Chapter 21: A Weary Road Home
While they were still celebrating their victory, word came that Fort Watson to the south had fallen. Tavington knew all too well what that would mean, and Rawdon confirmed it a few days later.
"We're doomed if we stay in Camden." The lanky Irishman shook his head. "Our position here is hopeless. We'll have to pull back towards Charlestown, and leave Camden for the rebels."
Tavington could only agree. The elaborate fortifications, begun with such care by Cornwallis, and completed so efficiently by Rawdon, were destroyed. If the British were able to return one day, it would be foolish to give the rebels an intact fortress to hold. It was a melancholy business, but one that was completed quickly. Seth, with commendable energy, volunteered to help, and returned from his labors each day muddy and hungry.
Tavington had warned Jane that this was coming, as soon as he returned from the battle.
"There's no help for it, Jane," he confided in her, rather bitterly. "Cornwallis was insanely reckless to strip the colony of the army and go lolloping north, chasing the rebels. Any fool could have predicted that the minute the army was gone, the rebel militias would come crawling out from under their rocks. And the continentals too, are bound to wheel around Cornwallis and attack us. The man cannot simply hold on to what he has—he cannot bear to feel besieged. It will be the ruin of him—and us as well, I fear. You may as well start packing now."
And so she had. Or rather, she had told Biddy and Letty to pack. They busily set to work, and used up the more perishable foodstuffs by baking tarts and cakes that would keep longer. The two scrawny chickens they managed to acquire were promptly roasted. Everything was carefully wrapped and stored to keep it from vermin, for finding provisions on the journey would likely be impossible; and cooking would be limited to what could be managed over an open campfire.
Jane felt rather sad to bid farewell to her little ramshackle house—her first home as a married woman. Crude as it was, she had had many happy moments here. She was feeling rather ill—partly from the terror she had felt at the sounds of distant battle, but mostly because she was grotesquely swollen in the last months of her confinement. The strange sensation of no longer being in command of her own body never left her. The child was very active: it was disturbingly manifest that there was another person inside her: a person who kicked, turned around alarmingly suddenly, poked at his surroundings with provoking strength. It seemed to her that this new little person was constantly looking for a way out. Now, on the tenth of May, Jane found herself not resting and settling in for her child's birth, but undertaking a dangerous new journey.
Biddy said the child was due around the middle of June, but warned Jane that "babies make their own time." It was very worrying. Jane felt the danger of the imminent childbirth, and wished this were something that could be delegated to one of her slaves, like other tasks laborious or unpleasant. However, she must brave it herself, and hope for the best. The journey would take almost two weeks, unless heavy rains spoiled the roads. If Lord Rawdon felt it necessary to take the troops further into the interior to fight the rebels, it might take considerably more. With luck and good weather, she hoped would be home in Charlestown before the child "made his own time."
"If only we could have stayed a few months more!" Jane lamented, climbing clumsily into the big carriage. Silas and Biddy, between them, helped her in, and Jane settled her uncomfortable, heavily pregnant body into the seat.
Letty gave Jane a brief smile, as she and Biddy seated herself opposite her. Jane smiled back, trying to pretend she felt better than she did.
Her servants looked at her somewhat solicitously, but Jane murmured, "I'm quite all right. I just want this journey to be over." She shut her eyes, trying to compose herself with restful thoughts. The sound of galloping hooves and her husband's voice, raised in command, made her open them again. She leaned out the window, and saw William with Bordon and some of his dragoons. He had come to see that she was safe, and to escort her to her place in the grim parade as the British army departed.
"You are well, Madam?" he asked, in the formal way he affected in front of servants and his soldiers.
"Very well, sir," she replied, responding in the same style, "and once again congratulating myself on the purchase of this sturdy, capacious carriage."
He smiled: a reserved but approving smile. "I've detailed Pevney and Royce to remain with you at all times. Do not, under any circumstances, pull out of line or stop the coach save at a general halt." He looked up at Silas, perched on the coachman's box. "Is that clearly understood?"
"Yes, sir, Colonel," Silas answered quickly.
"Good." His crisp manner softened somewhat, and he reached out to take Jane's hand. "I shall see you later in the day, Madam. May your share in the journey today be agreeable." He gave her hand a squeeze, and then nodded kindly to Biddy and Letty. "A safe journey to you as well."
Bordon greeted Jane in his usual pleasant manner. "Mrs. Tavington."
"Captain, good day to you," Jane replied with a smile, and added, "Look after my husband, if you please."
Bordon was amused. "If he'll permit me!"
Tavington snorted a laugh, and was off then, surrounded by men and horses. The dragoons he had assigned as guards took their places just behind and to either side of the coach. Silas cracked his whip and they jolted into motion.
It was perfectly awful. Had she been her usual self, it would have been a tedious and somewhat strenuous leg of a long trip. In her present condition, she was miserable. She felt hot, the coach seemed unbearable stuffy, she could not read or sew without feeling nauseous, and she needed to relieve herself constantly.
Biddy has foreseen this, and had put their prized chamberpot in the coach. At every halt, Letty took it out to empty it and rinse it.
Jane was mortified to find herself having to use it, there in front of her companions, at least once an hour; but Biddy covered the pot, and patted her kindly. "You're doing just fine, Miss Jane. This is natural. Don't you be ashamed."
Letty remarked, "It's a blessing this carriage has curtains."
"I just wish it were over," Jane groaned, trying to find a comfortable position.
Letty smiled at her, and Biddy observed, "Not too soon, though, honey."
"I suppose not."
And thus the day passed. Jane had never known a longer one. They forded shallow streams, they ferried over a river. Each stage was painstaking. In the afternoon, Jane rested her aching head on her dear old nurse's well-padded shoulder. Every bump echoed off the top of her skull. The decent food her faithful friends had had the foresight to pack would give them wholesome meals for the next few days, but soon they would be eating the same horrid rations as the rest of the army. Jane, nibbling hungrily on a chicken leg, did not look forward to it.
The chicken must be eaten right away. The tarts they had baked would keep a little longer, the bread and molasses and cake longest of all. Arranging menus in her head helped pass the time. She saw nothing of William until they halted for the evening and he joined them for their picnic supper. Jane rested in the coach while the soldiers made a town of canvas appear as if by magic.
-----
Tavington conferred with Rawdon for the last time that day, and joined his womenfolk with the twilight. Jane, he was proud to note, did not complain, but it was clear that the day had been hard on her. She looked far from her best, pale and perspiring, with an unhappy, strained expression. Her hair was rumpled, and Letty was fanning her, even with the cool evening breeze coming on.
She saw his concerned look and forced a little laugh. "There's one day done."
To encourage her, he smiled back. Biddy laid out a meal on the table in the large tent where the women would sleep. One roasted chicken and part of another, a rhubarb tart made the day before, some wheaten biscuits just starting to crumble, and some good Madeira wine to drink, which Jane took well-watered.
He had had far worse food on the march in his time. And worse companions, too. The servants, as always, were soft-spoken and hard-working; and very kind to their mistress. Biddy was a tower of strength, and Letty everything a kind sister ought to be. A pity, he thought, she was not acknowledged as such. Jane was tired, but stayed up until full dark, reading aloud some of her favorite bits from The Spectator, and laughing over them. He studied her thoughtfully in the lantern light. She was as plain as ever, he supposed, but he realized that it had ceased to matter to him. Jane's face was no longer the uninteresting face of a plain woman, but the expressive face of his wife. He was certainly not in love with her, of course: she was simply now a not unpleasant part of his life.
At length it was time to put her to bed. He gravely kissed his wife's hand, said goodnight to Biddy and Letty, and took himself away to his own command tent; of equal size, but far more spacious, since it was furnished with only his own single cot, his trunk, and a folding desk and chair. He smiled a little, listening to the women helping Jane into the low and narrow army cot. After some whispers and some alarming creaks and groans, he heard her sigh with relief.
"Well," she said. "I have now laid myself down to sleep, but how I'm ever to rise in the morning is beyond me."
"Don't worry, honey," Biddy assured her, "We're all strong enough among us to haul you up. And if need be, we'll go get the Colonel."
Jane was laughing. "He'd certainly enjoy that!"
Tavington smiled to himself, and spoke through the wall of his tent to her. "It would be my honor, Madam. And a pleasant good night to you."
"And to you, sir."
-----
The next day, unfortunately, was hotter. Jane was eased from her cot, helped into her clothes, scolded into eating a little breakfast, and pushed and pulled into the security of the coach. She gave Tavington a brave little smile as he rode off, but he was sorry that she must bear such a day as lay before her. He spared some of the compassion for himself too. He did not feel particular well. The long ride yesterday had awakened some aches and pains that he had thought behind him. His left shoulder in particular bothered him. It was just too bad. Rawdon had been very generous to him, and he could hardly cry off now because of old wounds.
They were a large enough force to have no fears of a direct assault, but Tavington had scouts out in all directions, and from their reports, it was clear that the rebel irregulars were watching them closely, looking for stragglers to pounce upon. Rawdon listened to Tavington's advice with respect, and the necessity of keep good order was made clear to all his officers. If they stayed together, they should be safe.
To Tavington's great pleasure, Lord Rawdon invited them to dine that night, gallantly solicitous for Mrs. Tavington's comfort. In ordinary circumstances, Jane would have been in her confinement, and not dining out at all. These, however, these were not ordinary circumstances; and Rawdon, feeling for the difficulties of a lady traveling in her advanced state of pregnancy, wished to coddle her a little with the few delicacies he still had in his personal baggage. While they might seem even more delicious in a day or two, Rawdon realized that Mrs. Tavington might be feeling worse with the journey, and thus, if he wished to invite her, he should do so now.
"Peaches in brandy!" cried Jane. "How delightful! And how well they complement the ham. My lord, you spoil me."
"A great pleasure, I assure you, Madam. Very obliging of Tavington to provide us with a lady to pay our compliments to." He carved conscientiously, cutting slices delicately thin to tempt a lady's appetite. It was a merry meal, and Jane felt slightly tipsy between the watered wine and the brandy in the peaches.
There was a great bowl of tender golden rice, as well. Jane grew thoughtful over it, remembering her father and Cedar Hill.
Will I be returning there? Will William force me to live with Selina and her child? Surely I have deserved better of him that that!
Tavington saw her frown, and wondered if she was feeling unwell. Soon, he declared it was time to "see her home," much to the amusement of Rawdon and the officers. Jane remembered to smile, not wishing to ruin the pleasant mood of the evening, and took her husband's proffered arm, walking back slowly to her tent.
"Are you ill?" he asked, a little anxious.
"No, I'm well enough." The thoughts, the memories preyed on her. She would not be able to sleep until this matter was resolved between them. She took courage.
"William—"
"Yes, Jane?"
"When we return to Charlestown, you will still, I trust, be working closely with Lord Rawdon."
"Of course."
"Will it not be convenient, then, to reside close to headquarters?"
Tavington gave a faint snort. That was the trouble, then. Easy enough to put her mind at rest. "Yes. I do not intend to presume further upon your father's hospitality. A billet somewhere else in the city will be found."
"And will I---I mean, I will be with you, won't I? You won't make me live with Papa?"
He stopped, and tried to see her face in the darkness. She seemed very dejected. Tavington felt a faint flutter of guilt. It had been unkind of him, leaving her with her bullying father and jealous stepmother for all those months. Now that things were better between them, it was time to make a fresh start.
"My dear Jane--of course you shall live with me. I daresay you have some possessions in your father's house that you will wish to retrieve. We shall call on them, naturally." He gave her shoulders a bracing squeeze. "But I'm sure we can find a snug billet for our household within shouting distance of Rawdon and the rest of the Myrmidons."
She rewarded him with a shy kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad."
-----
Benjamin Martin and his men had been moving parallel to the British column since it left Camden. To the west, they tracked the enemy warily, waiting for an opportunity of any sort. Lord Rawdon was a talented commander, and a decent man, for a British officer, but Martin knew who was on the march with Rawdon, and he could not miss any opportunity to destroy William Tavington.
The Butcher had somehow survived his wounds at Cowpens—wounds that would have killed a normal human being. If the good die young, then Tavington must be immortal, he thought grimly. He had sources inside the British camp. Tavington had a wife, it seemed, who had come to Camden to nurse him—a daughter of that trimmer, that Mr. Facing-all-ways, Ashbury Rutledge.
Martin knew Rutledge, of course, but could not for the life of him remember the daughter. Charlotte had told him that she was "a plain piece of goods" with a large fortune. It explained Tavington, but did not explain the girl.
She might have been forced to marry Tavington as a peace offering from her father to the British. What better way to convince them of his loyalty? If that were the case, Martin felt a little pity for the unattractive Miss Rutledge. Martin knew Tavington well enough to imagine how he would treat an innocent and defenseless young woman.
On the other hand, she had come out to nurse the bastard, accompanied only by a few servants. That did not speak well for her. Martin had caught a glimpse, now and then, of the huge coach that was said to be Tavington's, the one carrying his wife. It looked damned expensive, that ostentatious, luxurious carriage, trundling unscathed over the rough roads of the backcountry.
Another thing troubled him. His spy had told him that the woman was carrying Tavington's child. Martin felt slightly ill at the thought of any spawn of his enemy, and then remembered his beloved sons, killed by that monster. It would be revenge, indeed---
But perhaps not. He did not credit Tavington with ordinary human emotions, and it was probable that Tavington would not feel for his child what Martin felt for his own. He might not even care if his rich wife were to be in danger. He might feel the insult, he might be indignant as at the theft of a possession, but nothing more.
And Martin, whatever his own grievances, did not like to think of himself as the sort of man who would harm a woman—even an enemy woman—and especially one carrying a child. However, as a prisoner—a well-treated prisoner—she would have a certain value. At the very least, her capture would embarrass Tavington, and show him to be a man incapable of protecting his own family. But that thought, taken to its logical conclusion, soon became too painful for Martin to bear.
-----
The fifth day was the worst of all for Jane. In the morning, the struggle to escape the cot was more awkward than ever. She was aware of a general unpleasant feeling, and a dull cramping in her belly. It was useless to whine, and she hated to be such a bother to everyone, so she said nothing. She drank some tea when Letty brought her a cup, and crumbled away a piece of cornbread, hoping that no one would notice how little she ate of it.
Nothing escaped Biddy, unfortunately, who sat down by her, and wheedled some more breakfast into her before they left.
It was a cloudless day. The sunlight from the earliest morning blazed with a terrible, unnatural brightness. They opened all the windows of the coach, preferring the dust to the airless humidity otherwise. In the mid-morning, as they descended toward the Santee River, Jane's cramps grew worse.
They were very unpleasant indeed. Jane had not missed the usual discomfort of her monthly courses, thinking that the one blessing of pregnancy. Now they were back with a vengeance. She curled up in a corner of the carriage, resting her hands over her belly, not speaking, and pretending to sleep so no one would speak to her. Slowly, the column threaded its way on the paths through the swamps.
A halt was ordered, not any too soon to suit her. She used the chamberpot, inured to the embarrassment, and Letty took it to be emptied. The other servants left the coach to stretch and to find some shred of privacy for themselves.
"Come on now, Miss Jane," urged Biddy. "I think it would do you good to get out of the carriage. You need some fresh air."
"No, really, Biddy. I had rather rest. Don't worry about me."
She shut her eyes, and sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the flies buzzing in the still, sweltering air. She was therefore the more startled when her companions rushed back to the carriage, shut the door and the curtains; and Biddy began an anxious interrogation.
"Are you hurting, honey? There was blood in the pot."
"Was there? It's nothing—just some cramping. I'll just sit quietly and try to wait it out. You know the trouble I've always had—"
"This ain't the same at all! It could be the baby coming."
"No!" Jane protested. "It's too soon!"
"Babies make their own time, honey." Biddy reminded her, and then began a series of pointed questions that seemed all too acute for Jane.
Letty gave her some of the morning's tea from their covered jug. It was now gone lukewarm, but Jane preferred it to anything hot at the moment. Letty slipped out of the coach, and Jane heard her telling Seth to open one of the trunks. She climbed back in with hands full of some linen bandages, and neatly arranged them under Jane to spare her clothing any more bloodstains.
Biddy did not want Jane to lie down just yet. "Ladies are always lying down as soon as they feel bad. It'll make the baby come quicker, honey, if you sit up as long as you can. We can get the featherbed down if we need it, but you try to sit up. I'll sit with you and you can put your head down on me again. Do you want me to send a message to the Colonel?"
Jane groaned. "No—oh, no! It may be nothing. If I really am about to give birth, yes, I suppose he should know, but please don't bother him until we're all sure." The thought of Tavington filled her with resentment. There he was, prancing about on his horse, as well and healthy and elegantly slim as ever—while she was suffering, and grossly great with child—his child. She had forgiven the circumstances their first intimacies before, but now she brooded over them. Tavington was a brute—an unfeeling brute. He was happy and she was miserable. Everything was entirely and utterly and completely his fault.
The cramps lengthened: became more intense. She tried not to be a baby herself, but a faint moan finally escaped her.
Biddy felt Jane's belly, her face serious. "Sit forward a little, Miss Jane, and pull up your petticoats. I need to have a look."
Jane flinched a little at the examination, wondering what Biddy was doing. The older woman rose from her knees and said, "You're having this baby today for sure, honey."
Jane sighed out a miserable breath. Letty put a comforting arm around her.
At length, the jolting and bumping became too much.
"I'm going to be sick," Jane groaned, clutching at the edge of the seat, clenching her teeth.
"Hold on just a little," Biddy soothed her. She leaned out of the window and called up to Seth. "We got to stop, Seth. The baby's coming soon, and Miss Jane's got to have some quiet."
"The Colonel won't like it."
"The Colonel won't like it if something goes wrong. We got to stop and get the featherbed down."
Royce was riding closest, and overheard. He was a family man himself, and knew something about the days when a child made its appearance.
"Are you certain sure, Biddy? The Colonel'll have our hides if you're wrong."
"I ain't wrong about babies coming. We got to stop."
Pevney trotted up, concerned. "We'd better let the Colonel know what's going on. Maybe I'd better ride ahead and find him."
"Better not," Royce disagreed. "We're to stay here and guard Mrs. Tavington. Send a slave." He called up to Seth on the top of the coach. "Boy! Get the lady's featherbed down, and then run and tell the Colonel we're stopping here."
Seth's eyes met his father's briefly. He disliked taking orders from anyone other than his own people.
He muttered, "They could find him quicker on horseback."
His father said, low. "You get on now, Seth. Better for the soldiers to keep watch. You run fast and find the Colonel. This is going to be a lonesome road in a bit."
-----
Uneasily, the dragoons looked about as Silas cajoled the horses into pulling the carriage slightly to the side of the road. The old man set the brake, and took a deep sigh. The featherbed was unwrapped from its oilcloth covering. Jane refused to make a spectacle of herself to any passerby by lying outside on the ground, so it was smoothed out on the floor of the coach, and the oilcloth laid over it. Biddy allowed her to sit on the makeshift bed, but was still reluctant to let her lie down completely.
"It'll just take longer that way, honey. I know."
Seth set off at a run. As the last of the column passed them by, an officer from the Volunteers of Ireland came by to ask what was happening, and was assured that a messenger had been sent to inform Colonel Tavington that his wife's carriage had halted. The lieutenant nodded, and went his way. Pevney and Royce dismounted, and looped their horses' reins on nearby branches, wincing at the laboring woman's cries from inside the coach. Royce had a flask, and offered his comrade a sip.
"We might be here for hours," Royce grumbled.
Time passed slowly. The men loafed against the side of the carriage, trying not to listen. Silas climbed down and went off a short way to relieve himself. After awhile he strolled back, climbed back to the coachman's seat and lit a pipe. The air was still, and even the birdsong was silenced by the oppressive heat.
It was awkward in the carriage, even as big a carriage as they had. Letty held Jane's hands while Biddy checked to see if she was open enough to push the baby out. An early baby like this should not take too long, she told them. Miss Jane was being good and brave.
Jane did not find labor all that bad. She had experienced monthly courses that hurt as much or more. She was more afraid of feeling pain that actually suffering. And she was afraid for the baby. It was too soon—what if something went wrong? She took sips from the jug of tea Letty offered, and wondered if it would have been better to allow the men to spread the featherbed on the ground.
No. The thought of being spied on by strange men was too awful. Hot as it was, she would rather bear the stuffiness of the carriage than have the world see her like this.
"Maybe I could read to you," Letty offered.
"I don't know—" Jane hardly knew what she wanted. "Perhaps so."
Letty found the volume of poetry Jane had with her in the carriage, and opened it at random.
"What if this present were the world's last night?…"
-----That big young fellow was the Tavington's groom. From the back of a wagon, Moll Royston saw him running at a strong, steady pace, far faster than the tired horses were moving. Something must be wrong if he was on foot.
"You! Seth! Where're you heading? Where's Mrs. Tavington?"
Seth looked her way without breaking stride. "Looks like she's about to have that baby, Missus Royston. They had to stop the carriage. I got to tell the Colonel." In a flash he was gone.
"Poor thing," remarked one of the other women. "They say she weren't due for another month. Reckon the baby'll be born dead."
"Most like," another agreed. "It's mighty hard those last months. I thought she looked peaked."
"She could die, too," said Nan Haskins, thinking out loud. She missed the fun she had had with the Colonel, but she did not wish the poor lady dead. It happened all the time, though. Ladies were weak and delicate creatures: everyone knew that.
Moll growled at them. "You're a sorry lot of hens, clucking about how this one and that one are like to die. I better go back and see if I can help." She put a steadying hand on the side of the wagon and jumped down. "Nan, pass me my musket and patch box."
"I never heard tell of taking a musket to a birthing."
"Well, now you have. I ain't going nowhere without it." She trotted back along the road, nodding to some of the men she knew.
-----"It's stopped?" Martin could not believe his luck.
"It sure is, Ben," the scout told him, grinning. "Biggest damn coach I ever see! There's just a pair of dragoons and a slave with 'em."
"Come on!"
-----
Next—Chapter 22: Disaster