The Nancy and the Isis were docked side by side like a hen and chick. Hannah stared hard at the Nancy but could make out nothing behind the transom windows, where Elizabeth and Curiosity would most certainly be sitting with the babies. She wanted to climb onto a lap where she could be sure of a calm voice and a close ear and no one would remind her of her age or her color. Maybe words would come to her then, and she could let them go in a flood and wash the trouble out of her head.

In mid-river a boat--a ship, Hannah corrected herself--crossed their path. It had two masts, and was running slow with only some of the smaller sails up. This close, Hannah had a view of the Royal Navy that surprised her. Captain Pickering's crew had been well dressed in neat jackets and breeches, but here were men in blue coats faced with scarlet and trimmed with gold braid, the late sun sparking off gilt buttons. Even a young sailor up in the rigging wore a gaudy red neckerchief, a blue jacket over a checked shirt, and loose, red-striped trousers. He reminded her of the juggler she had seen once at a fair in Johnstown, tossing balls in a circle in the air. It was almost enough to lift her spirits, if it hadn't been for the officer--she thought he must be an officer, for his uniform was even frillier than the others, and there was a great deal of gold looping and lace on his hat--staring down at them from the quarterdeck.

Her grandfather made a clicking sound with his mouth and all three of the men lifted their paddles while they rode out the wake, the fragile canoe heaving beneath them. And the little officer with the silly hat still watched, his head craning around as the ship slid past. Behind her Hannah could feel her father's tension spiral up and then fall off when the man finally looked away, blank-faced.

One of Hannah's plaits had come undone, and the wind whipped her hair against her cheek. She glanced at her father over her shoulder and saw his expression, somber with worry. And just a few canoe lengths behind them, a whaleboat full of redcoats, rowing hard.

Hannah's throat closed in fear. She turned farther and half rose from her crouch, one hand coming up to point out to her father what he must see for himself. His face came alive with surprise and he opened his mouth to shout--sit down!--but the wake from the ship was still strong and she had already lost her balance. The canoe rocked hard once and then again, water sloshing up. Hannah slipped over the side into the icy river without a cry.

He had her by the collar as soon as she came up, lifted her sputtering into the still-rocking canoe as if she weighed no more than a trout. Bears' face like thunder, and her father angry, oh, he was angry: she knew the look although she had not seen it often. But she could do nothing but cough and cough and then she began to shake; she couldn't remember ever being so cold. With some separate part of her mind she saw that her nails were tinged blue and understood what that meant. Her father was wrapping the blanket around her, his anger softening into more worry. She heard her grandfather's voice but could make no sense of the words.

But she heard the Redcoats. They were laughing, round hats bobbing as they rowed by.

"Good fishing, eh?" shouted one of them.

"A tasty morsel, that!" And a roar of laughter.

Hannah put her head down on her knees and willed her tears away.

"If I have understood you correctly, cousin," said Will Spencer, closely examining Daniel's sleeping face, "you have two ways of quitting Québec immediately. The first is to travel by canoe with the Mohawk, if that can be arranged. The second is to sail on to Halifax with the Isis and look for passage to Boston or New-York from there."

Elizabeth had been pacing up and down with Lily, who was finally settling after a difficult day, but she stopped and considered her cousin. Will was intelligent and rational and completely worthy of her trust. He had come far for their benefit and risked much. His good name and negotiation skills had never been put to the test, but his journey to Montréal had taken a good end anyway: Somerville had proven too politically astute--or too cowardly--to accuse a fellow peer of complicity in a gaol break. And if Will had the misfortune to be distantly related to a backwoods American fugitive, he was also the only son of the chief justice of the King's Bench. Somerville had not only sent him on his way, he had also asked Will to chaperone his daughter on the first leg of her journey to her new life.

The sight of her cousin's husband in good health was the best that the day had afforded thus far; Elizabeth was inclined not to burden him with more of their difficulties, and simply to send him to join Amanda. But she also knew that Will would be satisfied with nothing but candor.

"There is also the possibility that Mr. Moncrieff will arrange passage for us," she said, bringing up a name that they had not yet discussed. "A friend of Pickering's. He was arrested with our three and released the morning of the day that they ... got out of Montréal. Pickering tells us that he is hard at work at it, although we have not yet seen him."

Will looked up from his examination of Daniel. "But I have. Seen Moncrieff, I should say. He came to Québec on the Portsmouth with me." Something flickered across his face, and then it steadied. "And Miss Somerville, of course."

"Oh, Will," said Elizabeth with a little rush of air. "Do not tell me that you too have fallen under Miss Somerville's spell. Perhaps she is fey, and not quite human at all."

He gave a great hiccup of surprise. "Elizabeth!"

"Don't Elizabeth me, Will. Every man who comes in contact with her sacrifices some part of his good common sense--and his heart."