Chapter 108 - The Colonel's Accord:
Morning sunlight filtered through the windows; William lay on the bed as one dead, with Brownlow standing beside him. Benjamin and his sons - except for Nathan - were sitting at the small table, wolfing down some breakfast.
"You've been idle for too long, Colonel. It's not good for you," Brownlow was saying, voice wretched. "We need to get you stretching or your back will heal tight, your wounds will tear open as soon as you try to move. I know it hurts, but it's time to get you exercising. To keep your skin loose."
"My skin is quite loose enough," William replied in a pain filled voice.
"I meant supple," Brownlow said. "It's been too long as it is; we've been carrying you but now we've got to make you walk about a bit."
"It's time to get your stomach full too. Eat up, boy," Benjamin advised, pointing with his spoon to the bowl of… something… Tavington could not discern what - on the small table at the side of the bed. William pulled his eyes away from the thick soup - that's what it looked like to him. He was not going to eat it, and give Benjamin the satisfaction of vomiting it up all over the floor when Brownlow and Dalton finally worked up the courage to 'make' him walk about. He was certain the pain of that would have him bringing up the entire bowl, should he eat it first.
"I have the honour to be… Colonel William Tavington… of His Majesties British Legion… and the Green Dragoons," William ground out, concentrating on forming those words rather than on the pain firing along his back. The damned laudanum had worn off again, he was due for another dose. "You will address me as such… you will not call me boy."
"That's a bit of a mouthful. Boy is much shorter," Martin laughed - he laughed! The damned bastard. "Get him up," he said to Brownlow and Dalton. "Have him walk over here that he can dine with the rest of his family."
Gabriel and Thomas both scoffed. Brownlow and Dalton ignored Benjamin - they were not his to command. The rebel Colonel, who was rarely baulked when he gave an order, frowned. "Do it, or I'll have a few of my men come in and do it. Your choice, lads."
Hearing the threat in Martin's voice, the two Officers stopped short. They exchanged a cautious glance, communicating silently. At length, they came to unspoken agreement that, if they did not do as they were told, the rebels would be far rougher about it. They helped the Colonel to his feet, with William biting back hisses and groans and what the Officers knew must be curses. They walked with him across the cabin the short way to the table, with him leaning heavily on them both. Brownlow held Tavington while Dalton fetched a stool - one with no back - for the Colonel. He was helped to the seat and he fell heavily onto it. William closed his eyes against the pain, weaving slightly where he sat. He heard a 'clink' and when he opened his eyes; he saw that Brownlow had placed his bowl and a heel of bread on the table before him.
"You've been too long without food, so best eat it slow, or you'll be sick," Benjamin advised, "eat it slow, but eat it all. You'll need your strength to heal." He'd watched the Colonel's slow and painful walk across the cabin dispassionately.
"You are naught more than a savage," William said weakly but with spirit. He closed his eyes, swayed, then opened them again. "A buckskin bush fighter. A baseborn peasant."
"Yes, I am all of those things," Benjamin said lightly.
"You're as low as a damned Indian," Tavington accused.
"Nah," Benjamin said, shrugging. "I'm worse than any Indian. And I suggest you don't forget it. Boy."
"Have you even offered my men food? Water? Or are they to starve and die of thirst?"
"Christ, this one eats more than my three sons combined," Benjamin said, pointing at Brownlow, who blushed crimson. Benjamin shoved some bread into his mouth and, as if to prove William was correct about his manners, he spoke around the mouthful, crumbs dropping from his lips. "They breakfasted an hour ago, while you were having your little sleep in." He mumbled around the bread.
William closed his eyes and sighed. The man was a hayseed. How in the world he'd managed to acquire such wealth without manners, William would never know.
Lord, it hurt. To breathe, to move, to live. The pain was there, never abating, no matter what he did. In his shoulder and all down his back. Laying still on a cot or forced to walk about the room, it made no difference. Unless he'd had laudanum. That was his only relief. And it would be weeks before he was healed. Injuries such as this did not heal easily or quickly. And if infection set in… He shuddered. Beth might well be released from their marriage quite soon after all, she might be a widow in a matter of weeks.
"No wonder Beth is so damned wild," he whispered, his pain filled voice threaded with disdain. "With you for a father, she honestly had no hope of being a proper wife. None at all."
"You accuse her?" Benjamin frowned, immediately furious. Beth's brother's tensed, both glaring at William. Neither uttered the insults they wished to hurl, for Benjamin was still speaking, "you think she's not good enough for you, because of the way I raised her? She's good enough, boy. Better than you deserve. You're not good enough for her - you're a damned adulterer!"
"I was not unfaithful!" William bellowed, pushed beyond his limit. A wave of pain crashed over him and he wished he hadn't yelled. It was several moments before he could speak again, and when he did, he proceeded in a fury filled whisper. "She got it wrong! The damned wildcat went off into a bloody rage, she wouldn't listen to a thing I had to say. I was faithful to her, from the moment we married!" William hissed. "I never visited another woman's bed. I loved her, the damned fool that I am. I didn't want to be with any but her!"
"Then how did this whore get pregnant?" Benjamin asked forthright. "Or do you claim the child isn't yours?"
"No, it's mine, but Linda was already pregnant before I married Beth," William ground out. "Though I was not aware at the time. If you must know the story, then do try to be quiet Sir, so I that I might tell it!" He said crisply. Benjamin inclined his head, he flung one arm across the back of his chair and leaned forward, feigning attentiveness, a look of mock interest on his face. William didn't care, as long as the stupid buckskin was silent. "Linda was my mistress before," he admitted. "Back in Charlestown. And when I left the city, I bought her with me. She had been travelling with the Legion, she had her own tent -"
"Which you visited often, I assume," Benjamin curled his lip.
"Oh yes, do tell me Sir, how faithful to your late wife's memory you've been all these years," Tavington spat. "You've been celibate, have you? You haven't taken a single woman to your bed, I'm certain," his voice was thick with sarcasm. Benjamin's lips tightened. When he made no move to defend himself, Tavington laughed softly. "Just as I thought. And you look down your nose at me for sharing a woman's bed." William noticed Gabriel and Thomas exchange of glances, and the way Benjamin refused to meet his sons eyes. "Come now," Tavington laughed at them all. "Your father is only human after all. Flesh and blood. Most men thirst after quim even if we're too polite not to talk about it. So I had Linda waiting for me in camp, what of it? I was unattached. Beth had left me and she was engaged to bloody Burwell, if you recall." His face darkened. Benjamin was still quietly taking William's story in, so at length, the Colonel continued, his voice softening, "when I came upon Beth at Pembroke, I knew there could be no other. Not from the moment we were reunited. And so we married immediately - she was quite willing, I will not have any more foolish accusations about forcing her to marry me! Once we said our vows, I knew I would not be unfaithful. As soon as the Legion began to arrive, I rode out - with Beth, mind you! - To meet them on the road. I sent Linda away before she ever set foot on the property. I gave her money and placed her in the home of a Loyalist family, for her own protection. I was ending our affair but I did not want her to be harmed by my enemies on my account, which was a very real threat, when John Sumter was still alive. I promised her a stipend, as a Gentleman should when ending an affair with a mistress. I never knew she was pregnant. Not until Bordon found her. While I had settled into Fresh Water with Beth, Linda… disappeared from Pembroke. I received word that she was… gone. I had no way of discovering where she went, I had any clue how to find her. I decided if she wanted to leave, I would not pursue it. Imagine my surprise when, weeks later, Bordon informed me that he'd discovered her in our camp, where she'd returned weeks earlier, and had been living there under a different name entirely. The other camp women - who would not abandon her, for she had once been one of them and was now pregnant, had been helping to hide her. I was informed and I would have sent her away again but by then, I knew she was with child and I knew it was mine. I could not do that. I could not send her and my own child off to their fate. And so I allowed her to stay, where she and the babe would be safe. I know what you're thinking," he accused Benjamin, whose mock expression had slipped to a more genuinely attentive one. The man was listening. "I should have told Beth. You wonder why I did not?" He asked. "Because, when Beth first learned that Linda was en-route to Fresh Water with the Legion, she told me that if she told me that if I was ever unfaithful to her with Linda, then there was not a force on earth that would make her stay with me. So you tell me Sir, what your daughter would have said, if I had told her Linda had returned to camp? And carrying my child at that. Look me in the eye and tell me that she would have been reasonable about it," William challenged.
Benjamin paused. Somewhere along the line, his attentiveness had become unfeigned, his interested look was no longer mocking. He exchanged troubled glances with his sons. Thomas, heaping a spoonful of deer into his mouth, laughed grimly.
"She'd have been as mad as a kicked badger," he said, swallowing his food.
"Just so," William snapped, tightening his lips
"If it's true," Thomas continued as if William had not spoken.
"You doubt it, do you?" William drawled, recovering some of his usual aplomb. "That's my child Linda is carrying. I'm not a cad, no matter what you choose to believe. I will provide a maintenance for it and for its mother. If Beth had discovered Linda's presence, however, she would have demanded I send her away, a request I would have refused. After that, she would not have been fit to live with!"
"Hmm," Benjamin murmured. "Very well. Let's say you're speaking truthfully. Just for arguments sake. You never had an affair. Beth got the wrong end of the stick, so to speak. She was unreasonable -"
"Unreasonable? She was worse than a damned wild cat," William muttered. "A demon from hell would be calmer than she was. She was utterly irrational. Wouldn't listen to a damned word I had to say. Screamed at me, at Dalton, at Bordon - for keeping Linda a secret. A conspiracy, she called it. As though I'd ever set my men against her…" He shook his head, lips tight as he remembered her that day, in all her rage.
"Fine. She was worse than a kicked badger," Benjamin said, using Thomas' description. "Tell me how it is that you ended up belting her, Butcher? Why did you do that?"
William snapped his mouth shut, his lips became a very tight, thin line. He glared at Benjamin, and gave no answer. As the minutes ticked by, it became clear he had no intention of providing one. Although he was bitter and furious with his wife, William would not tell this man the truth of what she had done. To tell her father that his daughter had lost her virginity to another man? Unthinkable. Beth loved her father, and it would destroy her if he were to became ashamed of her. Benjamin sat back in his chair, he steepled his fingers, elbows on the table.
"I want to know why you beat her, Butcher, and I mean to have an answer from you," he said, voice firm. William stubbornly kept his mouth shut. "You got angry with her, perhaps? Because she wouldn't listen," he based his assumption on all that William had told him thus far. He thought his way through, trying to puzzle out what had happened. "That would have been frustrating for you. You tried to tell your side of things, but she refused to co-operate. I know my daughter, Tavington. She would not have wanted to stay with you while she believed you'd been unfaithful. Did she try to leave you?"
William drew a shuddering breath, and Benjamin felt he was on the right track.
"Is that why you did it? Because she wanted to leave you and you were trying to stop her," he asked, watching Tavington's face carefully for clues.
"That doesn't make sense," Gabriel mused. "Why would he have to beat her to stop her from leaving? A simple command would have sufficed. Tarleton could not simply have made off with Beth - not without Tavington permitting it. She could not have fled the plantation - Tavington must have let her go…"
Startled, Benjamin realised it must be true, Beth could not have stirred from her bed chamber, let alone the property, if her husband had not permitted it. Especially when her husband was the Commandant of the British Legion and had full control of the fort at Fresh Water.
"Why would you let her go? With Banastre Tarleton at that. Surely you must know he wanted to marry her, once?" He asked, puzzled. "You let her to go off with him? What the devil is wrong with you? Surely you realise how devastating such a thing would be - not just to you, but to Beth? To us all? My daughter, off with Banastre Tarleton!"
"It's all completely innocent," Tavington managed a mocking smile. "Your daughter, Miss Margaret, is sick. I have allowed Tarleton to escort my wife to her bedside."
"Don't push me, boy," Benjamin warned. "If my Maggie were sick, I'd hear of it well before you ever did. Why the devil would you do that? You damned bastard! You caused all of this and now we all must suffer and -"
Tavington punched his fist down on the table with all his might, completely forgetting the pain until it flooded his body. He pushed past it and replied hotly, "she wanted to bloody leave! Getting Mila to pack her bloody bags with everything she owned, locking herself in the bed chamber with Banastre, locking me on the outside! I had to kick the door down to get to her! Yes the evidence was stacked against me, she saw me with Linda and if truth be told, I would have jumped to the same conclusion! But I would have listened to the damned wench - I'd have given her the benefit of the doubt! How could she think it? After all we've been through since marrying, how could she honestly believe I'd be untrue to her? I showed her how much I loved her, each and every goddamned day! And she can't even give me the chance to explain myself? She just packs her bags and says she's leaving? If she'd just listened, everything could have been set to right again! But no, she had to go off like a bloody cannon ball, flying into me, into Bordon, Dalton, everyone in her path! And then Tarleton… That Goddamned son of a bitch," William laughed grimly, bitterly. "Offering to take her away, like her own bloody white knight, swooping in to save her. Oh, how he would have loved that," again that bitter laugh, "he was always sniffing after her, biding his damned time! And she accepts! She says 'yes, I'll go off with you', and never mind that he's in love with her and she knows it! She never even paused to give me the courtesy of five minutes to explain! My own wife, so ready to believe the worst of me, so ready to bloody leave me for him!"
Benjamin sat back in his chair, his mind working furiously. With this outburst, he finally began to believe that Tavington might be telling the truth. He finally felt as though he were getting to the bottom of it. There were still unanswered questions, however.
"There is something you're not telling me. You would not have sent your own wife off with another man. You don't want to be an object of ridicule, any more than I do. The damage to your name, the tarnished reputation… a man of your standing… no, it just doesn't make sense. She might have wanted to leave, and Tarleton might have wanted to take her. The question I want answered now is, why did you let them go?"
Benjamin was not going to let the matter drop. He would continue to press and press until he got his answers. William had wanted to protect Beth from her father's disgust, as even a back country corn picker like Benjamin Martin was sure to be. And Tavington was tired, so damned tired. And in so much pain. Not just the agony of the whipping and being shot, but the far more deep seated pain of his wife's betrayal. He suddenly found he did not want to bear the burden alone, he suddenly wanted Benjamin Martin to understand fully why he'd done as he had. Why should these people continue to believe he was the villain? When Beth had disgraced him so utterly. With a silent nod, he signaled for Brownlow and Dalton to leave the cabin. Benjamin tensed, if the two Officers were not to hear William's next words, then they would be unpleasant indeed. Tavington glanced at Thomas and Gabriel, but he did not command them to leave. He had no authority there. He met Benjamin's eyes, and the other man nodded at his sons. Both rose and followed Brownlow and Dalton out the door.
"If you decide to tell your sons, that's your decision. It all came out on the morning of our fight, when she thought she'd discovered me with Linda," William said, the fight gone from him. His voice was soft now, as he remembered. "Beth, hurling accusations. Banastre, taunting me. I grew frustrated. Gave Beth a shake - it was hard. I shouldn't have shaken her like that. Banastre and I brawled over that. Over her. Afterward, Beth said…" William stared down at his now cold stew, there were lumps of deer and vegetables floating in the gravy.
"What did Beth say?" Benjamin asked, foreboding leaving a cold trace along his spine.
"It was in response to Banastre. Banastre said I should have stepped aside for him, so he could marry Beth. That he would have treated her better, and that he was taking her with him. I can't remember, it's all a blur, I said something about her being my wife, in a house of God, we exchanged our vows. Then Beth…" William shook his head, as if dazed. "She agreed, in a House of God, we exchanged our vows, but she added that neither of us told the truth that day. She reminded me that I hadn't told her that I was still having an affair with Linda or that I'd bought her with me to the Santee," William lifted his ragged gaze and met Benjamin's eyes. The father was listening, hanging on to every word, his breathing was laboured and his hold on his cup, crushing. "And she said how she never told me that she'd bedded Banastre," William finished. Benjamin sucked in a deep breath, he blew it out slowly.
"When?" He asked, his voice as ragged as William's had been. "Where? How did this happen?"
"Beth said," William replied. He swallowed hard, trying to keep control of his emotions. "That it was the day Hanger found her in the woods and took her to Banastre. That they went to Rutledge Plantation. They got drunk. Banastre hosted a ball for her, invited several of his Officers and as many camp followers. Lots of dancing. Lots of drinking. When the night came to a close, when it was time to retire for the night, she invited him to spend the night with her."
"Dear God, no," Benjamin muttered, eyes haunted.
"She admitted it," William said, gaining back some of his strength. "No, she didn't admit it - she threw it up in my face, like it was a weapon, to deliberately hurt me. When she told me, I slammed my damned fist in Banastre's face and he was out cold. Then, I dealt with Beth," he met Benjamin's eyes again; saw the man's face was looking quite grey. With asperity, William continued, "I was not going to reveal this to you, but you had to push and push, didn't you? As angry as I am with your daughter, I do love her, and I didn't want you to know this about her. But you finally have your answer for all the good it does any of us. I will not apologise for beating her, Martin. I took up my belt, I pushed her face forward over our bed, and I strapped her bare backside raw. My wife lost her virginity to another man before she came to our marriage. And had neither the honour or the courage to tell me, before marrying me."
Benjamin seemed frozen for some time; he was as still and cold as granite. Then he pushed himself away from the table and marched from the cabin.
As though his boots were weighed down with lead, Benjamin trudged back up the steps and into the cabin. Tavington was sitting on the side of his bed, his shirt off while Brownlow wound bandages over the newly dressed wounds. Crossing the room, Benjamin was aware of Tavington's eyes following him as he sat down and poured himself a rum. He drank it down, poured another. That was how he intended to deal with the news Tavington had given him - he would get good and bloody drunk.
Ever since he received Cilla's letter informing him of Tavington's affair and Beth's departure, the lack of certain details had bothered him. Cilla had been quite forthcoming, she had witnessed Tavington with his mistress, had been there to see and hear much of the argument following, including the beating. But it was the beating that bothered Benjamin the most. Not only because it had been done to his daughter, but he'd wanted to know why. Why would Tavington beat Beth, when he was the one who'd had an affair? Benjamin supposed that perhaps the Butcher was even madder than everyone thought, but it still didn't sit right. It didn't fit.
Now, he knew. He wondered if Cilla did too, if she'd deliberately left that part out.
She must have known, if she'd heard the entire argument, he brooded, sipping at his rum. He put the cup down, pulled out his pipe, loaded it with tobacco. He lit it from a candle, leaned back in his chair and drew in a deep breath of smoke.
Brownlow was finished, Tavington pulled his shirt down and the Cornet helped him to rise. Once on his feet, he did a few experimental stretches to keep the skin subtle, so it didn't grow back tight. Then he sent Brownlow out, cross the chamber, and sat opposite Martin.
Benjamin poured a rum, pushed it across the table to Tavington. "Do you have a pipe?" He asked. Tavington nodded and Benjamin rose to rummage through Tavington's saddle bags - under the Colonel's guidance - until he found it. He handed it to Tavington along with his tobacco pouch.
"She was a good girl," Benjamin said. Both men stared into the fire, neither wanting to meet the others eyes. "Her mother… She was the gentlest of women. A true gentlewoman. She'd have put half of those duchesses of yours to shame, with her manners. She was raising my girls to be just like her - regal," Benjamin said, a small smile quirking his lips in remembrance. "She'd have Beth sit up at the table, both of them wearing their prettiest dresses, only Beth couldn't have been more than eight years old. She'd instruct Beth how to hold a tea cup, how to cut her cake into the smallest portions. Then I'd come in and grab up a full handful and shove the whole lot in my mouth, I'd let half of it fall in crumbs to the table and the other half I'd smear all over my face. How Beth laughed… Her mother, well, Betsy did have a sense of humour. She was not all prim and proper. But she'd send me on my way and restore order right quick," his amusement turned to self condemnation. "Maybe I never should have interfered in those lessons. Maybe I should have left her mother to do what she could with Beth. Maybe, in some way, I undermined what Betsy was trying to do with Beth, you know? Because I took it all as a joke, maybe Beth did too. After Betsy's death, that's when I really should have reigned Beth in. She went a little wild, just like you said. But you know, I had to let her off the leash!" He finally met William's eyes. "You've been here for what - four, five years?"
William nodded.
"Then you know what it's like here. Damned Indian's raiding settlements. Brigands and thieves doing the same. It's a harsh world here, it's not like your genteel England," Benjamin said, spreading his arms wide. "Charlotte said I was letting Beth run too free, after Betsy died. I didn't agree - she was with her brothers; what harm could there be? She was learning things that might save her life one day - or the life of someone she loves. I'm glad she knows how to use a pistol, I'm glad she can shoot a rifle. If some brigand or savage comes running at her, they won't have much time to regret it before she pulls the trigger. She can hold her own if she ever finds herself stranded in the woods, she can feed herself. And that isn't so far fetched as one might think. With all the homes being burned down and families evacuated, refugees are out there, starving in the woods. Beth knows what is safe to forage and what is not. How to hunt and cook, she and hers won't go hungry," Benjamin sighed heavily. "But still. I shouldn't have let her run as wild as she did. I certainly should not have made a mockery of my wife's lessons. I did the same thing to Charlotte, when she tried to take over Beth's education after Betsy passed. Beth knows how to act like a noblewoman, but she finds the whole thing a grand joke. I just… I can't believe she did this. To bed another man… Lord. My wife would be turning in her grave."
Again, William nodded.
"Agh, damn and blast it all to hell," Benjamin muttered. He lifted his glass, took a healthy swig. Tavington did likewise. Both men needed it.
"It's not your fault," Tavington said, setting his glass on the table. "Beth is wilful. She's head strong."
"Yes, but I thought she was principled," Benjamin replied fiercely. "Wilfulness has nothing to do with what she did with Tarleton."
"Yes, well," Tavington trailed off. He shrugged, for there was no other way to finish his sentence. They drank in silence for a while.
"What are you going to do now?" Benjamin asked. "You've had time to think about it. What are you planning, are you going to divorce her?"
William laughed bitterly. "Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. And I should, really. But Christ… I've gone and written to my mother, my brothers, my sisters. I've told my whole family all about Beth, like the stupid lovesick puppy I was. I told them about our marriage, I made a request to my mother and sisters that they write to Beth and get to know her. Their letters will start arriving any day now. My mother has, by now, told everyone of her acquaintance that I'm married. If I divorce Beth, how galling will it be for my mother, to have to report that? Especially after ending my engagement to be with her. I was engaged before, did you know?"
"I'd heard," Benjamin nodded, remembering what Charlotte told him.
"Miss Eleanor Price," William laughed bitterly. "Everyone thought I was a fool when I wrote to her, ending our engagement. Perhaps I was a fool. And her family must be livid. I'm yet to suffer the repercussions of that, but I'm certain that will come. But I didn't care back then, I loved Beth…" He paused, spread his hands wide. "I'll admit I would not have married her if she didn't have money, but so what? Most marriages are established between couples for mutual advancement, and I needed to marry well in order to help my family. That doesn't mean I didn't love Beth. And I was leaving off my wealthy fiancé for her, which will have caused great tension between my family and Eleanor's. I did that, knowing the trouble I'd be causing, because I loved Beth. I couldn't imagine being married to Eleanor, not after falling for Beth. But now… Christ. If I divorce her… I'll bring shame on us all. What hope would I have of advancement, being a divorced man? And then I have to consider my family; who would have the Price's sneering at them whenever they are in company. And that won't come only from the Price's, either. My mother would have to endure those sneers from all quarters. Her son, ending his engagement to a gentlewoman, marrying a Colonial, only to end up divorced three months later? No," William shook his head. "Divorce is not the answer. If that is what you're hoping for, then I am sorry Sir but I can not indulge you."
"I'm glad to hear it," Benjamin said, voice thick with relief. William quirked a curious eyebrow and Benjamin explained bluntly, "if this gets out, we are both undone." After a moment of surprise, William nodded agreement. Benjamin had just as much to lose as William. Benjamin continued, "I never approved of you, and you forcing the matter by marrying Beth anyway has not helped me to come to terms with it. From the day you married her, I have wanted nothing more than to see this marriage annulled. But now, it seems I am forced to reevaluate my position. Now, I would much rather see her married to anyone - even to you. Christ. As if marrying you wasn't bad enough. Can you imagine how it will reflect upon me and my entire family, if it became well known that my daughter had lost her virginity to yet another British Officer weeks before her marriage to you? And then is cast off from her British husband because he found out… No, it's not something I have any desire to endure. So. No more talk of annulling from me or divorcing from you. No more trying to wrest her from you. She's safely married now, and I'd rather she stayed that way and sweet Lord, I can not believe I am saying this."
William scoffed softly. They both drained their glasses and Benjamin filled them again.
"So, we are in accord," William mused. "I shall remain married to your daughter, with your blessing."
"Yes. At least she can pretend to be an honest woman, then," Benjamin said bitterly. "Hells teeth, you think you'll look bad amongst your folk back home? And amongst your superiors here? What of mine? My daughter - the girl of a Continental Colonel - is seduced by one British Officer, then ups and marries another. The daughter of a known Patriot, in bed with the British," he laughed softly, it sounded half mad.
"I can imagine it won't sit well with your superiors or with your men," William tilted his head to one side.
"You've hit the nail on the head. They know nothing of her and Tarleton," Benjamin's lips twisted. "If they did know… I'm fairly certain my resignation would be requested shortly after," he paused, then asked, "have you suffered the same? From your men or your superiors?" Benjamin asked, curious to hear William's side of it.
"Only a few know of my recent troubles with Beth. Bordon, Brownlow, Dalton. We managed to convince O'Hara that Banastre was escorting Beth to your daughter, who he believes too ill. Marrying her was not an issue with those above me, Clinton liked her well enough, believing her to be a Loyalist in a rebel's family. But Cornwallis has become a problem, ever since he learned that Putman had his daughter spy on Brownlow and Dalton. Because of that, Cornwallis now believes her marriage to me to be some masterful plan that you concocted, in order to gain information through your daughter."
"Those are Mark Putman's tactics, not mine," Benjamin snorted. "If I did stoop to such as that, it would have been a whore I put in your bed, not my own daughter."
"Well, there has been no convincing him. Because with my marriage to Beth - and because of Putman, his wife and his daughter, I have lost the Lord General's trust. Or at least, Beth certainly has."
"Hmm," Benjamin found himself sympathising with the enemy Colonel, he understood only too well his son in law's position. Christ, his son in law. Well, there was no help for it now, he had to accept the marriage, or be faced with a destroyed family name.
"Was that your only objection to my marriage with Beth?" William asked bluntly. "That I am an enemy Officer, and how it would reflect upon you? The distrust it would cause amongst your men and those above you?"
"Hardly," Benjamin snorted. "Your actions in battle have not helped me to form any grand opinion of you. They do not call you Butcher for nothing. Your conduct in your personal affairs has not endeared me to you. Mrs. Tisdale… This whore - Miss Stokes. The way you treated my daughter. You tortured my brother in law. You burnt my sister in law's home to the ground, you slapped her across the face," his voice grew dark with remembered fury. "You threatened to hang my son, you took them captive!"
"And what would you have done with a spy - how would you have questioned him? Would you have tickled answers out of him?" William tossed his head. "I am well aware that you have interrogated spies in the past. As for your other accusations; Mrs. Selton gave a different name, I did not know who she was - I would not have burned down her house if I'd known and damn me for admitting such a thing. My duties should not be compromised because of my relationship with Beth. Mrs. Cambridge was hiding prisoners. I was acting in accordance with the orders I'd been given, just as you do on a daily basis. Your sons were traitors as well - hell, I didn't even know Thomas was your boy when I had him taken captive. After changing my mind from hanging him, I might add."
"You and I would be having a very different conversation just now, if you'd done that," Benjamin said darkly.
"My point is, I showed mercy to a woman who was clearly in rebellion, when she begged it of me. I'm not the monster you think I am."
"I suppose," Benjamin agreed, though it was hard not to take the actions personally, it was hard not to vilify Tavington for doing the things he'd done, not when his children had been caught up in it. And Charlotte… her beloved home. His heart was heavy, he still had to sort out his feelings for Charlotte Selton. And then there had been Thomas and Gabriel, who Tavington had taken prisoner… "Too much has happened," he said softly, "too many injustices. I can't exactly shrug it all off. Can't say water under the bridge, you know."
William shrugged. "They are only injustices because they have touched you personally. You have done the same, all over the county. Loyalist homes burned, British soldiers killed." William leaned forward, fixing Benjamin with his gaze. "I find your actions every bit as deplorable as you find mine. Or have you forgotten how you earned the epithet of the Ghost?" William asked. "You killed twenty of my men, to free seven yours. You set up an ambush. You had the greater numbers, you knew you could easily overwhelm the smaller force. Yet, you did not announce your presence and offer terms. You waited until they were in your snare, and you attacked."
"They had my sons."
"Oh, easily justifiable then. You used a tomahawk, Martin. A tomahawk. Those who did not die outright, took days to do so. Days of agony and nightmares and terror. Don't you accuse me of lacking valour in battle. With my own two eyes, I have seen the devastation you've wrought. Pray, do not judge me by standards you are unwilling to aspire to for yourself."
Benjamin's eyes widened. Softly, he said, "you're right. I'd just hoped that Beth would do better in a husband than my Elizabeth did."
William laughed. He held his glass up as though silently saluting Benjamin, then he drank deeply.
"She feels quite the same, no doubt," he swallowed hard. "We've reached an impasse, Martin. I've declared I will not divorce her. You have voiced your preference that I don't. Neither of us have stopped to think of what Beth will do. There is nothing stopping her from divorcing me."
Benjamin began to laugh, he slumped back in his chair and wheezed from it. "Beth, divorce you?" He chortled. "There's not a magistrate in all the Colonies who would let her. There's not a single clergyman who would indulge her, not even Reverend Oliver."
"When she left, she warned me she was going to do exactly that. She has convinced herself that I married her solely for her fortune. She said she would divorce me, so that I will have to relinquish my right to her property - her inheritance and her land."
"Did she now?" Benjamin's mood darkened. "I will not allow a divorced woman beneath my roof, and Beth would have no where else to turn."
"She has Banastre," William said, voice bitter. He took another pull from the glass, it was warming his insides, the warmth spreading to his limbs. "With her inheritance and her land, she won't need you."
"She will, boy. She'll always need her father," Benjamin laughed again. Then he glanced at Tavington sideways, "I do believe, however, that all of this discussion is moot, while she is off traipsing about with Tarleton."
"It certainly is," William agreed.
"And with you keeping that whore of yours at the Plantation," Benjamin continued pointedly.
William gave a belligerent shrug.
"So, how can we fix that, do you imagine?" Benjamin prodded, eyebrows arched.
"What do you want me to do?" William snapped, suddenly irritated. "Write to Beth, beg her to return? I'll do no such thing. I told her I would not take her back if she begged on bended knee, and I meant it. She told me the same."
"Then what the devil do we do?" Benjamin frowned. "You say you won't divorce her because of the shame it'll bring to your family back home, and the trouble it will cause with your superiors. But don't you see? Leaving her with Tarleton will have the exact same effect. She must be taken away from him."
When William held a stubborn silence, Benjamin became frustrated. In a voice he usually used when commanding his own sons, he said, "lad, you need to get Beth back. That should be your first move. Your second move should be to get rid of the whore."
"What for?" William scoffed - Benjamin thought he detected quite a lot of self pity in his voice. - "Beth has been in Banastre's bed for days now."
That reminder was the last thing Benjamin needed just then. It bought up images he was ill prepared to deal with.
"And whose fault is that?" The older man snapped, taking his irritation out on Tavington. He wanted to shake the man. He could not repair the damage William and Beth had done, not all on his own. He needed William's co-operation, and now was a hell of a time for the other Colonel to start acting like a spoiled brat. It was time for a few home truths, Benjamin felt. "You sent her off with Tarleton," he said, his pointed voice edged with fury. "You are her husband and as such, it was out of her power to stir from that house without your consent! You sent your own wife off to be with another man. To become mistress to her former lover…" Though he hated saying those words, he forced them out. He paused a moment and let it sink in. "You should not have let her leave that house, Tavington. That was the most foolish thing I've ever heard of any man doing, no matter how his wife has wronged him."
William's face darkened, but at length he nodded, agreeing that he had erred when he allowed Beth to leave.
"See here, lad, this needs to be remedied. For all of the reasons we've discussed and more, it's imperative that this be resolved. You and I need to come to some sort of accord; right here, right now. Now, I'm not saying that either of you will be happy - Beth will certainly behave like she's got a burr down her shift, probably for years to come. But I could not care less what sort of bad mood this puts her in. Lock her away in her chamber and leave her there, for all I care. For all of me, you can take whatever measures you find necessary to make her do her duty. But for now, just get rid of the whore, get Beth back home and while you're at it, kill that fucking Tarleton fellow because by hell, if you don't, I bloody well will!"
William laughed despite himself. "Yes, I'd like to wrap my fingers around his neck and throttle the bastard, and I'd smile while I did it too," he laughed again, a dark chuckle as he imagined his fingers around Banastre's throat, Banastre's eyes bulging, his face turning purple… Quite a satisfying thought, that. Sobering, he met Benjamin's eyes square on. "I have no desire to see her, Martin," he said in a grave voice. "I meant what I said. I will not write to her, I will not request or demand that she leave Tarleton. I agree that she does need to be extricated from him, but I will not see her when it's accomplished. I will not live under the same roof as her."
"Well," Benjamin sat back in his seat, feeling the strength drain from him. "That does present us with a pretty problem then, doesn't it?"
"I won't divorce her," William shrugged. "And I'll pay Linda off and set her aside for once and for all, for I agree with you there, too. But I can not play the role of a contented husband, not now. If she is in the house with me…" He trailed off, gave a great shudder. His eyes became piercing and in a soft voice, he said, "it would not be safe for her there."
Benjamin immediately understood William's meaning, he felt the threat toward his daughter's person keenly. Yes, it would be far safer for Beth, if she was far away from her husband.
"I'll pay Linda off, you mean," he said to fill in the silence. Discussing Linda Stokes gave him some much needed time to consider what was to be done about his daughter. "We've still to discuss this nonsense of Clinton giving you my property."
William looked stunned. "How do you know about that? Did Beth tell you?"
"No. And no, I will not reveal my source," Benjamin replied. It had indeed come from Beth, but it was Nathan she told, and it was Nathan who passed it along to Benjamin. That was how Benjamin knew that Clinton had passed ownership of Fresh Water to Tavington. "I built that house for my wife, Tavington. And for my family. Not for you. And those crops of mine that you've been selling - that's my money in your pocket."
"Under any other commander, those crops would have been destroyed," William said bluntly. "As for your property - you're the enemy and your plantation has been seized in accordance with His Majesties' wishes. Clinton saw fit to issue the house to the husband of your Loyalist daughter. Me."
"Loyalist, daughter my arse," Benjamin snorted.
"If I hadn't taken control; your crops, your house, everything would have been fired. I've managed to save the farm, Martin. I've turned quite a profit - and yes, I have allowed myself an income from it, but I've not forgotten you. Christ, your daughter would not let me forget you. Before all this trouble started with Beth, I gave my oath to her that should you and your family be in need at the end of the war, that I will ensure you are provided for. The house and any profits from the crops will be placed at your disposal. I'll have Beth's three hundred acres, it's not as though I need Fresh Water. We shall all benefit from my possession of it at this time." He shook his head. "Gods, without it having been ceded to me, there would be no Plantation."
"I see," Benjamin murmured. His gaze was thoughtful as he studied his son in law. Christ. His son in law. That was going to take some getting used to, that. He had to accept it however, or all was lost. They would both be undone. "You're a continual source of surprise for me," he said, then added tentatively, "William." William looked as startled as Benjamin felt. It was a strange thing indeed, using such a familiar form address for the man he'd commonly called 'Butcher'. Benjamin sighed, then explained, "I have to become accustomed to it, don't I? We can't dig ourselves out of this mire separately. We must work together now, and we will do it as family. And so, William it is."
"Well, it is my name," William said faintly, before adding his own tentative, "Benjamin."
"Damned hard, wasn't it?" Benjamin laughed. He held his hand out, a demanding gesture, fingers waggling toward the much needed bottle which was now on William's side of the table. "Give me that."
"Manners, Martin," William scolded, handing him the rum.
"So. How much did you get the for tabac?" Benjamin asked. "And that indigo, it was a damned fine crop. If you got anything less than three hundred pounds, then -"
"Five hundred pounds," William cut in. The older man's eyes bulged. "And three hundred for the tobacco."
"That's… ah… yes, that's good," Benjamin spluttered. "That's damned good! Who'd you sell it to?"
"I have my connections," William replied mysteriously.
"Well, keep your secrets if you must. That's a damned fine return, on both. How much will I see of it?" He asked shrewdly.
"You'll receive a decent share, as I promised," was William's prim reply. He warned Benjamin, "I dare not give any of it to you yet. But at the end of the war, I will certainly release a large portion back to you."
"I look forward to it," Benjamin said. "If I am killed in the coming months, make sure it's split up fairly amongst the boys, will you? Especially Gabriel - he's got a child on the way."
"I will," William promised.
"And when you leave Fresh Water, will the property still be a fort?" Benjamin asked.
"Yes, it will remain a fort, but as it is seen to belong to me through my marriage to Beth, it will be respected. I can not promise it will remain unmolested if it ceases being a British fort - your own Patriots might swoop in and take it apart nail by nail, then."
"No," Benjamin shook his head. "The Patriots in the County acknowledge my ownership of it. As you say, no one outside of us needs to be aware of our arrangements. They believe the property has been usurped, and they will continue to believe it. When the British are gone from it, they will protect it, if I am not here to do so myself."
"Then we both win," William said.
"In this, yes. And a damned good thing it is too. Something good has to come of all this."
"I couldn't agree more. The bottle is empty," William pointed out when Benjamin handed it back to him. The older man announced he had another, and he went to fetch it.
"Right then," Benjamin twisted his lips as he resumed his seat. He had no desire to return to the unpleasant topic of Beth but there was much to discuss and they had resolved only a little. "So. I shall give you some advice, whether you wish to hear it or not," ignoring William's arched eyebrows, he continued, "give that Linda some money and send her on her way. To ensure she doesn't cause you any problems, have her sign a general release of sorts, freeing you of all obligation to her. Offer to send her an annual stipend, to help with further expenses for the baby. If it's a boy, he'll need to be educated as befits the rank of a Gentleman's bastard. And if it's a girl, she'll need a governess, someone who can teach her the ways of a lady - which that doxy of yours will certainly not be able to do. Unless you want your daughter to be a whore like her mother?"
"That I don't," William said fervently. No child of his issue should have such a fate.
"As for Beth… You really can't see yourself living beneath the same roof as her?" Benjamin broached carefully.
"I most certainly can not," William's voice was firm, as hard as iron. "And neither will she want to. I beat her, she's not likely to forget it anytime soon. And she is still labouring under the belief that I was unfaithful. If we are thrown together again now, I can not imagine we shall be anything but brutal to one another."
Benjamin sighed. "Very well. For the moment, it is still believed that Beth is with her sick sister. And so that is where she shall be taken, as soon as we can wrest her away from Tarleton. As you are refusing to write to her, I will do it myself. You needn't fear further misconduct from Beth bringing any shame to you, for she will be amongst the women of my family. Charlotte and Mage will serve as her chaperones."
"Mrs. Putman is with Mrs. Selton, is she?" Tavington arched an eyebrow. "You consider those two to be decent chaperones for Beth? Gods, didn't those two have the teaching of her these last two years? And you blame yourself for how she turned out." He scoffed. "One spreads her legs to gain intelligence for her husband, you do know about that, don't you?" Benjamin gave a curt nod. "The other does the same to win time for you to get away. They aren't decent chaperones for your younger daughters, let alone my wife who has already shown that she will stray from my bed with another man."
Benjamin drummed a beat on the table with his knuckles. "Well, what am I supposed to do then? Where else can I send her, with you unable to have her with you? Betsy's aunt lives in Rhode Island but that's a damned long way a way. No, it's either to Charlotte and Mage, or back to you. Choose, William."
"Mrs. Selton and Mrs. Putman it is," Tavington replied. "And where would that be?"
"As if I'll tell you where they are," Benjamin scoffed. "Never you mind that."
"I still don't know why they felt the need to flee the Plantation, they were not in any danger from me, Benjamin," William said. It still felt staring, using the man's given name.
"The way Charlotte and Nathan told it, they all were in grave danger - from that Captain of yours - Gordon. The one that's sinking his hooks into Samuel. Where is my son, William?"
"With Captain Gordon who was detached Rawdon in Camden. I didn't know Samuel was gone until Gordon was. I wrote to Samuel, requesting that he return, but he refused. I believe he is enjoying the lessons Gordon is giving him."
"That's what bothers me. When is Captain Gordon going to be recalled to your Legion?"
"Now, that would be sharing information and that, I will not do," William said. "But, if you would like for me to try again for Samuel's return, I shall do so."
"I would like that," Benjamin said and William inclined his head.
"I can't very well do that as your prisoner…" he said. Benjamin held his gaze, letting the silence stretch until William himself felt moved to fill it. "You spoke wisely earlier - suggesting Linda sign a release and all the rest. You've given me some sound advice and I thank you for it."
"Will you take it? Will you get rid of the whore?" Benjamin replied. "I'm doing the rest of the damned work to fix this, but I can't do that. And all my efforts will be for naught, if you don't."
"I will. It is time to set my playthings aside and get on with more important matters," William admitted ruefully. "I do not want to be a mere Colonel forever and I will not be considered for further advancement if my superiors do not believe I can keep my personal affairs in order. So my wife will be reined in, Linda will be sent on her way, there will be no more women to damage my reputation."
"Good thinking. Besides," Benjamin laughed softly as he bought his glass to his lips, before drinking, he said lewdly, "you've always got your hand."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," William closed his eyes and sighed. It truly was the world's grandest joke, being saddled with a back country buckskin for a father in law. He'd bantered with Bordon and Banastre in this way, but this man was Beth's father, not a comrade of old. "Perhaps I'll consider divorce after all, to shed myself of you," he opened his eyes to find Benjamin grinning broadly. William complimented him with, "that was quite clever, the little ambush you set for me. Sending Farshaw in to draw me directly to where you wanted me to be. I've never under estimated you, I try to be careful because I don't underestimate you. And still you managed to snare me, as well as if you'd snared a rabbit."
"Hmm," Benjamin smiled. "Well, don't expect me to reveal any of my secrets to you. This new found understanding between us does not extend that far."
"I didn't expect that it would," William scoffed.
"Jesus, you don't have any trouble keeping up, do you?" Benjamin asked as he poured rum into William's empty glass and into his own.
"I can drink you under the table, old man," William replied and Benjamin snorted.
"We'll see about that. Would you care for a round of chess? It'll be some time before we can pit ourselves against one another on a real field of battle. It'll be interesting to see who's the better commander."
"It's one way to pass the time," William agreed. The rum was starting to hit him now, he was becoming quite soused which was good for it helped to dull the pain. Benjamin fetched a well worn chess board, he placed it on the table and set up the board with the pieces. Soon, the two men were beginning the opening moves.
"Will you tell me about Farshaw?" Benjamin asked as he placed his pawn. It would be good to get another point of view of the Corporal. Benjamin was still quite uneasy about the fellow, despite what Mark had told him. "Why did you call him a ganymede that night?"
"Because he is," William smiled. "You've saddled yourself with a sodomite, Benjamin." The new form of address came a little more easier now that he'd used it a couple of times. Or perhaps it was the rum making him freer.
"How do you know this? What proof do you have?"
"The proof is in the naked dead man who was found in his bed," William replied, savouring Benjamin's look of shock.
"Major Fallows?" Benjamin asked.
"Oh yes? He's told you that much, has he?" William asked.
"Farshaw told me Fallows came into the room and -" here, Benjamin would need to embellish a little bit, or O'Hara's seal and cipher would become useless. "He accused Farshaw of spying." Which was true. "It turned out Fallows was right in thinking it, Farshaw had decided to turn coat. Farshaw said he stabbed Fallows in the neck so the alarm couldn't be raised."
"Fallows came into the room," William repeated. "And he was fully clothed in Farshaw's account, was he? And they were not in his bed?"
"It never even came up. It never entered my mind to ask such a thing."
"Well, I can tell you now, Farshaw left out some fairly glaring details. I saw it for my own two eyes, Benjamin. Fallows was found naked, in Farshaw's bed, with multiple stab wounds to his neck. There was signs of coupling."
Benjamin shuddered, the vision Tavington conjured was highly offensive to his sensibilities. However, although he found the whole thing distasteful, he was a fair man and he always tried to look at things from all sides. He did not like to jump to conclusions about anything or anyone.
"Perhaps Farshaw was raped?" He asked. "Did you consider that? Perhaps that's why he killed Fallows. Perhaps the Major was forcing himself on Farshaw and Farshaw felt he had no other way out."
William was startled for a moment, then he blew out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "Alright, it seems I need to describe the scene in deeper detail, though I have to tell you, I am not well pleased at being made to do so. It was not a pleasant sight to witness, let alone to repeat. Drink," he commanded, picking up his own glass and drinking it back. Benjamin, realising William thought they needed to fortify themselves against what he was about to describe, followed suit. "Alright. This is what I saw. O'Hara led the way to the bed chamber. I went in, it was mostly undisturbed, no one in there except the dead Major on the bed. Fallows," William leaned forward over the chess board, their game was all but forgotten. "Was naked, on all fours, on his knees and elbows on the bed; his arse bared, as though he'd just been rutted from behind. The same position as a woman assumes when being taken from behind -"
"Yes, thank you William," Benjamin ground out, for William was Beth's husband and Benjamin did not want to know if William had done that to Beth.
"I told you it wouldn't be easy," William said. "Anyway, he was in that position. His arse that was in the air - that was the position he died in. Farshaw sodomised Fallows, I know this because there was milt in Fallows entrance and all over his arse -"
"Agh, Jesus, do you have to?" Benjamin groaned with distaste.
"I do, I have to dispel your illusions that this was rape, Benjamin," William said quite seriously. "Farshaw wasn't just the receiver, he was the giver. And he kept several vials of oil at his bedside, they were in his drawer. Some of them were empty. Farshaw's drawer. Farshaw's bed. Farshaw's chamber. They were equal participants. Fallows reached orgasm, we know this because there was milt on the sheet beneath him and across Fallows' stomach. And Farshaw, he came in Fallows arse, which we know from the milt that had dribbled out and dried there. I do not know why, but he then he stuck Fallows in the neck repeatedly with his knife." William's glass was empty, he drank straight from the bottle now, not wanting to wait for the time it would take to pour it - he wanted the rum down his throat now. "And we know it was Farshaw that did it, because it was his chamber that the Major's naked body was found in. It was all done in Farshaw's bed. If you ask me, they've been sodomising each other for weeks. O'Hara said that when they were working in Fallow's office, the door was ALWAYS locked. He'd assumed it was because of the sensitive nature of the information crossing his desk. However, there were empty vials found in the drawers there, too. Which would indicated that they'd been having relations behind that locked door. That part of his story, that Farshaw killed Fallows? I'd say that's the only truthful part of what he told you. He wasn't about to admit the rest to you now, was he?"
"Jesus," Benjamin ran a hand over his hair. He met William's gaze. "You're not lying to me, are you?" He asked. "You obviously despise him. You're not making it all up, are you?"
"I vow, on my gentleman's honour, on everything I hold dear, on my very life - hell, I'll vow it on my own mother's life. That everything I just told you is the absolute truth." He picked up a piece and moved it on the board.
Benjamin made a countering move. "You don't believe Fallows discovered he was a turncoat?"
"What, in the middle of rutting? I don't know about you, but when I'm about to reach climax, I don't start shouting out about being an Officer in His Majesties army," William laughed. He took his turn and moved a piece. "Maybe Farshaw did turncoat. Well, clearly he did, to end up with your lot. But I shall present you with an entirely different motive to the one he presented you. General O'Hara told me that, for weeks now, Fallows has been trying to push Farshaw forward for promotion to Captain, but O'Hara would not indulge him. I'll tell you another thing," he said as he watched Benjamin deliberate over the game board. "Fallows was protecting him. O'Hara has wanted to send Farshaw back to my ranks - he is trouble, that one, and O'Hara wanted to be done with him. But that was the last thing Farshaw would have wanted, to be under my command again. And justifiably so, what I wouldn't give to get my hands on the little bastard and give him the thrashing he deserves. Farshaw knew it and so did Fallows. That might be how the whole thing started. Farshaw must've started offering up his arse to Fallows, in return for protection. And advancement. Maybe," William gasped, having a moment of revelation. "Clearly, something went wrong. Maybe they were fucking, and when they finished, Fallows told Farshaw the bad news - that he was not gong to be made Captain. Maybe Farshaw got so wild with anger, that he killed Fallows, removed his cock from Fallows arse, then packed up and ran!"
"I don't think I'll make the mistake of drinking with you again," Benjamin closed his eyes and shook his head. "I think I prefer the gentleman to this… this… the rum as made you abandoned."
"Farshaw was the abandoned one," William laughed. "It's your move."
"Yes, yes… give me a moment."
"If this was a real battle, you'd be dead already, Martin."
"And it makes you cocky," Benjamin said. "The rum does."
William grinned. "Anyway, Farshaw is your problem now. I'd suggest you tell your men to be careful of their rears," he laughed softly as he placed a piece to keep Benjamin's in check. "A good soldier is always careful of what might be coming off behind him."
"Droll," Benjamin sighed, though he too laughed softly, finding some amusement in William's jest. "What makes you think he'd react with such violence, just for being told he wasn't going to be promoted?" Benjamin frowned; both at the board and at William. "There's two types of people that would resort to such extremes. One that's been cornered like an animal - which Farshaw would have felt, if Fallows had discovered Farshaw had turned coat -"
"And I can fathom no reason for that to become known at that moment, while they were rutting."
"Or," Benjamin spoke more loudly than William, over-speaking him. "He has to be a particularly nasty type of person." Jesus, that was a hard sentence to get out - it was becoming particularly difficult to speak. Perhaps William would drink Benjamin under the table after all.
"You can ask Mrs. Farshaw how nasty her husband is," William said wryly. "I doubt she'll ever be the same again after the vicious beating her gave her."
"What is this?" Benjamin's eyes were as wide as they could go.
"He beat her. And not just a few stripes with his belt like what I gave to Beth. I mean, he bashed into her. With his fists, he punched. With his boots, he kicked. Even when she was on the ground, curled into a ball and trying to protect her unborn child, he kicked and punched and stomped as much as he could reach. She was unrecognizable, after. She was covered all over with blood, her eye swelled shut, her bruises lasted weeks. And it was not even the first time he's used such force against her. She lost a child to him once before, after he beat her. So the special type of person you speak of? He weren't no cornered animal, Benjamin. He is a fucking animal - he can easily resort to such extremes. And he's in your ranks now. If you want my advice - get rid of him as quickly as you can. After what he did to Fallows, I'd say he's ready for the madhouse."
"Damnation," Benjamin breathed, shocked to the core.
Tavington continued to speak of Farshaw, and none of it was good. Benjamin listened quietly, as William relayed Calvin Farshaw's ill use of his wife, as he whored her to Colonel Clement's. Farshaw's affair with Mrs. Emily Wilkins, and his other crimes. He tried to keep an open mind but Benjamin found much of Calvin Farshaw's actions to be atrocious. Even if William was exaggerating - and there was no proof yet that he wasn't - Farshaw still appeared an entirely unpleasant and untrustworthy sort of fellow.
With the subject of Farshaw exhausted, and some decisions made about Beth's future, talk turned to other topics as they played at the game board, until William grew exhausted and pled the need to lay down. His healing wounds took up much of his energy, and the rum had left him soused. When Benjamin emerged from the cabin, he saw that Brownlow and Dalton were still waiting outside, though hours had passed since he'd commanded them to leave. Their loyalty to their Commander often took him by surprise, this was just another example of it.
"He needs your help to put him to bed," Benjamin slurred, swaying like a corn stalk in the breeze. He stumbled back into the cabin and after pulling off his boots, he fell front forward on his own bed.
I won't make the same mistake with Maggie and Susan, he thought sleep reached up and began to surround him. I'll keep them both locked in their damned rooms and if anyone thinks to go near either of them, I'll take their damned scalps.
Brownlow's face - blood dripping down his cheeks from the scalping - floated across Benjamin's vision. Other images; of what he would do to those men should they try to steal his daughter's virtues, followed him down into a fitful sleep.