Queen of Swords
Page 41

That gave the boy pause. He studied Hannah very closely to see if it was some kind of trick, and she returned his gaze with complete calm.
“Go ask Rachel,” Hannah said. “See what her plans are.”
Henry got up so abruptly that the stool wobbled. At the same time Hannah heard Jennet’s voice in the hall. When she opened the door Henry hurried out of the room.
“Did I interrupt something?” Jennet asked. She was carrying a basket, which she put down on the table near the window and began to unpack. A covered bowl, a basket of fresh white rolls still warm from the oven, a small jug. It seemed to Hannah that the Livingstons’ cook was in some kind of competition with Clémentine to force-feed her back to good health.
“Henry has been telling me about the loss of the gunboats.”
Jennet’s face stilled. “I brought the paper for you to read. In case Henry left out any detail.”
“Is it true that the entire American fleet is lost?”
Jennet pushed out a soft sigh. “Such as it was in the southern theater. Our five gunboats against a whole flotilla.”
“Maybe you should leave with Mrs. Livingston.”
Jennet’s mouth pursed itself in distaste. “Aye, weel. She’s packed, it’s true, but not quite ready to leave, and no more am I. I am determined that we should stay together, Hannah. The troubles start when we let circumstances separate us.”
Hannah let out a small laugh. She remembered saying something like that to her own father and stepmother many years ago.
“You may be right,” she said. And: “What does Luke think?”
“He won’t hear of us going anywhere so long as Honoré is—” She paused, and flicked a hand toward the window.
So long as Honoré Poiterin was in the world, Hannah thought, none of them was safe. She took inventory of her injuries. Her wounds were mostly healed, the last of the bruises faded to a dull yellow cast. There was no tenderness in her belly or ribs. It was true that she was weak and prone to headache, but today she was much improved over yesterday, and she expected that trend to continue.
She was more than capable of walking out of this room, this building, this city. If there were a ship to be had, she could board it, and they could go home. She thought of the American gunboats and the British navy.
“It’s almost as if this place wants us to stay,” Hannah said.
“Oh, aye,” Jennet said, following Hannah’s line of thought without hesitation. “Betimes I can almost feel its grip on my ankle.”
The slash of memory made Hannah catch her breath. For a moment she could not rid herself of the feel of Honoré Poiterin’s hands on her skin. She turned her head to the pillow and fought for her composure.
“…tomorrow’s parade,” Jennet was saying. She put a tray on Hannah’s lap and sat down beside her.
“Are you unwell?”
“A little nausea, gone already,” Hannah said. “There’s another parade?”
Jennet studied her for a long moment, and then relented. “Aye. Luke says it was Livingston’s idea, taken up eagerly enough by Jackson. A grand review of all the battalions left in the city. They meant to wait until Kentucky and Tennessee troops get here—it won’t be more than a few days, Luke says—but this business on the lake made them reconsider. Can you guess what’s really on the great major general’s mind?”
“Martial law,” Hannah said. She picked up her soup spoon.
Jennet hiccupped a laugh. “Did Henry tell you that?”
“No.” Hannah gestured with her chin to the newspaper that lay folded on the tray and the bold headline. “But I can still read.”
Hannah ladled soup while she gathered her thoughts. She could feel Jennet’s gaze on her, insistent in her curiosity.
“You might as well come out and say it,” Jennet said finally. “I can almost see it sitting on your tongue.”
Hannah hitched a breath. “I need you to help me convince the Savards that I am well enough to leave here.”
“Leave here?” Jennet looked around herself at the small, neat room, at the comfortable bedding and the sunlight coming through the window that opened into the courtyard. There were birds singing in the trees and, in counterpoint, the sound of dice being thrown against a brick wall. The armed guard was still in place, and would be until they left New Orleans. Or until they were called to battle.
“Where would you go?” Jennet asked.
“Not very far. I’d like to move into Ben’s apartment.” And in response to Jennet’s confused look: “Above the kitchen.”
“I know where it is,” Jennet said.
Hannah couldn’t help smiling. “Are you worried for my good name, or my safety?”
“Your safety, of course,” Jennet said, so huffily that Hannah thought she had struck closer to the mark than she imagined.
“I don’t think Poiterin will come after me again,” Hannah said. “And I would dearly like some solitude. Surely you can understand that.”
“Oh, aye,” Jennet said. “The city feels like a beehive to me, and all of us crawling over each other. I do understand.” She nodded firmly, as if to convince herself. “I’ll speak to them, then, if it’s important to you.”
Hannah said, “I’ve got a better idea. Help me over there now, and speak to them later.”
“Aye,” Jennet said. “It is far easier to ask forgiveness than permission. I should scold ye but it would be dishonest of me, as I’ve done exactly the same for all my life. Come then, let’s see you dressed.”