"I informed Mr. Howard last night. They are devastated," Oliver was saying. "I am going to hold a ceremony for George this afternoon," Reverend Oliver was saying. Beth blinked slowly, still too stunned to think. Sitting beneath the window, the morning sun streaming through the glass did little to warm her. She heard what Reverend Oliver was saying but she was unable to comprehend it. George, her fiancé, was dead.
Her lover had killed her fiancé.
These thoughts barely registered. They flittered on the outskirts of her mind, hovered about her awareness, but would not sink in. The rest of her family seemed just as stunned.
"Where is Tarleton now?" Oliver asked Benjamin, looking nervous as he fidgeted his fingers. There was a bruise on his face and by the way he was moving, Benjamin thought there might be more around his body.
"Asleep upstairs," Benjamin replied. His voice was low, solemn. "He didn't get in until before dawn. I overheard his soldiers talking, they said he heard where Burwell was hiding and went after him. Chasing his tail more like, for he didn't catch him."
"No. Mr. Higgins and Mr. Billings led the Continentals out - Burwell is gone, he'll be miles away by now."
Benjamin blew out a breath of relief, then shook his head in disbelief as he thought of George. Reverend Oliver understood completely - he was still struggling with the news himself. He had told them all of it - from the moment he found the Dragoons in the woods yesterday afternoon, he detailed the hanging, the burning of the buildings in the village, and that Mr. Higgins and his sons cut George from the tree.
"The Martin's have ever been the closest to the Howard family," he explained to Benjamin Martin gently. "Even before the two engagements between your children. The Howard family have fled. They can not attend their son's funeral. I have come to ask you to -"
"Of course we will come," Benjamin said.
"Tarleton won't try to stop you?" Oliver fretted and Benjamin realised why the reverend had asked where Tarleton was. Not out of fear after being roughed up by the Dragoons the day before, but because he worried Benjamin would not be able to attend George Howard's funeral.
"We're not under house arrest, supposedly," Benjamin said. "We can come and go as we please. Lord. Has this really happened? I can't… I just don't believe it."
"I know - it was horrendous. It was all happening before me, and I still couldn't believe it," Oliver said in a haunted tone. "Poor George. He never harmed a soul! He spent most of his life trying to hide his ruined hand, trying to rise above people's cruelty! And just when his life is getting better - it's all destroyed! He was looking forward to marrying you," Oliver said to Beth.
"I know," she whispered, her wide eyes brimming with tears. Of grief, shame, guilt.
For her lover had killed her fiancé.
She'd woken up that morning, thinking how she'd promised Banastre she'd go to his bed during the night, only he arrived home too late for her to do so. Now, she was grateful she hadn't been able to. Bad enough that George was dead by her lovers hand. How much more disrespectful would it have been, if she'd shared Banastre's blankets, the very night he killed her fiancé? She hadn't been in love with George, but she was stricken all the same. A boy she'd known her whole life, the brother of her dear friend, the man she'd almost spent the rest of her life with… Gone. Dead.
Murdered.
"I'd best go…" She said slowly as she tried to rise from the chaise. "I need to dress… for the funeral…" Gods.
"Yes," Benjamin said. "That would be for the best. Boys, you need to wash up and change into your best, now. I want no fussing or foolery - not now. I won't permit it."
"Of course not, father," Thomas rose and helped Beth out of the parlor. The other boys and Susan were herded out by Abigale, who would see to their getting ready. Benjamin was alone with the parlor with Oliver, Curly, Rollins, and the younger men, Bryson and Kevin.
"This can not go unanswered," Benjamin said with conviction, now that his children were gone. He sat forward and dry washed his hands, rubbing them together vigourously. "That boy was to be my son. My daughter's husband. Hell - he was to be Beth's salvation! His death must be avenged."
Oliver kept quiet. It went against everything he believed in, being a clergy man. But one of his flock had been murdered and he found himself battling his own thirst for revenge.
"What do you have in mind?" Curly asked gravely and Benjamin knew that he was not alone in his outrage.
Benjamin turned his thoughts to how best to attack Tarleton. It would be no easy feat, with the enemy Colonel residing in Benjamin's own home. Tarleton was upstairs, asleep in bed, having returned only a few hours before dawn. He had gotten word that Burwell was on the move, and after the atrocities committed at Pembroke, his Dragoons went hunting the Continentals. Benjamin had overheard the British soldiers discussing it, lamenting over yet another failure. That was one advantage to having Tarleton quartered in the same house. How much he could learn from complaining soldiers. There were other advantages, as well. He knew their comings and goings. Knew where Tarleton was, for the most part. And, to study the layout of the enemies camp, he need only look out the window.
"You remember what I told you about those rail fences? Tarleton has a whole unit of men, sitting like ducks waiting to be picked off. If I can get fifteen men, about eight at one end and eight at the other, we can make the bastard bleed."
"Well, you have four right here," Rollins said, speaking for himself, his sons and Curly. "Five with you, Ben."
"Reverend Oliver," Benjamin began, "here is what I need you to do -"
"I won't get involved in this!" Oliver declared, fearing Martin was about to recruit him.
"No - no, I just need you to visit a few families on my behalf," Benjamin explained. "I can't risk going near them, not with what I have planned. But if you can get them to the funeral, then I can speak to them afterward, without Tarleton being any the wiser."
"Who do you want me to approach?" Oliver found himself asking. "And what do you want me to say?"
"Dan Scott. Billings, Higgins, Skunk. Colt Layman. Matthew Black. They'll be sure to join us. Now we just need four more…"
"The old boys, riding together again," Curly said, slapping his thigh with enthusiasm. Benjamin had just named several men from his former unit, the men who served under his Command twenty years previous, during the Cherokee War. Rollins and Curly served with him also. "If only Banksia were here - Trellim too."
"No point lamenting over what can't be," Benjamin said shortly, focused solely on what was. What if's were a waste of time. "Those two boys have their own commitments. I need four more."
"I'd reckon that Billings cousin, Frank Warren will be on board. And Higgins' sons too. Tell Billings to put the word out - get him recruiting on your behalf. That way, Tarleton can't blame you for nothing."
"Yes, you're right," Benjamin nodded. "I'll tell him after the funeral. You just make sure he's there, Oliver, if you please."
"I will," the Reverend inclined his head. "I wish I could do more, but I am a clergy man and -"
"Nah, nah, none of that," Benjamin shook his head and waved his arms before him, placating Oliver. "I'm asking for too much already. But I can't do it myself, not without drawing attention to me. And I can't have them meet me here, without rousing Tarleton's suspicions. Just get the boys there, and we'll do the rest."
"Very well," Oliver agreed. Their meeting ended soon after that, with Oliver leaving the Martin's to begin making their preparations, while he himself visited other families of Pembroke, to gather them to attend the funeral.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Benjamin sat on the edge of his bed, waiting. It was almost time. Outside in the darkness of night, his men were approaching Tarleton's lines, the vulnerable unit camped between the rail fences. He felt now much as he had before any previous battle. The only difference was now, he was nearly twenty years older and not quite as spry as he used to be. Still, he could do this. He had to do this. For George Howard. For Peter Howard. For all of them. Banastre Tarleton had fired the first shot. Some one had to fire back. Men would die - hopefully none of his own. He stifled guilt, shoved it down deep for such emotions did not belong. Many of Tarleton's infantry were there because they had no other choice in life but to become a soldier. But they were there and this was war and by God, this had to be done.
Tarleton knew his error, now. Benjamin wondered if Tarleton had known the name of Beth's fiancé, perhaps he would not have hanged him. Beth had been avoiding Tarleton all afternoon since they returned after the funeral, she hadn't come out of her room, Benjamin had had to send a tray of food up to her at dinner time. Tarleton had been so cocky earlier, but with each passing hour, when Beth hadn't shown herself, and when he realised the reason why… He - Tarleton - was as quiet as the grave now. As quiet as George Howard, in his grave. Things would be so much simpler, far swifter, less bloody, if Benjamin could bring himself to enter Tarleton's chamber and slice the damned bastards throat.
But that was murder.
He would be saving countless lives, many of his men would die tonight. But Benjamin was not a murderer. He could shoot a man dead on the field of battle, but he would not kill an unarmed man.
Benjamin's thoughts lingered on his daughter and the funeral as he rose from the bed and began to make his preparations by candlelight. He needed his weapons, his musket and pistols, and his dagger. He left his tomahawk in its chest, for it had his name engraved on the handle and if it went missing - it could easily be found and he would be tied to the attack.
Yes. The funeral. A bloody tragic and dismal affair, without the boy's family to mourn him. The Martin's had turned out in force. Beth had stood by her father, her face stone, tears spilling down her cheeks, black ribbons in her hair and a black cape around her shoulders. After a very short service, George's body - in his casket, had been lowered into the ground. Oliver said a few more words and as the grave was being filled in, those who had attended the funeral began to leave the cemetery. It was then that Benjamin met in secret with the men Oliver had gathered for him. It was then that he placed Billings in charge with the recruiting of the four or five more men Benjamin needed. Billings had been confident that the task would be an easy one - especially when he put the word out that it was Captain Benjamin Martin doing the asking. Benjamin wasn't so certain - not with his family in disgrace as they were. And it was especially worse now that he was hosting Bloody Ban's Bloody Legion.
He had spoken to Dan Scott, who was concealing the Howard family in his home. Benjamin had asked Dan to pass on his condolences, and to tell Peter that he would make "Bloody Ban" bloody bleed, for killing George. Not that it would do much to relieve the families grief, he thought now as he climbed out his window and out onto the verandahs roof. He could not stride through the corridors and out the front door, as Banastre Bloody Tarleton had set guards all the way through out the house - letting the Martin's know he did not trust them.
Crouching low, he trotted carefully - and mostly silently despite his heavy boots, to the corner of the roof. He had managed to conceal a ladder there earlier in the day, for this exact purpose. He met Rollins, Curly, Bryson and Kevin - Rollin's sons. In silence, the men picked up the ladder and lowered one end to the ground, before climbing down one by one. When they were all on the ground, they concealed the ladder - they would need it in order to climb back up to the verandah roof, so they could get to their rooms unseen.
Keeping low, they made their way through the grounds, avoiding Tarleton's sentries and the tents. The soldiers were on the look out - and were damned good at their job - but they were looking outward for those trying to get in to the camp - not anyone trying to get out of it. In short order, Benjamin and his men cleared the last of the tents and were trotting to the agreed upon meeting place.
"I hope Billings was able to get the extra four men," he muttered to Rollins at his left side. "Though if he hasn't, we'll make do. We can do a fair bit of damage with just five or six of us at each end of the road. It would be far better with more, though. Far more effective."
"Agreed," Rollins said. "Don't worry, as long as we kill at least a few of the bastards, I'll be happy."
"Yeh," Curly said. "I want ten Lobsterbacks dead tonight."
"I want more than that dead," Benjamin muttered. "Banastre Tarleton first and foremost."
"You always were a greedy bastard," Rollins quipped, laughing that Benjamin wanted more than ten Lobsters dead. "Besides, I seem to remember a certain person not wanting to join this war."
"That was before they began attacking my family," Benjamin said grimly. "My brother in law in Charles Town - in Provost Dungeon. My own daughter, suffering the advances of that British bastard, and ruined now because of it. And not to mention the grief it's done to Burwell. And now this - George Howard's death. Be that as it may - I'll do just do this one thing and then I'm out. I won't risk bringing harm to my children. But this - what was done to George, that needs to be addressed."
"It certainly does," Rollins agreed.
They stopped speaking then, they were running too fast now and were becoming winded as it was. Jumping over logs and skirting bushes in the dead of night - it was a good thing they knew the area so well. They soon came upon the place of meeting, an old shack hidden deep in the thick woods. They were too far from the house for anyone at Fresh Water to spy the fire brands that Billings and his men held aloft as they waited for Martin. As soon as Benjamin entered the clearing, he stopped dead, staring at all the familiar faces with shock.
He had wasted his time fretting that Billings would have trouble convincing four extras. For the clearing was filled to bursting with men - and more were coming out of the shack. Instead of the four he had prayed for, he was faced with at least sixty.
All he could do was stare, dumbfounded.
"Such is the strength of your Leadership," Rollins muttered and Curly nodded. "You Command, my Captain, and we obey."
"Jesus," Benjamin breathed, over whelmed. The grim faced men came forward to greet Benjamin, to slap him on the back and thank him for inviting them to the party. Billings, laughing at Benjamin's expression, came forward also.
"And you thought I'd struggle to get four men," he laughed. "As soon as I put the word out - I couldn't turn the bastards away! None of them would listen - their blood is up, that's for certain. And when they heard you were doin' the leadin', well - I didn't have a shit show in Hell of turning them aside then! Well? What do you have to say? A thank you would be nice."
"Thank you, John," Benjamin said gravely, "you did well. Far exceeded my expectations, that's for sure."
A general buzz began to sound amongst the men and Benjamin listened closely to hear the words. Lots of 'is this a new militia then?' and 'when do we get to kill the Lobster's?'. One question that was repeated over and over, one that caused Benjamin no end of distress, was, 'has Captain Martin taken over from Huddy then? Is he our Captain? Because I'll follow him to the grave, I will!'
This sentiment was repeated all too many times and Benjamin held up his hands, calling for silence.
"Now, now - you all know I'm not one for speeches," he called out when they hushed. "But I have to get a few things clear, here and now. The most important - and I'm sorry if this disappoints you all - but no, I have not come out of retirement."
"More's the pity," Rollins muttered and the others nodded agreement.
"Shut it, Rollins," Benjamin barked. "Listen here. I merely wish to right a wrong - to get vengeance for the death of one of our own - Mr. George Howard. He was a Patriot, through and through. He and his family have helped our Cause too many ways to count - serving their country in the only way the could. And now George is dead of it. This can not go unchallenged. These bastards can not continue to believe they can do as they wish in our country with no repercussions -"
"Which is exactly why we need you to front the damned militia!" Danvers called out from further back in the crowd. Others voiced their agreement, they sounded angry. Not with Tarleton, or the British, or the atrocities committed.
They were angry with him for not joining them.
"You have Huddy for that," Benjamin snapped.
"Huddy's in hiding!" Scott called. "Hell - we're all in bloody hiding."
"And it will stay that way until such a time as you are able to come together and strike without being decimated!" Benjamin growled.
"And when that day comes, will you lead us?"
Benjamin turned his baleful glare on Rollins, who glared right back. He was the one to voice the question, and Benjamin was furious. Rollins and Curly had lived with him for some weeks now - they understood his desire to stay out of strife, in order to keep his family safe!
"No!" He said, firmly and crisply, pronouncing the word as clearly and emphatically as he could. Silence reined amongst the men. "As I said - I am sorry. We have a job to do tonight, and afterward, we will all seek our homes and try our best to conceal what we've done. To live as normal as possible, and not draw suspicion. Now, will you accept these terms? Will you accept that this is a one time raid only?"
"It seems we must," Danvers called, thoroughly unimpressed. "If we are to avenge George Howard and at least do some small damage to the Lobsterbacks."
"Good, because this is what I want you to do," Benjamin began separating the sixty men into small units. Now that he had so many, he decided to not only hit the one unit who had unwisely camped between the rail fences, but another of Tarleton's units at the other side of camp. This unit was not quite as vulnerable, but now the Patriots had numbers on their side, Benjamin's men should be able to swoop in, with their rifles a-blazing, inflict some damage before the Legion could rally themselves, before swooping out again.
"When this is done - I want each and every one of you to get the Hell out of here. Slink away into the swamps and the woods, get to your homes as quickly as possible and pretend you never left. They think to raid us, do they? Let's show these 'Raiders' the true meaning of the word!"
Despite being disgruntled that Benjamin was not going to lead them permanently, they still cheered him now. With their units chosen and their battle plans in place, the men began to make their way through the night, toward their targets.
::::::::::::::::
Three candles still burned on the small table in the far corner of the room, the small flames glowing against the wall. The light provided small comfort, but it was better than the alternative. Laying in bed in a completely dark room, entirely alone with her thoughts. Beth's breath was too fast and her heart was pounding in an unpleasant way. There was an awful, sick feeling in her stomach, like worry only sharper and it left her feeling shaky. She swallowed hard, placed her hand over her chest and wondered if her heart was failing her. Should she go get help? Tell her father that she was worried she was dying? A hot flush spread out from her chest and rose up her neck to her flush across her cheeks. That was enough, she needed to move. She pushed the covers back and flung her legs over the side of the bed, and sat there trembling.
Moving seemed to alter something, her heart was no longer pounding faster than a horse could gallop. It was no longer roaring in her ears. The warm flush began to recede and she felt she could breathe again. Her panic seemed to be abating, she no longer felt as if she were about to die. Still. Perhaps she should tell her father, in case she needed a doctor? She rose on shaky legs and pulled her nightgown on, picked up one of the candles and was at the door when she heard a heavy footstep just outside. A whisper of sound and she looked down as something was slipped beneath the door.
Susan snored quietly in her own bed, her legs and arms akimbo. Sound asleep. Beth picked up the something - a note - and went to the table to read it. It was from Banastre - who else would be sending notes to her in the dead of night? He was pleading with her in his flourishing way, to come to him, to give him the opportunity to explain his actions. Her heart began to pound again, that unpleasant flush rising. That roaring in her ears. Gods, she really was dying.
Picking up a pencil, she wrote a quick message on the back of Banastre's note.
No. I'm not ready yet.
Should she hand it to the guard who was no doubt on the other side of the door, waiting to escort her to Banastre? He could she face him, the soldier, who would know precisely what he was escorting her to his Colonel for? Not that she was going. Still, she did not want to face him. Or Banastre. Or anyone. She slipped the note back under the door and heard the sound as it was picked up. Heard the footfalls as they receded down the hall, the soldier carrying her refusal back to Banastre.
She returned to her bed and sat, knees to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. A small ball, she stared at the burning candles, the flickering flames and the soft glow they cast against the wall.
In the far distance, she heard clapping sounds and recognised them immediately for what they were.
Gunshots.
Far enough away that if one was sleeping, they would not be awoken. Susan continued to snore in her bed but Beth leaped from hers and rushed to the windows, pulling back the drapes, she could see only the blackness of night, trying to see the encampment beyond. More shots were fired, distant but unmistakable. Her breath fogged the glass, making it even more difficult to see. Beth pulled the window up and stuck her head out, searching for the bursts of light that flared around a firing pistol or rifle. She could see nothing. Were they under attack? The gunfire hadn't ceased. She should tell someone. Not Banastre. Her father. But just as the thought entered her head, she saw firebrands moving toward the house. She could not see who carried them, she could only see the fire itself. Finally she began to hear the sounds of movement within the house and outside, when the men carrying the firebrands were closer, she could hear them yelling.
Her door burst open and Banastre entered, still tying his hair back into a queue.
"Get dressed," he commanded grimly. "We are under attack."
"Ho!" Beth whispered fearfully. He said nothing about the note or her rejection, his dark eyes were narrowed, focused, his mind on other concerns. Beth went to shake Susan gently. Banastre turned on his heel and strode back out. Beth took her frightened sister's hand and led her into the hallway, where she met Thomas, Nathan, Samuel and William.
"What's happening?" Thomas asked Beth as officers darted down the corridor past them.
"The camp is under attack," she said, glancing down at Susan, who blinked up at Beth fearfully. The older girl gave the younger girl's hand a comforting squeeze.
"Jesus," Thomas breathed. Then, excited, he said, "come, we'll see more from Beth and Susan's room." And he waved at his brother's to follow.
"Stop right there!" Banastre commanded from where he stood with Hanger and another Officer. He pointed at the boys. "You will stay here, in the hallway in the centre of the house and you will not go near any of the windows. Do I make myself clear?"
"Sounds like the fire is far back from the house," Thomas argued. "On either side of their encampment. We could risk a peek, surely?"
"There's nothing to see," Beth said. "I already looked."
"Where is your father?" Banastre asked, looking quite distracted. "I don't have time to look out for you, he will need to take you in hand."
"I'll go wake him," Beth offered, already moving toward the chamber at the end of the hall. Banastre nodded. He, Hanger and his officers strode down the hall and disappeared down the stairs. Beth knocked on her father's door. Nothing. She opened the door and stepped in, her siblings right behind her. The room as empty, and still those claps exploded through the night.
"He never went to bed?" Thomas said uncertainly, looking at the empty, unmade bed.
"Where is he?" Beth asked, looking around the room nervously.
"His guns are gone," Nathan said and Beth looked toward the corner of the room where there was usually at least two stacked against the wall.
"Don't tell me -" Thomas began - his face as white as a corpse - falling silent when the gunshots did. The children exchanged glances. As suddenly as it had began, it all died down. "Is it over?" Thomas whispered.
"I don't know…" Nathan whispered, looking as fearful as Beth felt. Where was their father?
"Tarleton is coming back up the stairs," Samuel whispered from the door.
"Damn and blast it. He'll see papa is not here and he'll think… He'll think what we're all thinking."
That their father was out there, helping to attack Banastre's camp. Beth was already moving toward corridor, she pulled the door closed behind her, leaving her siblings in the empty room, just as Banastre reached the landing.
"What's happened?" She asked, holding her night robe tight around her body.
"Attacked," Banastre confirmed, "on two fronts, the damned rebels are retreating. I came to tell you I'm going to give chase, so I'll be gone for a bit. Are you alright?"
"Of course," she shrugged. "I hope…" What did she hope, that no one was hurt? There'd be plenty hurt. Dead. This was a battle. "Be careful, Ban," she said, wrapping her arms around her as if she were cold.
"I wish… I'm sorry, about… I wish you'd have let me talk to you…"
"I…" she trailed off, then shook her head. "When you get back. We'll talk then. You will be careful?"
"I will. Your father?" He asked, jutting his chin toward the door.
"Ah… Getting dressed," Beth said after a moments hesitation. "I think he drank too much at dinner, he was hard to wake up. Did you want to speak to him before you go?"
"To him? No. Only to you," he leaned toward her, as if he wanted to kiss her, but there were too many people rushing about, his officers and soldiers, there was a cacophony of noise with footsteps and yelling. He stepped back, he would not kiss her in front of all those men. "I love you," he whispered, so softly she could barely hear it. She read his lips, however.
"I…" She paused, suddenly finding herself unable to say the words. Instead, she nodded and smiled weakly. "Just be careful, please?"
"I will," he grabbed her hand, pulled it away from where it was wrapped around her body, and planted a kiss on the back. And then he turned and trotted back down the stairs.
Beth opened the bed chamber door and was a little taken aback when Samuel slammed it shut behind her. It took her only a moment to realise why. She was stunned to see her father standing there, all covered in dirt. Curly, Rollins, Bryson and Kevin were climbing in through the window quickly, one by one, until the large room felt far too small.
"You climbed up onto the balcony?" She gasped, the words an incredulous and terrified squeak.
"Yes," her father replied shortly as he placed his rifle where it belonged, in the corner against the wall.
"Do you think they saw us? There are so many of them out there," Bryson asked, staring out the window into the darkness.
"They would be arresting us right now, if they had," Benjamin replied. "Who is in the corridor, Beth?" When she could only gape, he became impatient. "The others need to change into their banyans to look like they're fresh out of bed. We must be seen here, in the house, and not looking as we do now. Who is out there?"
"Dragoons, but they're going. Colonel Tarleton is going to chase them - I mean, you. Gods, he's chasing after you, isn't he?"
"Never mind that," Benjamin turned to the others. "He'll leave a small force here, in the house. Not necessarily in the corridors, though. I'll send Beth out in a moment and she will tell us when the way is clear for you to return to your rooms. Be quick about changing, and then be noisy about leaving your rooms - we'll meet in the parlour and let all his men see us. If God is on our side, if I can make it look like we've been here all along, we might not be suspected." The other men nodded, none of them looked particularly hopeful of that.
"I told Colonel Tarleton that you were sleeping," Beth said and Benjamin gave her a sharp look. "Just now, when he asked after you. I said you drank too much at dinner and were hard to rouse, but that you were getting up now. He thinks you were here."
He nodded slowly, gave her an appraising look. "Go, Beth. See if anyone is still out there."
She did, she opened the door slightly enough that she could slip through without anyone seeing inside the room, but there was no one outside of it. She turned back to the room, her hand still on the bolt. "No one here. I can hear voices downstairs, though."
"Quickly then," Benjamin said to the others and the door was opened to its fullest, the men quickly passed through and went to the rooms they shared. The siblings turned back to their father as he began to thrown off his soiled clothes.
"We attacked his Legion," Benjamin said grimly as he pulled off his shirt. The story was told quickly, of how Benjamin had put out the call for men and how many had come to his summons. Of how they had attacked two sections of the camp at once, before fading into the night before Tarleton could so much as rally his troops.
"Papa! You didn't tell me! I could've helped!" Thomas wailed, furious yet exultant and Benjamin barked a mirthless laugh.
They convened in the parlor downstairs, where Benjamin whispered a fuller account of the nights events. Susan sat on Beth's knee, both girls listening as avidly as their brothers.
"I led the unit attacking those camped between the rail fences," he kept his voice low, they were there to be seen by the soldiers Banastre had left behind and there were plenty of those, walking back and forth in the hall on whatever errands Banastre had charged them with before he left. How her father and his men had managed to get back up onto the balcony without being seen was beyond Beth. The place was crawling with the British. Benjamin had left the parlour doors open so those soldiers could get a good look at who was in the parlour, and he kept his voice low so none of them could hear his account of the battle. "And Billings positioned another unit on the other side of the camp. I had my men position themselves at either end of the road, and when we opened fire, the Lobsterbacks darted out of their tents but because of the fence to either side, they had no where to go. Nor could they form up properly to counter us - they did not have the room. It was open slather - with fifteen men to either opening of the road, we decimated them."
He was not boastful, just speaking the facts. It was clear he took no pleasure in it, he had merely performed a task that needed to be done. Though she felt sick to her stomach at the devastation her father had wrought, her brothers eyes were fevered and bright, relishing every word.
"I seems Billings' raid was just as effective, though I have heard no word of him yet. He attacked a unit whose position for defence was better than the one we'd taken, but he had more men with him as well. We suffered no casualties, and it is my hope that Billings will report that he suffered none also."
"Papa," Beth whimpered. "What if Tarleton discovers it was you?"
"Then I will hang," Benjamin shrugged. "Just as George hung yesterday. But he won't discover it, dear heart. Not after you told him you tried to wake me."
"He might think you were here in the house," Beth fretted, "but what if he suspects you orchestrated it?"
"No - dear heart. He will think this attack came from Burwell, I have made certain of that."
"Oh…" She trailed off, slightly relieved.
"Right then, they've seen us down here altogether, and that's all I wanted. Now, off to bed with you," he rose and clapped his hands at the young children, who jumped to their feet to obey on the instant. Beth put Susan on the floor and rose more slowly.
"How many do you think died tonight, Papa?" She asked, shuddering with distress.
"As many as needed to, Beth," her father replied grimly. "George's death could not go unanswered. The British have had their way here for long enough. This will make the bastards think twice, as they deserve."
"It's just," she paused, trying to put her thoughts and emotions to words. "I know that - I do. But men died, right out there, Papa. What's worse is, you killed them. You raised your rifle, you took aim, and you killed them!"
"I'm a soldier," he shrugged. "As is your brother, as Thomas will be also. We killed other soldiers, Beth. Because we are at war. Do you understand?"
"I think so," she nodded slowly. Though she still felt heartsore for all the death that had occurred outside her very window, she did understand. Her father was not a murderous madman, he was a soldier fighting a war, killing enemy soldiers who would otherwise kill him. He killed the enemy this night - which was one thing she needed to remember. That while she had become Tarleton's lover, his men - even Tarleton himself - were her enemies also. "I do understand. I'm sorry - it's just so… awful."
"I know," he strode forward and pulled her against him, and Beth whimpered as his arms came about her for the first time since Burwell left her. She melted into his embrace, tears burning her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Papa," she murmured and Benjamin tightened his hold, understanding her apology was for her conduct with Tavington.
"I'm sorry, too," he murmured back. "For not showing you more support over the last week. I should have been there for you."
"You were angry," she defended him and he shook his head.
"Yes, I was, and it stopped me from supporting you when you needed it most," the truth was, he had barely been able to look at his daughter at all, and a breach had opened up between them because of it. He was only just realising now, how damaging that had been for Beth, who - for the last few days - probably only wanted him to hold her, and to tell her he loved her still. He decided he would change that now - for at the core of it, she was still his little girl. The British bastards were trying to steal her away from him, but they hadn't succeeded yet. She'd proved that when she'd like to Tarleton on his behalf, without even knowing whether he was involved in the battle or not."I love you, Beth."
An explosive sob tore through her and her knees buckled. He had to hold her, to guide her to the couch where he held her as she cried. Feeling worse than a cad, he apologised again, over and over, for shunning her as he had. Rollins ushered the children out and called for Abigale to put Susan back to bed. Benjamin and Beth stayed where they were, sitting on the couch clutching at one another, rebuilding the broken bridge between them.
