Chapter 136 - Tarleton's First Defeat:

Beth stood by Adam Danvers side, her hold on the rifle tightening. Adam had handed her the firelock earlier and the two held their position, making the marauding Loyalists think twice about stealing from them. There was no time for talk, they kept their firearms level, keenly watching for any marauders tempted enough to close on them.

She was not speaking, but Gods, her thoughts raged. …and he kept my father's letters from me. I told myself he did it to protect me, Beth was thinking as she stared with a narrowed gaze at the militiamen raiding the wagons. So that I wouldn't find out the truth, more like. Papa held William for a week, Mr. Scott said. Long enough for William to have told him everything. William would have revealed his side of the story, for certain. He would have told her father that he was faithful and her father would have said as much in his letters. That was the reason Banastre kept them from her. Protection had nothing to do with it. Gods, if William told him that - and it was damned likely he did - did he also tell her father that she bedded Banastre before marrying him? Her fingers loosened on the firearm and her legs felt suddenly weak. Did he tell her father she had bedded Banastre in his own home? Dear God.

"Stay back!" Danvers shouted and Beth whirled in his direction, aiming the musket again. Two Loyalists raised their hands and backed away slowly, before turning and running back to the easier loot on the unprotected wagons.

Had William revealed all this to her father? And if he had, was it before, or after her father had whipped William's back raw for taking his belt to Beth? She cringed, imagining William strung up, bare chested, arms spread wide and tied off at the wrist, while Beth's father and her brothers took their turns, the whip digging into William's flesh again and again and…

She swallowed hard and steeled her spine, reminding herself that William was no innocent. He'd her her down across the bed, his belt striking into her bare flesh with all the strength in his arm, again and again and… It'd been a fire of agony, what he did to her. It made her feel sick to her stomach that her father might know she had given herself to Banastre being marrying William. But William himself… He had treated her so poorly from the very beginning, he had very little right to his anger. She would not consider William's part in this, not now.

Banastre hadn't kept her father's letters back to save her feelings - Lord, how stupid had she been to think that? - he'd done so because those letters would have contained the truth.

Banastre had kept the truth from her for the same reason she had kept the truth from William. Out of fear. She'd been terrified that William would leave her for once and for all, if he knew she had lost her virginity to Banastre. And Banastre had feared that she would leave him for once and for all, if she knew that William had never been unfaithful.

Beth's fear had proved warranted; William had shed himself of her - but not before beating her! - as soon as he discovered it. Was Banastre's fear warranted, too?

What would she have done, had she known earlier? Some of her anger began to ebb, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and pondered. The first whisperings of her father's close proximity to the army began a few weeks after her arrival to the camp. She imagined what she would have done if Banastre had sat her down then and handed the first letter to her, imagined what she would have done if he'd given her the choice. She examined the facts as she knew them now; William was never unfaithful. But he did beat her… And here was her father, offering to take her to Gullah; to her Aunties, away from William but also away from a life of vice and debauchery with Banastre.

Would she have accepted?

Would she have left Banastre; to save her reputation, to protect her father's? Had she been thinking clearly enough back to have made the right choice?

She wasn't certain. But it didn't matter because Banastre hadn't even given that choice to her. He'd allowed her to live in ignorance, he'd let her slip into a life of depravity and shame.

You're not without fault, she reminded herself. As she was contemplating what her actions would have been, had Banastre sat her down and given her the choice, she was forced to contemplate what William's might have been, had she done the same. If she had told him when they entered Mr. Higgins Cooper shot. Before they ever went upstairs to couple. There had been time, though she was only willing to admit that now. The truth was, she could have stopped him. A simple "I have something I need to tell you, something you will not like," would have been enough. He would have listened.

And he would have walked out, filled with wrath and bitterness, and he might never have looked back at her. Fearing that, she had said nothing, she hadn't given him a choice, either. Perhaps, she thought, she would write to him. Apologise for that, if only for herself. There was no future for them, not after all that had happened, but it might help her find some peace, if she apologised.

And a simple "I have something I need to tell you, something you will not like," from Banastre would have made all the difference to her, also. Perhaps she might not have accepted her father's offer of help the first time, but by the fourth or fifth letter, of him pleading to her to come away with him, hearing his voice in her head as she read the words… He would have worn her down.

She'd always wanted to do right, to be good. Her father would have reached her eventually, had Banastre allowed it. Banastre had known the truth from that first letter and instead of revealing it and freeing her to make her own choices, he'd held it all back, because he'd been terrified that he might lose her. And never mind what it had been doing to her soul, this downward, out of control spiral the pair had been on, both of them drowning in a life of abandonment.

"Never again," she whispered fiercely; she braced herself against what was now in the past. There was nothing she could do to change one minute of it now, but from this point forward, dear sweet God, her sinful life was at an end. Never again would she be so depraved, she would never embrace such debauchery. She was determined to live a Christian life, and perhaps then her child, her beautiful, wonderful, innocent child, would not be shadowed by her sins, should they become exposed.

She could not blame Banastre - not entirely. There must have been something acutely wrong with her own moral compass to let herself fall so far, so quickly. She should never have left with Banastre, even with believing William to be unfaithful. When she left Fresh Water that day, she should have headed for Gullah, at least then she would not have to deal with this bone deep shame, this absolute disgust in herself.

Her fault.

Banastre should have told her the truth as soon as he learned it, but if her sins were exposed and she fell because of them, it would be her own fault, she was her own undoing. Never again, she thought as she stood there waiting for Alby Scott; never would she debase herself so utterly, ever again. From this point forward, she would live a decent, clean life - if only for herself. For her child. For her father.

Gods, the anguish she must have caused her father.

Something twisted deep in Beth's heart, the shame of knowing that her father knew. She needed to leave, needed to take herself away to a place she was not doing damage to herself and to her family. To Aunt Charlotte, to Aunt Mage, the two people in the world who would welcome her without contempt, shame, disdain. For they had both done things, things no Christian could ever approve of.

Her Aunts were the key to Beth's future. Perhaps not Aunt Mage so much - she might want to return to a public life when all was said and done. Aunt Charlotte though - she would not wish to live a public life any more than Beth did.

All she and Charlotte needed was a small cabin somewhere, someplace out of the way. Near to a small settlement, where they could send a servant to trade for any goods they needed, but not so close as to offend their neighbours. They could subsist well enough on their own, if they kept their expenses low. William would pay his stipend - she could increase the amount, if she needed. He wasn't spending her inheritance on Linda, what a fool she'd been to accuse him so. Her father would likely help financially as well, he would not want either of them to sicken or starve, alone, cast off in the woods. When the time came, she could send her child - whether it be a boy or a girl - to school in the city. Despite Beth's fall, the child would still have some measure of standing - and for a good name, he could use his grandfather's.

"What the devil is taking so long?" Adam Danvers cut into her thoughts and they both peered around, trying to spot Alby Scott. Lyons was finally putting up a defense against the marauders, but he couldn't hold for long - his Company was too small - the deserters too many and too determined. They were continuing to ransack and more newcomers were flooding in to join the ransacking, they were trying to get past Lyons to the spoils. Any who ventured too near to Beth and Adam with the idea of plunder on their minds soon changed them when Adam and Beth showed them the end of their rifles. Though she was safe enough for the time being, soon, there'd soon be nothing left of the baggage train, therefore the chaos itself would die down as the marauders began to flee and her chance of leaving without being noticed would quickly disappear.

"Maybe we should make for the woods now, before all this starts to thin out?" Beth asked Adam. "While they're too distracted to notice? We can wait within the trees."

"Mr. Scott won't be able to find us if we move our position, not with all this," he jutted his chin in disgust at the mayhem raging before them. Again, he hoisted his rifle when a soldier broke away from ransacking the baggage train and pounded toward them. Beth was richly dressed and her portmanteau was at her feet, containing even more spoils; it proved tempting enough for him to try. Again, Adam hefted his rifle and took determined strides toward the man while shouting out a slew of threats. Beth levelled hers as well. It was the threat of at least one ball to the chest that helped the fellow to find wisdom, and he turned and rushed back to the carriage train.

"When he does come, I know where we can go," Beth said, trying to be helpful in the hopes that Adam would stop looking at her like she was so much rubbish. He arched an eyebrow and she said, "Mrs. Farshaw, she's a… a friend…" Beth choked up a little but swallowed it back down. Harmony was her dearest friend in the world - how could she have treated her so horribly? "Her parents live near to here - I'm sure if we start asking around, we'll be able to find the Jutland's."

"Are you sure they'll help us? They might turn us in, instead."

"They might… But not if I bring them news of their daughter, I think. They'd give us one night, then, surely? We won't want to stay any longer."

"I think it's better that we just keep going, get as far away from here as possible. Forget these friends of yours, we need to put miles between us and Tarleton. Otherwise, Mr. Scott and I could hang."

Beth nodded slowly, it was true - they'd be considered deserters even if Banastre never discovered that they were spies - and they'd be hung. Not Beth of course, but Alby and Adam would for a surety. Mrs. Garland began to walk Nancy over, her arms were still around Nancy, who was still weeping. Adam tensed but Beth laid a hand on his arm. Mrs. Garland didn't know Beth was planning to flee, she was just trying to find a safe place for her and Nancy away from the fray.

"What's happened?" Beth asked as Mrs. Garland reached her, Nancy was inconsolable and barely able to speak through her sobs.

"Most unhappy news, I'm afraid," Mrs. Garland said, gently rocking Nancy. "She discovered her husband was one of those who did not make it this morning."

"Oh, no," Beth squeezed her eyes shut, then stepped closer to Nancy, her hand on the small of her back. "I'm so sorry." The new widow nodded and wept, clinging to Mrs. Garland. Helpless, Beth could only watch as the younger girl grieved.

"What are you doing over here?" Mrs. Garland asked over Nancy's head. "This isn't a safe spot to wait this out, we should take cover in the trees… who is this?"

"Oh… well…" Beth glanced over to Adam. "He's a boy from home. He… has agreed to take me back there," she said, uncertain how much to reveal. She wouldn't tell Mrs. Garland that Adam was a spy - it was enough for the other woman to know that Beth knew him from Pembroke.

"Well, that's to the good - you need an escort. Will the Colonel let you go, though?"

"Let?" Steel entered Beth's voice, her back became rigid. But the simple truth was, if Banastre returned too soon - he would have complete control of wherever she went. She deflated and admitted, "that was my fear also. Which is why we're leaving now."

"Now!" Mrs. Garland gasped, eyes wide in her large face. Adam hissed something, Beth missed it because just then, another volley of Lyon's rifles rang out. But she heard the sentiment behind the harshly spoken word.

"We can trust them," she said to Adam before turning back to the women. "Yes, now. As soon as my other friend brings my horse," she said. "There's two from my home, you see. I thought it best to slip away now, during the confusion."

"Your friends will be considered deserters," Mrs. Garland warned after a moments grave silence, as she took Adam in from head to toe.

"They know the risks, but they want to leave too."

"You weren't even going to bid us farewell?" Mrs. Garland said sharply. Beth could hear the hurt in the woman's voice, after they'd just made amends, too.

"I… I didn't want too…" Beth placed her hand on Mrs. Garland's arm. "I truly didn't. But we do need to leave… I regret leaving so soon - I did want to make amends with the other women, too."

"Leave that to me," Mrs. Garland said, conceding that Beth was right, now was the time for her to go. "I will explain as much as I can of your situation. They will either forgive you or they won't. Either way, I do agree, you need to leave this place. Return to your husband, Mrs. Tavington."

"I'll go to my aunties, just like I told you," Beth said.

"Stubborn child," Mrs. Garland muttered.

"You'll take care of Nancy?" Beth asked and the older woman nodded. Beth took hold of Nancy's shoulder and edged her slowly around so Nancy was facing her. "Nancy, did you hear all that?" Beth said gently. "I'm going to leave, any minute now. I need you to know how terribly sorry I am, I treated you so poorly. And I'm so sorry for your husband, I wish I could stay, to make amends, to do something to help you… Will you be well?" Stupid question, she'd just lost her husband! Nancy sniffed, she'd been nodding to show she'd been listening, but she gave a listless shrug at the end. "What will happen? What will become of you both?" She asked, worried now that she had a little more time to think on their future.

"You fear she'll take up her old living, do you?" Mrs. Garland sighed, looking reconciled, as if she feared the same for Nancy. "I'll do my best by her, don't worry about us."

"Mrs. Tavington!" Mr. Scott was suddenly at her side and pulling her arm, forcing her to come away with him a few steps.

"What took you so long -"

"I couldn't find Shadow Dancer," he said urgently. "So I asked around and I found out that Tarleton took her."

"What?" Beth breathed, feeling the world slip between her feet, like a trapdoor suddenly giving way; her stomach lurched and her legs felt weak. "He took Shadow Dancer?" Beth had been riding in the carriage for so long, and Shadow Dancer had been kept with the other horses… She'd assumed the mare was still in the camp. "He took her… into battle?" Beth pressed her hands to her mouth.

"Why would he take her? I don't think there was anything wrong with his own horse was there?" Alby asked and Adam, who was still close enough to hear, gave a shrug.

"Just get any old horses then, we've got to go, Scott."

"The guard is too strong, Danvers," Alby shot back.

"Almighty…" Beth breathed, the men turned from each other, their gazes settling on her. She met their eyes, "Ban wanted Harry to recognise her on the field…" She whispered. "Dear God, he took her to taunt him!" For Mrs. Garland's benefit, Beth explained, "I was once engaged to General Burwell -"

"The man we've been chasing all these days?" Mrs. Garland asked, voice strained.

"Yes. My horse - Shadow Dancer - was a gift from Harry and he would know her anywhere, she stands out with her dappled coat. Banastre took her into battle, he has risked her life, to… to… to twit Harry!" Beth ground out. "Lord, what if she is hurt, or killed? For what? Just to shove Colonel Burwell's nose in it? My horse, her very life, endangered for Banastre's pride. Oh my God, what if she's dead?" She clutched Alby's jacket, fingers tight.

"I don't know, but Mrs. Tavington, it means we can't leave. Not on horseback. I couldn't find Thunder either but even if I had, they've got a stronger guard on the horses than they do the baggage train. If we go, it'll be on foot -"

"You won't get far," Mrs. Garland said ominously. When Beth turned, she saw what the woman was pointing at - horsemen in green, hundreds of them, bearing down fast. A horn was sounded then, coming from that direction and as one, they froze, all turning toward the approaching Dragoons.

Banastre had returned.

The marauders began to scatter.

"Let's go," Alby seized Beth's arm again and began to pull, but she was staring at the oncoming men, trying to see a grey mare with darker grey streaks. Her Shadow Dancer.

"You'll get yourself caught and hung," Mrs. Garland snapped. "Listen here, he'll come searching for her the moment he gets here. If she is gone, he'll mount a search and will be hot on your heels, you might get fifty yards away before you're caught. Don't let him risk it, Mrs. Tavington," she said, turning her argument on Beth.

"Mrs. Garland is right, we can't leave now, Mr. Scott. It was fine before when it was safe, but I won't put you or Mr. Danvers at risk for nothing. Dear God, can you see her?" Beth whispered, eyes still searching, her heart in her mouth. "Can you see my horse?"

Alby's face was set, lips a stubborn line, but eventually he relented, staring into the lines of horsemen, searching for Shadow Dancer. "No, I can't see her… Look Mrs. Tavington, if we're not going, then it's better we're not seen together. Best not to rouse suspicion, or we'll never get away." Alby jerked his head at Adam and the two began to withdraw but Beth barely noticed. Her eyes picked out Banastre, at the head of the line, bear plume streaming back from his helmet.

He was riding Thunder.

Beth started to run forward, her skirts hiked up past her ankles. He saw her and changed course, riding hard toward her, a look of misery and relief on his face. He signaled for his men to continue on, they could see the ransacking and would put an end to it while their Colonel met with his lover. Already men were screaming and the first of many shots were fired but Beth barely noticed. Banastre jerked to a stop before her, she seized Thunder's reigns as if taking possession of the mount, even as Banastre leapt down from the saddle and took her in his arms.

"Beth, dear Gods, it was a disaster, I can barely speak. I've been through hell today - I've seen hell." He was expecting sympathy, he wanted for her to throw her arms around his shoulders and cradle him, love and comfort him in his time of distress.

"Where is my horse?" She shouted, batting her fists at his chest and writhing in his grasp. His 'woe is me' look changed swiftly to astonishment, this was not the greeting he'd been expecting. "Where is Shadow Dancer?" She hurled at him, eyes burning with an inner fire. He froze, faltering for an answer, then finally hung his head.

"My love, I do apologise. I needed a sturdy mount, a swift one, the finest horse in the field that could endure the hardships -"

"No more! I will have no more of your lies!" She hissed, stabbing her finger into his chest, silencing him once more. "You've done nothing but lie to me and now this! You took her - without my permission, which you never would have received! - for the sole purpose of showing her off to General Burwell and taunting him on the battlefield! You knew she was his engagement gift to me! Her strength and speed had nothing to do with your choice! It was flagrant provocation, nothing more! For that, you risked my horses life! And you took Thunder! How dare you? Where is Shadow Dancer?" She whirled and looked, still trying to see her in the masses of horses chasing down deserters. Thunder's chest heaved, his black coat covered with sweat, nostrils flaring. He looked exhausted, as if he'd been ridden half to death. She spared him a glance as he shoved his nose against her arm, and almost wept, half expecting him to fall over dead at her feet.

Banastre lowered his arm, his face began to grow cold, his temper simmering. He was holding it back for now; because he thought this was her only gripe. He'd try to sooth her, ease away her anger as he always did. But he had so much more to answer for, besides Shadow Dancer. One thing at a time, however.

"While I find it a little… disconcerting… that you appear to show more concern for your horse than you do me, I do apologise. I should have asked. I should not have taken her -"

"Is she alive or have you killed her?" She asked through clenched teeth.

"Horses die!" He shouted and it was like thunder rumbling through her chest.

Horses die.

"Oh my God," she breathed, stumbling back a step. Her hands flew to her mouth, she stared at him over her fingertips, as if she'd never seen him before. Horses die. He'd taken Shadow Dancer into battle, her beloved mare, and now she was dead. A sob ripped from her chest and she turned to Thunder, who quivered there, his coat wet with sweat, his head hanging. She turned to him and laid her head against his nose. Shadow Dancer, dead. Did he even know? Thunder - did he know she was gone? Did he understand? They'd both lost their beloved girl.

Banastre watched her, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. He'd give her another moment or two, surely she would not need longer than that before she recalled herself to him and all he'd been through. He did feel genuinely sorry for the horse but… it was just a horse! He - Banastre - had entered the fires of hell and returned beaten and bedraggled and she worried over her horse? Another moment… just another, and then she would recall him, her fear and worry for him… any moment now… why was she just standing there, her head buried against Thunder's? Christ… He struggled to hold his temper, knowing he was very close to the end of his own threshold, after his devastating defeat. He took several deep breaths, trying to soothe himself and to give her more time. At length he succeeded in - not entirely calming himself, not yet, but he did succeed in blunting the edge of his anger. Quietly, he said, "I lost men today. Killed. Captured. I lost the battle. But you go right ahead and mourn your horse, don't worry at all about me." Well, perhaps he wasn't quite as successful as he'd thought… "It's as though you care more for that damned horse than you do me! You haven't even asked if I am wounded or well or…"

"I know you aren't wounded," she replied, her voice muffled in Thunder's coat. "And frankly, I do care more for Shadow Dancer."

Her words were like a block of lead falling from a great height. He stared, stunned.

"How could you say such a thing?" He breathed, perplexed, offended, and deeply, deeply hurt. "I've just returned from battle, from a devastating loss," he was shaking his head, bewildered. "And I return to this? You're this angry, over a bloody horse? So angry, that you can say such an awful thing?"

"Oh, there's so much more behind my anger than that, Banastre," Beth tossed her head as she turned to face him, she stepped up toward him, keeping hold of Thunder's reins; she was never going to let them go. Banastre had taken one horse from her, he would not have Thunder too. She glared up into his eyes, he stared back, waiting her explanation, his jaw working. "A packet arrived from Fresh Water, one you were unable to hold back from me." - His eyes began to grow wide, until the whites showed all the way around the brown. - "One you were unable to burn." She hissed.

"I…" He understood the ramifications immediately. He trembled from head to toe, a great shudder coursing through him; she knew of the of the burnt letters and if she'd read this most recent lot, then… then that meant she knew everything. Yes, she was quite well informed now - she knew all of it - and she was fuming, he could see it in her glare, her stance, how she held herself as she waited for him to speak. He searched for something to say, some explanation she would accept. But there was none. He tried then to think of a defense, which might somehow seize her sympathy. Again, there was none. "I… I don't have time for this," he said harshly, and he turned his back to her. She seized his arm to force him back, he shrugged her off, preparing to stride away. He took precisely one single step before he was halted by Whitty, who was suddenly there, panting to a halt before him.

"Colonel, we have calmed the riot, the deserters captured. What are your orders?"

Banastre stalked away with Whitty, bellowing commands to have those men guilty of treason strung up in the chestnuts. Seeing Alby helping a wounded soldier, Beth went to him.

"Shadow Dancer is dead," she said.

"Oh, Mrs. Tavington," he sighed. She had no idea what Alby thought of her deep down. He must at least suspect that she had become Banastre's mistress, for all that she and Banastre had tried to hide it. But she was Benjamin Martin's daughter and for that, she had his protection. And now his commiseration. It was all she could do to keep from crying.

"He t-took her, to show her o-off to General Burwell and he g-got her k-killed!" She stammered, overcome. "P-please d-don't say she was just a horse, I c-couldn't b-bear to hear that!"

"Of course not," he said softly. "Jesus, I howled for days when my pet rabbit died, remember?"

"You were six, Alby!" She wailed, "this is different, we're adults now."

"But you loved her," he said, cocking his head as he looked at her. "I understand, lass. Only a heartless bastard would say she was just a horse. She was beautiful and he was a bastard for taking her and for getting her killed. She deserves to be mourned."

Beth nodded, struggling. "This has just… been the… worst day…"

"And it's only the morning," he said. "What about him?" He reached out to pat Thunder but the horse had enough energy left to peel his lips back and take a snap at Alby's fingers.

"Careful, he bites," Beth whispered. "I'm keeping him with me, I don't care what anyone says - I can't lose him too." She looked at Thunder and wailed, "he doesn't even know his lady is gone..!" Then she burst into tears.

"Mrs. Garland!" Alby called, taking the reins. "Mrs. Tavington needs you!" He squeezed her shoulder with his hand. "I'll feed him and water him, I'll brush him down, and then I'll bring him back."

"Don't let them take him, Alby. Please."

"I won't," he promised and then Mrs. Garland was there and Alby was walking away. Beth felt worse than stupid, weeping against the woman's breast while Mrs. Garland was still consoling Nancy who'd lost her husband. But Beth's grief was not just for Shadow Dancer - it was for so much more than that. Mrs. Garland understood, she'd been with Beth all morning, had read Cilla's letter and knew exactly what Beth was going through. The two women - girls compared to Mrs. Garland - were led back to their fire by the older woman. They fell onto the overturned log, Nancy and Beth with their heads bowed, as Mrs. Garland worked to get the fire stoked again. Soon, Electa joined them; she sat across from the girls and pointed to a stand of trees, where the deserters were being strung up. Beth squeezed her eyes shut.

"I warned them they'd hang," Electa said. "Stupid dolts. Lord, those poor things…"

"Which is it - are they dolts or do you pity them?" Mrs. Garland asked.

"Not the men - they are dolts. I pity the women," Electa jutted her chin toward the men dangling from thick chestnut branches. Below the feet of some, women were on their knees, weeping - a few of the deserters had loved ones in camp.

They were not given much time to stop and think, to process all they were going through before the call was sounded to move out. Beth was given her carriage and Electa rode with them, somehow becoming a natural part of the small circle. At Beth's insistence, a lead rope was tied to Thunder's halter so the riderless Arab could trot alongside a few yards from her. It hadn't been easy to accomplish, Beth had had to fight for it. The Dragoons had lost many horses and they needed every mount they had and more besides.

Earlier, before moving out, after Alby had returned Thunder as promised, one arrogant young Ensign had spotted the horse in the company of the women surrounding their little fire, and he'd sauntered over to take possession of him. The pompous Officer didn't even deign to ask, he'd simply taken Thunder's reins intending to lead him away. Beth had seized hold of the bridle and wouldn't let go, leading to a tug of war that ended when Thunder sunk his teeth into the Officer's arm. Almost weeping with pain and cradling his limb, he'd told Beth that the horses were for Officers and the Dragoons. "Not this one," she replied. "And if you don't like it, you can take your complaint to the Colonel. No one is taking Thunder from me, do I make myself clear?" And if Banastre tries… Oh, please, Lord, let him try… She'd thought. The Ensign did exactly that, but as he never returned to take Thunder from her, she assumed Banastre had approved her keeping him.

Trying to get into her good graces? If that were so, it was too little too late.

After that, the Regiment moved out so quickly, it left its dead in the trees behind them. Banastre was determined to put distance between his force and Burwell's, by making haste for the ford where they could cross the Broad River. Wrung out like a dish cloth, Beth laid her head on Mrs. Garland's shoulder, Nancy did the same on the other side.

"What an awful day," Electa sighed across from them.

"Mmm," Beth agreed. Nancy hadn't spoken a word, a sure sign she was in the depths of despair.

"What am I goin' to do?" She asked now, her head still resting on Mrs. Garland's shoulder. "With Tony gone, what do I do?"

"Nothing rash," Mrs. Garland - a widow herself - advised. "You'll take each day as it comes and you'll be sensible and you'll get through."

"I got no money. I got nothing," Nancy wiped her eyes, but the tears spilled over again. "I got no Tony!"

Beth reached past Mrs. Garland and took hold of Nancy's hand. She wondered what it would be like, having a lack of money added to her troubles. That had been a concern for a very short time, until she'd extracted that vow from Banastre because she'd worried over it. But it wasn't a consideration, not for her, not anymore. Charlotte was wealthy and William would continue to provide a stipend; perhaps he would be reasonable and allow her half her inheritance. If not, her father would send what she needed. That was one thing she didn't have to worry about, was money. Beth squeezed Nancy's fingers, she was able to offer comfort, even if she couldn't offer a solution to the girls troubles. Silence fell, Electa tried to make small talk but only Mrs. Garland was willing to engage in light conversation. The carriage trundled along as fast as the driver dared, the army crossed the river at the ford and the wagons and carriage followed.

When they were across, the halt was called. The men were starving, after going days with barely any food, they were faltering and needed victuals. The horses were lagging also. They would not be able to stay long - a few hours, long enough to prepare a decent meal, before the army forged onward again, to try to stay ahead of Burwell's force.

The women climbed out of the carriage and a passing soldier reaffirmed to them that they were stopping only long enough to prepare a meal and have the worst of the wounded tended to. A couple hours at most. And when they stopped again that evening, it would be for the same short time, when they struck out again later, it'd be in the dark of night. Burwell was likely following, they could not risk staying in one place too long.

"I need to be doing something useful," Beth said, brushing off her skirt. Behind her, an un-tethered Thunder gnawed at a patch of long grass.

"What are you going to do?" Electa said.

"There's cooking to be done. Water to be bought up from the river. A hundred other things, no doubt. There's so much to do, and you should be helping also. Come with me, Electa." Beth led Thunder along, she'd meant it when she'd said he was not leaving her side. The doxy brushed her long black hair back from her shoulder and heaved a sullen breath. But she followed - with a fluid grace that Beth despised - and Mrs. Garland and Nancy followed also. Dark circles were forming around Nancy's red rimmed eyes, but Beth did not send the girl back into the carriage to rest - she doubted Nancy would be able to sleep her grief away and keeping busy might take her mind off it for a while. Moving through the camp and trying to determine where they might be needed most, Beth spied three women moving quickly about a cook-fire. They looked harried, pressured, with a long line of men standing about, impatient to be fed.

"Away with you," Beth made a shooing motion at the soldiers, taking some of her irritation out on them. "Go. We will let you know when it is ready." Whatever it was. The massive pot on the ground held nothing at the moment. "This is going to take a while. Go make yourself useful elsewhere."

The men began to slink away as Beth, Mrs. Garland and Electa joined the women. Beth tried to recall their names, she had spent almost no time in the company of camp followers but she searched her memory just the same. One she did remember - Mrs. Simmons. Beth was tempted to give her the damned book, she was the one who'd suggested it for Beth. To insult her.

And deservedly so.

She tied Thunder off - not to keep him from wandering off, but so that no one would take him. Mrs. Simmons and the other two cook-women eyed Beth with open hostility, until she picked up a knife and a bowl of potatoes. "Would you like me to peel these? Are they for the pot?" The women shared an uncertain glance, one of them nodded, and Beth sat right there on the ground to begin her task. Mrs. Hews and Mrs. Griscom, Beth suddenly remembered.

"I'm sorry about your husband," Mrs. Griscom said to Nancy, who hung her head, tears dropping on the peas she'd been handed to shell. "I don't think you'll be alone in your grief today. There's quite a few widows after this morning."

"It's awful," Mrs. Hews agreed. "Mrs. Pilk lost her husband… And there could be so many more of us - my John isn't back yet…" She trailed off, biting her lip. "So many stragglers coming in still but so many more were taken prisoner. What if he's one of them?"

"Then at least he'll still be alive," Mrs. Simmons said.

"And how would I know, either way? And how long will he be alive for, if he's a prisoner? It's awful. The waiting. The not knowing. It's horrid."

"It's why we're keeping busy… That and because there's so much needing done."

An Officer came up, his uniform neat and tidy as if he hadn't done a scrap of work at all, for some reason he wore an angry look on his face. Beth tensed, thinking she'd have to fight again to keep her horse. The fellow stopped, glared at the women and announced, "I've been to three different fires and not a single one of you has anything prepared! We're hungry as wolves in winter and you're all just sitting about talking when you're supposed to be doing your job! What are we paying you for?"

"So that our husbands can be cut up on the battlefield," Beth shot back, fingers tightening on the potato knife. Sitting about doing nothing, were they? "And you're not paying nearly enough for that. You'll have your belly filled soon enough but for now, get away with you!" The Officer drew himself up to his full height, ready to give Beth a tongue lashing. Until he saw that the woman sitting there in the dirt wasn't a mere camp follower, she was Beth Tavington, the Colonel's companion, that he was about to blister into. He swallowed his words if not his anger, he bowed and strode away. "Tell the others as well!" Beth called after him. "It will be ready when it's ready and not a minute before. No tantrum from you or any of the other Officers will make it cook any faster!"

He stopped dead, bristling, but continued on again without another word. The women were all staring at her like she'd grown a second head.

"I can't believe you spoke to him like that," Mrs. Garland breathed, the scanty rabbit she'd been cutting for the pot forgotten.

"They're acting like spoilt brats," Beth snapped. "The next one who complains can shove this stew right up his -"

"Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Garland cut in, voice sharp with warning, and Beth breathed in slowly, reining in her temper.

"I'm sorry," she said, her eyes fixed on the potato as the knife peeled away the dirty skin.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Mrs. Hews giggled, thawing a little now that Beth - the only one who could get away with it - had stood up for them.

"I hope we're not going to get into trouble," Mrs. Simmons said more seriously, looking at Beth with distrust.

"You won't," Beth said quickly, finding herself desperate to relieve the stern woman. The woman had suggested that scandalous book to Beth! Still, that was then, and this was now. "I'm sorry, I guess I just don't know how to speak meekly to people like that, people that try to…" Lord it over you, Beth was about to say but stopped herself in time. She'd been lording it over these women for months. She hung her head, ashamed and trying to think of what to say, how to apologise. She was quiet for too long but she knew she wouldn't find her dignity in the bottom of the stew pot, so she lifted her eyes to theirs. Now was the time. Bravely, she began, "I haven't been the nicest person to live with, and I wish to apologise." The women exchanged glances. Nancy's head was bowed, lost to her own thoughts and grief. Mrs. Garland watched Beth with approval and Electa… Electra flipped her hair back over her shoulder and ran her fingers through those black tresses as she looked over at passing men with sultry interest. Beth continued, "I have no excuse - I was going through a terrible time and… I'm still going through a terrible time, if the truth be told," tears shone in her eyes but she swallowed them back, she did not want them to forgive her out of pity. "But that is no excuse. I was awful and I hope you will forgive me, that we can continue our acquaintance without ill feelings. I'll understand if you don't want to… But please know that I'm sorry."

"Admitting when you've been wrong or acting like you shouldn't is not an easy thing to do," Mrs. Garland said, trying to smooth the way a little further. Mrs. Hews nodded, but Mrs. Griscom and Mrs. Simmons were having none of it.

"I had to wash your clothes, scrubbing my fingers raw, only to have you complain they were not clean enough," Mrs. Simmons spat.

"And I had to carry go out in the freezing cold and pouring rain to bring you water for your tea, which you complained was not hot enough," Mrs. Griscom grumbled.

"I'm sorry," Beth whispered, but the women just looked away, still disgruntled.

"Still," Mrs. Hews chortled, "it was funny."

"Yes, it'll be hilarious if they send us off from camp or give us a birching for speaking to the Officers like that," Mrs. Simmons grumbled. "Hilarious."

"Oh, don't take everything so seriously."

"I won't let that happen," Beth said after shooting Mrs. Hews a grateful look. "You saw him walk off - he won't bother us again."

Mrs. Griscom gave Beth a single glance before turning back to Mrs. Hews. "We need salt, did you bring it?"

"No, I can go get it though."

"I'll do it," Beth jumped up, eager to please. She'd finished the potatoes anyway and she decided that when she returned with the salt, she'd help with the carrots.

Even with riding Thunder through the camp, it took her a while to find any salt, no one seemed to have any at any of the campfires. It was not until she went to the well stocked Dragoon section of camp that she was able to procure some. Banastre was nowhere to be seen for which she was grateful. On her way back with the salt she rode up to the quartermasters tent. Leaving the underling to believe that the hunk of beef was Banastre, she had him wrap it in linen and she rode back to the camp followers fire. The cook-pot was large, too large for the little rabbits that Mrs. Garland had chopped up. The beef would make the meal go so much further.

As Beth dismounted and tied Thunder to a branch, she noticed there were far more women than before at the fire; word had spread about Beth's change of heart and they wanted to see it for themselves. Mrs. Garland was talking while the others worked, Beth heard Mrs. Garland speak her name but before she could discover what the woman was saying about her; the others turned to look at Beth, which alerted Mrs. Garland and caused her to fall silent. Beth halted for a nervous moment, before remembering Mrs. Garland's promise to 'work on the women' on her behalf. She noticed that the looks were no where near as hostile now as they had been. Not even Mrs. Griscom. Mrs. Simmons looked away, but at least she didn't glare first. The women would be eating this stew as well, it wasn't just for the nearby soldiers - Beth held out the slab of beef as a peace offering, knowing the women could use a decent meal.

"I thought we could all use something hearty in our stomachs if we're to spend the night on the road. I told them it was for the Dragoons though, so I guess we better set some aside for the Colonel at least. I'm not taking it to him though, someone else will have to do that," Beth said in a small voice.

"I will," Mrs. Garland volunteered.

"Are you sure we're not going to get into trouble?" Mrs. Simmons asked, though she asked it with a polite voice now, not with the anger of before.

"If anyone gets into trouble, it'll be me only," Beth said. "I told that Officer off. I took the meat…" She shrugged. "I'll take the reprimand if there's any to be had."

The women exchanged glances then fell silent as if waiting for something.

"Mrs. Tavington," Mrs. Garland prompted. "I was just explaining your situation to our friends here. I didn't go into too much detail of course, I do not break confidences. But I've explained some of what took place before you came away from your home, of how you'd become close friends with several camp followers and you were in charge of them all and looked out for them, only to discover later that they betrayed you. Of course, they hadn't betrayed you, you know what truly happened now and I know you're feeling terribly, that you wish you were with those women, so you could apologise and make amends." Beth hadn't said any of this to Mrs. Garland but it was true and Mrs. Garland was perceptive enough, to know it. "It says a lot about your character that you would befriend women so clearly lower than your station, I for one find that quite refreshing. It does not excuse your behaviour toward us, for we should not have been punished for what you thought were their wrong doings, but it does give us some insight and understanding. I have informed the women that a letter arrived today, which has made you realise that those friends of yours never did betray you, and that you are feeling quite undone by it all." - Beth hung her head and fought back tears, wishing Mrs. Garland would stop but knowing this needed to be said. "Mrs. Tavington is feeling quite conflicted," Mrs. Garland told the group, who were listening quietly. "She left her home with anger and hatred in her soul, believing every woman was against her, only to discover today that it'd all been the work of one woman only, one woman who tricked her. Mrs. Tavington alone can be blamed for her decisions and her actions thereafter, but I think that your knowing all of this might help you understand her better, perhaps even help you to forgive. She was spurred on from quite a targeted provocation. Today has been very difficult, learning those friends she gave up as traitors were her friends all along." - Especially Harmony, Beth thought, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. - "With a clarity that she has not had for quite some time, has come crippling remorse and regret and guilt at her recent actions. Now, I myself have had to tolerate quite a disagreeable lass who I would have very much liked to see the back of. Today however, I find that I would much rather get to know Mrs. Tavington, now that her defences and her haughtier have been removed. Nancy feels the same. Our men have suffered through a terrible battle. I don't believe there is any room for unnecessary animosities, especially when Mrs. Tavington is so deeply ashamed of herself. She behaved like a wealthy brat," Mrs. Garland smiled at Beth to take the sting out of her words. "Now, we've all had a good time complaining about her when her back was turned -"

"You have?" Beth whispered.

"Of course we have," Mrs. Garland laughed. "As you deserved. But it's time to set it all aside. What say you all?"

"I truly am sorry," Beth said, pushing the words past banked up sobs - she wanted to apologise, not to weep. Thank the Lord that Mrs. Garland had done the explaining, Beth could not have voiced half of what Mrs. Garland had. The women were already nodding, most of them.

"A new beginning?" Mrs. Simmons asked, looking partially doubtful. Beth nodded eagerly. "Well, our lives will be much easier now, if you're no longer set against us. I'm willing to try."

"Thank you," Beth heaved a sigh as she felt one of the weights lifted from her shoulders. After the others agreed and Beth was sat down with her chunk of wrapped meat, the women began to disperse, though several did remain. They did not discuss it any further, though Beth had expected at least a little ribbing at her expense. There was too much to do and too little time and they were too worried for their husbands and their fate to give it any more thought. One of them handed Beth an exceptionally sharp knife and a large board, a few of them watched her from the corner of their eyes, likely thinking that a patrician like her wouldn't know what to do. She grinned as she remembered the stag she'd bought down that day so long ago, while hunting with her brothers. She might be of the Planter Aristocracy, but she certainly wasn't a normal patrician, preferring to ride in the woods than sitting in the parlor sewing. She knew how to cut the meat and she did so now effortlessly, small chunks perfect for the stew pot.

But perhaps that was the problem. She was not like Sarah or Rebecca or Mary or Cilla - not entirely. She could fit in with them at need and held them all dear to her heart, but she could also abandon her upbringing, she could slough off the aristocrats daughter to drink Banastre under the table and then couple with him on the rug. She was quiet and contemplative as she worked and by the time she was done and she was putting chunks of beef into the bubbling pot, she'd come to the conclusion that she needed to find a balance between the two women that made up Beth Tavington. She could not change history, but she could learn from her mistakes.

She could not go back in time and tell herself not to get so soused that her judgement was impaired, that she would invite Banastre into her chamber and offer him her virtue. She could not return to that awful day when she saw William enter the tent with Linda, to tell herself to calm down and listen, to not react so strongly to her anger. But she was a thinking, feeling human and as such, she could learn, and she would do better in the future. Aunt Charlotte was not perfect, she had the desires of a warm blooded woman and had given in to them in a tumultuous way. But in public, she appeared to be the pillar of virtue. Charlotte had found the balance, and she could teach it to Beth.

Beth just needed to reach her, somehow. One of the women engaged Beth in conversation, tentatively, warily. Beth rose to the occasion, answering with warmth, grateful that the other women were making the effort. She was soon stirring the thick stew, while another woman sprinkled flour and spices, they worked together and after a while, the chatting became more free, less tentative, until the wariness was gone entirely. If she didn't dwell on Banastre's betrayal and her own absolutely foolish behaviour, she could feel almost happy. The meal needed to stew for quite some time, it only needed a couple women to tend it while it simmered, so Beth moved off with a group of them to assist with the wounded, while others went about other tasks. At length, Beth returned to sit with Mrs. Simmons and the others, watching as Mrs. Griscom and Mrs. Hews made flat breads to mop up the gravy. Seeing the need, she rose and began handing out bowls. By now, there was an easiness with all of them, she was truly grateful that they would choose to befriend her after all she'd done to deter them. The same Officer from earlier returned, slinking toward the fire, he kept his mouth shut this time. So did Beth as she handed him a bowl of stew and a flat bread. He tipped his helmet in thanks and made way for the Officer behind him. Of course, they would be fed first. Behind them came soldiers, looking weary, exhausted, dead on their feet. Beth noticed there was more meat in their bowls than had been put in the Officers - she shared a smile with the woman dishing, letting her know she'd noticed. The woman grinned back. She filled bowls for them, too, and one for Banastre, which Mrs. Garland took over as promised. She returned and sat next to Beth.

"The Colonel is looking for you."

"Wonderful," Beth muttered, the weight becoming heavier on her shoulders again. "What did you tell him?"

"That I saw you helping the surgeons," Mrs. Garland smiled. "Which is true - though the information is a good hour old." Beth laughed, delighted. Nancy sat quietly on her other side and Beth sighed as she gave Nancy's back a quick rub, before turning her attention to her meal.

"Oh my Lord, this is delicious," she said as she ate, only realising now just how hungry she was.

"I don't think I've had such fine meat since my husband enlisted," Mrs. Hews said. "Do you think you can steal us another tomorrow, Mrs. Tavington?"

"I didn't steal it," Beth corrected, allowing some of her haughtier to return. "I told him it was going to the Dragoons and it did, didn't it?"

"One Dragoon," Mrs. Hews laughed, seeing the smile Beth couldn't quite conceal.

"The most important one," Mrs. Garland said.

"And some of the Officers got a share," Nancy said softly. "But still, I don't want ye gettin' into trouble, Mrs. Tavington, and ye might yet. After ye talk to him, things will change here for you. You won't get away with so much as ye might've before."

Because I will be ending our affair… "Yes, I suppose they will," Beth said, deciding it might be prudent to not rile up the Officers after all. Or to steal joints of meat meant for Dragoons… Banastre might become petty enough to punish her as he would any other camp follower under his command. She resolved she'd have to bite her tongue and keep her fingers to herself. It would only be for a short time, however; she suspected that when she refused to share his bed or even speak to him, Banastre would let her leave soon enough. A week at most, perhaps, before he gave up in disgust and sent her on her way. "Don't worry Nancy, he knows better than to try to treat me badly. But no, I won't be able to… procure…" she said for the benefit of the the woman who accused her of stealing, "any more decent cuts of meat… Unless I'm willing to pay for them. Then again, he's taken so much of my money, he shouldn't complain if I demanded five whole cows in return," she twisted her lips, let the flare of anger flow through her, then slowly tamped it down. Poise even in the middle of a storm. She would be more like Aunt Charlotte if it killed her.

How would her aunt deal with this situation, if she were facing it? If she was forced to bear a prolonged stay with a former lover until that lover decided he'd had enough and allowed her to leave? How would Charlotte conduct herself in the interim?

With dignified silence… Beth pondered for a moment, playing it through in her head. Charlotte would have her say - quietly, for Ladies did not raise their voices - and then she would wrap herself in dignified, stony silence. Is that what Beth should do then? Was she capable of behaving with such dignity? With Banastre already looking for her, she was certain to find out soon enough.

The meal was done, Beth helped with washing the dishes at the rivers edge. The call came down that they were about to move out again and this time, Beth joined Mrs. Hews, Mrs. Griscom and even Mrs. Simmons, on an open wagon. The clouds threatened more rain but had held off for now, the way was still very difficult and slow going.

Night fell and the call to stop was sounded again. Another meal prepared, two more hours of Beth moving from camp fire to campfire, helping where she could as she did her best to avoid Banastre. The camp women helped her, sending him in different directions and warning her when he was approaching.

This stop was shorter than the first and when they set out again, it was in the full dark of night. This time, Beth joined Mrs. Garland, Nancy and Electa in her carriage, where they bundled up beneath blankets and tried to get some sleep in the jolting cabin.