Margaret and the stable boy dismantled the dummy quickly, spreading the straw amongst the rows of the garden to protect some of the plants from frost. As she stepped into the dark kitchen she saw Molly preparing to bring a platter upstairs.
"Whose dinner is that?" Margaret asked casually. Her heart hadn't stopped hammering since the Ghost had arrived that afternoon. She felt certain it would burst from her chest, especially now that her incarceration's end was nearly in sight.
"The Lord General's." Molly answered, struggling to balance the large tray.
"I'll take it up." Margaret crossed the kitchen quickly and took the large tray from Molly. "I've been next to no help today. You relax and enjoy your own supper."
"You've hardly had a bite to eat today." Constance said from where she stood near the fire. "You plan on standing up d'ere t'rough de Lord General's whole meal hungry?"
"I'm not very hungry." Margaret said as she ascended the stair. "I'm too excited to think about food."
Margaret scratched at the Lord General's door with her foot and waited for his aide to come and answer it. Margaret followed the man inside and set the big tray down on the table and then went to stand in a corner, waiting to take the tray downstairs. The Lord General sat down to his meal silently and did not even glance in her direction, for which she was grateful. The man might recognize her and turn her from the room, especially if Colonel Tavington asked for her freedom. The Lord General was half way through his meal when Colonel Tavington arrived at the doorway.
"You sent for me, my lord?" Margaret had to stifle a grin as Tavington's eyes settled on her. Obviously the Colonel thought it imprudent to come directly to the Lord General's rooms. He'd pretended that the messenger had to go all the way to the dragoon camp and then return to the fort before he graced the General with his presence. He's never been short on cleverness. Margaret thought as Tavington deliberately turned away from her.
"Yes, I sent for you." The Lord General cut angrily into the meat on his plate, focusing on the meal before him. "My reputation suffers because of your incompetence. That man insults me!"
"Quite impressive for a farmer with a pitchfork, wouldn't you say?" Tavington answered. Margaret very nearly rolled her eyes. Why would the Colonel goad the Lord General when the man was more furious than she'd yet seen him? The Lord General signaled for Tavington to approach and when he had, the Lord General made his demands known.
"I want you to find that man. I want you to capture him." He said slowly and sternly. Margaret watched as Tavington arrogantly began moving about the room. He understood that to make a request first, the Lord General was offering up whatever it would take to see his demands met. Suddenly the war as a whole was set to the back burner while the entirety of the high command focused on the man known as the Ghost.
"The man has the loyalty of the people. They protect him, they protect his family. They protect the families of his men. I can capture him. But to do so requires the use of tactics that are…what was the word your lordship used? Brutal." Margaret cast a warning glance toward Tavington who steadfastly ignored her.
"Go on."
"I am prepared to do what is necessary. I alone will assume the full mantle of responsibility for my actions. Free of the chain of command; rendering you blameless." Margaret watched Tavington's slow progress across the room and could practically hear the man's mind hard at work, sketching out the foundation for his own demands to be met. Icy fingers slipped up and down her spine and grasped at her heart. What have I done? Margaret thought. The blinders were gone. She'd handed her future over to The Butcher…a man willing to kill children to get his way. "However, if I do this, you and I both know I can never return to England with honor. What, I wonder, is to become of me?" Margaret tried to steady her breathing as she watched the Lord General gesture for his valet to leave and then slowly leave his seat, approaching a table covered in rolled maps and other detritus of command. He glanced briefly at the Colonel before he pushed one of the maps gently open, glancing at the painted lines and colored tracts of land.
"When this war is over here in the colonies the new aristocracy will be land owners." The Lord General slowly explained. From the look on Tavington's face, Margaret could tell that this was not in fact news to him.
"Tell me about Ohio." Tavington drawled. Margaret stood by listening as the Lord General outlined the size of the parcel of land he was to be deeded at wars' end and what sorts of resources were available on it. He spoke of virgin land, waiting to be sold off to loyal colonists and of land so fertile seeds would sprout the minute they touched the soil. He spoke of streams, choking with fish and of the game that roamed free. It sounded like heaven.
"I'm prepared to give over part of this land, to make you a part owner in the colony." Cornwallis said. "When we win the war, I will be deeded 100,000 acres of land. In return for capturing The Ghost, you shall have 40,000 acres."
"Sixty Thousand." Tavington cut in. Margaret's chest, already tight with anxiety, tightened further. If he was going to negotiate for land and his own advancement what would he care for Margaret's freedom? Why would he care at all if he was so deep in the Lord General's pocket? "Come now my Lord…it isn't as if you don't have properties upon which to collect in England; while I, in comparison, have virtually nothing, and will have nothing which to return to. You can't tell me you mean to control sixty thousand acres from abroad. You'd merely be facing the same problem His Majesty is facing."
"You are treading very unstable ground Colonel." Cornwallis warned. "Forty Five Thousand Acres."
"Fifty Thousand Acres." Tavington countered. Cornwallis suddenly glanced up and caught site of Margaret standing in the corner. She hadn't left when his aide had.
"Miss St. Claire, isn't it?"
"Yes sir." Margaret dipped a hasty curtsy, quickly looking down at the hem of her skirt, pretending to be docile.
"Forty Thousand Acres and you can have your spy back." The Lord General responded slyly. "I have no doubt that you will be asking for her release anyway."
"She would be helpful in finding and rooting out the locals." Tavington conceded, admiring Margaret's performance of servitude. "But…"
"Forty-Five Thousand Acres and your spy, Colonel. What say you?"
"I say we have an accord." Margaret's eyes snapped back and forth between the two men and she finally let her gaze linger on Colonel Tavington. He'd let the Lord General think her freedom was his own idea…he'd up bid the Lord General in acreage until Cornwallis felt compelled to offer something in return to keep acreage for himself. Once again Margaret was amazed at the cleverness of the Colonel of the Dragoons. Margaret watched as the two men shook hands and then turned to face her.
"Well?" Tavington finally asked. "Are you going to stand there all day waiting for a signed pardon from the king or are you going to go fetch your things?'
Margaret fairly leapt from her skin as she made for the door. She stopped suddenly at the door and turned back.
"No time constraints?"
"Five minutes." Tavington's eyes sparkled happily as Margaret practically sprinted out the door and up to her room.
It took Margaret no time at all to gather what she would need out in the camps to survive the early winter months. Just as she had done the summer before, Margaret doubled her petticoats beneath what she already wore and scrounged through her small trunk for anything else she might need. She'd ask one of the stable boys to bring her trunk down to the camps at a later time, or perhaps one of the dragoons might be willing to bring it to her. She stopped a moment and looked at her hands which shook with her excitement. Rifling through the few other articles in the trunk, she grabbed a pair of wool mitts she'd knit and stuffed a scarf and a shawl into her satchel as well. The last thing she stuffed in her satchel before donning her cloak was the book she'd been working on for doctor Frasier. Margaret raced down the back stairs, her cloak swirling at every turn and her layered skirts threatening to trip her at every step. Margaret skidded down the last few steps into the kitchen to the consternation of the women gathered there eating a quiet supper.
"What is it?" Constance asked, rising from her spot at the table.
"I'm free!" Margaret smiled as she ducked into the still room and began taking down some of the herbs she'd set aside over the summer. "I'm going back to the dragoons."
"But how?" Molly stared as Margaret continued to stuff things into her bag.
"Colonel Tavington struck a bargain with his Lordship." Margaret looked breathlessly around the kitchen and then at the women with whom she'd worked all summer. "I don't have long. Colonel Tavington is leaving soon."
"Go den." Constance smiled, knowing how much leaving the fort would mean to Margaret. "You stay safe now."
"I will. Thank You." Margaret looked at the shocked faces staring at her and could have grinned. This parting was so different from the one she'd experienced at the Miller farm.
"But the fall harvest…your share of the vegetables?" One of the women asked as Margaret approached the door.
"I was only given five minutes to pack my things. I've left my trunk with the intention of having someone bring it to me later." Margaret paused at the door with her hand on the handle. "I'll send a list of what's needed at the Dragoon camp and whatever extra there is you all my split amongst yourselves."
With those parting words, Margaret pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool early evening air.
Colonel Tavington stood beside his big black and watched as Margaret raced across the yard, her skirts fisted in her hands as she raced for the sally port.
"No need to run. Have a sense of decency, would you?"
"My apologies Colonel." Margaret slowed to a walk and hitched her satchel higher on her shoulder, tucking the folds of her cloak around her and smoothing them down as she approached the place where the colonel stood. "I wanted to be sure to get here in time."
"Since when has that ever concerned you?"
"Since this time my freedom is at stake and I want out of this fort more than anything right now."
Margaret watched as the Colonel mounted his big black.
"Unfortunately there are no spare horses for you to use." Tavington said, calming the beast beneath him. "You'll have to ride double."
Margaret waited as he leaned down and offered her his hand and she quickly scrambled up behind him. She took one moment to swing her cloak over her legs as the Colonel turned the horse towards the gate.
"Ready?"
"The faster we get out of here, the better." Margaret muttered as she wrapped her arms around the Colonel. She felt the man kick his horse and then they were out of the fort and thundering down the hill and over the roads towards the Dragoon camp.
Margaret turned her head and glanced over at Borden, who looked to her at roughly the same moment. He smiled tightly and nodded. Margaret vaguely remembered the man being one of her rescuers and she smiled in return. She glanced up at the pale blue twilight sky and could have shouted.
Freedom!
It felt marvelous knowing she wouldn't have to go back to the fort. Tomorrow morning Margaret knew the sun would rise and she would be able to see it in all its glory unobstructed by stockade walls. She knew that she would not be looked askance by the dragoons for what her perceived crimes might be; the dragoons knew she was innocent.
Margaret watched as they rode past other camps, taking in flags and making her mental map of where everything was in relation to the land, orienting herself for the scouting she was certain she'd be doing soon.
Only one thing bothered Margaret and that was whether or not Tavington would harm the families of the men he sought.
Soon enough they arrived at the camp and Margaret quickly and gratefully swung down from the horse, watching as the Colonel did the same.
"I'll have someone come help you set up a tent. There are a few extras, I'm sure we can find you some space of your own." Tavington said striding across an avenue in the tent city as he unbuckled his helmet. "In the meantime I need you to follow me."
Margaret hurried to catch up to the colonel as his long strides quickly outpaced her own. Borden followed and the three of them made for one of the large command tents used by the lesser officers to bed down in.
"As you were." Tavington said as soon as he had ducked through the flap. Margaret waited for Borden to go inside and then she followed, quietly acknowledging some of the nods and smiles from the other officers. Margaret saw the colonel standing over Wilkins' cot, where the captain lay oblivious to the presence of his commander. "Wilkins!" Tavington roused the sleeping man. "A plantation seven miles from Wakefield, on the Santee east of Black Swamp. Who lived there?"
Wilkins sat up groggily, trying to think of the precise plantation his commander was asking for. Margaret tried to think too. The area was familiar to her as one her mother had ministered in.
"Benjamin Martin." Wilkins finally answered. Everyone knew the name. The man was a well respected war hero who had fought against the Cherokee in a previous war. He'd carved himself out a life with enough acreage to give him the right to sit in the House in Charlestown. Margaret vaguely remembered hearing the name whispered in Charlestown drawing rooms as one of the men who had voted against South Carolina joining the revolution at its outbreak.
"He's the ghost." Borden supplied to the quiet tent. Margaret swallowed hard and hoped that her knees wouldn't give out.
"St. Claire….I recognize that name. Why do I know that name?"
"My mother was a mid-wife for many years. She and my father lived in the swamps. She nursed the women of the swamps and surrounding villages through their birthings…."
"Vivienne. She was a good woman."
Margaret remembered her mother writing to her of a particularly difficult birth, one in which the child had lived, but the mother had fallen to child bed fever. The woman had been Benjamin Martin's wife.
"What do you know about him?"
"Hell everything. I could tell you the size of his boot."
"Does he have family? Where would he hide his children?" Wilkins looked ill a moment; he gazed around the tent to collect himself a moment before his eyes settled on where Margaret stood. He stared at her for a moment, before glancing up at the Colonel who towered over him.
"His wife's sister has a plantation" Wilkins said slowly, as if he had trouble saying the words. "It's not far."
"Excellent." Tavington turned and signaled for a few of the officers to follow him. "We will be riding out this evening." He stalked past where Margaret stood and only half glanced at her. "Miss St. Claire will be joining us. Someone help her find tent space and secure her a mount."
As soon as the Colonel had ducked out of the tent everyone else scrambled for boots, coats and equipment as quickly as they could in an effort to be ready as soon as possible. Wilkins grasped his own coat and quickly came to where Margaret was doing her best to dodge men bent on their own mission and make her way to the door of the tent. He tucked his jacket over his arm and then grasped Margaret's, guiding her out the tent and into the evening air.
"You're staying?" He asked as he escorted her down the avenue and away from the clamor of the officer's tent.
"Yes." Margaret answered. They stopped so Wilkins could put on his coat and then they continued on. "The Colonel negotiated my release in conjunction with his being able to go after the Ghost."
"How did he find out Ben Martin was the ghost?"
"It's a long story. Suffice it to say that they met, apparently for the second time, this afternoon at the fort. The Ghost—Martin—embarrassed the Lord General, who is now bent on revenge."
"And he's given Colonel Tavington the authorization to achieve that revenge."
Margaret nodded. They ducked between two tents and Margaret turned to face James. "I'm nervous James. He mentioned Martin's children. Tavington mentioned a stupid little boy who he hoped had died when he and Martin confronted one another. Would he hurt a child?"
"I don't know." Wilkins sighed. He glanced beyond and escorted Margaret to a tent whose flaps stood open. "Chrysler took ill while we were escorting the Lord General's supplies from Middleton. You can take his tent. We'll relocate his things and assign him to a different tent.
"Thank You."
"I'm glad you're back."
"As am I." Margaret placed her satchel on the cot within the tent and then turned back to Wilkins.
"Best get going. The Colonel won't want to wait if he thinks he has a way to trap the ghost."