Disclaimer: No, I don't own it. I'm just playing with it.

Chapter 11: Courtship by Correspondence

That summer in Charlestown was unlike any of Jane's life. The town, filled to the brim with soldiers, with sailors, and with all the strange folk who followed in their train, had never been so bustling, so full of raw life. And among these strange folk were hundreds of runaway slaves. The British Army was freeing the slaves of rebels, and slaves who claimed to belong to rebels. The South Carolina patriots were indignant at this attack on their property rights, and were attracting many to their side who had stayed neutral before. And how, in all the confusions, was one to tell a freedman from a slave? The market women hawked their wares with shouts and wild gestures, grown bolder with the possibility of freedom. As Jane passed down Broad Street, these women no longer hurried out of Jane's way, faces humbly averted. Some looked her brazenly in the eye, unwilling to grant that her right to tread the walks was greater than theirs. It was quite disconcerting.

Jane never went anywhere without Letty anymore. Men in red coats, men in green coats, men in any sort of coat, men without coats at all—in coarse riflemen's frocks or bare shirtsleeves--would bow and smile and boldly ask her how she fared. And they did the same with Letty.

Another man was coming toward them, as they made their way to the milliner. A tall man in a blue coat, this time. An artilleryman, Jane remembered. The uniform was well cut, and the man's wig well made. He was quite good-looking. Jane was embarrassed to be so stared at. As he passed, the officer bowed low to them.

"Ladies."

Jane gasped, and behind her Letty gasped as well. Jane gave the man a timid nod and trotted faster. The man had not seen that Letty was only a slave! What odd people the English were.

True, Letty was dressed nicely, in a cast-off of Jane's, a sprigged cotton gown that she had made over to fit her to a nicety and that became her well. She had trimmed her pert straw hat with a bit of blue ribbon. Jane knew that Letty should not be dressed thus. It was quite illegal: quite against the regulations of the Slave Code. There were only certain coarse materials that slaves were permitted to wear. But Letty was different. She was not like the other slaves, not like those wicked slaves Jane had heard of, who would cause trouble if not treated harshly. Jane loved Letty dearly, and it was a pleasure to give her nice clothing. But it was all very puzzling.

Of course, Letty is not dark. Some people might just think her a little tanned by the summer sun. She stole a quick glance at her maid as they entered the shop. It occurred to her that perhaps someone who did not know Letty's parentage might actually think her white. Her skin was not as pale as Jane's, but not as dark as many ladies of Spanish or French descent. Her nose was high-bridged and thin, like Biddy's, a legacy of Biddy's Cherokee mother. And Letty was very pretty, but pretty in a pleasant way; a way that made Jane comfortable to look at her; not like Selina---no, not at all…

There were many finely dressed women in town now: strangers to Jane and to anyone of her acquaintance. Some were wives of officers, but some were loose, wanton women, striking up conversations with strange men and offering themselves to any who pleased them. One of them now leaned out of an upstairs window and called out to a gentleman in the street. It was very shocking. Unfortunately, Jane thought, it was impossible to tell a good woman from a bad one. Selina was as bad as any of these town women, but only Jane—and Jane's husband—knew that.

Another horrible epiphany that flashed before her—other people could not know that Jane herself was a virtuous woman! For all some of the strange officers knew, she and Letty could be women of the town, expecting their attentions! It was a sobering thought, and Jane decided that they must dress very carefully and modestly when on the street unescorted, for fear of misleading gentlemen, who might be unable to discern the wedding ring on Jane's hand.

And it was a melancholy thing, too. Jane felt pity for the poor abandoned women, reduced to such straits to make shift to live. How dreadful it must be for them, when men forced themselves upon them and hurt them. Even worse, they had to smile and laugh and pretend to like their abusers. It was a terrible but useful piece of knowledge. Jane felt very worldly wise, understanding so much that had been hidden from her before.

The two of them hurried home through the busy streets, crossing to Queen Street a few steps ahead of a pair of horsemen. The men did not notice them, high up as they were, and took for granted their possession of the street. Jane narrowly missed a pile of horse dung and jumped over it, darting out of the riders' way. Davus opened the door for them, and they stepped from the harsh light of Queen Street to the soft, diffused glow of the hall. Jane's feeling were mixed. The town was dangerous and nearly unrecognizable, but it was very interesting. The house was a place of safety, but she disliked it heartily.

There was a particular smell about the house that had begun to intrude disagreeably on her consciousness. A musty, unpleasant fug that was partly her father's tobacco, partly the stronger odor of unwashed bodies sweating in the summer sun, partly Selina's oppressive perfume of patchouli and jasmine, partly the flower arrangements downstairs that wilted and rotted so quickly in the heat. This must be how the Grand Turk's harem smells, Jane imagined. And there were other smells, as well. There was the sweetish reek of stale wine. There was something to do with her father's ailments, something to do with Selina's being with child.

And the ever-present starchiness of cooked rice. Even with the cooking done outside in the summer kitchen, somehow it lingered in the house, settling into the rugs, insinuating itself into the draperies, oozing through keyholes to every corner of every room. Altogether, the smell of the house had begun to grate on Jane, making her wrinkle her nose when she opened her door in the morning, pursuing her upstairs when she escaped to her chamber after dinner.

Jane kept it at bay with her own sachets of lavender and lemon. She and Letty had sewn new ones, prettily embroidered, and tucked them all around the room. It was a clean scent, and one that either fought or absorbed the Rutledge Smell that troubled her so much.

Before she could escape to her room, Davus told her, "There's a letter for you, Miss Jane."

It was there, lying on the tray in the hall. Jane picked it up warily, seeing immediately the bold, wide-nibbed writing of her husband. Another letter!

Letty followed her upstairs. "It's nice that he's writing you, Miss Jane. He hasn't forgotten about you like the Missus said he would."

"I suppose." She shut the door, and flung herself into her rocking chair. Letty sat down to the spinet to practice. She was doing very well. The music made a pleasant accompaniment to her reading, and covered all the other sounds in the house.

July 5, 1780

My dear Jane,

I thank you for your letter. It is a pleasant thing, to find that one is not altogether forgotten in this untamed and barbarous wilderness. Many of my men are ill with fever. It would be more serious if we were the only ones affected, but the rebels sicken as easily as we. I, however, remain hale and well. I pray that you and yours are likewise.

An amusing adventure befell my friend Tarleton. A message was intercepted between some rebel militiamen and Colonel William Washington, requesting him to take command of the South Carolina rebels. Tarleton rode to the chief traitor's home and impersonated Washington. So simple were these backwoodsmen that he completely took them in. Hardly a man was lost, and we all laughed heartily over the trick. If only all rebels could be dealt with thus!

I was gratified by your interest in my family, and will answer your questions gladly. Yes, my mother indeed lives in London. She is very fond of Town, and has never cared for a country life. Mortimer Square, where she lives, is in the fashionable district of London called Mayfair. The square is large, and green in the summer. Our house faces south, which is very helpful during the colder months. The west side of the square is entirely taken up by Colchester House, the home of my uncle the earl. He is aged greatly of late, I am told, and does not get on well with my mother.

Only three weeks ago, I received a letter from my sister Lucy. She, too, lives in London, in the City. Perhaps you do not know that the old part of London is called the City. When we speak of London as a whole, we call it the Town. As Lucy married since I left England, I have never seen her house, but she told me it is on Tudor Street, not far from the Temple, which is a place where lawyers train and work. She informs me that her little Ned has another tooth and his eyes are not unlike mine. I am writing to Lucy, to inform her that she has a new sister. No man could be more certain that I of her welcome to you.

No, indeed I did not attend Harrow. My old school is Eton, which is infinitely superior, though I cannot say I much enjoyed my years there. I remember principally being set to writing a plethora of lines in Greek and Latin, toasting bread with my fellows and nearly setting our rooms afire, and playing a number of thrilling--ball games. Forgive me. I was a good athlete, but you need not fear me reliving my youthful successes on the playing fields. My life since then has been interesting enough that I do not succumb to the silly nostalgia you so justly describe.

My dear Jane, your letter filled me with relief and gratitude regarding our own affairs. Your rational, forgiving nature gives me great hope for our future. Our wedding day was not auspicious, but it is past, and let us make our future out of better stuff. How I regret any pain I gave you. It will never happen again. This, I promise.

You spoke briefly of you stepmother's condition. I, too, shall speak briefly, and then let the subject rest forever untouched by either of us. I do not wish Mrs. Rutledge ill, but she is nothing to me, and she never will be. Your good sense, excellent accomplishments, and solid virtues—imperishable qualities--prove you worth ten of her.

A great shame that Miss Gilpin is gone. Her company meant much to you, I know. Perhaps you may yet meet again someday.

It is too bad that your father and stepmother are so unpleasant. I am surprised that the profit he gained did not dispose your father better toward you. Such behavior is entirely contrary to our agreement. I look forward to discussing it with him. Remember always that this situation is not permanent, and consider that your present discomfort will make your future happiness the greater by contrast.

It was remiss of me not to meet your little brother. Fortunate indeed, that you have such an object of affection. Fortunate for the little fellow, as well, I think.

As to the war, your feelings as a woman are quite proper. Of course it is to be regretted that the rebels are so hardened in their opposition, but that is what soldiers are for. Without us, mob rule would triumph, passions overcome reason, petty tyrants flourish. Out here in the wild backcountry, there was already little law. With the war, it has become chaos: neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother. Honest men have become the lowest sort of bandit, sneaking through the swamps and hiding in the woods to defy the Crown's authority. While you may wish that this violence may be talked away, these men do not understand anything but fire and sword. I supply both with real pleasure.

I have a new captain in my regiment now: one James Wilkins, who claims kinship with you. Do you know him? He is a great tall fellow, big as an ox. His knowledge of the colony may prove of use, but I am undecided about the man.

Write to me, my dear Jane. We must know one another better that we may learn how to make each other happy.

Your devoted husband,

William Tavington

Jane let the letter drop into her lap and sat back in the chair, rocking slowly. There was so much to think about. She would annotate her accounts, and then go down and discuss today's menus with Papa. A great deal of household linen wanted washing: she must see to their supply of soap. She must pay little Ash his visit after his afternoon nap.

Letty struck a false note. Jane rolled her head to the side, looking at her. "F sharp. Letty. Look at the key signature."

"Yes, Miss. I see." The passage was repeated correctly. Letty was making rapid progress. With Miss Gilpin's departure, Letty had become more than maid to her: she was companion, confidante, and pupil. There was not just the music. Jane hated having no one with whom she could talk about her books, and had found things for Letty to read, lighter works at first, but which might someday evolve into more substantial reading.

Wearily, she got up from the chair, not daring to be too comfortable when there was so much to be done. Papa's library was no longer accessible to her. Tomorrow she would visit old Dr. Fellowes at the rectory. She could ask him about his youth in England. He had many interesting books: perhaps he possessed a map. Somewhere in a map of England might lie the lore that would help her better understand the man she had so thoughtlessly married.

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July 16, 1780

My dear Colonel Tavington,

We are all quite well here, other than my stepmother's natural indispositions. I pray you are well, too.

Yes, I have met Mr. Wilkins. We are indeed related, through my maternal grandmother's family. He is a third cousin, once removed. Not quite close enough for me to comfortably address him as "Cousin," since I do not know him well. I remember how very tall he seemed, so tall that it was inconvenient to try to converse with him. I believe him to be a man of honor. At least I know he spoke out for the King during the Assembly debates a few years ago. I have not heard what he was doing since then.

Thank you for telling me so much about your family and their life in London. I visited our clergyman, old Dr. Fellowes, who came from England some years ago. We talked delightfully of his own experiences at home, and showed me interesting books about England and about London. They even had colored maps in them. I found Mayfair and Mortimer Square on the map of London, and then I looked at the north side of the square, where you said your family's house was located. I love maps. It is so diverting to study a map and imagine oneself in a new place.

Perhaps you think that silly, but I have never been anywhere but Charlestown and Cedar Hill, and a few times to see cousins who live a few miles north on the Cooper River. That is all the world I know, and it seems painfully narrow at times. How I envy men who can travel and explore! When I think that I may someday see England—it makes me so happy. I wish to be on the ocean, right in the middle, and see nothing but ocean in every direction. I wish to see the great city of London, whose vastness I cannot even imagine. Many of us in South Carolina are often put out at the superior attitude of Englishmen from home, but when I consider how very different, how very sophisticated, how very old and established everything is in our mother country, I can sometimes understand it, even though I think it disagreeable.

Dr. Fellowes told me how mild the climate was in his home county of Wiltshire. How pleasant, not to have to contend with the terrible heat that lasts for months and months here! He told me of Stonehenge, and the many antiquities near Salisbury—even the ruins of an ancient Roman city. Oh, I long to see such things!

Little Ash continues to be the best boy in the world. My nurse Biddy is so kind. I never grow tired of visiting her in the nursery. Every day Ash learns a new word, though sometimes it is not perfectly pronounced. He can ask us what something is, but the actual sounds are rather like, "Uhzah?" rather than "What's that?"

How dreadful the backcountry sounds. Papa has always said that the people there are very loutish and ignorant. They made so much trouble years ago that we nearly had a war with them!

Do not worry about me. While it is true that Papa and Selina are unpleasant to me, it is very liberating, in a way. I no longer have to pretend to like or respect Selina, and I no longer have to waste hours dancing attendance on her. I have much to occupy me: my household duties, Little Ash, my music and books, my other relations and acquaintances in town. Other than the rubs I experience in dealing with my father and stepmother, my life is not at all bad.

I remain, sir, your obedient wife,

Jane Tavington

She regarded the letter with satisfaction. She had not talked endlessly about people he did not know and might never meet, she had thrown in admirably subtle hints that she did not wish to be deserted when he left South Carolina. She had not filled the letter with whining complaints, which would certainly irritate him.

For Jane had resigned herself to her situation. She had sworn before God to be Colonel Tavington's wife, and she could not break her word and keep her self-respect. To be sure, there were parts of being married that were horrid. But they only lasted a short time, and if she lay very still and did not try to oppose him, they would soon be over. Perhaps he could be persuaded to let her snuff the candles first. It would be so much less embarrassing that way.

And when he was not acting like a brute beast (how very descriptive the Marriage Service was, she now knew), he conversed well enough. His letters were interesting. When they lived together as man and wife, she would not see that much of him anyway. She would be busy with their home and their children. She supposed he would sit in his study, like Papa, and spend a great deal of time out on business or pleasure of various kinds. They would see one another at meals, and could pass the time eating with only a little small talk, and then at night he would do that awful thing he did and let her sleep. When she counted out the hours and minutes, and judged them fairly, there would be more pleasant time spent than unpleasant. And she would be in her own home, away from the Rutledges and their irritating smell.

-----

Tavington had been in the saddle for six hours. All things considered, he would have to remain in it for a few more. The crude village he now occupied was more easily studied from high on horseback. The patrols he had sent out were loping back like hounds now, full of information gleaned from the countryfolk—both willing and unwilling.

The most unwilling were not far from him, hanging from the convenient limb of a big cedar. The two men had been caught riding with the militia. A brief interrogation revealed that they were among those who had given their parole after the fall of Charlestown. Shameless treachery such as theirs would not find mercy from Tavington. The suspended bodies, already swelling and shapeless, swung gently in the hot breeze. The breeze blew the stink away from Tavington, so he ignored them.

Rumor had it that the Continentals were moving down from the north, ready to try their luck against British defenses in the South Carolina. They would probably be led by the traitor Horatio Gates, a British officer who had turned his back on his own country to take the rebels' pay. He might be called "The Hero of Saratoga" by the rebel press, but Tavington had neither read nor heard anything that impressed him. Gates had gotten the credit for other men's work, in his opinion—like so many other generals. When Gates made his appearance, he would find the King's forces ready for him.

They were on their way back to Winnsboro, after days of sleeping on the ground and eating meager rations. Life in camp at least meant a tent and somewhat better food. It also meant a chance to have a look at his correspondence—his lifeline with the civilized world beyond this hot green hell.

He must answer Jane's latest letter. There had only been time to look it over before leaving on this mission. The letter was locked securely in his traveling desk, which was sitting on the folding table in his command tent. Perhaps there were other letters as well by now.

Bordon rode up beside him, equally oblivious to the dead men. "Prebble says the scouts have found a shortcut through Black Swamp."

Tavington shrugged, "All the better, as long as it's not a shortcut that will get us shot or drowned."

"The men are eager to get back to camp. I confess I am as well."

"Yes, yes, we'll all be glad to get out of this muck," Tavington said impatiently. "I can see they're worn down. Some of them should be in hospital."

"Colonel!" A dragoon was riding hard into the village center. Tavington lifted his head and waved him over.

"What is it?"

"Lieutenant Prebble spotted the detachment of the 17th. They're headed this way."

"Good." Tavington was pleased. Nettles might have messages for him.

He had always liked Nettles, but today the young man seemed strangely distant. As they spoke, Tavington racked his brains trying to think of how he could have offended him. It was only after a few minutes conversation that he began to grasp the reason for Nettles' displeasure.

"I hope, sir, that Mrs. Tavington is well."

Tavington remembered then, as he sometimes did with a start, that he was indeed married. "In her last letter, she assured me she was, Nettles."

"I am happy to hear it, Colonel. Please convey my respects to her when next you meet."

Puzzled and somewhat amused, Tavington assured him, "I certainly shall. No doubt it will please her greatly to be remembered by you."

A grave look. Nettles quietly replied, "I daresay she has entirely forgotten me, sir; but I have not forgotten her."

Then the dispatches were produced and the conversation changed to the business at hand. And yet, while Tavington read the note from Lord Rawdon, he was thinking about something very different. It appears that Nettles likes Jane. Did he have designs on her? Surreptitiously, he glanced at the sturdy, snub-nosed young officer. Not much to look at in a ballroom, but a very good officer and not uneducated. A damned good thing that I pressed my advantage, Tavington realized. I might have been cut out all together. And by a lieutenant. That would have smarted!

He was very satisfied with himself for having won Jane from any potential rivals. Still, it often has a salutary effect, even on a very handsome man, to discover that the woman in his life is admired by others. A man Tavington respected had liked Jane. Unconsciously, it raised Jane very much in his estimation.

-----

And her letter, reviewed at camp, was quite satisfactory. Jane had accepted her situation, and was trying to bear it as best she could. She also wrote with artless enthusiasm about returning with him to England. Tavington took a rather more jaundiced view of sailing than his inexperienced young wife. It was indeed very exciting the first few days—if one did not become hideously sick--and then one descended into a pit of boredom. It was terribly hard on horses. He had not forgotten the dreadful food, either. Just about the time they were out on the limitless ocean, where one saw no land in any direction, the fresh food ran out, and one made do with weevilly ships' biscuits and salt beef. Only the thought of seeing England once more could entice him onto a ship.

But he smiled as he reread the letter, touched that Jane had gone to the trouble of locating his family home on a map. A clever, studious girl. She should do very well, with a little more attention on my part to get her over her silly prudery.

He smiled up then, at pretty Nan Haskins, come to collect his soiled linen. She smiled back, with a certain look in her eye. Tavington's cares slipped from his shoulders. Sometimes, it was good to be a Colonel.

----

"How is the Colonel, Miss Jane?" Letty asked, looking up from her book. She and Jane were stretched out comfortably on their beds, reading. Jane had Tavington's latest letter, and Letty a wonderful novel Jane had lent her.

"Oh," laughed Jane, "The colonel is always quite well." She rolled over onto her stomach. It contained more army talk, but Jane was beginning to understand that that was, after all, her husband's profession. Of course he was interested in it. "He was describing the battle at Camden, that's why it's so long. It's all full of blood and thunder. Would you like to hear it?"

Letty nodded eagerly. The Colonel had a way with words, especailly when he described battles. A good fight was always woth hearing about. It surprised her that Miss Jane was so uninterested in the Colonel's adventures..

Jane flipped the paper back to the beginning. "It starts as usual--'My dear Jane,' etcetera, etcetera--and then the usual questions about how we are--and here's the part about the battle:

"The early hours, as always, were filled with anxious waiting: rankers and officers sitting their horses, the horses snuffling restlessly, a few of the dragoons making bets, giving each other letters to their families, or little keepsakes in case of the worst.

"There was a great cannonade of the rebels' position, and the Lord General ordered us to maneuver quietly behind them. We made a great procession as we rode by twos completely around the field of battle. It may seem incredible to you, but no one took any notice of us. Then, once arrived, we again sat in silence for some time. My friend Bordon, beside me, drew my intention to a four-pounder that made a perfect smoke ring when fired. It spread out, keeping its shape for some time. It was very pretty, and I watched the battery, hoping for another, until distracted by events on the field. Then it was that the German mercenary who calls—called—himself Baron DeKalb (the title is an invention), was slain. I do not mean to cast a slur on the man's courage, for he fought bravely for the rebels. A great pity that such a warrior threw his life away in such a cause. The Lord General spoke to him with admirable magnanimity as he lay dying, saying that he was sorry to see him so—not sorry he was defeated, mind you—but sorry for his fate. I have no use for the rebels, as you know, but the man, at least, was a true professional, and deserves some respect for that.

"At last, we received orders to charge. At last! We were off on the hunt, galloping down on the rascals, sabres at the ready, our horses trampling the dead and leaping over shell pits and shattered gun carriages. The Continentals stood for a little while, but we dealt with them summarily. Their performance certainly outshone that of Gates himself, who turned and escaped with a few staff officers, leaving his army behind.

"The militia, of course, being nothing but rabble, soon broke and fled the field. We were ordered to finish them off, and to go after Sumter the Gamecock, himself.

"There followed a merry chase over hill, dale, and stream. Two days we rode in pursuit. At length, we caught them up at Fishing Creek. Most of them were killed. We captured wagon after wagon of supplies—sorely needed—and rescued over a hundred of our own men. Sumter, I regret to say, slipped through our fingers, but he is a spent force without his followers.

"I lost very few men, happily, and no officers. Tarleton fared almost as well, though one of his infantry lieutenants fell at Camden.

"Speaking of lieutenants, Mr. Nettles of the 17th wished me to send you his compliments. You must have made quite an impression on him, my dear. He is a brave officer and an all-around good fellow. A pity he could not join us at the Swan, the day we were married. He would have been pleasant company. As you might have guessed, he too is unharmed by our little encounter with the rebels."

Letty asked, "Who is Mr. Nettles?"

"Oh!" replied Jane, embarrassed. "Just an officer. He's very nice. He asked me for the first dances at the Cedar Hill ball, and took me to supper. And then we came across him at Swan's Tavern when we went there for the breakfast." She grimaced, as did Letty, who did not cherish her remembrances of that day. "Anyway," Jane continued, "he must have remembered me, which is very kind of him."

She returned to her letter, reading aloud.

"I returned to Camden expecting some recognition for my services from the Lord General, but was instead forced to endure one of his 'cold spells.' The man is insufferable to me: there is an unfortunate history between our two families, which I will not recount in detail, as it was long ago and very sordid."

"Too bad," Letty remarked. "That means it's probably pretty interesting."

Jane nodded her agreement, and kept on reading.

"Bordon and I were bloody and half starved after our efforts, and in his tent we were treated to the sight of the Lord General's dogs being fed fresh beef! If you knew what the men (and officers) are generally given to eat, you would understand why I thought it outrageous. Cornwallis' flunkeys were equally scornful of me, though I grant their miserable excuse: they must stay in the Earl's good graces, or find themselves serving as line officers (like myself), who can actually be shot at! That is a bit of an exaggeration, to be sure, but I despise staff officers: they are no better than courtiers in uniform.

"The upshot of our conversation, if I may call his scornful dismissal of me by such a name, is that I am once again patrolling the backcountry, on the watch for traitors and traitors' nests. As much as I dislike agreeing with your father, I must say that his description of the people here is indeed correct: a greater pack of loutish yokels I never saw. The country though, is beautiful: everything grows here.

"I thank you again, my Jane, for your charming letter. Very wise of you, learning more about your mother country. I have been in Wiltshire (we have some relations there) and have seen Stonehenge and the ruins of Sarum. It is indeed most fascinating. Perhaps we shall go there together someday. And until you have actually seen London for yourself, nothing I say can do it justice. It is a world in itself. As Dr. Johnson puts it, 'A man who is tired of London, is tired of life.'

"Do reply soon, Jane: for reading your letters—the refined, beautifully-written letters of a well-bred lady—is a great refreshment to me in this savage place.

"Your devoted husband,

William Tavington"

Jane set the letter down again, and rolled onto her back.

Letty said, "That was a nice letter, Miss Jane. He said some mighty pretty things to you."

"Yes," Jane sighed. "He does indeed write a good letter. I wish his behavior in person were a match for his polite correspondence." She looked over at Letty, who had returned to her book. "Are you reading Miss Fielding again?"

"Yes. I just love this book. The girls are so sweet." She stroked the book's cover tenderly. The printing proclaimed it as The Governess: or, the Little Female Academy, by Sarah Fielding. An inscription on the flyleaf disclosed that it had been a gift from Miss Gilpin to Jane on her twelfth birthday. Jane had long since outgrown it, but Letty read the book again and again, immersing herself in the world of Mrs. Teachum and her pupils. She loved Jenny Peace, and Polly Suckling, and Dolly Friendly. They were all real to her, and delightfully so. And equally delightful were the stories and fairy tales the girls recounted to each other, like the story of Caelia and Chloe and how happy they had been before that Colonel Sempronius had come between them.

Letty had read Pamela by Mr. Richardson, and Joseph Andrews (by Miss Sarah's brother Henry), and was dutifully wading though Sir Charles Grandison with Jane, but when she wanted to find a peaceful place for a moment's rest, she would draw out The Governess, and open it to any page.

Jane had also introduced her to poetry. Jane adored poetry, and had never had anyone to share it with before, since Miss Gilpin had thought it absolute rubbish. So Herrick was selected, and Donne, and the great Mr. Pope, who Letty thought just went on too long. Some of it was pretty, though, very pretty—like music, sometimes. And there were some verses that Mr. Gray had written, she thought, just for her:

"Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile

The short and simple annals of the poor.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,

And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

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Next--Chapter 12: The Return of the Soldier