“Nor will she put Honoré at risk,” Julia said. “She’ll forfeit claim to your son rather than do that.”

Luke was struck by how simple and elegant this plan was, but he also knew more of Honoré Poiterin than these two good people did. He said, “I have seen Poiterin’s work firsthand. He has no conscience. He has killed innocent men out of nothing more than the desire to demonstrate that he can do as he likes. He will strike out at us if the opportunity presents itself. You’ll be a target, too, even after we’re gone. We’ve already put you in enough danger.”

Savard leaned back in his chair. “You are thinking that a doctor with a Quaker wife is no match for Poiterin with revenge on his mind.”

Luke inclined his head. “Something like that.”

“You’re forgetting my brother,” Savard said. “But let me assure you—Poiterin won’t forget Jean-Benoît.”

Julia was studying her folded hands, her cheeks flushed with anger or discomfort, her jaw set hard. Luke tried to make sense of what he had stumbled across. A family argument with deep roots, and none of his business, except insofar as his own actions might cause any of these people difficulty.

“I don’t want any part of this plan if Julia cannot endorse all of it,” he said. “I’d rather we took our chances in the city than cause you any more trouble.”

“You would gamble with your son’s life?” Julia asked him. And: “Of course you would not. I admit that some elements of this plan concern me, but those are matters between my brother-in-law and his conscience.”

“So you think we should do this thing?” Luke asked her.

She nodded. “I think it is the best chance you have. If Jennet approves, we will call on the Livingstons this evening, the four of us. Might I—” She hesitated. “Might I go to her now and tell her about all of this? I think I can present it in the best light.”

It was as close as she would come to telling Luke he would make a mess of it.

He said, “I’d be thankful.”

Ben Savard came into the parlor while they were waiting for Jennet and Julia. When Paul nodded at him, Luke understood that he had had a part in putting the plan together, but had stayed away while it was being explained. He would have tried to acknowledge the debt he owed the Savards, but Jennet came flying into the parlor flushed with color, her eyes and expression as bright as Luke had ever seen them.

She came to him directly, her hands held out before her for him to take. Her eyes were wet, but this time she seemed to have been weeping not out of fear and frustration, but joy.

“You like the plan?”

“I do,” she said. “It is a very good plan, I think.” She glanced around the room. “Where is Hannah? What does she say to all this?”

Luke said, “We haven’t talked to her about it yet.” And to Savard: “Is she still down in the little clinic?”

“Hannah isn’t here,” Paul said. “She was called out to the Maison Verde, late this afternoon.”

Jennet’s expression clouded over immediately. “Hannah is gone to the Bayou St. John? By herself? Why would you allow such a thing?”

Savard’s head tilted to one side, as if he were imagining what it would mean to deny Hannah Bonner some task she had set herself.

Jennet said, “It’s not safe. We have to go after her.”

Just that simply her high spirits and hopefulness were gone, replaced by something very like terror.

“I don’t like this at all,” she said. “Honoré is behind it, I’m sure of it. Luke, you’ll have to go after her if nobody else will.” She threw Ben Savard a look that was plain in its meaning.

He met her gaze with a steady one of his own. “I’ll go. I’m on my way out to the old Spanish fort tonight to join my company.”

“You’ll look in on her?” Jennet said. “You’ll bring her back here safely?”

“I will make sure she gets back safely,” Ben Savard said. “You can count on me.”

Suddenly presented with the solution to the problems that worried her so deeply, Jennet was filled with new energy. Her hands trembled as she got ready to leave the house on rue Dauphine in the company of her husband and friends. They continued to tremble while she let Rachel fix her hair and she got her son ready. Nathaniel was uneasy, too; he flexed and turned in her arms, as if he wanted to swim away through the air. Julia had a rare talent for quieting unsettled infants, but it took her an unusually long time to convince him that all was well and that it was safe to leave the business at hand to the adults.

Setting out for the short walk to the Livingstons’, Jennet was struck with the absurdity of the situation. She had what she wanted, and she was terrified.

If only, she told herself, there had been some time to sit quietly with Luke and talk it all through. If only Hannah were here. Jennet felt that absence with every forward step, but just as strongly she felt the responsibility that had been given to her. When Hannah came back to the rue Dauphine, Jennet hoped she would find that their situation had much improved. It would be a gift to her, and Jennet was willing to suffer this hour of uncertainty and fear to that end. Others had been bearing the burden long enough.

But it was strange to walk the street with Luke on one side and Paul Savard on the other, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary for them to be going to pay a call. As if there were no chance of Honoré Poiterin coming around a corner. The image of him leaning against a wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, was easily conjured. Any one of the people they passed on the street might recognize her and, remembering the reward, shout out to the world who she was: a madwoman, unfit to care for her own child.