Chapter 100 - Silk From Tobacco:
End of September 1790 - Fresh Water
Beth wandered around the mercantile looking at the wares, finally coming to a stop before the bolts and folded squares of cloth. Mrs. Campbell followed her about, chatting idly about this and that, not truly trying to sell Beth anything. Beth's eyes landed on a swath of velvet - it was a deep blue so dark it was almost black. William would look very fine, in a suit made of this. They'd had a horrid fight a few days back, one she worried would be repeated every single month for the rest of their lives. She didn't want to think about it now, didn't want to become angry and frustrated over her memories, Mrs. Campbell would wonder what was wrong with her if her mood suddenly darkened. But honestly, to become so immediately angry with her, to march out on her and not return until the small hours of night, reeking of whiskey and - by then - good cheer, while she lay in bed bristling with anger… He'd tried and failed to apologise to her, to make it up to her. When that didn't work, he'd fallen asleep snoring while she lay there, sleep alluding her. She'd had to sleep in the next day, to make up for it. William did his best to soothe her when she finally rose, though in truth she was still too angry and frustrated to forgive and forget so easily. And ashamed and worried. She had her menses, again. What was wrong wit her?
At least they hadn't lasted as long as usual. And there hadn't been as much blood as usual, either. Where she normally had to swap out the linen between her legs every few hours, this time she had the some one there for most of the day and didn't even bother the following night. By morning, it was gone entirely, it did not linger for the week like usual. She'd been overworked with all the sick in the house and had been eating rather poorly, that was probably the reason why. Next month, she thought now, she was likely going to be in for it. Not only would the fight repeat all over again, but next month she would be in agony as her body doubled the heaviness of her courses, to make up for the lack this month.
"…My brother sent it down from Kingstree," Mrs. Campbell was telling Beth, who was now stroking the bolt of red silk between her fingers. "He doesn't have anyone there 'bout's who can afford such as this," the woman said, "not with the war. No one ventures out much either, these days. I thought I'd show it to you. It really is rather nice, isn't it?"
Beth nodded, a small smile quirking her lips. It would be quite nice indeed, there was enough of the silk for her and Cilla both to have dresses made. She chanced a glance up and met Mrs. Campbell's eyes. The woman was being very friendly. Not the 'I need you to buy this silk' sort of friendly, either. Why? The woman was a Patriot through and through; she should despise Beth. She should run Beth out of her shop! Instead, she'd brewed a pot of tea - an infusion of herbs and dried fruit, then sat down to chat with Beth. The bolt of silk had only come into her head a short while later; she was not merely smoothing up to Beth to make the sale. Why?
It was a puzzle; Beth sat mulling over it for a while, noting Mrs. Campbell's friendly smiles and pointed stares. Suddenly she realised the 'why'.
"Oliver told you!" Beth cried, cutting Mrs. Campbell off mid sentence. She threw her hands wide and the silk glided from her fingers to slide back onto the table.
"Shh!" The woman warned, peering past Beth to the Dragoon guards waiting for Beth outside. "They'll hear you."
"I told him not to!" Beth fumed. "I told him! He'll get me into such trouble!"
Mrs. Campbell's gaze became piercing and eager. She leaned forward and whispered, "do you have any news for us? Anything at all?"
"This is what I was afraid of," Beth ground out, rising abruptly. "I can't be a spy for you, Mrs. Campbell. I won't! My husband trusts me and I've betrayed that trust too often as it is. He'll drag me over burning coals for this!"
"He won't find out," the older woman pleaded.
Yes, that was easy for her to say, she who didn't have to take the risk! Beth knew her husbands temper, and for this - for spying - that temper would be magnificent and dreadful to behold.
"Five bushels of tobacco," Beth snapped, pointing at the bolt. "For the silk."
Mrs. Campbell blinked up at her. "You really won't tell me anything?"
"Five bushels and not a leaf more," Beth folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. Mrs. Campbell sighed, disappointed.
"I can't except any less than eight, I'm afraid. Not for cloth of this quality. Look at the sheen… It's just beautiful. Eight bushels, Mrs. Tavington."
"Done," Beth was already turning away. "If you could deliver it to Mrs. Turnbull's, I'll be there for the next hour or so. I'll have the tobacco delivered to you by tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," Mrs. Campbell said, all politeness. She watched the bristling girl storm away.
"Well, that was disappointing," Nathan Martin emerged from a room out the back of the shop, where he had been waiting quietly. "I really thought she'd tell you something."
"I'm sorry, lad. It seems her act of Patriotism was to be a singular one," the woman replied. She began folding the bolt of silk.
"Well, she did help to save the Reverend," Nathan said, folding his arms across his chest. That had to count for something. He had neared the window and was watching his sister stalk her way across the street, Dragoons trailing a discreet distance behind her. "She's looking well… We were frightened for her, with everyone sick at Fresh Water."
"Yes, she's remained untouched. Your cousin is much better though."
"Yes, thank you for asking about her just now. We've been as worried for Cilla also."
"Perhaps if a loved one is directly threatened, Mrs. Tavington will help," Mrs. Campbell soothed the boy, who was still disappointed that his sister would not spy for them. "I do have to agree with her, however. If her husband discovered she was helping," she shuddered. "Wife or not, Tavington would drag her over burning coals."
"Her own stupid fault for marrying a Lobsterback," Nathan muttered. "Of all the ridiculous…" He trailed off, turning away from the window. He spied the silk Mrs. Campbell was still folding carefully. "Eight bushels of my fathers tobacco, for that," he stalked closer, eyes narrowed. "It's not worth six!"
"I take it your sister was in no mood for haggling, or I'm certain she would have driven my price back down again. She can bargain like a fisherman's wife that girl," Mrs. Campbell replied. She seemed pleased to have gotten the better of Beth this once, and did not even have the grace to look apologetic.
"Tavington should be paying for it, not my father," Nathan ground out, glaring at the bolt. Mrs. Campbell had finished folding the silk and she proceeded to wrap it in muslin cloth, which she tied off with a pretty ribbon. On impulse, Nathan picked up the package and to Mrs. Campbell's shock, he said, "I'll deliver it to her."
"You might be caught!" She cried, reaching out to stop him.
"Someone has to deliver it - to Mrs. Turnbull's, that's where she said she's going, isn't it?"
"Mrs. Turnbull is a Loyalist who has not hesitated to give the British information as soon as she has it. She'll recognise you immediately and she'll tell that Dragoon guard! Don't be a fool, boy!" Mrs. Campbell tried to reason but Nathan was not listening.
"I want to see her," he said. "I want to speak to her. We did not part on the best of terms, I don't want unpleasantness between us."
"Then you should have revealed yourself while you were here, while it was still safe to do so!" Mrs. Campbell said but the door was already closing, cutting off her words mid sentence.
Parcel safe under his arm, Nathan pulled his tricorn hat low, he peered from beneath the brim as he trotted down the steps and onto the dirt road. He kept his head down and tried to keep an eye on the Dragoons, without appearing to be keeping an eye on them. He had not entered Pembroke alone of course, he'd come with several other militiamen, hardened men who usually kept company with his father. These were striding through the town unmolested, except for the occasional question thrown at them by a British Dragoon.
"Oh nay, I ain't no militiaman. And aye, I'm Loyal," Nathan heard Rollins saying to the two Dragoons questioning him as Nathan walked by. "Long live the King, I say. You know, I'm heartily sick of these damned rebels," Nathan's father's friend continued. "And that damned Ghost. Benjamin Martin, ain't? Where is he, I ask you? Why ain't you out there lookin' for him, aye?"
Nathan hid a smirk as he continued on, leaving Rollins to demand that Benjamin Martin be bought in and justice dealt to him, as if Rollins wasn't behind half of Benjamin's schemes. While he was striding along, he chanced a glance over his shoulder in time to see that Rollins was being let go. Nathan turned to the front again and almost cursed in shock as he tripped over a woman standing in the path. He nearly bowled the woman over, nearly sent them both hurtling to the ground.
"Heaven's above, watch where you're going!" Beth snapped as she righted herself. She glared at Nathan and then, recognising him, the blood drained from her face. He stared back, lips working, speechless. Suddenly he was gripped by his shoulder and hauled about.
"What the devil is wrong with you?" A very tall, very broad Dragoon towered over Nathan, he gave the slighter boy a rough shake. "Do you know who this woman is?"
"It's alright Phelps," Beth said, finally finding her voice. She laid a gentle hand on 'Phelps' hand, fingers her sliding beneath his, trying to prise his hand from his hold on Nathan.
"Don't worry, Mrs. Tavington. I'll give the lad what for, smashing into you like that!" Phelps ground out, menacing.
"No, Sir, you will not," Beth said coolly. "Please unhand him. It was an accident, I'm sure. I know this boy's family and I know he meant no harm."
Phelps gave her an uncertain glance. She could see in his eyes that he wanted to take Nathan aside and pummel him. He was caught between his desire to beat the hell out of Nathan, and his obligation to obey his Commanders wife. More Dragoons were closing in, ready to join him. Beth hoped none of them recognised Nathan from before he escaped Fresh Water.
"What's that you've got there, Mr. Ah.. Pike?" Beth asked a little weakly.
"Mrs. Campbell sent me to deliver this to you, Mrs. Tavington," Nathan replied, taking his cue from Beth and trying to act with the deference a woman of Beth's station deserved.
"Oh, well then… you see, Lieutenant?" She asked Phelps. "He was looking for me after all. Don't worry, I'll chide him for his careless walking…" She took Nathan by the shoulder and began to walk him down an avenue. Nathan saw his father's carriage was left there outside the Turnbull house, with Old Lucas sitting up on the driver seat.
"Mr. Pike?" Nathan muttered as she led him along. "Was that the best you could do?"
"Yes," Beth whispered back. "I saw those pikes up the road there and it was the first thing to pop into my head."
"Stupid name."
"What's stupid, you damned fool, is you coming into Pembroke. What the devil are you doing here? How did you even get through the pickets?" She was smiling for all she was worth - with that false smile; Phelps and his companions could not have known she was giving Nathan a blistering as they walked along.
"I wanted to see my sister," he said, eyeing her sidelong. Startled, she tripped and he reached a hand to steady her. The Dragoons were quite a few paces back now, they could not hear a word. They did not see the consternation cross over the face of their charge, nor did they see her sudden tears.
"You did?" She almost swayed from the force of emotions racing through her. "You really did?"
"Of course. I've missed you. And we've all been really worried," he said, then he added with an insolent grin, "you stupid little fool."
She choked out a sobbing laugh. Old Lucas had seen Nathan by now, and his jaw was hanging open, eyes bulging.
"You'll catch flies," Nathan joked up at the old servant. Old Lucas snapped his mouth shut.
"Oh god, I've missed you all too," Beth was blubbering. She wiped her fingers across her eyes, her gloves came away damp. "How is everybody? Oliver said they were all fine…"
"They are," Nathan replied. "We are. And papa, he's in North Carolina. He's gone a huntin'."
"Oh? And which redcoat is his unlucky prey?" She asked, understanding fully well what her father was hunting.
"That Ferguson fellow… A Scotts' man I believe."
"Oh, I've heard of him - he made a bunch of threats to the rebels," Beth sniffled. "O'Hara thinks there might be trouble from it and we've heard of militia's forming up that way."
"And did O'Hara say what they intend to do about it?" Nathan asked, voice hard and direct, demanding she confide information to him.
"Damn you," Beth muttered, glancing at her guards, who were now more interested in a game they were playing, than they were in her and her 'assailant'. They were squatting down in a circle, mostly with their backs to Beth, throwing a dice across the dirt and making bets. She really should not tell Nathan anything… "No, if it comes to a battle, he doubts there is much they can do," she said finally, eyes still on the Dragoons. "William is sick, Tarleton also. They can't get out of bed to lead the Dragoons. Cornwallis is suffering the same in Charlotte. His adjutants are trying to downplay it, but O'Hara thinks Cornwallis is as sick with the yellow fever as anyone ever was." She finally met Nathan's eyes, and he smiled proudly, pleased that she would do the right thing after all, when prodded by a loved one.
"Thank you. That yellow fever... Providence is shining down on us, surely."
"Oh, is it?" She spat. "My husband has been deathly ill, Nate. Is Providence shining down on me?"
"Perhaps not," he said, chastened.
"He won't go to Ferguson's aid if the Major needs it, because - while he has recovered somewhat - he is still too sick," she ground out, "I see nothing providential about that."
Nathan sighed heavily. "I get it. Would you let it go?"
She sniffed again, trying to rein in tears and anger both. "Did you really want to see your sister or did you just want to get information out of me?"
"I wanted to see you, Beth," he replied. "Though the information is damned handy."
She heaved a sullen breath. "How are you?" She said, finally.
"Grand. I don't have to stay in Gullah with the little children, papa is relying on me more and more. I can deliver messengers real quick, because I know all the trails and he even got me a new horse. She's wonderful, Beth. She's even better than Shadow Dancer."
"There is no horse in the world better than Shadow Dancer. How do you avoid the sentries?" She asked tiredly, not even bothering to expend the energy to argue that perhaps being a messenger for their father was not such a healthy or safe occupation.
"I do well enough," his grin broadened, "this one time, I was trying to get away from a British guard. They were suspicious and were going to take me into custody, but then I told them I was your brother," he started to laugh. "That got me right through real quick." She glared up at him and he rushed on. "But for the most part, I try not to let them catch me."
"That's the better way to do it, boy," Old Lucas advised.
"Where are Gabriel and Thomas?" She asked Nathan.
"Now, I don't know if I can answer that," Nathan said shrewdly. "You know, giving the enemy intelligence and all. I might be accused of giving away too much information… You might get me into trouble…"
"Shut it," she sniffed. It was hardly the same thing. The her Patriot brother was demanding she share information with them, when she'd promised William she would not. She didn't like to think what it would do to their marriage, if he discovered she was complying. No, it was hardly the same thing at all.
"They are both with papa," Nathan said. Then he grinned, "and Colin Ferguson has joined the militia up there too."
"He has?" She gasped. "I thought he wanted to stay out of it?"
"Changed his mind," Nathan shrugged.
"I hope William doesn't find out - he'll know Colin was a spy for sure, then."
"He might think Colin turned coat? Either way, it don't matter, Colin is well out of his reach, now."
"Perhaps, but I'm not. I kept Colin's spying a secret, remember?" Beth heaved a breath. "How are Mary and Lucy?"
"I don't know," Nathan shrugged. "Father didn't mention them in his letter."
"I should have known. Men never ask for the important information," she huffed.
"I'm sure they're fine. I wonder if Thomas will make some excuse to go see Lucy before they head back from North Carolina? He'll be a fool if he does, he'll find himself engaged or something…"
"Well, they are promised," Beth smiled weakly. "Perhaps I'll be invited to their wedding, at least."
Nathan heard the bitterness in her voice. "Gabriel's wedding was quick and… well, not like a real wedding at all. It wasn't even in a church. Gabriel couldn't even get out of bed - Anne sat at his bedside, they said the words and it was done. No reception afterward or anything. Just a nicer than usual dinner."
"I should have been there," Beth said pointedly. "I'm his sister."
"It was your choice to marry a British Officer, Beth," Nathan said bluntly and Beth ground her jaw. He handed her the parcel, "here, I wasn't lying. This is the silk you bought from Mrs. Campbell. With eight bushels of father's tobacco… He won't be happy to hear about this, you know. That Lobster's your husband, he should be providing for you."
"William does provide for me," she wondered if she should tell him about the disposition of Fresh Water - that the Plantation had been seized by Clinton, and handed over to Beth's husband. Closing her eyes, she gathered her courage and told him. When she finished, Nathan gaped, then hissed a stream of curses. "I've made him promise that everyone will be provided for, I won't have papa homeless because of some edict Clinton made. As for the crops - William is selling them at a good price, which will be shared among the family. If we don't do anything about the fields, the crops will just die anyway. This way, we all benefit. I am papa's daughter, after all. I don't see why he would frown upon my husband taking care of the property when he is away…"
"Because your husband, sweet sister, is the bloody Butcher. Besides, it seems he's doing more than looking after the property - he damned well thinks he owns it!" Despite the rancour in his words, Nathan leaned in and kissed her cheek. After ensuring they were not being observed by her guard. He also hugged her briefly and warmly. "I have to go…"
"Tell them I love them," she clung on to him for a scant few moments, then let him go.
"I will," he said. Tipping his hat to her and to Old Lucas, he trotted off down the street.
"He is a damned fool for coming here," Beth shook her head as she watched Nathan until he disappeared around the corner at the end of the lane. "I'm sure he thinks this is all exciting. A great lark. But if he's caught… There won't be anything I can do for him."
Old Lucas pulled his pipe and began filling the bowl. She watched him for several long moments but he would not meet her gaze and it became clear that the old servant did not agree with her. Heaving a sullen sigh, she handed the package of silk up to him and headed toward the gate. She hoped Mrs. Turnbull hadn't been watching from a window. Nathan's back had been to the house for the most part and he'd been wearing his hat, so he shouldn't have been recognised. Still, Mrs. Turnbull was sure to find it quite curious that Beth had been chatting to, and then embraced, some fellow. Oh well, she'd be inside requesting to see Harmony in a moment, and she'd find out soon enough.
"It just surprises me, is all," Cilla was saying as Banastre kissed the tip of each of her fingers. "I was certain that I'd get the most horrid looks from your men. For a whole week, I've been sharing your bed, but they almost seem to think of it as an adventure, a great joke, they have taken to guarding your door with great amusement, but when they speak to me, there is not a trace of disrespect."
"Nor would they dare any such thing," Banastre lay Cilla back onto the mattress. He tugged at the drawstring and pulled her shift open, revealing her beautiful, round, pale breasts. She coloured and squirmed as he bathed in the sight of her. He laughed softly. "You've been in my bed a week now, my sweet Cil, and still you're modest?"
She coloured all the more, she had no answer for him. She was unused to being so blatantly nude before any man, though she'd been married for some time now. At length, she shrugged. Banastre bent his head to her and began suckling gently on one dusky nipple, sending shivers of delight through her. His tongue on her nipple felt glorious. The things he was teaching her, the attention he paid to the parts of her body she never thought she would expose to any man… And he had been teaching her to do the same to him. He would lay back and guide her; the first time she'd wrapped her hands around his hard phallus, she'd been is such a state of awe and fear and embarrassment. She'd immediately snapped her hand away as though the touch of his cock burned her palm. He was patient with her though, and now, touching him there, her fingers gliding over his member, only occasioned a slight blush and soft nervous giggle.
The first time he'd coaxed her to do the same with her tongue… Cilla shuddered, both with delight and shock at her daring. She'd done it, kneeling between his legs, bent over his groin, his quivering phallus deep in her mouth as he shuddered before her. It was all really quite shocking, the things couples did when loving one another. Things she'd never thought to dream of. His hand was moving down over her stomach, his fingers dipped between her thighs, and all the while he paid the most exquisite attention to her nipples, she was soon sighing softly, modesty forgotten. It was like that, she had come to realise. She was all embarrassment and shame when she climbed into his bed, but once he got started, all shame, worries and fears fled from the torrent of encroaching pleasure. Just like Patriot soldiers fled from Banastre's dragoons… Not the best comparison for her to make, being a Patriot herself. He was growing slightly stronger now, coupling was not quite as exhausting as it had been. He soon had her panting for him, and as he moved between her legs, she welcomed him by stretching hers wide.
The fleeting thought that, perhaps, she would give Bordon a baby after all, entered her mind just as Banastre began to enter her body.
"Oh, sweet Lord, Ban," she whispered, reaching down to dig her fingers into the fleshy cheeks of his backside. He kissed her harshly, passionately, as he began to plunge. She met him thrust for thrust, as he had taught her to, as her body instinctively told her. They were soon sweaty, hair intermingled, dark eyes blazing pleasure, both whispering quiet words of fondness and encouragement, until the inevitable and wonderful climax exploded and they began to float with the stars, unable to speak or even to breathe. Slowly, they descended together. Sweat slicked Banastre's face as he smiled down at her. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her tender smile shifting to concern.
"I worry that I'm tiring you," she said softly,. She had such need for him that she came to his chamber regularly and they almost always ended up coupling. Twice a day sometimes, and at least once at night… It was a wonder that Beth did not suspect anything. Then again, she seemed so distracted of late. And grateful that Cilla was tending Banastre, which left Beth free to do... Whatever it was she was doing...
"Not at all," he said, though his voice was heavy and tired as he withdrew from her body and collapsed alongside of her. "I'm as fit as a bull, remember?"
"I said 'ox'," she smiled, remembering that he had been pretending to sleep their first time, when Beth had almost caught them together. "I'm just worried… You are getting better, but too slowly. I worry that I'm taking the energy you need to -"
"Hush little one," he soothed, kissing her. "I'm certain that all this pleasure is helping me to recover, not sapping me of strength. I haven't felt so invigorated in an age. That said," he dropped back against the pillows with a very great yawn. "I do believe it's time to get some sleep."
Taking that as her cue to leave, she made as if to rise, but he pulled her back down again. Startled, she arched an eyebrow as his arms encircled her. He nudged his nose against hers. "Private Ambridge will come in and wake you before Bordon notices you're gone," he assured her, settling in beside her. She smiled and snuggled in, happy to be going to sleep in her lovers arms.
"You're back, are you?" Bordon asked tiredly, he'd just awoken to find Cilla curled up in the chair beside the bed.
"Banastre is sleeping," she replied. "And Beth is out."
"Where is Beth -" He paused and gave her a quizzical frown, head cocked. "wait, Banastre? That's awfully familiar, isn't it?"
"In Pembroke. And not for the shopping, or she would have invited me to go with her," Cilla said crisply. She was embarrassed of her slip - what had she been thinking, calling Banastre Banastre, to her husband? The same colour she knew must be heating her cheeks rose in Bordon's also.
Richard hesitated, suspicions of Cilla and Tarleton melting from his mind. Beth, Cilla was suggesting, was visiting Harmony in Pembroke. "I don't know what you mean," he said, embarrassed.
"Yes, you do," Cilla curled her lip.
He draped his arm over his eyes. "I'm too tired for this."
"So go back to sleep," Cilla shrugged. "We won't have to talk, then."
"Well, you're here, so you might as well tell me what news you have," he said.
"What news… Well, Wilkins reached his Plantation without any trouble. Emily does have yellow fever, I'm not certain how she's fairing. "Wilkins has been riding about with that Wines fellow -"
"Wymess," he corrected absently.
" -and has no intention of returning. Have you been told that O'Hara let him detach out of the British Legion?" She asked. Bordon had been sick for days and was only just showing signs of recovery. He was still very weak. She realised now that he likely hadn't had much news of the outside world. "He wants nothing more to do with you, or Tavington."
"Ah, he's offended now is he? Well, too bloody bad. His wife got what she deserved."
"Oh, yes, you take that stand now," Cilla couldn't help being amused. "But that's because you are not aware of O'Hara's."
"What do you mean?" Richard frowned.
"O'Hara. Your General. Whose good will you and Tavington must court if you wish to advance. Or at least, not be demoted. Right now, he is utterly wroth with both of you."
"Who told you that?" Richard snapped.
"He did," she said. "He invited me for dinner last night. When mentioned that I was none too pleased at Emily's treatment, he launched into quite the tirade about you and Tavington. It was wonderful, I truly wish you could have been there."
Richard stared at her, disturbed both by her news and her evident glee. The latter was understandable, he doubted Cilla would ever stop despising him. But from what she was saying, it seemed O'Hara wasn't about to, either.
"We had every right to act against Mrs. Wilkins as we did," Richard said. "It wasn't the first time she'd caused trouble for other camp followers," he stumbled but managed to leave Harmony's name out of it. "Because of her, Mrs. Farshaw was beaten horrendously!"
"Because of her, was it?" Cilla lifted her eyebrows, a look of innocence Richard did not believe for one moment. "It's all Emily Wilkins fault? You and Mrs. Farshaw had nothing to do with it, did you?"
Richard's lips twisted in a thin line. "What did he say?" He asked harshly.
With what Richard could only describe as a joyous smile, Cilla began. Of Tavington and Bordon's terrible decision to have a woman birched for daring to be honest, of speaking the truth. Of Richard placing the blame entirely on Mrs. Wilkins, when Richard knew precisely what risk he was taking, when he resumed his affair. If they hadn't committed adultery, the cuckolded husband would have had no reason to beat his wife. That while O'Hara did not condone the beating of Mrs. Farshaw, nor did he condone the beating of a woman who had revealed Richard and Harmony's betrayal to Lieutenant Farshaw, the husband who had a right to know. Richard's face grew darker with every word.
"You look annoyed," Cilla said, cocking her head. "When you should look worried."
"Worried!" Richard gasped. "Why, what else did O'Hara say?"
Cilla told him. Of O'Hara's discussion with Tavington, which was repeated to her by O'Hara. Of O'Hara's disgust that Tavington and Bordon had used Harmony's beating to exact revenge upon Emily Wilkins and that it was indulgence, not justice. Which was how Mr. Simms was going to look at it, and how Cornwallis certainly does.
"Cornwallis knows?" Richard breathed, dread stirring in his stomach. It hadn't occurred to him that others wouldn't see things as he did or that his superiors would be more outraged on Emily's behalf than on Harmony's.
"Unlike Tavington, O'Hara sees no particular reason to protect you," Cilla said. "He wrote to Lord Cornwallis days ago and a letter was received yesterday, in which Cornwallis expresses disgust. There was talk of a demotion…"
Richard's cheeks drained of colour, he stared at Cilla in horror.
"Cornwallis said he will write to the war office, to suggest it. Either way, you can expect to face a disciplinary council of some sort. Tavington too. O'Hara is heartily sick of Tavington protecting you. He is sick of Tavington's - and yours - disdain for the Colonial Royalists, who have freely given their help and loyalty. Mr. Tisdale was mentioned in the discussions…"
"God," Richard ran a weary hand over his forehead.
"But you were the main focus," Cilla went on. "Your treatment of me was mentioned, too." She said, voice hard, dark eyes fixing on his. She held his until he looked away. "You'll never be forgiven for it, Richard. Not by me. Not by O'Hara. He'll never forget it. And each time you misstep, it's like you're hammering yet another nail in your already closed coffin."
Richard was silent for so long, Cilla knew he wasn't going to answer her.
"Tavington facilitated your affair with Mrs. Farshaw. You participated in the affair. Yet you blame Emily and say it's all her fault that Mrs. Farshaw was beaten by her husband? O'Hara blames the two of you far more than a woman who was, after all, stelling the truth. It wasn't as though Emily were making up lies again and causing trouble that way. No, she was repeating what you were actually doing and why shouldn't she? What Loyalty did she owe you? None. If you didn't want Mrs. Farshaw to be beaten by her husband, who you knew to be capable of doing such, then - as O'Hara said - you should have left her the hell alone."
"O'Hara said that?" Richard asked. "Word for word?"
"Word for word, Richard. And so much more. But that's alright, you hold to your stance that Emily was wrong and you were right to have her birched. Even as the ship is sinking with your career aboard, you hold to that stance." She said it sarcastically, tauntingly.
"You've done your duty," he snapped. "Tongues won't wag about us. Go do… whatever it is you've been doing, Cilla. I want to go back to sleep."
"O'Hara apologised to me, quite profusely, you know," she baited.
"For what?" Richard frowned.
"For his part in my having to suffer a husband such as you," she said. "He was there that day, he encouraged me to accept the match, if you recall. Now, he regrets it wholeheartedly, for he can see to the heart of man I was saddled with."
"Word for word?" Richard said tiredly and Cilla nodded.
"Ours might be a facade only, but we are married. It reflected quite poorly on your wife, your defending of your mistress for all to see and hear and gossip about. O'Hara told me that at times, he thinks perhaps I would have been better off, choosing to leave Camden without marrying you, that the ramifications of an unmarried woman having a child out of wedlock would have been an evil, but far less an evil than being forced to marry such as you."
"Dear God," Richard whispered. "He thinks so low of me."
"That he does," Cilla agreed. "And so does Cornwallis. And so do I."
Richard stared hard at her, before turning over and pulling the covers up.
She grinned at his back. Taking that as her cue to leave, she stepped into the hallway, where she decided to obey him to his last word. Banastre would welcome her happily. She slipped into his room and she saw to her great joy that he was already awake.
"Lock the door, darling," he said, pushing himself up onto one arm. The ends of his auburn hair tickled the pillow. "And get yourself over here."
"Richard kicked me out," she couldn't suppress a giggle as she glided toward him. She deepened her voice in imitation of Bordon's, "he said, 'go do what ever it is you've been doing, Cilla'. His exact words," she giggled. "I could have told him how much enjoyment I'd get from that order!" She said as she slipped into the bed beside him.
Pulling her close, Banastre laughed until his sides hurt.