun.

There’s no one I know here, Elinor, I whispered. But surely we must sound an alarm? Surely?

She shot me a look, and shook her head disgustedly. We’re here for help, not to be blinkin’ heroes. Are you forgetting them holding pens in Teignmouth, Lizbet? she said. What they use to keep beggars in for transport overseas? They pay people to round up the likes of us, you know.

I did know it. Though the holding pens were now all smashed, the danger was still there. Yet my heart shrank at the thought of not warning people of the wicked men who had taken our whole village.

I must have looked as guilty as I felt. Them raiders, Elinor went on more gently, gazing at me from beneath a worried frown, ent likely to be back anytime soon, not with their ships full of Teignmouth folk, and long gone from our shores. It won’t do no harm to hold yer tongue till you see someone you know.

Why did no one see them coming, Elinor? I whispered plaintively, not expecting her to know.

She shrugged. "I dunno, Lizbet, but they weren’t exactly flying colors or flags with Raid! writ on —"

And there is the cove, I pondered. They might have done the greater part of their journey under cover of the dark, then waited in the cove, past Newton Abbot. Last night was thick with fog. I remember thinking it would never lift by dawn, but lift it did. To let them sail right in.

Face it, Lizbet. We don’t know the ways of sailors, ‘specially not sailors like those brutes. Even if someone did see them ships, ships come often to Teignmouth, don’t they now?

I nodded, and we continued pushing our way through the crowds. I was looking about with a growing sense of dread for a merchant I recognized, when I heard the word beggar and stopped to listen.

It’s tomorrow, so I hear. A rounded matron waiting in a queue to buy vegetables and balancing a basket on one hip leaned close to her companion. Her sleeves were bunched up around her elbows, her forearms poking out like overstuffed sausages. So the streets’ll be clear of ‘em before His Majesty the King arrives to inspect the fleet at Plymouth. Can you imagine? His Majesty coming here?

Lizbet ... Elinor tugged at my arm. I poked her with my elbow, and shushed her with a finger to my lips.

Listen, I whispered, edging closer to the chattering women.

I ent never seen a king, the other said, adjusting the mobcap on her head and straightening her apron as if His Majesty might appear around a corner at any moment. I’d best be watching the grand parade. He’s not like to be back. We never once saw His Majesty King James, and even our Virgin Queen never got to these parts, and her a traveling type.

Good thing they’ll be ridding the streets of them beggars. You can’t take two steps without some lice-infested brat trying to separate you from your coin these days.

The second woman tutted. I was near to her now, pretending to inspect a fruit stall. Every word the pair uttered made my heart sink lower, as though it would soon drop down inside my new boots.

A loud argument over costs broke out beside me between a woman and a seller of harnesses. I missed what came next.

When the disagreement settled down, I heard, "... if they get caught, them and

Reviews for Stolen

[heyitsashley143 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book was very good. The author knew what she was talking about. I sometimes did get lost and wasn't exactly sure of what was happening. Things in the book were left 'unanswered' in the end and I really wanted to know some of that stuff. Good story and plot. Great characters, just wish I had more physical traits so I could imagine what they look like. Overall very well-written and great read.

[carriepalmer-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is okay, but don't expect complete historical accuracy. While many of the big things are accurate, small inaccuracies slip through the cracks. Both French and English dressed children the same as adults until the late 18th century, English children didn't go to boarding school enmass until the early-to-mid 19th century, and someone of Lizbet's class wouldn't have see too many paints especially from other countries. Otherwise an interesting story.

[sheiladalton · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I am the author of this book. It seems egotistical to give it 5 stars, but I would like to say a little about it here, and I can't ignore the star rating. As it took me two years to write, and much research, and is dedicated to my husband who died while I was writing it, I didn't want to downgrade it.The book is the result of trips to Morocco and Devon, England. In Morocco, I saw the underground taverns where the Christian slaves were kept chained to the walls, to be brought out into the heat of the North African sun to work on the mosques and palaces of Meknes. In Devon, a friend showed me the caves and coves where British pirates were so active during the 17th century.Eventually, a story was born - Lizbe Warren, nineteen years old, comes home to find her parents carried off to the slave markets of Morocco by Barbary Corsairs. What happens to her afterwards - as she struggles to survive in a hostile environment - forms the bulk of the novel.

[robynelee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Excellent historical fiction with just enough romance and adventure to entertain all readers. Even though I teach history, I did not know much about the "Christian slaves" off the Barbary Coast. So this novel was informative as well as intriguing. Very well written and hard to put down, I'm so glad I received a copy in exchange for an honest review. I will definitely read the author's other books.

[bibliobeck · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Set in 17th century Britain, this is the tale of Lizbet, a village girl from the fishing town of Teignmouth. Sent to get new boots by her mother, Lizbet returns to find the village decimated and the townsfolk, including her beloved parents. gone. She sets off to London with Elinor, a girl from the workhouse who had hidden out whilst the pirates attacked. Together, they brave the streets of London , where they risk jail and flogging for being vagrants. They stumble into a store belonging to an eccentric and kindly Frenchman who takes a special liking to Lizbet. Under his patronage she lives a privileged but solitary life under strict instructions never to leave her new home. After winning his trust, Lizbet yearning for the sea again persuades him to take her to sea on his ship. Here they are attacked by pirates and Lizbet is given the traditional pirate ultimatum – join us or die.Having already really enjoyed ‘The Girl in the Box’ by Sheila Dalton, I was really looking forward to reading this new book and I wasn’t disappointed. It’s Dalton’s meticulous research that I enjoy so much. I live in the West Country where much of the book is set and although I’m very familiar with tales of smugglers, I frankly had no idea about its piratical history in terms of the slave trade. Like most bookworms I love a good read, but enjoy it so much more if I learn something new along the way, and Dalton knows how to satisfy both criteria. I thoroughly enjoyed this swashbuckling tale and I loved how Lizbet’s character developed. She goes from quiet village girl to female pirate of the high seas, without ever losing her feminine touch. A highly recommended read.

[pmaurer_11 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

At last! A novel about pirates with a believable background and credible characters. Set in the early 1600's, this is a tale about Lizbet and two men who influence her life. When her parents are kidnapped and taken to sea, Lizbet meets up with Elinor, a young girl from the workhouse, the first of the interesting characters introduced in the book. Finding their way to London, Lizbet is rescued by Jean Vallee, a man with a mysterious past. Later in the story, Lizbet finds herself at sea, controlled by the second male character in the novel, Captain Jake. Jake is also interested in discovering information from Lizbet about Jean. Part history, part adventure, part romance, this is a book worth reading. I received this ebook from the author as a part of LibraryThing’s Member giveaway, and I will be watching for more books from this author.

[cathygeha · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Stolen parents, stolen futures, stolen lives…all are found in this book set in the 1600’s. There are pirates of various nationalities, slaves of various colors and women who find themselves in situations they never would have expected had their lives unfolded as they thought they would. In the beginning of the book Lizbet’s life takes a major turn that leads her in a completely different direction than she had once expected. Her quest to locate her stolen parents is aided by a benefactor and later by a pirate. Women pirates were not frequent but they did occur in history and Lizbet becomes one in this book. The book is well written, fast paced and interesting. I can see how Lizbet became who and what she did due to the events presented in the writing of her story. Thank you to LibraryThing for the copy of this book to review