“You’re very busy, of course. We anticipated as much.” Jennet took a sheet of paper from the table next to her and held it out. “So Miss Bonner dictated her statement to me, and signed it. It has been witnessed by Dr. Savard and his wife, and by me as well.”

“So I see,” said Urquhart. Inside his beard, his mouth twitched. He took the paper and folded it carefully before he tucked it into his jacket.

“If you should lose it, don’t worry,” Jennet said. “I will make copies. One for Mr. Livingston, one for Governor Claiborne, one for the mayor—”

“I take your meaning, Mrs. Bonner,” Urquhart said with a stiff smile. “Now if you’ll permit me to get back to work.”

When he was gone Jennet collapsed onto the chair. She said, “That was a waste of time. Honoré is not afraid of men like Urquhart. He’s not afraid of anything.”

Hannah closed her eyes and remembered saying those very words. Maman Zuzu had smiled at her as one might smile at a deaf child who denies the possibility of song.

She said, “There’s a free woman of color called Maman Zuzu. I’d like to send a message to her. I think probably Clémentine could arrange it.”

Chapter 40

“Papa says you are a very bad patient,” Henry Savard told Hannah the next morning. “Mama says he is not one to talk, because when he had the influenza she had to pour laudanum down his throat to keep him in his sickbed. Rachel says—”

Hannah cleared her throat, and Henry, unusually attuned to her moods for a boy of his age, stopped expectantly. “Do you want to sleep now?”

In fact Hannah didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to be out of bed, because Paul Savard was right: She was a very bad patient, and moreover she considered his directions too extreme. She bit back the things she might have said, and concentrated instead on young Henry’s expression. Such a serious boy, so eager to share his stories.

She said, “I have an idea. If your mama says you may, you might bring me the newspaper. Then we can read together about the war.”

Henry’s eyes widened with pleasure, and then his whole face fell. “I would like that, but Mama will say no. She thinks the newspaper will give me bad dreams. Because we lost the gunships.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m not supposed to know, but everybody is talking about it.”

Hannah’s conscience was no match for her concern or her boredom, especially as Henry already knew what his mother wished he did not. She said, “Won’t you tell me?”

He wiggled in his eagerness, glanced at the door to make sure there was no adult there to hear, and told her what he knew. The good news, he wanted her to know first of all, was that the pirate Lafitte had stopped Major General Jackson on the street—in broad daylight, in view of a dozen people—and simply talked the Baratarians into the major general’s good favor.

“The governor must be very cross,” Henry said. “Lafitte is always getting the best of him. Now that Major General Jackson has taken the Baratarians’ side, there’s no hope of Lafitte hanging. Especially if he keeps New Orleans safe, as Clémentine says he most certainly will.”

“You admire the Baratarians?” Hannah asked.

Henry looked very thoughtful for a moment. “No. I can’t admire them. Mama says they really are very bad, that they steal and smuggle slaves. Slave smuggling is the worst thing of all. Mama is a Quaker.” He glanced at Hannah to see how she would take this.

“I am not a Quaker,” Hannah said. “But I agree with your mama, it is the very worst thing. I once knew a very good woman who ran away from her owner because she wanted to raise her child to be free.”

Henry said, “What happened to them?”

Hannah hesitated. “The little boy grew up a free man. He’s an apprentice cordwainer in Johnstown, near where I was born.”

Henry nodded. Hannah could almost see him sorting away this story for further thought.

Then he said, “There is bad news, too.”

And it was very bad, so bad that Hannah at first could hardly credit what she was hearing. The entire American fleet—five gunboats and a tender—had been lost to a British invasion force. The British now had control of Lake Borgne.

“You mustn’t worry,” Henry said, in a voice and tone that echoed his father exactly. “Major General Jackson has sent Major LaCoste and his battalion and some dragoons and lots of artillery. They will guard the roads into the city.”

“I’ll do my best to remain calm,” Hannah said.

“Mama says she wishes the rest of the city would do the same,” Henry said, his color rising perceptibly. “People are very upset. Mme. Grandissime told Rachel’s aunt Livingston that a thousand English soldiers are marching up the Chef Menteur road right now, and a battalion of free men of color could no more stop them than a litter of puppies could stop a stampede of horses. Clémentine says we should go away to a safer place, but Mama—” He looked again over his shoulder and lowered his voice.

“Mama says doctors don’t run off when people need them most. Clémentine is very grumpy about it. Rachel might go with her aunt Livingston, if things get much worse.”

“And what about you, would you like to go away someplace safe?” Hannah asked.

Henry drew up, his small face creased in surprise and insult. “I am not afraid.”

“Of course not,” Hannah said. “But if your sister goes, she’ll need someone to protect her.”