I woke up in the morning feeling refreshed and, actually, quite happy. It was amazing the difference sleeping on an actual bed in a house made. I was also very pleased with myself at outwitting Tavington the night before. There was, of course, the problem that he wasn't likely to fall for the same trick again tonight; but I'd think of something during the course of the day. And there was also the possibility that he'd attack me violently over breakfast, but we could hope it wouldn't come to that. I started humming "Love Generation" as I wandered around the suite. Ooh, a closet to explore!
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Bligh leapt to his feet, hand on his sword, and looked around wildly, any trace of sleepiness gone. Colonel Tavington had just thrown open the front door and marched out onto the veranda, and was now looking at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Bligh spluttered something unintelligible and stood at attention; the Colonel merely grunted ominously and turned his attention to Lawrence. Who, unfortunately for him, had not noticed Tavington's abrupt appearance and was still asleep, curled up on the porch, hands protectively clutching his scarf. Tavington's eyes gleamed perilously as he strode over to his unlucky underling.
It was not the most pleasant wake-up Lawrence had ever experienced.
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My venture into Rutledge's closet was quite fruitful, in more ways than one. The man appeared, just as Cornwallis had indicated, to be something of a dandy; I emerged with yards of fabric in varying colors and patterns, several of them adorned with cherries, pears and the like, as well as some lovely lace. This would be wonderful to make clothes with, and further rummaging in drawers found me needles and thread, as well as a pair of knitting needles and some yarn. I did feel a bit odd relieving a founding father of his possessions, but as he wasn't here, I doubted he'd mind.
I piled my new acquisitions neatly on a table and, after a brief session grooming myself in front of the mirror—man, could I use a comb!—I struggled back into the blue dress the whores had given me my first night in the camp and wandered down the stairs. When I reached the dining room, I found Cornwallis, but there was no sign of Tavington.
"Good morning, Mrs. Tavington!" he said, beaming at me. "How are you feeling this morning?"
Ignoring the vague sense of indecency with which he delivered the question, I smiled politely and said, "I'm fine, thank you, General."
"You slept well last night, I trust?"
"Very well," I said. I really did not want this conversation to go any further at present, so I decided to steer it in another direction. "Do you know where the Colonel is?" Best to keep tabs on his whereabouts; I doubted the next encounter we had would be a pleasant one, and I wanted to be on my guard.
The General's smile intensified. "He's out for a ride, my dear. Very impressive, if you ask me; I would have thought he'd be worn out."
I blushed, much to my embarrassment. "Um…How long ago did he leave?"
"I'm not sure, my dear, I only just arrived myself. I'll be staying here in the house with you now; I find that the plantation is much more to my liking than is a camp!" He smiled happily and took a sip of tea. "If you're truly intent on finding your beloved, Mrs. Tavington, I suggest you ask the lieutenants. I believe they encountered him this morning."
I gave Cornwallis a strained smile, deciding to ignore the fact that he had just implied that I was in love with Tavington. Had the poor man really deluded himself that much? Oh, well, it was probably best to let him continue doing so. That way at least someone would be happy about this marriage. I walked out of the dining room and onto the veranda.
Lieutenants Bligh and Lawrence seemed rather jumpy this morning. They both leapt in the air when they heard the door opening, looking pained; I couldn't help laughing. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you! Good grief," I said, "you look like you're expecting someone to attack."
The lieutenants exchanged an uneasy glance. "Not to worry, ma'am," said Lawrence, "we're here to protect you. You needn't worry about anyone attacking." Bligh swallowed hard and nodded in agreement.
I wondered for a moment if perhaps they were nervous because there was a rumor of a planned attack, but dismissed that idea quickly—surely there would be more protection for the General than a pair of hapless lieutenants if that were the case. "Do you know where the Colonel is? General Cornwallis said you'd seen him earlier."
Was it my imagination, or did Lawrence's pained look intensify at the mention of Tavington? "No, ma'am, he's out for a ride, but he should be back soon. He left quite some time ago." He rubbed his neck surreptitiously; I wondered where his scarf was, but elected not to pry.
"Well, will you be so kind as to fetch me when he returns?" I said. It was best, I felt, to have my first meeting with Tavington surrounded by as many people as possible.
"I don't think that will be necessary," Bligh said, shielding his eyes against the morning sunshine with a not-inconsiderable hand and gesturing with the other. "I believe that's the Colonel now."
And indeed it was. I couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, but at least the lieutenants were there to shield me from his wrath. Though they looked almost as nervous as I felt, now that I thought about it. My anxiety dissipated as I watched Tavington approach, to be replaced—again—by an appreciation of how attractive he was. He was clearly an accomplished horseman; his posture was tall and straight, and the uniform highlighted his muscular physique. I shook my head to clear it; I had to stop seeing Tavington like that. Particularly when he looked as dangerous as he did at present.
He dismounted gracefully and strode toward us. I steeled up my nerve. "Good morning, Colonel."
He ignored me. "Lieutenants!" he snarled. They snapped to attention. "Tell my—wife—that, should she need me, I shall be…in our chambers. And Bligh—tell the serving boy to draw me some hot water for a bath." And with that, he stalked past us, throwing Lawrence's scarf at him as he did so, and into the house.
The lieutenants looked nervously at each other, and then at me. I wasn't sure what to think; that certainly had not been the reaction I'd been expecting. Though I was perfectly capable of playing along if he was planning to give me the silent treatment. "Well, Lieutenants," I said brightly. "If you'll pardon me, I believe I'll have a look around this lovely house." And I followed in Tavington's wake, pondering what tonight would bring.
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After Miss Kat had gone inside, Bligh and Lawrence exchanged another glance. "I don't think things are going too well, eh?" said Bligh sagely.
Lawrence shook his head morosely, wrapping the scarf about his neck once more. "I'd say not. What d'you reckon went wrong?"
Bligh shrugged mutely, running a large hand through his hair.
Suddenly, Lawrence perked up. "I say! We should help them along!"
Bligh looked warily at his friend. "And how do you propose we do that?"
"Well," Lawrence said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, "whenever I'm a-wooing, I find it expedient to show the lady my romantic side."
"Yes, but how?"
"Just let me go have a word with the General, my dear fellow. I shall need your help in a bit." And with that, Lawrence practically skipped away, throwing one end of the scarf rakishly over his shoulder.
Bligh sighed. He did not like the sound of this. And, he realized abruptly, he had forgotten to call for the bathwater. Cursing under his breath, he went to go fetch it himself.
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I disregarded the parlor on my quest; though pretty and awash with morning sun, it was unlikely to yield anything interesting as to the character of Edward Rutledge, about whom I was avidly curious. I wandered past the dining room and into the room across the hall, which I took to be a study of sorts. Opening the door, I peered in and found a cramped space packed full of disorderly bookshelves and a desk, its surface curiously well-ordered amidst the mess. Settling down at the desk, I looked at the papers piled neatly atop it; they appeared to be bland personal correspondence between Rutledge and other statesmen, primarily about South Carolina's governance. However, after a bit of snooping, I found some more interesting documents buried amidst the piles: a letter from John Dickinson of Pennsylvania, and one from—Thomas Jefferson?! It didn't say much, mostly outlined plans Jefferson had for his estate at Monticello, but it brought forcibly to my attention the fact that Thomas Jefferson was currently very much alive. He had always been one of my heroes, and I couldn't believe I was now actively a part of history that involved him.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to continue my search. I wasn't sure precisely what I was looking for, but something compelled me to open the desk drawers. They were, of course, locked. I bit my lip, thinking; how could I open them? I didn't imagine Rutledge had left the key lying about anywhere that would be easy to find, as that would defeat the purpose. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had pins in my hair—I'd never actually picked a lock, but it couldn't be that hard, could it?
Apparently, it could. It took me the better part of fifteen minutes to get the first drawer open, and I was petrified the whole time that someone would come in and catch me breaking into Rutledge's desk. But, once I finally opened the drawer, my labors were rewarded: a sheaf of papers, more correspondence, but this of a more interesting nature, mostly relating to the rebellion. As I rifled through it, I spotted a document that looked somehow familiar. Pulling it out, I looked closely at it. It was a copy of the Declaration of Independence.
I sat, stunned, looking at the Declaration. I had to preserve it somehow; but there was no way I could take it upstairs with me. Looking around wildly, I pulled out a large book on the shelf—a tome called Fruits and Flowers of South Carolina, which I doubted anyone would be examining anytime soon—and carefully placed the Declaration in its pages, vowing to come back to rescue it someday soon.
I had spent entirely too long in the library. I grabbed a book at random off the shelf—oh, good, Shakespeare—in case anyone saw me on the way out. Heart pounding, I stole out of the room, shutting the door behind me, and made my way upstairs, leaving the rest of the first floor unexplored. The door to my suite was closed—Tavington must still be bathing (I banished any further speculation on this concept from my mind immediately)—so I wandered down the landing. The next few rooms were just bedrooms, but at the end of the hall I found a smaller sitting room. The sun, higher in the sky now, was still lighting up the room beautifully, and I sat down in a chair next to the window and gazed out. The room was at the front of the house and looked over the wide tree-lined avenue we had ridden down yesterday; from here, I had a clear view of the fields and woods around the house. This would be my sewing room—I wished I had the fabric I'd found in the closet this morning so I could start now. At least I had the Shakespeare from the library. I opened the book and settled into Macbeth.
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"Bligh!" came a loud whisper from behind him. Bligh whirled around to find Lawrence, looking rather secretive and quite delighted.
"What are you on about?" replied Bligh testily. He disliked being surprised.
Lawrence smiled enigmatically. "Just had a chat with General Cornwallis. He said we're free to do whatever's necessary to help the Colonel and Miss Kat along—thought it was brilliant, actually. Said he wished he were that clever." Lawrence puffed up his chest and adjusted his scarf proudly.
Bligh frowned. Whatever plan had Lawrence this happy did not bode well for him. "Well, what are we doing?"
Lawrence clapped him on the shoulder. "Follow me, old chap. We have our work cut out for us."
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Tavington adjusted his waistcoat and frowned at himself in the looking-glass. He had just gotten properly clean and had, to some extent, gotten rid of the residual anger along with the grime of this morning's ride; and now, the moment his uniform was back on, he was sweating again. This weather was despicable.
He turned away from the looking glass with a frown and began to pull on his boots. As he buttoned up his pants, he thought again about his wife—but about her, this time, rather than her maddening behavior of the previous evening. She had never provided him with any clear indication as to where she came from, who her family were, what she believed; and, while her evasive answers were enough to satisfy Cornwallis, he remained uneasy. She had to be hiding something. No matter how believable it was when her eyes filled with emotion at any mention of her parents—Tavington cursed himself for harboring sympathy for her then—she was still a completely unknown entity. And that made her potentially very dangerous.
He flung open the door to the bedroom and marched down the stairs and out the front door, striding quickly to where his horse was tethered. Mounting easily, he set out at a trot to camp; he had work to do, if no one else did. Bligh and Lawrence might be ineffectual yobs, but he was a consummate soldier; and he had a regiment to inspect, business with the armory to conduct, and an intelligence report from the cavalry to receive. And, after that was completed—he would begin asking around, discretely, for any information anyone had to offer on Katerinalila Fitzpatrick…Tavington.
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