Chapter 137 - Banastre Tries Again:
With the troops and horses fed and well rested for the second time, Banastre Tarleton commanded a continuation of their march into the night. For all he knew, Burwell could be about to fall upon him at any moment. Banastre certain would be, had he been the victor. He'd have chased Burwell's fleeing force for the entire night and half the following day. Well, it'd been a full day and half the night, and Banastre was not about to let Burwell catch him.
During both stops, he had made several attempts to find Beth before resuming their desperate flight but hadn't been successful either time. He'd asked the camp followers, who had sent him on a merry chase; he'd gone to the places they'd claimed to see Beth last but Beth was never there. If he hadn't known better, he would think they were colluding with Beth. But surely not, not after Beth's treatment of them these last few months. Surely the would not help to hide her, if indeed she had tried to keep herself from him. Was he imagining it? Why would the women lie for her, why would they try to hide her, when she'd treated them all with disdain for so long? For three months… But how else could each and every single one of them be mistaken in where they saw Beth?
If she had been hiding, at least he knew precisely where she would be right now. Taking from an underling one of the torches, he commanded Whitty to head the column, while he himself fell back, letting it pass him by. It was a good long while before he saw the carriage approaching behind the marching infantrymen, carrying torches. He saw Thunder, the horse trotted along, secured to the carriage with a, lead rope. He'd had to refuse Ensign Porter's request for the mount, when the Officer came to him with complaints about Beth's refusal to release Thunder to him. Beth had such a temper but Banastre knew how to cool it. Give her time and accede to requests here and there, and voila! Her anger was gone. Well, Banastre had given her time enough and had let her keep Thunder, so perhaps she would be ready to have a nice, calm talk with him now. The infantry saluted as they passed him in the night. When the carriage was abreast of him he called a halt, dismounted, and strode to the door. Inside were Beth, Mrs. Garland, Nancy and - of all people - Electa, their faces bathed by the lanterns bolted to the inner walls of the carriage. He stared at Electa for a long moment, wondering what the devil she was doing there. The other two, he'd expected, but not the doxy. If she'd told Beth he'd been visiting her bed, oh, she would be in for a hiding.
"Mrs. Tavington," he said, drawing on the politeness of a gentleman as she gazed at him with an unreadable expression. "Might I have a word with you, alone?"
A request from a Colonel was not really a request at all. The women knew it for the politely worded command it was and they all filed out, save for Beth, who sat with several blankets over her knees. With a gesture to a Private to take care of his mount, he climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Beth, as the column began to move again. The silence stretched, Beth was staring at him with such an even, steady gaze, but she wasn't saying a single word. Her lips did not part, they remained resolutely shut. It was up to him to smooth things, it seemed. Again.
"My thanks," he began, "for sending Mrs. Garland with a bowl of stew this afternoon; that was very kind."
Now it was her turn, to thank him for letting her keep Thunder. Beth just continued to stare, not saying a word. Banastre tried again.
"What a blasted day it's been," he began. "My love, I know you must be exhausted, and dreadfully cold. You likely want nothing more than to curl up in bed beside a roaring fire. I promise, as soon as we're safe, I will commandeer a house and I will make sure your every need is satisfied. Warmth, food, a comfortable bed. As soon as I'm certain we're not being pursued by Burwell -"
"We?" Beth asked, arching an eyebrow. Her voice… Gods, it was colder than the chill outside, as was the smile that crossed her face. "I have nothing to fear of General Burwell."
It was a snide remark, meant to provoke him. So. This was how it was going to be. Banastre took a long, slow breath. She was still angry then. He heaved air through flared nostrils. In a tired, resigned voice, he decided simple honesty was the key. "Look, I know you're angry. Shadow Dancer… I can not tell you how sorry I am -"
"Don't," she whispered, holding up one hand.
"I'm trying to apologise, Beth," he said, "won't you at least hear me?"
"I don't want to listen to your apologies," Beth restrained the urge to lash out. To start screaming. She would be like Aunt Charlotte if it killed her. A gentle lady, even in her anger… She would let the other person say their piece and apologise, even if she knew it was all utter rubbish. She was nothing if not graceful. Despite her assertions to be just like her aunt, Beth was already not being graceful. She closed her eyes, waited, then started over again. "Very well. Please continue."
Banastre looked startled. "Oh... Well... I thank you. As I was saying this morning, I needed a sturdy, swift mount. It was a hard ride -"
"So I heard," she said, forcing her voice to sound calm, reasonable. "Your soldiers have told me of your march, several did so with tears streaming down their cheeks." They told her they were as good as starved by the time they reached the pastureland's where Burwell made his stand, and they had been exhausted, after having walked for two days non stop without food to sustain them.
"They did, did they?" Banastre asked, voice flat. "I see. Well. She served me well, she was brave and loyal -"
"Banastre, Shadow Dancer was not a Dragoon," Beth said. "I shall take no solace whatsoever in how brave she was, or how loyal; especially when she had no idea what she was being ridden into."
Banastre paused a moment, unsure how to continue. "I do apologise for not bringing her home to you," he said. "And… for taking her in the first place. I should have left her here with you."
"Yes, you should have. What of the other things we have to discuss, Colonel Tarleton?" Beth said formally, believing that Charlotte would have fallen back on such formalities to get her through a difficult discussion. "The other things you… should not have done."
The letters. Banastre closed his eyes, lips tight.
"I should not have held them back from you," he admitted. "I just… I worried. I love you, Beth. You know I do. You go ask any man out there," he pointed out the window, "what lengths he would go to protect and keep the woman he loves. You will find that most will answer the same as me. Anything. They'd do anything for her. As I would for you."
Beth stared, incredulous. "If I did go and ask them that, Colonel Tarleton," she said in a flat voice, "I doubt very much that their answer would be that they would tell falsehoods to and steal from the woman they supposedly love. It's not the most…" she pretended to search for the right word, making a small show of it. "Chivalrous way to keep - or to treat - their woman. Is it?"
"I never stole from you."
"I beg your pardon? William sent me money, every fortnight. Thirty pounds, which would equate to one hundred and eighty by now. Did that money ever find its way to me?" She asked. After a long moment, he shook his head. "If you kept the money back to not rouse my suspicion that William had written to me, I could understand. If that is the case, where is it?" She held out her hand, palm up, fingers waggling as if demanding. Banastre clenched his jaw. "You spent it. You paid back your debts with my money. My inheritance. One hundred and eighty pounds. Do please tell me again, how you have not stolen from me."
"I…" Banastre faltered, trailed off, unable to give a sensible response.
"And the lies," Beth said when he trailed off, unable to give a sensible response. "You burned my letters, not just from William but from Cilla, Sarah, Rebecca. Harmony. So that I would not learn the truth and leave you. Well, I am guilty of that too. I did not tell William I was not a virgin, because I feared he would leave me, forever." He drew back, looking horrified and hurt - he had always managed to deny her great love for William, though she had never tried to hide it. "But you, you didn't do it solely to stop me from leaving you. You kept those letters back so you could keep my money," she was finding it very difficult to keep to Charlotte's calm exterior when rage burned through her like a furnace. She could feel it flood across her face, her cheeks burning bright. "So I would never learn the truth, and so you could keep my fortnightly stipend. Am I wrong?" She asked. His mouth worked but no sounds would come. "My husband was never unfaithful to me and you knew it almost from the beginning, from the first letter you kept back and burned." She tossed her head and made a huffing sound. "Those were the lengths you went to, to keep the woman you loved. Am I supposed to celebrate you? Very well. Bravo, Banastre. Here's to your gallantry."
"There is no need for that tone," he said, anger rising.
"Don't try to turn the argument aside," she said. "There is every need for this tone, you should be glad I'm not screaming at you right now, you've kept me in a prison for months!"
"A prison!" He gasped. "What the devil are you talking about? I didn't force you to stay here, you could have left at any time! Prison," he scoffed.
"It was the truths you kept back, that kept me imprisoned," she shot back. "You burned the letters that would reveal the truth, so you could keep me in my little gilded cage of ignorance!"
"At least you call it a gilded cage now - not a prison! Do you know how many men I lost today, hmm?" He shouted at her. "And now I have to report to Cornwallis that I just lost a major battle! I have far more weighty issues on my mind, than burning a few of your letters!" His soldiers must have heard him bellowing from rods away but he was too angry to lower it.
"Don't you dismiss this - don't you dare! It doesn't matter how many letters there were, it was what they revealed that damns you! You've betrayed me, can't you see that? You stole my money. You stole - and killed - my horse! You captured my father, which, I found out today, you were chasing all along! It wasn't happenstance, you didn't find out afterward that the man you were chasing was my father, you knew all along and when you caught him, you boasted of it all over camp! You showed me this false, sad face, as if you were oh, so upset at having to do your duty and capture him, and then I find out that when I fell asleep and you left to join your men, you let the wine flow and celebrated right along with your troops!"
"Electa," he whispered, sure it was her who revealed this to Beth, for whatever reason. How else could Beth know?
"Yes, let's discuss Electa," Beth said. "And how you screwed her that night when you took her back to her tent, and you've been screwing her since."
"You're remarkably well informed," he said, drawing himself up. He was already thinking of ways to punish Electa for this; Gods, he'd have her whipped and set out of camp! How dare she go against him?
"Yes, I know all about it! Gods, Banastre! How could you do this to me? You told me you loved me! Every single day, you said it, I've lost count of how many times. But you've deceived me so utterly! You kept me here under false pretences, kept me believing I was right and William was wrong, and every day, you let me act the whore! You lied to me, you stole from me, you were unfaithful to me - in every sense of the word! And you tell me you did it all for love? How could you do any of that to someone you love?"
"I need you to stop this now!" He roared, shocking even her. Outside, all noise ceased, as if the attention of the entire Legion was trained on the carriage and listening to the argument within. Banastre seemed not to notice. All he knew was rage, fury, frustration, grief, all of those things and all Beth could do was rail at him as if his few lies were far more important than the battle he just lost! "I have told you, I have far weightier issues on my mind! Dead, Beth! Soldiers died this day! Others, taken captive! Many more might die yet! I came to you for support and all I get is this?" He bellowed. "It's no wonder I lost the damned battle, when my own lady can not support me!"
"Me?" It came out a squeak, incredulous, stunned. "You're blaming me because you lost the battle?"
"It's all your fault!" He blasted. "If you hadn't been keeping yourself distant, if you'd been more supporting, more loving!"
"Distant! More loving! What the devil are you talking about?"
"You changed, Beth," he pointed an accusing finger at her. "You've forsaken our book and you won't read it with me, you put me off whenever I mention it. And our lovemaking has been sorely lacking without it! You barely seem interested at all anymore, no longer giving yourself wholly to me! You've filled my head until all there is is you and everything was perfect but then you got a beef about that book and you go and turn it all upside down, you confuse and distract me until I can barely think! And now the baby isn't mine and there you are, demanding I reassure you, that I'll still support you! If you hadn't been playing your games, I never would have lost that damned battle!"
Beth gaped, utterly stunned. On the verge of losing all control, she began to chant to herself, 'be like Charlotte, be like Charlotte'. Beth rallied and asked calmly, voice mocking, "is that what you'll write in your report to Cornwallis? 'My mistress made me do it?'" Banastre's jaw dropped, red flushed his cheeks. Anger or embarrassment, Beth did not know which. Probably both. "Well, you might as well," she continued. "You lie to him about everything else."
"I do not lie to him -"
"You lie and lie and lie, all of the time. God, what sort of commander are you?"
That struck a nerve. "What would you know of commanding?" He sneered.
"You forget, Colonel. I am daughter to a Colonel, I was engaged to a Colonel, I am married to a Colonel. If any woman alive knows about commanding, it's me! I've got three to measure you up to and frankly, Banastre, when put side by side with them, you are sorely lacking!"
"Do I just?" He asked coolly, though her words cut him to the bone.
"When it comes down to it, yes, I do. You blame me for your defeat? A mere woman? If that's not passing the buck, I don't know what is. You are the Commandant of this Legion. It's your responsibility to take responsibility, you are the only one who can be blamed, even if or when others are at fault! You did the same at Fresh Water, when your flank was attacked - you blamed your Captain for it, because he'd chosen to camp between the rail fences, making himself vulnerable. You should have taken responsibility, it happened under your Command!"
"Your father attacked them, killed my men -"
"That is neither here nor there. How dare you place the blame for your defeat on me? I find it incredible that you would even suggest it. Your men told me everything, Banastre. They were starving, they said. You drove them hard, barely allowing them four hours of sleep in forty-eight! They hadn't eaten since the morning previous! You sent tired and hungry men into battle but of course, it's my fault you lost," she gave a scathing laugh, "because I was a distraction. Almighty above. Everything that happened was your fault," she poked her finger into his chest, for emphasis. "You underestimated Burwell - honestly, Banastre, when you saw that line of militia waiting - one single line of militia - did you think that that's all Burwell would have had waiting to meet your charge? Gods, man, he has been fighting battles since you were in swaddling clothes!" She was panting heavily, so was he. His dark eyes glittered with a look she'd never seen before. He lifted his arm back, palm outward, twitching with the need to strike her. "Go ahead and do it," she hissed, not caring if he did. "Use your belt like William did!"
His face was twisted, she honestly thought he'd do it, and she curled her fingers - if he dared, his strike would not go unanswered. Nostrils flaring, he glared at her, he lowered his arm slowly. He'd always had more restraint than William. She'd always lauded him for that before, but in that moment, she almost felt scorn at his reticence.
"It's your fault, Colonel," she loaded the rank with scorn. "It's about time you started shouldering the blame. Maybe then, and only then, will you truly have a right to be called such!"
With an indrawn breath, he shoved the carriage door open and stepped out, while it was still moving. Banastre disappeared into the night and the carriage stopped only for long enough for the women to climb back in.
"We heard everything, are you alright?" Mrs. Garland asked, placing her hand on Beth's shoulder; Electa and Nancy both looked worried.
"I am… you really heard it all?"
"I think the whole Legion did," Nancy said. "The Colonel, anyway. He was shouting so loud!"
Beth glanced at Electa, who was looking quite pale. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to drag you into it, I don't think I even care that you were bedding him all this time. But it was still a betrayal and… I hope I haven't caused trouble for you."
"I hope so, too," Electa breathed.
Beth was still quite wound after the argument. "Lord, can you believe him? Blaming me for the battle… Gods, I've been so blind."
"Your eyes are open now, I think," Mrs. Garland said. "And it's good that they are. So. Lass. When do we leave?"
"We?" Beth asked.
"Nancy and I were just talking," Mrs. Garland said, glancing at the stricken lass. "There's nothing for us here. Not anymore. I don't want to stay serving him and I don't like the idea of you striking out alone. I think we should all stick together. If you'll have us."
"If I'll have you?" Beth embraced the other woman. "Are you mad? If you can bear to be with me after how I treated you both, then you are more than welcome. Oh, I'm so glad you're coming," Beth clapped her hands like a child and laughed with glee. "Nancy, I wish I'd thought of this. You'll stay with me, as my maid. We'll go to Gullah together, the three of us. I think you'll like my Aunt Charlotte. And the children - they'll keep us all occupied, my brothers and sisters. Lord, it'll be good to see them all again."
"Do you think there's a place for me there, too?" Electa asked, looking quite afraid. Beth, realising she had quite destroyed Electa's position in the camp just now, nodded slowly.
"Yes… It's my fault… I don't know what he'll do to you, so… I mean, he was about to strike me, just now."
"Oh, he wasn't," Mrs. Garland breathed.
"He was, he had his hand raised back and all."
"He would hit a pregnant woman," Mrs. Garland shook her head, she said this as if it decided her, she would leave with Beth. They all looked to her now, as if asking what they should do next.
"It won't be easy, slipping away. But there's been reports of men deserting; each time we stop, a few more have gone. Banastre can't afford to go looking for them, and he won't be able to come looking for us. What I suggest is…" She continued and the women began to nod, adding ideas as they plotted, each accepting her role in the escape to come.
Banastre's diminished force made another three miles down river, finally stopping at midnight. He did not return to the carriage to speak at all to Beth in that time. The argument ran through his mind, over and over again, her accusations and taunting words left him reeling. Electa. Lord, Electa had told Beth he'd been screwing her. That damned bitch. And Beth, shaming him as she told him he was no Colonel, that he did not deserve the title.
Their entire discussion had been madness. Now, miles from the battlefield and hours later, Banastre still could not get it out of his mind. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky. It wasn't raining, not now. Dark clouds billowed overhead in places, blocking the twinkling stars, unchanging, as if it was just another night. He lay there, mourning. So many of his men, dead. Captured. The number had risen steadily as the day went on and more reports came in. Major MacArthur was confirmed to have been taken captive. Captains returned with the numbers of confirmed dead and confirmed captured. There was still many he did not know about. Stragglers continued to flood in. A fellow - Alby Scott he'd called himself - an infantryman. Scott had trotted up to him earlier with a message from Beth, requesting permission to stay inside the plantation house situated within the perimeter of his camp. He allowed it. He needed the night without her. To clear his head. To think. To grieve. How had it all gone so horribly wrong? Burwell had been there for the taking. Wipe him out, Cornwallis had said. Capture him, Cornwallis had said. Cornwallis had also said he would be in position to hem Burwell in and pick up the enemy stragglers fleeing from the field. Where had he been? He should have been in a position to assist Banastre, the hammer to the anvil, just as they'd discussed.
But Cornwallis had not been there.
Several hours ago, Banastre learned why - because Cornwallis was still all the way down at Turkey bloody Creek! What was he doing there, still? The weather had been poor, yes, but Banastre had managed to get through and chase after Burwell as they'd planned. Why hadn't Cornwallis? Why hadn't he been there, in position, to reinforce Banastre? To supply provisions so the men, they would not have entered the battle starving. Why hadn't he sent word, that he was unable to follow? Banastre would not have committed himself to the attack, if he'd known Cornwallis was so far away. It was no wonder Banastre had lost, when he was denied the back up his own General had promised to provide! Banastre had been left alone, abandoned. Utterly forsaken. It was Cornwallis' fault. If his Lordship had been there, where he was meant to be, where he had said he would be, then none of this would have happened.
It was a long, restless, sleepless night. Well before dawn, the camp began to stir. The men broke their fast. Tents were taken down. Horses saddled, others hitched to wagons. Banastre sent a man off to the great house, to inform Beth it was time to move on. For a heartbeat, Banastre wondered if she would refuse to join him after their terrible fight yesterday. He wondered what he would do, if she tried to stay behind. Throw her over his shoulder and carry her out? He would not allow her to stay; the place would be crawling with dangers. Rebels. His own deserters - desperate enough to turn brigand, perhaps. It was not safe. They'd fought, he and Beth, but he still loved her. He knew he needed to explain himself, they needed to discuss what he'd done and why he'd done it.
All for her, to protect her. That's why he'd withheld her letters and destroyed them. Why couldn't she understand that? Tavington took his belt to her rump and struck and struck until she'd howled and was limp on the bed. The awful things he'd said to her - bawd and doxy and whore. That she enjoyed being on her knees. He'd thrown so many insults. Banastre had taken her away from that. And afterward, it'd taken so long, just to see her smile again. Weeks, before she had returned to her former self. And he was going to tell her about the letters? Let her discover what he had, that William had been faithful after all? She'd have been distraught to learn that she and she alone was the cause of her separation. That she was the unfaithful one. Banastre had protected her from that, he had sheltered her from it all.
He felt a pang of guilt at keeping the money, what must Beth think of him? That, Banastre should not have done. He was resolved to tell her as much, to beg her forgiveness. He would pay it back, every penny. That had been wrong of him, no matter how one looked at it. But the rest? He could not have had her rushing back to William, she'd have been returning to a violent marriage, out of guilt, because she had been the unfaithful one. Banastre had done what he did because he loved her and, yes, because he wanted her by his side; surely that was not such a terrible place to be? She'd understand, he was sure. Now that they'd both calmed down, he would apologise again. She'd had a comfortable nights sleep in a real bed, with a warm fire he hoped, and she was sure to have a full stomach by now. All of those factors would have contributed to her foul mood, but now they were no longer a concern, surely she would be of a more amenable disposition this morning. All would be well. He decided that he would promise to let her write to a few of her friends, and to let their letters come through. No point holding them back now, was there? And he'd promise to make sure she received all future stipends from William - she'd need to start providing for the baby and the father should pay for it. He needed to smooth the waters between them. Their fates were forever intertwined, his and Beth's. He'd renew his promise to raise the child, that would be the quickest way to smooth her ruffled feathers. At least he'd know for certain that the next child she bore would be his… It wouldn't be so bad, raising his own child's half sibling… Storms could be weathered, if the boat was strong and the sails set. He would be strong enough for both of them. Lieutenant Whitty came out of the dark toward him.
"Sir," he began without preamble. "We had more deserters during the night."
"I'd expected we would. How many?"
"Seventeen."
Banastre grunted. "The wounded? Did any die during the night?"
"None, Sir," Whitty replied, giving Banastre some welcome news.
They began to discuss the travel ahead of them. Banastre wished to reach Cornwallis immediately; no, they would not chase down the deserters, for it was imperative that Banastre reach Cornwallis that very day. They would not stop except with need, to rest the horses, and they would set out within the next half hour. The fellow Banastre had sent to fetch Beth rode in - carrying a torch - and came straight toward Banastre. The sky was beginning to lighten, from full dark to the first dark grey of approaching dawn.
"Sir," the Private said, dismounting and leading his horse the rest of the way. "Mrs. Tavington was not in the house, Sir."
"Has she already returned to camp?" Banastre asked, answering with, "good. Ensure she is given a repast if she has not yet eaten, and that her carriage is made ready."
"Ah, no, Sir," the private said slowly. "I mean, she never quartered at the house."
"I beg your pardon?" Banastre asked, blood growing cold.
"I approached the family, Sir, and asked that they inform Mrs. Tavington that it is time to withdraw," the Private spread his hands helplessly, "but Sir, they knew nothing about Mrs. Tavington. They said no one quartered in their home through the night except they themselves."
"An infantry man, Alby Scott? Came to me with a message from Beth, asking permission to stay in that house… Did she change her mind?" Banastre paused, then commanded, "search the camp, perhaps she decided to stay in one of the tents after all. With Mrs. Garland and Miss Nancy. Find them, she is bound to be with them."
The Private ran off, joined by Whitty and several others. Banastre was worried, but not overly so - Beth would be with the women, they'd likely talked her into staying with them rather than heading to some house with strangers. Yes, that was it. Whitty returned a short while later and when he began to speak, Banastre felt his world crumble around him.
"Sir, I hesitate to report this to you, but Mrs. Tavington, the carriage, the horses - including Thunder - all are gone."
"Dear God," Banastre breathed.
"Sir, I checked the muster rolls and - well - this Alby Scott you spoke of, he is on the list of deserters as of this morning."
"He deserted! But he carried her message…" Banastre trailed off, confused and stunned. "He helped her to leave…" He said slowly with dawning realisation. "There was never any intention of her staying in the Great House, she was just trying to buy herself time! The entire night, Gods! Mrs. Garland and the others helped her… Gods. Did they simply take the carriage and leave?"
"I believe it must be so."
"Question the sentries, someone must have seen something!" Banastre commanded. He began to pace by the fire while Whitty darted away again; a Private bought him a plate of food, which he forced down though it tasted like dust in his mouth. He needed to eat, his body required sustenance, even if the worry gnawing at him whipped away his appetite and threatened to bring the food back up. Whitty returned all too soon, with increasingly unwelcome news.
"Two pickets reported that the carriage passed through at ten o'clock last night. Mrs. Tavington was in the carriage, Sir."
"They just let her go?" Banastre roared, unable to contain himself.
"I said the same, I threatened to whip them raw. But they both insisted that Mrs. Tavington said she was leaving at your behest. She informed them that you had demanded she leave the camp immediately, because of the argument you had. That's what they said, Sir. She told them she had been expelled from camp. In letting her go through, they thought they were obeying your orders."
"Agh, Jesus Christ," Banastre's fingers curled into a fist, he wished he had something to punch. "She's all alone out there!"
"She's not alone. Two men - one of whom I suspect to be this Alby Scott - were driving the carriage. They informed the pickets that they were Mrs. Tavington's escort and had been sent by you, to protect her until she reached her destination."
"Without passes?" Banastre cried, throwing his hands wide. "They had no pass, yet the pickets let them on through? Where is the discipline, surely they know better than to do something like this?"
"Sir, they aren't regulars - we're speaking of colonial militia…" Whitty trailed off. As if to ask: 'what more can you expect from this rabble?'.
"Find Mrs. Garland and Nancy," Banastre spat. "I will discover what they know about this - Beth might have revealed her plans to them, they might know where she plans to stay, where she is going."
"Ah, Sir, they are gone, also; they were in the carriage with Mrs. Tavington. Electa, too," Whitty said warily. Banastre stared daggers at the Officer, then stormed off several steps, turned his back, fists on his hips. He whirled back to Whitty.
"So I do not even know which way she went? Or where she intends to go? To her husband, perhaps?" He ground out.
Whitty shrugged, helpless to answer. He waited for the Colonel to gather himself, Banastre was thinking, tight lipped, eyes narrowed. Would they be going to Turkey Creek as planned, or chasing down Mrs. Tavington? Whitty quaked, worried that his Colonel would choose the latter. It'd be the end of Banastre Tarleton, if he did. His future was already on the brink after that disastrous defeat, if he failed to go directly to Cornwallis and instead chased down his mistress, his career would be finished.
"Harry the camp," Banastre said, unaccountably calm. "I wish to reach Turkey Creek in as short a time as possible," he stormed away, then, and Whitty blew out a breath, relieved that the Colonel had enough sense left to make the right choice.
The conference had been going for hours, with Banastre being grilled for answers the entire time. Surrounded by Generals, Colonels, Majors, adjutants and the Lord Commander himself, Banastre was beginning to feel incredibly small. His rise over the last five years had been meteoric. Despite the whisperings that he was too young, untried, arrogant, he'd plowed upward through the ranks. Cornet to Colonel, far more swiftly than had ever been done before. He'd gained Cornwallis's favour and as a consequence, he'd gained enemies along with it. Those among the higher ups who had been jealous of his ascent sneered at him now, some went so far as to mumbled to one another that they'd predicted this would happen. The comments showed their disdain; as if with this defeat against Burwell, he was completely undone. He had finally shown his unworthiness at long last; all his prior successes were now being put down to blind luck.
It would have infuriated him, made him strong and indignant, if it weren't for the fact that even he was beginning to think that they were right. Banastre withered as the questions were hurled at him like the hottest fusillade. Questions demanding to know why he hadn't halted, why he'd marched on and away from Cornwallis, separating them by miles, why his men were sent - starving and exhausted - into battle. Why, why, why; asked over and over again, the same questions asked a hundred different ways to trip him up, all of them accusing. Major MacArthur and his force, captured. Hundreds, dead or taken prisoner. Horses - almost as valuable as the men - killed or taken. Two artillery pieces, Banastre's standards - his flags - taken, along with nearly one thousand fire arms. And - to add salt to the wound - nearly thirty-five of his wagons. All of his losses fired at him like balls from a canon. His every action deliberated in minute detail. Banastre's very worth, thrown into question.
Too young, he heard the Generals murmuring to one another. He'd heard this a hundred times before and had always put it down to the grumblings of old, jealous men; but thus far, his actions and successes had proved them wrong at every turn. Only now, he had given them a failure. One disastrous defeat to wash away his glowing victories and reinforce their ill opinion of him, as if this was bound to happen all along. Even Lord Cornwallis, who had ever been his ally, his defender, his supporter, was looking at him with a furrowed brow and increasing disappointment.
As if that were not trial enough, Colonel William Tavington stared at him across the table; cold, hard gaze unblinking and unbearable.
One thing became abundantly clear over the last few hours, they all deemed Banastre Tarleton to be at fault. There wasn't a single Officer in this council who thought otherwise. Where he'd in the past had at least a few supporters; now he had none. He stared at the table, trying not to squirm, as Lord Cornwallis began to speak. The interrogation was over, and the Lord Commander's voice was heavy, grim, not an ounce of sympathy in it.
"Our priority now is to remove General Burwell from the ground he now holds and to free our captured men," he said, clearly annoyed that he had to now extricate Major MacArthur and his Scottsmen from Banastre's debacle. "General Burwell has won the Grindal Shoals area and he will try to hold the country he has taken around the Broad River," he was looking down at a map spread out across the table before him, Banastre's eyes landed on the place called the Cowpens and slid away, his heart pounding. "Already he has had an entire day to fortify his position in the area; he would have started building his earthworks immediately after the battle, digging in to protect his position and to prevent us from entering North Carolina. We must not give him time to become too entrenched, we must strike as soon as possible. We leave as soon as General Leslie arrives to reinforce us and together, we shall fall on Mr. Burwell's position, we shall retrieve our Officers and -"
"And we shall finish what Colonel Tarleton was unable to," one of the General's said. Banastre's head came up, he stared at the General, aghast. He waited for Cornwallis to chastise the General, to speak in his defence. Cornwallis didn't. Nor did William, though once upon a time, he would have. No one said a word, to Banastre's dismay. Cornwallis let the moment stretch, to increase Banastre's discomfort.
"I was going to say 'our horses'," Cornwallis murmured but did not correct the General any further. He did not even rebuke the fellow for the interruption. Larger than life Banastre felt himself shrinking, becoming very small. Cornwallis was no longer his ally and he knew, now, that he was in very deep waters. Cornwallis returned his attention to the map. "We will cross the river, go directly up the Wagon Road and we shall reach Burwell's position tomorrow, before nightfall."
There was some further discussion and then finally, the conference came to an end. Banastre could make his escape. He was the first out of the tent, almost trampling Major Bordon, who was waiting outside. Saying nothing to Bordon, he continued to walk as quickly as he could, but not so fast that he could be taunted for running. Seeing Bordon reminded him of Tavington, who, in turn, reminded him sharply of Beth.
And the thought of her stung more than words could describe. He assumed they were together again by now; it would have been simplicity itself for Beth to discover where her husband was. She'd likely intercepted William on his way to camp where she'd have laid herself bare and begged his forgiveness. Had Tavington already bedded her? Was he exulting in his victory; both in having Beth back and learning that the child was his? As long as she was safe, Banastre tried to tell himself, that was all that mattered. In truth, it cut him to the bone; imagining her in Tavington's tent, reunited with her husband at long last, the two relishing renewed intimacy and laughing about Banastre behind his back. Thank God Above Cornwallis was arranging to move out of camp, Banastre did not want to bump into Beth here. He would soon return to his own Legion. During their council just now, Cornwallis had placed him at the front, the fore-guard of the battalion. William's Legion were to bring up the rear, with the battalion between them. At any given time, there would be at least three miles between himself and William and as such, he would not be pained with the sight of Beth and William, together again and happy once more.
"Tarleton!" Tavington's voice cracked like a whip and Banastre stopped dead, back ram rod straight.
Come to gloat, hmm? To boast? That was so like Tavington. Couldn't be gracious in his victory - he had his wife back but that wasn't enough, oh no. He had to taunt Banastre along with it. Sweetens the deal for him, Banastre supposed. He wiped all expression from his face, adopting a facade of complete indifference, as though he couldn't care less that the woman he loved had gone running back to her unworthy husband. To the same man who'd beaten her, for Christ's sake. If it came to insults now, he would inform William that he had had his fill of Beth anyway and was done with her. It was not the sort of thing he relished saying of the woman he loved, but she had left him for her husband and he felt the sore need to save face somehow. He turned slowly to face the advancing William, drew himself up to full height and damned the other man for being so bloody tall. He hated that William towered over him, despised it, making Banastre feel so dreadfully small. William came to a stop, feet apart, body braced as he took on a fighting stance, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He wouldn't dare draw it, but it unnerved Banastre all the same. He had left his sword with Whitty before entering the conference tent. For all his pent up aggression, William spoke with a surprisingly soft voice, just slightly louder than an intense whisper.
"Send word to your camp and inform my wife that she is to pack her belongings. Major Bordon will come for her within the hour. I will suffer no argument from either of you."
"Isn't she with you?" Banastre gaped, fear lancing up his spine. His voice was thin, high with panic. In all his dwelling over Beth returning to William it had never, ever, occurred to him that perhaps she hadn't. William's eyes slowly widened, his lips parted, Banastre heard the quick, indrawn breath.
"What the devil do you mean?" William asked. Bordon drew closer, a look of concern on his face.
"She left my camp last night, before midnight," Banastre admitted.
"Now why," William stepped closer, Banastre could feel the man's breath on his face. "Would she leave your camp, in the middle of the night?" William was using that low drawl on him, the same he used on others when he was pushed to fury and about to unleash that God awful temper of his.
"To return to you, or so I assumed," Banastre forced himself to admit. He, too, set his feet apart, taking on a fighting stance. If it came to blows, he would be ready. He might have been the shorter of the two, but larger men than William had discovered he was a fighter. William blinked down at him, as if trying to understand.
"And you just let her?" He asked, breathing faster.
"Isn't that what you wanted?" Banastre shot back. "It's what you sent her father for."
William ignored this; his stomach churned, banked coals starting to flare. "And what," he asked, thinking of all the rebels and desperate deserters, "sort of guard did you send with her?"
"I didn't send her anywhere," Banastre snapped. His eyes darted and he kept his voice low, mindful of those passing nearby. "I didn't send her away from me. She left me, alright?" He saw, and ignored, Richard Bordon's start of surprise. "In the dead of bloody night, she slipped away from camp and I was none the damned wiser until the morning." Sweat slicked his brow, he was so worried it was making him feel nauseous. She was not with William. The feeling that surged up inside of him was not relief, it was terror. Gods, where was she? "She left with the guard she chose for herself, Tavington. Three women and two men. That's all I know."
"By damn!" William seized Banastre by the cravat and shook him like a leaf.
"Unhand me, Sir!" Banastre shouted, his fingers forming into a fist, he'd punch the bastard if he didn't release him on the instant.
William did not loosen his hold. "You lost her!" He shouted, giving Banastre another shake. Banastre reached his hand up, fingers flying for William's throat. He'd warned him, by damn! Then Bordon was there, between them, trying to wrest them apart. "Three women and two men!" William strangled out, his hands going for Banastre's throat also. "Hardly a worthy guard! Where is she, you damned bastard."
"Enough!" Bordon pushed his way between them and shoved them apart with those shoulders of his. He was built like a damned bull and just now, he showed the Colonels he had the strength of one, too. Banastre could have Bordon whipped - should have him whipped, he was just a Major! He righted his jacket but before he could get a word in edgewise, William was closing in again, still accusing. "You let her go on her own! The entire territory is crawling with the enemy! She could be dead! Raped! Drowned crossing the river for all you know! I'll pummel you to atoms! How could you lose her? I'll kill you!" Bordon prevented him from reaching Banastre, using his body as a bulwark.
"Gentlemen!" Another voice cracked like a whip, this one made even Tavington spin around and stand at attention. Lord Cornwallis advanced on the three of them, his face thunder. O'Hara was hot on his heels.
"I demand that my Officers comport themselves as gentlemen and neither of you are exempt from this! Brawling like common rankers! This is unworthy of either of you. What the devil is this? Why are you at odds?"
Banastre and Tavington froze, neither knowing what to say, how to explain their argument. Neither wanted to admit to Cornwallis what the trouble was between them, it was sure to be the end of them both, if they did. Cornwallis was growing red faced at their silence and Richard stared hard at William, willing him to speak.
"My Lord," Richard spoke when the other two didn't. "Colonel Tarleton was escorting Mrs. Tavington back to Colonel Tavington, but she has gone missing."
Cornwallis stared hard at Richard, who tried to keep his face impassive, to not give away the lie.
"Why was Mrs. Tavington still with Colonel Tarleton?" O'Hara asked. "Did you not escort her to her sick sister?"
"I… ah…" Banastre's face flushed red. O'Hara drew himself up, slight changes played across his face as concern and puzzlement shifted to realisation - and disgust.
"She never was going to her sister, was she?" He asked, voice hard. "Tell me, Sir," he said too Tavington. "Was Miss Margaret Martin ever even sick?"
Tavington's jaw worked, his body stiffened and he shot a furious glare at Banastre.
"I see," Cornwallis breathed, his lip curled as if he could smell something unpleasant and is glare shifted from Banastre to William and back again. "Mrs. Tavington," he snapped, his voice was filled with loathing and contempt, his eyes narrowed and fixed on William. "Is not your concern at this time!"
"She is my wife, Sir," William said in a strangled voice. "And she is missing."
"Sir, if you'll permit, I shall take a score of men and will search for her," Banastre very unwisely began. Tavington whirled on him, ready to pummel him to atoms and even Cornwallis looked ready to do some damage. His Lordship jerked a finger at them both.
"You, Sir, are in quite enough trouble without worrying about chasing down your light skirt of a mistress!" Cornwallis snapped. The words hung heavy in the air, the insult to Beth was felt keenly by both her husband and her former lover. Cornwallis did not care, he glared at both men with equal fury and disdain. "That woman," he began, hissing the words out, eyes darting toward onlookers, his expression warning them all to be on their way. "Has succeeded in separating my Colonels when I need you both most! Marrying you," he spat at William, then shifted his contempt to Banastre. "Then leaving him for you, when she'd exhausted all she could from Colonel Tavington! No doubt she left you, Colonel Tarleton, for her work on you was done! She was a spy all along," he said, seeming to truly believe it. "She has managed to deal a blow to my ranks the equal to any enemy attack, with her working from within."
"Sir, I must object -" William began at the same time as Banastre started with, "with respect, My Lord -"
"Silence!" Cornwallis snapped and the objections died on both their lips. "We have more pressing matters to deal with than worrying what has become of Mrs. Tavington! She left of her own accord, after doing her damnedest to destroy you both. If she is found, she will be questioned and if she is found to be guilty of treason," he glared at them both, taking each one in by turn, giving them silent warning that he was considering executing her. "I will suffer no further discussion of her," he said, instead of threatening to hang her, as Banastre suspected he had been on the verge of doing. "The both of you will put her from her thoughts and focus on the matter at hand; I will suffer no further hostility between you over that woman! Do I make myself clear?"
"My Lord," William and Banastre agreed in unison.
"Good God, look at what she has reduced you too," Cornwallis spat, utterly furious. "My two best, the Officers I depend upon the most, she's bought you both to your knees! If separating you was not her design, she's still done a damned good job of accomplishing it! I find it very hard to believe it was not a deliberate act on her part, considering who her father is! Tell me again that she is not a spy, I dare you." When neither man spoke, Cornwallis forced himself to calm. "You will return to your Legions and be ready to ride with the battalions, we will journey to Burwell's camp at the Cowpens - where, I have no doubt, is exactly where we shall find Mrs. Martin-Tavington!"
Cornwallis whirled away from them both, O'Hara following after giving Banastre and William a long, thoughtful glance. Banastre and William exchanged one last, scathing look, before turning on their heels and stalking away from one another, with Bordon following after William. As Banastre strode toward a wary looking Whitty, he mulled over Cornwallis' words. Is that where Beth had gone? 'I have nothing to fear from General Burwell.' She'd said. And indeed, she did not. Lord, he hoped not, for if Cornwallis found her there with the enemy General, his suspicion that she was a spy would solidify to certainty and Banastre and William would be hard pressed to stop his Lordship from condemning her to a flogging.
Or worse yet, a hanging.
"I could send Captain Wilkins out," Colonel Tavington was saying. Bordon nodded as he filled William's cup again. Tea, unfortunately. They would not risk having anything stronger right there under Lord Cornwallis' nose, not after the dressing down. Richard studied William while trying to pretend he wasn't. He noticed the circles under William's eyes were darker now, his face paler. Where before, the trauma of having his wife leave him for another man had taken its toll, now it was worry over her safety that dragged him down.
"You could," Richard agreed. "It would be a smart move. Wilkins and his men know Beth, they would recognise her on sight," he poured another measure of tea for himself and then set the pot aside. He stirred in a single sugar and finished it with a few drops of milk. "If asked, they can say they are routing rebel stragglers, which of course they would be." Searching for Beth would be part of the mission, not all. A part that Cornwallis would not need to know about. "I think that His Lordship is right, however," he said as he settled back on the foldable chair, carefully distributing his weight so it did not topple him. "She's likely gone to Burwell."
"You don't know that."
"I don't," Richard agreed. "Look, she's bound to be caught, by ours or theirs. One way or another, she can not possibly hope to leave the area without being stopped and questioned. If they're loyalists who find her first, she'll tell them she's your wife. If they're rebels, she'll tell them she's Martin's daughter. She's not in danger, William."
"Unless she's stopped by deserters. Or brigands, who don't give a single shit about either side. They'll steal from her, rape her, and murder her," his pale gaze burned, boring into Richard's. The tea in his hands forgotten.
"Do you truly think," Richard said, as clearly and as calmly as he could, "that brigands would be stupid enough, to be out raiding here? Amidst the various units of two enemy armies. No William. I do not think she's in danger. Beth is smart. Or at least, she's resourceful," he corrected, thinking that her recent actions did not make her particularly smart. "And Banastre said she has two guards…"
"Two guards," William scoffed, then brooded. "Why did she leave him, Richard?"
"A question you'll have to ask Banastre," Richard replied. William gave him a look that said he'd rather stuff his mouth with burning coals.
"Colonel?" A familiar voice interrupted from outside the tent. Both Officers rose as O'Hara entered. It was far too crowded with all three of them standing; O'Hara unfolded a stool and they sat. Richard poured O'Hara a cup of tea. "The Generals," O'Hara began, "have been asking about the altercation between yourself and Colonel Tarleton."
William stiffened. There was no keeping it a secret now, his wife's affair with Banastre. All that rot about her visiting her sick sister, the story he put about to explain her absence, would now be known for the sham it was. He'd managed to fool even O'Hara, but not now. O'Hara sipped his tea.
"I have given them the same explanation you fooled me with some months ago," O'Hara said wryly and Tavington shifted uncomfortably. "They must be as great a fool as I was, for they appear to believe it. I am come to ensure you know the details." William gave a start; he shared a look with Richard. "Colonel Tarleton did indeed escort Mrs. Tavington to her sick sister. Her father had been summoned to tend his ill daughter, also. But, it turned out, Miss Martin recovered miraculously. Therefore, when Mr. Martin departed to resume his activities, Mrs. Tavington requested that he escort her back to you. They were en-route, however, their journey went awry when Colonel Tarleton captured Benjamin Martin." William drew in a long, slow breath, seeing where O'Hara was heading. "Martin was taken to Winnsboro and Colonel Tarleton named himself the protector of the wife of his dearest friend. He vowed to conduct her to you safe and sound." Another sip. "Only, when he pushed on ahead of his force to capture Burwell, he left too small a guard around his charge. The force was attacked by Loyalists - which, incidentally, is quite true - Tarleton's men did indeed dessert him and they attacked the baggage train. Mrs. Tavington was lost, during the fighting. You," he extended a finger toward the silent Colonel, "are angry with Banastre for not protecting your wife well enough. You even said it during your argument. 'You lost her', you accused Colonel Tarleton earlier. I have led the Generals to believe that this was the cause of your confrontation."
Not because Beth was screwing Banastre. But because Banastre had taken legitimate charge of her on William's behalf, and he lost her. William nodded, lips tight.
"We must needs reduce any suspicions," O'Hara warned. "For if any become suspicious, they might unearth the truth if they choose to do a little digging." William snorted and Richard understood the cause - just ask anyone in Banastre's camp and they'd learn the truth soon enough. "It is your task now, to ensure no such suspicions arise. There are two ways that this can be accomplished. The first, you hold fast to this narrative, and Banastre also. The second - you and Colonel Tarleton must appear to be at peace with one another. For my creation to be believed, the two of you must be seen together, repairing the bridge between you and behaving as the friends you used to be, before you return to your own Legions. You will do this not for your own sakes, though you will surely have a smoother time of it, if you are believed. You will do it for Lord Cornwallis, who has put so much faith in both of you, that he now stands on the brink of absolute humiliation, because of the breach that has opened between you and Tarleton."
It looked to Bordon as though every single muscle in William's body tightened. His jaw went hard, his fingers clenched, his back straightened. Richard willed his friend to accept these terms and be grateful. O'Hara had gone to great lengths, even though he was one of the General's who'd been lied to. Richard understood that O'Hara was doing this to protect Cornwallis. The Lord General had supported both Colonel's; if the other General's started questioning Cornwallis' judgement in the men he chose to back, they might very well question his decision making ability as well. With the disaster of the Cowpens upon them, now was the time to unite, to be strong, not to harbour doubts in their Lord Commander or the two Colonel's he relied upon so heavily.
"Well?" O'Hara asked, voice hard, demanding submission from William. To Richard's surprise and relief, he got it. William deflated, nearly wilting as he nodded agreement. His jaw was so damned tight, it must be aching. "Very good. I will send Colonel Tarleton in here. I will remain, I've already let it be known that I intend to mediate and broker a peace between you. We will keep the flaps of this tent open wide, so everyone can see us all together. When you part ways, each returning to his own camps, you will clasp one another's hand, you will slap one another's back and you will laugh and be happy. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Sir," William said.
"Very well," O'Hara stood. To Richard, he said, "you will need to brew another pot."
"Yes, Sir," Richard agreed, voice grave as the General departed to fetch Banastre. "Jesus," Richard whispered. "How the devil are we going to get through this without the two of you killing each other?"
"Can't kill him," William said bitterly. "Got to convince the others what grand friends Tarleton and I still are." His lips twisted. "Just like old times. Ban and I."
"What O'Hara has done… You should be grateful, William, even if it was done to protect Cornwallis," Richard said, voicing his thoughts from earlier.
"I am," William said, though he didn't look it.
"Well, one good thing to come of it," Richard said and William looked at him in askance. "You don't need to worry about gossip anymore. All there is to worry about is where the devil Beth has gotten too."
"Yes," William agreed, then returned to his silent brooding of before.