She half imagined a faint odor of blood, even a scent of Luke himself, rose from the garment. She glanced down in distaste at the gown she had changed into, a modest striped cotton day dress that was once a favorite but now seemed dull and unbecoming. But it was not only a desire for finery that caused her restlessness. She needed to feed again, and yet in a matter of hours she would go to the Pump Room and take the waters for her cure. Cassandra had taken one look at her this morning and fled, muttering that she would see about some beef tea, if there were any beef in the house, and how would they buy food with all these Frenchmen in the city. Downstairs there was a commotion, a loud banging at the door and shouting, male voices raised in anger, and the clump of booted feet in the hall. Something fell over with a crash. Her father’s voice and her mother’s sobs joined the hubbub. Jane could make out some French words. So they were in the house! How dared they! She ran downstairs to find her parents with a French officer and a couple of soldiers in the hall, a side table lying smashed on the floor, and much shouting.
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