“Hurricanes?” said Jem, perking up. “Do they have hurricanes here?”

“Indeed we do, Master Jem,” Mrs. Upton said, nodding portentously at the rain-spattered window. “See that rain? You can tell how hard the wind’s blowing—see the drops run slant-wise down the glass? This time of year the wind comes up—and sometimes it doesn’t go back down. For days.”

“I know you haven’t much time,” Bree said, eyeing John, “but come along to my studio, will you? I’d like your opinion on something.”

“It would be my pleasure. Bonsoir, monsieur, mademoiselle.” He nodded to Jemmy, then solemnly picked up Mandy’s chubby hand—fork, chicken, and all—bowed over it, and planted a discreet kiss upon it that made her shriek and giggle.

“Mrs. Upton is correct, to a point,” he said to Bree, once they were safely down the hall. “D’Estaing does not want to lose half his fleet to a hurricane. But neither does he want to sail away without trying to get what he came for.”

“Meaning …?”

“Meaning that the Americans are indeed moving their smaller guns—but not back onto the ships. A large number of troops appear to be moving to the south of the town, circling round through the marshes, which is not something I personally would do, but styles of command vary.”

She’d clenched her hands without noticing; now she noticed and unclenched them with a small effort.

“You mean they’re going to try to—to take the city? Now?”

“They’ll certainly try,” he assured her. “I don’t think they’ll manage it, but they have quite a few more men than we do, which no doubt gives them a sense of optimism. Just in case—” He pushed back his cloak in order to reach into the haversack he had slung over his shoulder and pulled out a small bundle of cloth, folded into a packet and tied with string.

“It’s an American flag,” he said, handing it to her. “Hal took it off a prisoner. If—and I do mean ‘in the extremely unlikely event’—the Americans do get in, hang this out a window, or tack it to the front door.”

Roger. She swallowed. He’d been going to visit an elderly, retired Presbyterian minister who lived in the tiny settlement of Bryan Neck. With luck, he was nowhere near Savannah at the moment. But he had mentioned maybe going to see Francis Marion on Jamie’s behalf, if the Swamp Fox should be in the American camp … but … it wasn’t supposed to be now. … Her heart was beginning to thump erratically, and she put a hand on her chest to still it.

“They have more men, you said.” He was resettling his cloak, ready to go, but looked up at this. “How many?”

“Oh, somewhere between three and four thousand,” he said. “At a guess.”

“And how many do you have?”

“Not that many,” he said. “But we are His Majesty’s army. We know how to do this sort of thing.” He smiled, and rising slightly on his toes kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, my dear. If anything drastic happens, I’ll come for you if I can.”