“The boy says that this Titine’s aunt has got word of her. The aunt is the housekeeper at the Maison Verde on the Bayou St. John, and she’s wondering if you’d come. And bring your doctor’s bag.”

“Now?”

“He’s waiting to show you the way. But you can’t go. It’ll be dark soon, and Ben isn’t here.”

Very calmly Hannah said, “Was the message for Ben?”

Leo scowled at her. “You can’t go alone. You don’t know the way.”

“I’ll ride,” Hannah said. “I can take the boy up on the saddle with me.”

“You have no boots.”

“Boots?” Hannah looked down at the clogs on her feet, and thought of her stepmother, Elizabeth Middleton Bonner, who had earned the name Bone-in-her-Back from the Kahnyen’kehàka, for her strong will and sense of justice, and for her bravery. Hannah’s father had given her another name, Boots. For her one indulgence, the love of pretty footwear. Leo could not know it, but to remind Hannah of her stepmother at this moment was only to steel her resolve. She said, “Will you go to the stable for me, or should I do that myself?”

Leo’s usual obstinate expression faded. Hannah could almost read his mind, and in some small way she understood and even liked the boy for his caution and the way he assumed responsibility for her welfare. But there was no time to shepherd him through his doubt, and so she went back to the long table where she prepared medications and hurriedly gathered the things she might need, medicines and salves and instruments she had once carried in a leather bag, but now tied into a large square of linen that she could tear into bandages if the need arose.

“Your cloak is still wet.”

That was certainly true. For a moment Hannah considered going up to the apartment to get more suitable clothes, and then she remembered Jennet and Luke as she had last seen them. Jennet, who was already on the verge of falling apart. Luke must find a way to calm Jennet, though he had a bump on his head. Luke would feel obliged to come with her, though the Poiterins lived on the Bayou St. John and for him to come face-to-face with Honoré at this point would be a disaster.

She would not be put off, but neither could she go out unprepared. She needed warmer clothes, boots, money, a weapon.

As she went out Leo said, “I have to go to the clinic to see Dr. Savard.”

Hannah gave him a grim smile. “I’m on my way to see him myself. Come along, if you like.”

Paul Savard did not much like her plan, but he didn’t try to stop her, either, and for that Hannah was thankful. Instead he gave her a pistol and a knife in a beaded sheath, a small leather bag of ammunition, another of powder, and the last, the heaviest, of coin. Leo watched all this, at first surprised and then barely able to contain his disapproval. He made a number of pointed comments under his breath, dire predictions and promises, dark certainties.

Paul finally said to him, “A smart man knows when it is time to stand out of the way of a strong woman. I could tell you stories about Hannah—” He broke off with a smile, and turned around to pick up a book. Its stained leather binding and sprung spine said that it had seen hard use and a number of mishaps in the apothecary, and even before she could read the words embossed she guessed what they would say: Seats and Causes of Disease Investigated by Means of Anatomy. The doctor began to leaf through the pages, not reading so much as looking for familiar landmarks.

Paul Savard was known to quote Morgagni in all kinds of professional discussions, but what bearing he could have on the present situation was beyond Hannah. She was about to say as much when he found what he was looking for and pulled out something that had been lodged between the pages.

He held up a small piece of discolored paper. The handwriting was clean and strong but the ink had faded with time, and still Hannah recognized it immediately. She sent Paul Savard a startled look and he returned a Gallic, one-shouldered shrug as he handed the note to Leo.

“My wife tells me you are an excellent reader,” he said. “Read it aloud.”

Leo began, stumbling a little with the English. “A man needs medical help. If you will attend to him, be outside the almshouse kitchen door at three this afternoon.”

“How did you come by that?” Hannah asked, unsettled and moved by the vivid memories those few words could pull forth.

“What does it mean?” Leo asked.

To Hannah, Paul Savard said: “That’s a long story.”

Hannah met his gaze directly and when she saw that she could not move him, she said, “I must go, the boy is waiting.”

The doctor inclined his head. “Of course. Leo, see that Hannah sets off and then come back here and I’ll tell you the story. Unless she would like to tell you herself, tomorrow?”

She took the time to wonder what Paul Savard was trying to accomplish, and then she shook her head. “You must suit yourself,” she said. “As you always do.”

The messenger seemed greatly relieved to see Hannah come out of the courtyard on horseback, and he took her hand and climbed up behind her without a moment’s hesitation. Through chattering teeth he told her his name was Michel. Hannah sent Leo back into the little clinic to get a dry blanket to wrap around the boy, and then with his arms around her waist they set off. She was aware of Leo watching from the window, his expression disapproving and wistful both.

Now and then Michel gave directions in short sentences, taking them down one street and then another, until finally they were on the path that paralleled Marigny’s canal. This was the lesser-used road, the longer way to the Bayou St. John, but Hannah could think of many reasons to avoid the main byway, and so she urged the mare to a jolting trot at the same moment that the sky split open. The sleet turned into an icy deluge, and the mare whinnied her disapproval.