Trevor grinned. “It’s de rigueur here in New Orleans.”
“Now you tell me,” Hugh managed.
“Oh, you’re a visitor, thought you must be, unarmed as you were,” said the youngest of the newcomers. “I never go anywhere without my sword-stick or a pair of poppers.”
Hugh blinked, struggling to stay upright and focus on the men who helped scare off the attack by their approach while his head screamed in silent agony. The younger one was a short, round fellow; his partner was tall and angular. Both were holding slender sword-stick rapiers in their hands. Hugh looked back at his attacker, who almost seemed to cower into himself. “What are we going to do with him?” he asked.
Trevor frowned. “I suppose we’d best let him go. He’s only the hired help.”
“You think this was intentional?” asked one of the strangers, whistling through his teeth in wonder.
The other young man nodded sagely. “Stands to reason. His type don’t come out in this area unless he’s in a pack and drunker than a monkey. Then they come roaring down the streets.”
“How do you know?” Hugh demanded of Trevor, not paying attention to the two men.
“The fellow with the red turkey feather in his cap, he’d be the leader. It’s a sign of status for the toughest member of a keelboat crew, or all crews.’
Hugh shook his head foggily. “I don’t remember a turkey feather.” His breathing was becoming shallow, and his body was drenched in a cold sweat.
“It was worn by the fellow you charged and pounded with a kidney blow. But we’d best get you home. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig, and I’d say those ribs need binding.”
His words drew all attention to Hugh’s condition. The big man, seeing his opportunity, turned and fled.
“Hey!” yelled one of the men, primed to give chase.
“Don’t bother,” said Trevor. He looked aghast at Hugh’s white complexion and dilated eyes. “Hugh put your arm around my shoulder. Can you make it as far as the Mannions'? It’s just around the corner.”
“Oh, well, we’ll accompany you, sort of a rearguard,” the taller angular young man then offered, excitement evident in his eyes. He wanted the blackguards to return. Hugh vowed he would have laughed at the lad’s enthusiasm if his head and side didn’t hurt so much.
“Trevor,” he said suddenly, “I’d rather go elsewhere than the Mannions—” The thought was surprisingly clear in his muzzy mind.
“You’re in no condition to make choices or give orders. Besides, the Mannion women acted as nurses after the Battle of New Orleans to American and British alike. You’ll be well-tended until we can get a sawbones to look at those ribs and that head wound.”
“The Mannion women?” piped in the short young man. “One of them did a bang-up job of bandaging my burned hand after that battle.”
“Yeah, burned without even firing a shot at them damned British ’cause your gun exploded. You never did know how to keep a gun properly cleaned,” his friend accused.
“That ain’t so!” flared the first one.
“Gentlemen, please,” snapped Trevor, “let’s not fight among ourselves.” As spoiling for a fight as they were, he wondered what would be their reactions if they realized Hugh was British?
The two young men glared at each other but remained silent.
“Here, this is the Mannion house,” Trevor said, stopping to bang the heavy knocker. He turned his head to address their allies. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your help."
"Tweren’t nothing; we just scared them off. Next time, carry your a sword-stick,” one of the men earnestly advised Hugh.
“Or a popper,” put in the other.
Hugh nodded groggily, willing his thoughts to make it through the sand that seemed to be filling his mind. “I will take your advice with good heart,” he said dryly, then coughed.
‘‘Well, we’ll be off then.”
Trevor and Hugh watched them head off arm in arm down the street, strutting as if they’d vanquished the devil himself. Hugh’s head began to loll sideways, and he could feel a churning sea of blackness threatening to drown him. Determinedly, he held it at bay, fighting his body.
Jonas opened the door, and the hall's bright light spilled out over their dirty, blood-streaked figures. “Mr. Talverton! Mr. Danielson! Come in, come in! I’ll get the Missus immediately.”
Vanessa stood on the last step, about to join her family in the parlor when she heard Jonas’s exclamation. On first hearing Mr. Talverton’s name, simmering anger surged through her, and it was on her lips to tell Jonas to refuse him admittance. In the next moment, Jonas backed away from the door and she saw him.
