Queen of Swords
Page 38
“It took you long enough,” he said, trying to smile.
She looked at him somberly, this younger half sister who often seemed as old as Iona. There was nothing of pain or anger or confusion in her eyes. Most of her bruises were fading though there were still scabs on her throat and—Luke did not like to think of it—elsewhere.
Hannah said, “You won’t be shut of me so easily.”
Luke reached for the chair behind him, taking that moment to remind himself that Hannah would not be helped by displays of emotion. Henry was looking at him, chewing his lip as though the question he wanted to ask had to be kept back by brute force.
“Hello, Henry,” said Luke. “Are you keeping my sister company?”
The small head with its high brow bobbed eagerly. “Until Jennet comes back.” And in a rush: “Did you see Major General Jackson today?”
“I did.”
“Did he kill anybody?”
“Not while I was watching,” Luke said. He put a hand over his sister’s where it lay on the bedcovers, fingers curled.
“Did you see my uncle?”
“No,” Luke said. “He’s still away on assignment.”
“For Major General Jackson,” Henry reminded them.
“Yes,” Luke said. “Henry, I need to talk to Hannah alone for a while.”
The boy pushed out a resigned sigh. “Not about the war?”
“No,” Luke said. “Nothing about the war.”
The boy left, casting a glance behind him that was full of suspicion.
Hannah said, “It was good to have him here. I almost feel myself again, listening to him chatter.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Savard about your condition?”
Hannah blinked. It was, Luke realized, because she was too stiff to nod.
She said, “There is no permanent damage, and the fever is past. This relapse wouldn’t have lasted so long if it weren’t for—” The fingers under Luke’s hand attempted a flutter.
“Your other injuries.”
She blinked.
“Ben Savard is out west, on the Sabine River. Disputed territory, claimed by Mexico and Louisiana both. I can’t find out what he was sent to do, but I can guess.”
“So can I,” Hannah said. Her mouth quirked at the corner, but whether that was meant to be a smile, Luke couldn’t tell. He went on before she could respond.
“There’s no sign of Wyndham, either, though I’ve been looking. Poiterin is with his regiment on the Chef Menteur road. He hasn’t come back to the city.”
“Jennet told me,” Hannah said.
There was a moment’s awkward silence, and then her hand turned under his and she grasped his fingers with some of her old strength.
“You are not to blame yourself,” she said. “It is none of your fault.”
“There’s only one person at fault here,” Luke said. “And he won’t go unpunished.”
“There are two people at fault,” Hannah said. Her voice had begun to fade. “Whatever he is, his grandmother made him. You know that better than most.”
“Yes,” Luke said. He thought again of his grandmother, who had been all the family he had known until he was fifteen. She was a formidable woman, too, but made from a different mold from Agnès Poiterin.
“If Iona were here she’d know how to deal with Mme. Poiterin,” Luke said.
“There are women like Wee Iona here in New Orleans,” Hannah said. “I know some of them.”
“You’re healing fast,” Paul Savard said to Hannah the next morning. He smiled at Jennet, who stood on the other side of the bed. “Good nursing.”
“A strong constitution,” Jennet said. “I can take credit for nothing more than bed baths and clean linen.”
Hannah turned her head. The headache that had seemed yesterday like a new and permanent appendage had begun to recede after all.
“You can take credit for a great deal more,” she said. “Unless it was somebody else telling stories about MacQuiddy and his wee fairy bride.”
Jennet looked drawn and pale, but she also looked satisfied. “I knew ye heard me. I knew it. Once or twice I even thought you were trying to laugh.”
“You’ll have to write down this story for me,” Paul Savard said to Jennet. “It seems to have a strong medicinal value. Are you feeling well enough to get out of bed for a short while?”
“I’d like to walk a bit.” Hannah saw Jennet’s expression darken. “Five minutes on my feet will do me no harm,” she said. “You can hold my elbow if you must.”
“It’s not that,” Jennet said, flustered in a way that was nothing like her. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Hannah looked between them. “No friend?”
Paul cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t call him friend or enemy. His name is Captain Urquhart, with the U.S. Army. We called him in after you were found—”
“I asked Mrs. Livingston to call the authorities. It was an error,” Jennet said tightly.
“I’m not sure that it was,” said Dr. Savard. “But he’s here now and wants to take a statement from you.”
“Urquhart is the liaison between the army and the local constables,” Jennet added, her tone clipped. “He has no interest in the problems of people like us.”
“Like me,” Hannah corrected. Jennet nodded curtly.
She looked at him somberly, this younger half sister who often seemed as old as Iona. There was nothing of pain or anger or confusion in her eyes. Most of her bruises were fading though there were still scabs on her throat and—Luke did not like to think of it—elsewhere.
Hannah said, “You won’t be shut of me so easily.”
Luke reached for the chair behind him, taking that moment to remind himself that Hannah would not be helped by displays of emotion. Henry was looking at him, chewing his lip as though the question he wanted to ask had to be kept back by brute force.
“Hello, Henry,” said Luke. “Are you keeping my sister company?”
The small head with its high brow bobbed eagerly. “Until Jennet comes back.” And in a rush: “Did you see Major General Jackson today?”
“I did.”
“Did he kill anybody?”
“Not while I was watching,” Luke said. He put a hand over his sister’s where it lay on the bedcovers, fingers curled.
“Did you see my uncle?”
“No,” Luke said. “He’s still away on assignment.”
“For Major General Jackson,” Henry reminded them.
“Yes,” Luke said. “Henry, I need to talk to Hannah alone for a while.”
The boy pushed out a resigned sigh. “Not about the war?”
“No,” Luke said. “Nothing about the war.”
The boy left, casting a glance behind him that was full of suspicion.
Hannah said, “It was good to have him here. I almost feel myself again, listening to him chatter.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Savard about your condition?”
Hannah blinked. It was, Luke realized, because she was too stiff to nod.
She said, “There is no permanent damage, and the fever is past. This relapse wouldn’t have lasted so long if it weren’t for—” The fingers under Luke’s hand attempted a flutter.
“Your other injuries.”
She blinked.
“Ben Savard is out west, on the Sabine River. Disputed territory, claimed by Mexico and Louisiana both. I can’t find out what he was sent to do, but I can guess.”
“So can I,” Hannah said. Her mouth quirked at the corner, but whether that was meant to be a smile, Luke couldn’t tell. He went on before she could respond.
“There’s no sign of Wyndham, either, though I’ve been looking. Poiterin is with his regiment on the Chef Menteur road. He hasn’t come back to the city.”
“Jennet told me,” Hannah said.
There was a moment’s awkward silence, and then her hand turned under his and she grasped his fingers with some of her old strength.
“You are not to blame yourself,” she said. “It is none of your fault.”
“There’s only one person at fault here,” Luke said. “And he won’t go unpunished.”
“There are two people at fault,” Hannah said. Her voice had begun to fade. “Whatever he is, his grandmother made him. You know that better than most.”
“Yes,” Luke said. He thought again of his grandmother, who had been all the family he had known until he was fifteen. She was a formidable woman, too, but made from a different mold from Agnès Poiterin.
“If Iona were here she’d know how to deal with Mme. Poiterin,” Luke said.
“There are women like Wee Iona here in New Orleans,” Hannah said. “I know some of them.”
“You’re healing fast,” Paul Savard said to Hannah the next morning. He smiled at Jennet, who stood on the other side of the bed. “Good nursing.”
“A strong constitution,” Jennet said. “I can take credit for nothing more than bed baths and clean linen.”
Hannah turned her head. The headache that had seemed yesterday like a new and permanent appendage had begun to recede after all.
“You can take credit for a great deal more,” she said. “Unless it was somebody else telling stories about MacQuiddy and his wee fairy bride.”
Jennet looked drawn and pale, but she also looked satisfied. “I knew ye heard me. I knew it. Once or twice I even thought you were trying to laugh.”
“You’ll have to write down this story for me,” Paul Savard said to Jennet. “It seems to have a strong medicinal value. Are you feeling well enough to get out of bed for a short while?”
“I’d like to walk a bit.” Hannah saw Jennet’s expression darken. “Five minutes on my feet will do me no harm,” she said. “You can hold my elbow if you must.”
“It’s not that,” Jennet said, flustered in a way that was nothing like her. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Hannah looked between them. “No friend?”
Paul cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t call him friend or enemy. His name is Captain Urquhart, with the U.S. Army. We called him in after you were found—”
“I asked Mrs. Livingston to call the authorities. It was an error,” Jennet said tightly.
“I’m not sure that it was,” said Dr. Savard. “But he’s here now and wants to take a statement from you.”
“Urquhart is the liaison between the army and the local constables,” Jennet added, her tone clipped. “He has no interest in the problems of people like us.”
“Like me,” Hannah corrected. Jennet nodded curtly.
