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boarding situation,” Claire fought through the fog to say. “Is there room for me anywhere else?”
    He tapped one finger on his lip. “There is ample room in the general’s house. Why don’t you move your things there?”
    “That is very generous of you.”
    “Come, I’ll take care of the paperwork in my office. You boys go ahead. Not you, O’Connell. You’re dismissed.”
    “Aye, sir,” O’Connell said with a mock salute and darted into the crowd.
    Longchamp waved for Radcliffe and Perkins to precede him and Claire into the house, then took her elbow, ostensibly to show he escorted her properly. Once off the street, he lowered his voice so only she could hear him. “I’m a big believer in honey rather than vinegar, my dear. I can tell you’re different from the other women in the camp.”
    Now his gaze turned from blue warmth to piercing curiosity. Claire smiled but tried to block him sensing what she could do. It only confirmed what he was—the only men she’d encountered with empathic power similar to hers were of a romantic nature, often attracted to other men. She was rare among women for the strength of her own talent, but not necessarily its presence.
    “Yes, I do like more privacy,” she told him. “It’s less intense that way.”
    He nodded and backed off. “Sometimes these things need to be negotiated for survival.” That was his warning—he needed to know if others had special sensitivities in order to keep his secrets safe.
    “I have a strict code of ethics,” she told him. “Others’ privacy is safe with me, I’m mostly fearful for my own.”
    He held the front door of the little cottage open for her. “I’m sure we can find you a secure situation. After we get the boys settled, I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Soper, who will show you where to sleep. I’m sure Mister O’Connell can help you move your things.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Now about these two…” He walked behind the desk in a small but meticulously organized office and turned to Radcliffe and Perkins, who eyed each other with unconcealed hatred. “What were you two fighting over, truly?”
    Radcliffe answered first. “A young man was brought from the border. It looked like he fell out of a spy balloon, but I suspect he was dumped for being consumptive.”
    “It’s a temperamental illness,” Perkins said. “There’s no need to isolate him.”
    Radcliffe glowered. “According to the results of the Villiers experiment, consumption is contagious, and we need to quarantine him for the safety of the other patients. We can’t afford to take the chance.”
    “Both our private rooms are occupied.” Perkins tried to wipe the mud from his elbows.
    Longchamp turned to Radcliffe. “Since he’s a prisoner, shouldn’t he be in the prison?”
    “Not as ill as he is, and although you’ve been generous with provisions for the men, many of them are still recovering from malnourishment and would be more likely to get sick. We can’t afford an epidemic, and it would be cruel to expose them deliberately.”
    “Well, then, and who are in the private cells who are too important to move?”
    “The general’s nephews, sir,” Perkins said with a triumphant air. “And I have his express orders that the boys are not to be turned out until they’ve made a full recovery.”
    “What was wrong with them?”
    Perkins eyed Claire. “Something that’s not appropriate to discuss in front of a lady.”
    “Meaning syphilis,” Longchamp said with a shake of his head. “I warned them… I’ll take care of the general. His nephews can move to the general ward or to the barracks if they’ve recovered sufficiently. No reason to coddle them because of their uncle. Now you two get back to work, and I’ll settle the young lady.” He scrawled something on a piece of paper. “Doctor Perkins, here is your requisition form for a new suit.”
    “Good luck with Mrs. Soper,” Perkins sneered before the door closed behind him and