Chapter 119 - Ban Writes to Hanger:

"I discovered shortly after capturing him, that before our arrival, Mr. Martin had sent off an attachment to intercept my supplies. Honestly, George - the gall of the man! As soon as I learned of this, I gave chase. We made much better time than his militiamen. I don't know how Martin could ever have placed such a stock of faith in such rabble. I don't know how he could have imagined such a rag tag posse could have taken that supply train. Fumblers who wouldn't know which end of the rifle makes the bang, that was what they were. The entire lot of them, clumsy oafs, stumbling all over themselves in the woods." Banastre's quill glided along the parchment. He sat at the small table in his tent, keeping one eye on what he wrote, and another wary eye on Beth. He did not want her to see what he was writing and was ready to cover the paper if need be. Though in truth, she didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry to rush over to see. She sat before the open tent flap, covered in blankets, in a sort of lethargy, just staring outward at the setting sun.

Probably still worried for her father. It had been quite hard on her, learning that Banastre had captured Martin and escorted the enemy Colonel to Winnsboro. When he returned, he told her and she had fallen into his arms, weeping with fear and worry for her father. As he could not indulge himself in public celebration now he'd reached his camp and his distraught mistress, he indulged in this private one to Hanger, his words fair crowing from the page.

"It was my very great pleasure to deliver my excellently won prize in person to an ecstatic Lord General," Banastre wrote now. "Without a word of a lie, I do declare what Cornwallis said to me. 'My dear Banastre,' said he 'never have I been more proud of you, than I am at this moment. Your performances in the field are a constant surprise and delight to me, but this… Sweet Heavens, you've bought me the most troublesome Officer the Continentals have seen fit to plague me with, you've captured half his band and almost all of his horses! I could not be more happy, if you'd bought me Washington himself!' " Banastre laughed softly, imagining his close friend George laughing when he read this. "I laid an excellent ambush for our friends, my dear George. Not only did I make better time than Martin's rabble, who had set out before me," he boasted, unashamedly, " 'But I reached the caravan with plenty of time to organise an ambush the likes of which Martin himself would have cheered, if it had not been his own force targeted. His detachment, believing only they themselves capable of laying such traps, had - quite literally - walked into mine like lambs to the slaughter. It goes to show - those fine fellows are nothing without their leader. I captured another eighty rebels, killed ten, with only another twenty or so managing to escape. Those are scattered to the wind, leaderless and desolate. And I captured their horses, as well. At least one hundred of them, all of which are now in my possession. I even have William's Thunder," Banastre could not help it, he laughed again. Beth glanced over at him in askance, but he merely smiled and waved, then continued on with his letter. "Oh, it was so very fine, sitting across from Cornwallis, who was bursting with praise over my fine work," Banastre gloated. "I remember his every word as though it were just this morning. He said to me, 'It was very well done, Colonel. Very well done indeed. Capturing Martin…' He could not finish his sentence, my dear George, for he was at a loss for words. I rendered His Lordship speechless. His eyes were fair dancing and he wore such a smile on his face… It was a grand day, my friend. I wish you could have been here to be apart of it."

He continued on in this vein, boasting to Hanger who was convalescing in Barbados after having contracted yellow fever. Banastre went on about his accomplishments, his success. There was no need to exaggerate General Cornwallis' praise for him, either, His Lordship had been more than pleased. It had been a very fine day indeed. Banastre came to the end of his letter. He poured sand over the ink, waved the paper to dispel the sand and dry it, before committing his seal to the folded piece. Beth might happen upon a letter left lying open on the table. It would not be her fault, if curiosity got the better of her, if she caught sight of her father's name. She would likely read it, if she ever stumbled upon such a thing. But she would never go through his correspondence deliberately - she'd never stoop to opening his satchel and breaking seals. When the letter was safely stowed away in his satchel, he rose and walked through the partition to his troubled mistress.

"Are you ready, my love?" He asked her, holding out her hand.

"I am," she said, though she looked quite green.

Banastre had discerned of a way to discover the spies in his ranks, a much faster way than having Whitty sort through the mass of soldiers with no real surety of success. As near as Banastre could tell, Martin had placed Abel Rogers from South Carolina in Tarleton's camp around the same time Martin himself began to plague Banastre's force. Did it not stand to reason then, that the other spies, if there were more, would have joined recently and all of them from South Carolina? And would it not then be a short conclusion, that Beth might know them? Martin had said she knew Abel Rogers and when Banastre questioned her, she had admitted to knowing him before, though not nearly as well as her father tried to claim. She'd never called him cousin, for instance. That was a lie Martin had told to save the youth's life. Banastre was glad he'd seen through the ruse. He was glad he hadn't let his love for Beth blind him that day. Upon returning to camp from Winnsboro, Banastre had commanded Whitty bring together all soldiers from South Carolina, who joined the ranks of his Legion in the last few months.

For Beth to study each and every face in Banastre's unit would be both time consuming and unnecessary, as he was sure of most of them. It was only the few who had joined recently, from her home province, that he needed her to view. A score of men, nothing more. The Great Cleansing had begun, and although Banastre knew Beth was not at all happy about it, he also knew his faithful mistress would do her part exceedingly well.

Beth swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, her hand trembled as she placed it in Tarleton's. She knew well what Banastre did with spies and those he considered traitors, remembering George Howard's hanging back in Pembroke. Though Banastre had not said as much, she strongly suspected that Abel Rogers had met with the same fate. She allowed her lover to guide her from the tent, her hand still secured in his own. An orange sky met them, a cold but cloudless sunset, beautiful in all its warm hues of purple and orange and gold. Far too beautiful by far to condemn men to death, as she was being asked to do now. Her heart began to pound as he led her down the aisle of tents toward a long line of men standing side by side. These had no firearms to speak of, they'd been removed from their persons before being made to take their place in the line. Camp followers and soldiers had gathered to watch, crowding the area, making it a small, narrow space. She could feel their eyes on her, each and every single one of them. What they were thinking, she could not begin to guess. The Dragoons watching over the South Carolinian soldiers had their muskets drawn, giving the entire affair a menacing feel. She imagined recognising one of her father's men, pointing him out, and then stepping aside so the Dragoon guard could shoot him between the eyes. Her mouth went dry, she struggled to work moisture onto her tongue. The terror took her breath away. Banastre led her to the beginning of the line, and she began studying each face, as he requested. She still had no idea what she would do, if she recognised any. It was the most wonderful relief to not know any of the first few men, but when she reached the fifth fellow in the line, her greatest fear was realised. Her face drained of colour, for Alby Scott, younger brother of Dan Scott, stood tall before her, staring outward. She'd hoped he would have fled as soon as her father was captured, but here he was, standing tall and pretending not to know her. He must have known what this was about, for he deliberately kept himself from meeting her gaze. Beth's heart tried to thud its way through her chest. This fellow here, she knew without a doubt, was one of her father's spies. He'd already admitted as much, over a week earlier, when they met at the Peddler's wagon. God, this was the test, right here, right now. She hadn't known what she would do if he was still here, or if she'd recognised any others she knew must be one of her fathers men, but now she was face to face with one of them, and now she knew. It was difficult to take another step on legs suddenly turned to water. But she forced herself to do so, forced herself to keep all recognition from her features and praying fervently that she succeeded. To do anything else was to betray her father, and a boy she'd known her whole life. To watch as a Dragoon put a ball between his eyes, or shoved a noose over his head. She glanced at him again and this time, like an omen or a vision, she saw a noose constricting his throat, his eyes bulging, his tongue lolling as he struggled for air. She dragged her eyes away; struggling for her own. That would not be Alby's fate; she could not condemn him to that. But nor would she betray Banastre, not entirely. She would not allow spies to remain, when she had it in her power to force them to leave. She would go to Alby as he had asked her to, and she would demand he slip away from the camp, so he could do no more mischief. But she would not condemn him to a traitors death. She continued on, gazing into the next fellow's face.

"I know him," she whispered, still feeling weak from seeing Alby Scott in the line. "Michael Forbe. He's a Kingsman, Banastre," she said. "His entire family are Loyalists. You can be sure of him."

"Thank you, Beth," Banastre replied. He gestured curtly and a very relieved Michael Forbe was removed from the line. She did not know the next three but again, she came upon a man who could only be one of her father's spies; this one was brother to Mr. Bill Danvers, one of her father's closest friends. Again, Beth's gaze passed him over, she saw the tension in his body ease as he realised she would not betray him. She walked on, determining to get word to both men to leave and not return. Banastre and Beth reached the end of the line.

"I don't know them," she said, voice loud as she tried to sound confident and sure. "Perhaps Abel Rogers really was the only one."

"I can not imagine your father pinning all of his hopes on one spy," Banastre chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. Although he did not doubt Beth's word, he did doubt her conclusion. It was not entirely impossible that her father might have placed men in Banastre's ranks that Beth did not know.

"I doubt my father has the resources to send more, Colonel Tarleton," she replied reasonably. "He could ill afford to lose any… That's what I think, in any case."

"Well, whatever the case, I thank you," Banastre bowed over her hand and kissed her fingers gallantly in a public display of affection and approval. "You have done well this day, as I knew you would."

"It was my pleasure to serve you, Colonel," she replied formally; for the sake of his men, so that they would know she regarded Banastre highly and respected him. As he began to turn her and lead her back to the tent, she caught and held the eyes of both spies in turn, her face as hard as stone. Without words, she tried to convey her will; that they flee into the night, though she could not be certain they understood her. Scott gave an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, but that could have meant anything. He might have been thanking her. Or perhaps he interpreted her willingness to assist him now as willingness to assist with spying later. That would be especially so, if he had learned she'd done precisely that, for Nathan back in Pembroke. Perhaps he would broach her on the subject of spying on Banastre directly, sometime in the near future. If so, she was determined to correct him. She would not tread that path - not again. Even if her father asked her himself, she would not. She wanted both men, and all other spies if they knew of them, gone from her lover's camp by the following evening and she would damned well make certain they knew it.

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A full day passed before Beth was able to hunt down Alby Scott. She knew where to start looking for him, for he'd told her as much the day they bumped into one another at the peddler's wagon. Still, knowing that only narrowed down her search, she still was yet to find him.

The narrow lanes between the tents were muddy, Beth's shoes were soon coated, as were the bottom of her skirt and petticoats. She slogged along anyway, wool cape pulled tight around her shoulders, face hard and determined. She was far from the tent she shared with Banastre and she was all alone. The peddler had returned, giving her the perfect excuse to set out from Banastre's tent out him. Nancy was striding along at her side, Beth would need to be rid of her somehow, if she did find either of the spies..

As she strode along the avenue, she kept her eyes peeled for Alby Scott and the other spy, Mr. Adam Danvers. It was Alby she found first.

Alby Scott was standing outside a tent, chatting merrily with an infantryman. Good Lord Above. Finally. Her feet were killing her, her legs ached something fierce - she was unused to all this walking. Her nose was always bright red from being out in the cold. But it was all worth it now. All worth it.

"Miss Nancy," Beth said, her voice sharp as it always was when speaking to her maid or any of the other camp women, said loudly enough to draw Alby's attention. "The peddler is still here," she handed Nancy her coin pouch. "Go and see if he has my parcel for me. And see if he has any ribbons. Preferably silk. He might have bought other things for me to look over - things for the baby. Use your judgement in choosing and do not let him overcharge you. I don't want fripperies, mind. He'll likely try to hoist all sorts of assortments on you, knowing I can afford to buy them."

"But what if I bring you back something you don't like?" Nancy said, fretting.

"It doesn't matter. Like I said, just use your judgement. If you would want it for yourself or your baby, get it. If not, don't. Pay for the parcel, and don't spend more than five pounds on anything else he shows you."

"Wouldn't it be better if ye came, so ye can decide for yeself? I don't know what a lady would like!" Nancy said, looking nervous.

"Please, Nancy, just go," Beth said, making a shooing gesture with her hands. Miss Nancy looked uncertain, but she turned and began slogging through the mud toward where the peddler had situated his wagon to sell his goods to the soldiers. Now that she was alone, Beth gave Alby a significant look, silently summoning him, and she began to walk on again.

She heard his boot falls in the mud behind her and then he fell in beside her. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, for a soldier from the inferior ranks to be walking along with Mrs. Tavington - Colonel Tavington's wife and the suspected mistress of Colonel Tarleton. She hoped Banastre did not hear of this, he might become jealous and think her unfaithful. Not many could see them here, she was deliberately leading him away from the main avenue, toward the back of the tents.

When she was certain they were alone, she rounded on him.

"I know you are here because my father ordered you to be. You are a spy. And I did not protect you the other day because I am on side with you so don't bother asking me if I have information for you. I did it because I would not betray my father. It would be devastating to see you hang or shot, I could not condemn you to that, or Mr. Danvers. But I can not cover for you, you can not stay here. You must leave, at once. If you do not, I'll make certain your departure happens somehow. I'll tell Colonel Tarleton that you and Mr. Danvers offended me. I'll ask him not to punish you but I will demand that you are set out. Or maybe I'll let him punish you first," she said wrathfully. "Of all the stupid, hair brain things to do! Staying here when my father's been captured!" She threw her arms wide, frustrated that he would deem it a good idea, entering an enemy camp and spying…

"Ye'd do that?" He asked, cocking his head, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. "Ye'll make up lies 'bout Danvers and me?"

"To protect you I must see you gone, Mr. Scott. And I'll do it anyway that doesn't see you killed, so don't you dare give me such a look. I will not feel guilty at making you leave. There's no point in you staying anyway! With my father caught -" Beth cut short, hands pressed to her stomach, unable to hide the worry and grief. In a softer voice, she said, "- with papa made a prisoner, you've no one to report to, anyway. You might as well desert, before you are caught. Just slip away into the night and be gone."

"Could do," he mused. "But I already told you, I take me orders from your da, not from you."

"You're a damned goose brained fool, Alby Scott," she snapped. "They hung Abel Rogers, did you hear of that?"

"I heard," Alby said, worried now.

"And while Colonel Tarleton believes that I didn't recognise any of my father's spies in that line the other day, he does think I'm mistaken. You are being hunted Mr. Scott." They were still walking, both furtively watching those passing by, each beginning to worry if Beth had condemned him after all, by being seen with him.

"I ain't leavin' until someone above me releases me," he said stubbornly.

"Then they might be sending word to your corpse, by the time anyone is able to send such a command to you," Beth tossed her head, frustrated.

"I heard some got away from Tarleton's ambush," Alby said. "I heard Captain Billings was one of them. If so… There's a few who still command us, out there. They'll gather together 'gain, and mayhap your brother will come up here'n lead them. They won't hang yer da, will they? They don't hang officers…"

"They do hang Officers sometimes," Beth replied, troubled. "If they try to escape or break parole. Or if they decide that papa has committed treason. And they'd consider it treason, if they found you and any other spies here. If they want to hang him, they'll find a reason to do it. Banastre is certain that they'll just hold him; that for them, it's enough just to keep him out of the war until it's over. Papa has been quite a bother to them…"

"That he has," Alby laughed softly. "That we have."

"Will you please leave?" Beth asked, begging now rather than commanding.

"I don't think I can," Alby replied. "Not off me own bat. If ye want me gone, ye'll have to go tell those lies to Old Banny and see him put me out. Miss Beth, ye must know what they're saying' 'bout ye here."

"They don't know anything," she said, but was unable to stop her cheeks from flooding red. Alby clearly didn't believe her.

"If ye want, I can get ye out of here. It's what yer da wants."

"I know precisely want my father wants," she said, heaving a furious breath. "And I know why he wants it."

"Look, I don't know why yer here but I got to tell yeh, there's whispers about you and Tarleton that yer da ain't going to like." - Beth raised her chin, her eyes narrowed, flinty. To cover her sudden thrill of trepidation. "Yer married, ye should be with yer husband."

"How can you say that? Do you have any idea what my husband did to me?" She asked, voice harsh.

"I do know. Yer da knows and he punished him for it," Alby raised his hands, palms outward, cautioning her to silence.

"He… punished?" She frowned.

"See? This is why I told ye to come and see me! Gods, I've got so much to tell ye. Yer da whipped that bastard raw, for taking his belt to ye." The words stunned her, left her reeling.

"Whipped… What..?" She breathed, her anger draining from her. "My father… whipped… he whipped William? Lord, Alby… What..?" The blood had drained from Beth's face, leaving her cheeks an ashen grey.

"Look, I don't know all of it but I'll tell ye what I can. Yer da had the opportunity to capture Tavington, so he laid an ambush. Tavington was shot during the action, through the shoulder -"

"- Shot," Beth closed her eyes, her stomach roiled. "My Papa shot William?"

"Nah, that were yer uncle who did that. Mr. Putman. And that other fellow he's got with him now - that Farshaw…"

"My uncle? My uncle is dead, Alby. And Farshaw? Oh my God…" Beth's eyes were huge, the whites showing all the way around the brown.

"Yeh, that's his name from memory. Murdered an Officer and deserted to our ranks. Something ain't right with him but that's a tale for another day. As for yer uncle, he ain't dead. He survived being tossed into the Cooper."

"I can't believe it…" She reeled, she had no time to digest what he was saying, for he was still speaking, the words tumbling from him at a rate Beth could not keep up with. Her uncle was alive? Did Cilla know? Time had marched on without her, so much had happened, it seemed, and she was only getting snatches of it now. What she did hear left her reeling.

"Yeh - Tavington was shot. He's recovered now though," he said quickly, seeing the stark fear in Beth's face and that fear made him wonder what the hell was going on, that she would be with Tarleton. Maybe she was a captive. Maybe.

"He has recovered?" Beth fretted, her fingers digging in to Alby's arm. She didn't even remember seizing it.

"Yeh, by now he 'as. He was gettin' over the whippin' too, before he was rescued by his Major. Billings told us."

"Rescued… Oh Lord, none of what you're saying is making sense to me Alby. No sense at all!"

They were standing behind some tents now, no one to see them. A camp follower was putting washing on a clothes line strung between two tents, but she had her back to them both. Alby clasped Beth's shoulders, he looked her in the eye. "Your father laid a trap," he began, outlining everything as it had been told to him. He'd been there, but he had not known many of the details until later, when the older men sat around the camp fires, talking about it. He still didn't know everything, and what he did know was second and third hand, but he would tell her what he could. "He'd learned what happened at Fresh Water. That yer husband was… unfaithful," he said carefully.

He saw a hardness enter Beth's eyes, there was still pride there. She was not entirely beaten down. Good, Alby thought, feeling for the lass. "How did he learn of it?" Beth asked softly, imagining there must have been spies at Fresh Water.

"Mrs. Bordon, we think," he replied. "We don't know for sure, but some of us are thinkin' that Mrs. Bordon's been sending her da information. It stands to reason, don't it? Her being Putman's daughter and him suddenly getting real, private information that has come from within the great house itself?"

Considering how Cilla had chosen to occupy herself in Charlestown, Beth thought it must be so - Cilla was spying again. Dangerous business, that, while living in the lap of the British.

"My uncle really is alive?" She asked, still shocked by the news. It left her breathless.

"Yes," Alby said. "Him and that fellow - Nicholas or something."

"Oh, thank the Lord," Beth whispered, over joyed by the news. Hearing Nicholas' name confirmed it for her, she knew it was all true now. The relief… That both had survived… nervous excitement coursed through her veins, making her feel hot and giddy. "Keep going. Tell me all of it."

"If ye want all of it, then I need to backtrack a bit. Back to yer da. He heard that yer husband took his belt to ye. Don't worry, yer da didn't take it lightly. He was right furious, he was. Mad enough that when he caught Tavington, he took him to a quiet place, a remote place where he could have a wee private chat. Once yer da was done talkin' 'bout how he expected his daughter to be treated in the future, like, Tavington was hauled up onto a whipping post, and yer da took the first turn. Gabriel took the second. I'm told even Thomas had a turn, and he put as much force into it as yer da. That's what Tavington gets, for messing around on ye, lass. That's what he gets for beatin' ye. Never think yer da don't love ye."

Beth's eyes were shut, tears streaked down her cheeks. A riot of emotions forged through her, she could barely tell how she was feeling. Her father loved her after all. And her husband - whipped by the men of her family. Part of her felt terribly for William, and she wanted to squash that part of her until it died a horrible death, the part that still loved William beyond sense. That part would be the death of her, one day. Imagining him strung up and helpless, the whip striking his flesh, leaving bloody runnels in ruined flesh… it was such a painful image, it made her want to pull at her hair and scream. After he'd been shot too. It was all she could do to keep standing. Poor, poor William. God, why couldn't she just stop loving him? It was like a horrible canker, riddling her entire body. There was pride and love as well, for her father, who would take such vengeful action against the man who had harmed her so terribly.

An absolute riot of emotions…

"I know he does," Beth whispered, opening her eyes. "Tell me what happened next."

"Well, yer da's a fair man, he always has been. One of the men heard him telling his sons that Tavington's received his punishment, and that's an end to it. That if he ever hurts ye again, he can expect more. At that time, though, they got one of the men who knows doctoring to come along and patch Tavington up. That was weeks and weeks ago now. Nearly two months; Christ, time goes so fast. He was already recovering when Bordon came along and rescued him."

Beth opened her mouth to ask about that, but Alby held up one hand, forestalling her. "There's precious little I know of it, Miss Beth. He came along; and your father and brothers got away just in time. Bordon took Tavington back to Fresh Water."

Back to Linda, Beth thought. Did his whore care for him, during his convalescence? She struggled to keep her mind on what Alby was saying.

"That's all I know. What I do know is, before he was rescued, yer da spent a lot of time with the Butcher. I don't know what they was doin' together, the men don't know either but they didn't like it overly much. What they do know is, yer da promised yer husband that he'd remove you from here and he'd take ye to Gullah."

Beth went as still as a statue, as cold as marble. Only her hair moved gently in the wind. Her eyes were fixed on Alby's, a led weight settled in her stomach.

"My husband," she began, words clipped with fury, "is living in my house, with that damned whore, in the open for everyone to see! Yet he is colluding with my father? To see me set aside in Gullah?" This last was squeaked. "What of him and his dallying with that slut!"

"Don't raise yer voice, lass!" Alby glanced around nervously, worried they'd draw curious eyes now.

"He is ruining his name," she raged. "I understand father wanting me taken from here - I do understand his reasoning, Mr. Scott. But my husband? While he sits nice and warm in my house, surrounded by fine things, his mistress in our marriage bed - I was going to be despatched to Gullah? Do you even know what is in Gullah, Mr. Scott?"

"I never been there," he admitted. "What's there?"

"Nothing!" She waved her arms high. "Nothing! A bunch of old shanties, it's a beach island - there is nothing but mosquitoes there, and alligators probably and cabins not even worthy of the name! And I was to be sent there so that William could continue with his mistress in my own home?" She squeaked.

"Well, when you put it like that… Maybe you should convince yer da to take ye back to Fresh Water instead."

"Good God, I'll never do that!" Beth snapped. "What would he do, keep me in one of the outhouses while he shares my bed chamber with that doxy in the Great House?" Beth continued to curse and rant - though quietly, thank the great Lord above. Alby listened to her, watched her face darken with fury as she raged under her breath, about the slut, he was living with in her own home, and how she herself was to be set aside and left to rot on an island while Tavington set his whore up in luxury.

"And he has my inheritance, how much of that is he spending on her? I'll have to beg for enough to buy myself a ribbon while he bedecks her in silk out of my own money!"

"I don't know nothing about any of that," he replied truthfully, having heard no gossip of Tavington's continued affair. "But yeh, I reckon ye've a right to be angry."

"Right to be angry?" She raged. "I'm filled with so much fury, I can barely support it! I want to explode with it! That damned bastard. Why did he do this to me, Mr. Scott? Why? And now he wants me away from here and not because he loves me - not that it matters because I don't want him now either! But it isn't that he loves me, because he doesn't - he only wants me away from here so that he can have happiness while I have none and oh, god, it just hurts so much!" She began to cry then, great sobs tearing from her. The pent up anger had to come out somehow, he supposed, and with a sigh, he put his arms around her, keeping a careful eye that no one was watching. The washer woman was gone, and he could hear people not far from the tent, but for now, they were still unobserved. He was able to let Beth cry herself out, he did not release her until her body stopped shuddering from the force of her sobs. He reached into his pocket and handed her a dirty kerchief. She stared at it woodenly, then plucked it from his fingers and dried her eyes, leaving dirty smears on her cheeks from the kerchief and her tears.

"I want to hate him," she confided, sniffling. "I really want to hate him. But I can't. This is what love does to a person, Mr. Scott. It makes them so, so damned stupid! Please do me a favour. Don't fall in love."

"I can't be promisin' ye that," he smiled weakly. "But I promise I'll choose the right girl, when I do."

"There is no choosing," Beth replied, shaking her head. "Or else I would have chosen better for myself. I thought he was a good man but… I was blind. That's what love does to you Mr. Scott. It blinds you. And then it gets in here," she punched her chest, "and sends out spiky little tendrils out and they wrap around your heart and they dig in like claws, holding so tight and it feels so good. At first, it does, the little jolts from those spikes, but even after you realise you were mistaken in your choice, those tendrils don't let go. Instead, they tighten and the barbs grow and dig in something fierce and you feel like you'll die from the pain of it. They hold and hold and hold until it chews you up and some mornings, it's all I can do just to get out of bed!"

She was sniffling again, not the wretched sobbing of a moment before, but she was still not recovered. Alby did not know what to say, he'd never been in love before and he had no idea what she was talking about. Barbed tendrils? It sounded pretty horrible.

"Have you ever been pricked by a thorn on a rose bush?" She asked and he nodded. "It's like that, only there are a thousand thorns and they keep jabbing," she stabbed her fingers into her other palm for emphasis. "And jabbing. The pain of all those jabs never ebbs, either, from the first to the last, they all just stay there, digging deep and hurting."

"I'm sorry for ye Miss Beth," he sighed. "I really am. But why are ye here, then? How is this making it better? There's rumours about ye and Tarleton now, which is going to harm yer good name. Well, yer da's good name anyway, Tavington's ain't so grand that I'd want to protect it. But yer making it all worse, not just for yerself but yer da too. Why are ye here?"

"Because…" she began softly, eyes on the ground. "He's looking after me. Protecting me from being belted again. It doesn't matter now anyway, this plan of going to Gullah. Not with my father captured. It's all a moot point, now," she thought for a moment, then barked a bitter laugh. "Well, that's put paid to William's scheme, hasn't it?" She spat. "This agreement they made, to have papa set me aside someplace while William kept living high and well with that whore. I'll stay with Banastre," she said decisively, lifting her chin, vengeful. "And we'll all be sunk together." She declared in a sing song voice.

Alby didn't much like the sound of that, but Beth began walking away and he had no choice but to follow her back to the path.

"Will you consider what I asked of you?" She asked. "Will you leave? You'll get no information from me. And there's no one to deliver information up to anyway. You don't even know where Gabriel is, you can't hope that he'll come here and take over from my father."

"Someone will take charge," Alby said, filled with certainly. Beth shook her head.

"There's death waiting for you here, they'll catch you now the investigation has begun."

"They won't investigate me, or Danvers," Alby said confidently. "Not now that you've vouched for us both."

Beth shot him a hard, dark look. Before she could repeat her threat or get another word in at all, he doffed his hat to her, turned, and began striding away.

She continued more slowly along the path, her thoughts dwelling on William. Thinking of her husband bought a confusing blend of heartache and fury, as it always did. Only now, it was worse. It was more. How dare William try to force her to do anything? She knew he was only doing it to protect his name, which he was doing a wonderful job of ruining himself. He wanted her to be miserable without Banastre, while he was all happiness with Linda Stokes, all to protect his name?

No. She would not go to Gullah, or Fresh Water, or anywhere else he bade her. Not on bended knee, she'd told him. And not for any reason.