Chapter 142 - It Starts With the Patriarch:

There were so many soldiers. Hundreds and hundreds of them, all spreading out from Beattie's Ford. And in the centre of them, Colonel Benjamin Martin was sitting beside his peers and superiors, on overturned logs, talking stratagem. It was no place for Thomas, lowly militiaman that he was. After his father took his leave and joined the meeting, Thomas had set about to finding Beth. When he failed, he decided to find food, instead. And then he'd needed to relieve himself, which was no easy thing when there was no privacy what-so-ever. He didn't mind taking a piss behind a tree, but there was no 'behind', not here. Men were all around, all over, among the trees, sitting at campfires and eating, or tending gear. He did stumble upon Alby Scott and Adam Danvers, that'd been a riotous ruin and had included a flask of whiskey that Alby would have been flogged for concealing, had he been a Continental soldier like Thomas. Thomas could be whipped for it, being a Continental Officer. There was something to be said for keeping life simple - certainly, the uniform looked grand. And it looked grander on Thomas. But Gods, when you can't take a shit without asking permission, then what sort of life was that? All the rules, the structure, the tedium. He was finding it stifling. Bad enough being under militiaman's rules, and they were far laxer than the rules of the Regimental Army's. And he'd been so keen - hell bent, even - on becoming a Continental. Now that he was one, he couldn't help but think, what sort of a damned fool was he? As he walked among the men, he saw Gabriel chatting with Nathan and Nicholas Watson. As they weren't handing a whiskey flask among them, Thomas disdained their company. He'd been with Nathan and Nicholas for weeks and weeks and weeks - he could do with a few hours without them.

There was a particularly beautiful woman, hair a lustrous black, smile every bit as lustrous - or lust filled - as a hot blooded man could like. As she was swaying past him she stopped, her eyes raked him from the tips of his boots to the peak of his tricorn, one lip as full and round and sweet looking as a peach caught between her teeth. He tried to strike a manly sort of pose; chest out, shoulders wide, he was handsome even without the uniform - Miss Ferguson had told him so. But this woman, this beautiful specimen, did not seem to consider him up to her standard. For a disappointed look crossed her features, and he heard her say "too young," before moving on her swaying way.

"I'm seventeen!" He said with a mortified frown. She continued on, not looking back, her womanly laughter ghosting behind her and making his face flush with warmth. Attraction, he told himself. Not embarrassment. Bloody women. It didn't matter - she wasn't that pretty. Not really. Not as pretty as Lucy, anyway. He continued on again, kicking at a rock that dared to be in his path. Too young. Bloody woman. Winding his way through the trees, he was wishing that Alby's flask hadn't come up empty. It'd been enough to warm his blood and make him feel like singing, but the good feeling would wear off soon enough if he did not find some more. But among all these goody-goody Continentals, would any be carrying? Surely not Greene's men, and definitely not Burwell's. Thomas heaved a sigh and reconciled himself to his forced sobriety. He stepped around some bushes there, finally, he found his sister. Beth had her back to him and was mostly pressed forward against a broad tree, only her head was cocked in such a way that it was clear to Thomas that she was peering beyond it, without wanting to be seen. Two more women did likewise around their own trees. Thomas picked his way carefully, so the turned women would not hear him.

"…looks so thin," Beth was saying.

"I've told you, Mrs. Tavington; you need not worry. He wants decent feeding, but he looks to be healthy enough besides."

"He was in that camp for so long… I don't think he looks healthy at all, Mrs. Garland. He looks emaciated. Gods, if I had Tarleton in front of me right now…" His sister trailed off, but her voice had been filled with so much fury and venom, he had the feeling that Beth would quite easily take to Tarleton with his own sabre, had he been standing in front of her right now.

"If you wish it, I will look him over," said the woman - Mrs. Garland Beth had called her. "Though truly, now he's here, one of Burwell's surgeons would do just as well."

Thomas could see through the trees to the clearing the women were spying on into. It was where Greene and the other Generals and Adjutants were sitting as they conducted their council of war. Beth was as worried for their father as Thomas had been. Whatever she had done, whatever else she was, she was still Beth. She was still family. Just as Benjamin was still his father, despite carrying on an affair with Aunt Charlotte all those years. Thomas was still angry with Beth, and he had no intention of defending her to their father. But that was for later and just then, all he wanted was to see the look of stunned amazement on his sister's face, when she turned around to see him standing there. It would be quite a laugh, to be sure.

"Ho, Beth!" He called and she turned sharply, whirling around to face him. "Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to eavesdrop?"

"Tommy!" She cried, looking delighted. Must have been contagious because he found the same joy spreading across his chest. Must be the whiskey, he thought. She took two full steps toward him - then she stopped as if an invisible barrier had sprung up to bar her way. Her smile fled as quickly as it came, her large brown eyes grew wide, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but couldn't. Her fingers found purchase in the folds of her skirts and she held on with a death grip. "Brother," she said more formally and oh dear God, was that a curtsy? Thomas almost spluttered, would have spluttered, if he'd had something in his mouth to splutter on. It was such a quick thing, a slight bending of her knees, gone as soon as it came. But he was sure. Beth curtsied for him. Sweet Lord above. And she wasn't coming any further, she just stared at him, as if fearing what he might do, should she throw herself into his arms. Fearing he would reject her.

As Gabriel had.

Again.

Gabriel had told them he hadn't spoken to Beth since the first day she'd arrived to Burwell's company, and that was weeks ago. And here was Beth, thinking she should expect the same from Thomas. He felt his will crumbling. He'd intended to keep Beth at arms length, to treat her with the coolness her actions deserved. He heaved a frustrated breath, angry with himself for allowing this turmoil to twist him this way and that, when his path should have been clear. She'd left her husband, had an affair, was pregnant and only the Lord truly knew who the sire was. She'd bought shame and ruin to her family, the like of which Thomas, Nathan, William, Margaret and Susan would still be feeling the effects of, for perhaps decades to come.

But so had his father, and Thomas was still speaking to him…

There was bound to be a heated discussion later, but for now, Thomas grinned like there was nothing wrong in the world, like she hadn't been off screwing Tarleton all these months. He closed the distance himself, several long strides, his arms already outstretched as he said, "what, no hug? Do I smell or something? Well, actually I do, but you're family and family shouldn't care."

"Tommy." And there it was, Beth hurtled against him as she would have done before, if she hadn't been expecting a rejection. He enveloped her into his arms and held her shaking body as she wept against his great cloak. Damn and blast it, he was digging himself a hole now. Letting her think all was well between them when they were far from it. But he'd started it, what else could he do now, but see it through to the end?

"You should have known after last time that I wouldn't turn my back on you," he said.

"But I've d-done… so m-much worse… this t-time," she stammered out.

"Yeh, you have," Thomas agreed, relieved to have this opening. "I don't want to spoil the mood and all, but you need to know Beth, this time I'm as angry with you as the others are." She clung tighter, as if - with this said - she was expecting him to pull away and was trying to stop him.

"I'm so, so sorry."

"Well, I'm pleased to hear that," he said gently against her hair, vaguely aware of the other two women as they withdrew to give them privacy. It was more than his father had given, Thomas couldn't remember Benjamin giving an apology at all. He thought Charlotte might have, for screwing Bordon, but Thomas had been so angry he couldn't recall for certain. But Beth was apologising. That was something, wasn't it? "Papa thinks that it's going to hurt us, you know. Gabriel will be alright, he's already married. But me. Nate, William, Susan, Margaret. He thinks we might not be able to marry so well, because of…" every time he worked his way through that sentence in his head, it always ended with 'because of you being a harlot.'. But the words stuck in his throat, he could not say them, not now. Not to her.

"Because I'm a fallen woman," she said, and Gods, she sounded exhausted. Not the physical type, of doing a days labour, but as if her spirit was completely, emotionally drained. He wouldn't call her harlot to her face, but he did not argue with her, either. No more defending her, not after what she'd done. "I am sorry, Thomas," she said, bringing her arms inward, curled between their bodies. She gazed up at him in earnest. "I'm going to return to William, I won't fight it, not anymore. Anything I can do to fix this, I'll do it, I swear. I will."

I'll be a good girl now, I promise. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

Thomas nodded, he glanced around for a place to sit and saw a large boulder. He took her arm and steered her toward it, were they sat side by side. She seemed at a loss for something to say, or, going by the concentration on her face, she was searching for the right thing. More reassurances perhaps? How she was going to fix everything? In truth, he didn't want to talk about it anymore, didn't want to hear about where she'd been or her sins and wrong doings. He had news he needed to unburden himself with, and so he wrapped his fingers around hers, as much to take comfort as to give it.

"I have something to tell you," he began. "It's… There's no easy way to do it…" He drew a shuddering breath, aware of her eyes on him. "It's Aunt Mage, Beth. She was with child and… in the birthing… She didn't make it."

"What?" She whispered, her eyes bulging over fingers pressed to her mouth. "Aunt Mage…?"

"She is in a better place now."

He gave her time to work through her thoughts, rubbing her back as he wished someone had rubbed his, when he'd been told Aunt Mage was dead. Susan, too little to understand, just blurting it out like she had… Thomas shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Did she… suffer?" Beth asked, her voice high pitched, shaking, and Thomas wondered if she was struck with grief or fearing what might happen to her in the coming months. Probably both. Her hands were splayed across her stomach, as if she could keep the child within from escaping. "The child, is it -"

"A boy," Thomas said, thinking of Bordon as he always did, whenever he thought of Mage's baby. He wondered if he should tell Beth what was more than merely suspicion. "And he is fine. And yes, Beth, I believe…" He pictured it as Mark had described. The macabre scene of Aunt Mage, splayed under layers of bloodied sheets, the child sliced from her body to save it, when the midwives could not save her. "I do not believe she faired well, during." His throat caught, voice thickening. "Makes me wonder, what did mamma go through at the end?"

"Oh, Thomas." They sat together, heads pressed against one another, his arm around her body, her fingers through his. Perhaps this was why he was so quick and ready to act like nothing had happened? Because he needed her, or rather, the comfort she would give him unconditionally. Thomas had no mother. One Aunt was dead and the other, well, the other… he pushed away the vision of Charlotte and Bordon up against the wall in the alcove. He hadn't seen it with his own two eyes, but it wasn't hard to imagine what the scene must have looked like. She was not someone he could turn to in times of grief as he had as a child. He had no wife and his sweetheart, Lucy, was miles away, he hadn't seen her since after the battle at Kings Mountain three months ago. She was not here, he could not hold her, could not take the comfort he hadn't realised until this moment he so desperately needed.

"I feel like our family is shattered, Beth. Like a broken mirror. And we're not ever going to be able to put the pieces back together again."

"Maybe you will," Beth said sadly. "Though some of the pieces will be missing."

'Maybe you will'? Her choice of words were not lost on him. Their mother, their aunts and she herself, were pieces that would never come together to make the whole again. But she was wrong, there. "You are one of the pieces that we need, to make us whole again," he said, knowing that was what she had meant. "It's only the dead that we can't get back. Even if we have to try for the rest of our lives, you are a piece that we'll make fit again." And it likely would take the rest of their lives, her transgression being what it was. He looked at her, she was biting her lip, eyes closed, tears sliding down her cheeks, and she appeared to be holding her breath. On more sobs? She shuddered, then released the breath slowly.

"Perhaps," she said, though he could tell by the way she said it, that she didn't believe it. "Does Uncle Mark know? And, Gods, Cilla!"

"Uncle Mark knows," Thomas said. "As for Cilla… No, she hasn't been told, to my knowledge. Perhaps Uncle Mark wrote her a letter? I'm not sure. But I think that you might be in a position soon, to tell her for us."

Beth nodded. "Yes, I believe so. She'll have questions, Tom. Lots of them. You'll have to tell me everything you know."

So Thomas did. Beth had asked for everything, and so he gave it to her, even down to his certainty that the child was not Mark's, but Bordon's. They both agreed that neither of them would be telling Cilla that. He continued until he had nothing more to tell, and then finally, he started asking questions of his own. He could see it was not an easy conversation to have, but nor did she baulk in giving her answers. Even when his temper started to rise - honestly, to stand there screaming at her husband when he tried to explain he was not having an affair, and then to ride off with another man entirely, to share his bed for the months following? "What were you thinking?" He finished, voice snapping. He'd pulled away slightly, his fingers no longer entwined with hers.

"I wasn't thinking," Beth whispered. To her credit, she did not fire up and scream back at him, as she would have done in the past. Nor did she run away weeping, as most girls would do when a man raised his voice. She sat there and, well, took it. "I was blinded by fury, I could barely contain it. I… He'd lied to me so often, I thought he was lying again. That whore, she boasted of bedding him, to Miss Cordell. I saw her kissing him outside the tent, then he went in there with her. What was I meant to think? And then he belted me, why would I stay with him when he would use his belt on me?"

"That was no reason to run off and fuck Tarleton, Beth!" Thomas snapped and she blanched. But the words were out and he couldn't have them back. He lurched to his feet, deciding he wouldn't have taken them back even if he could. She was staring down at her hands while he began to pace.

"I know, I wish I hadn't, I keep wishing I'd gone straight to Gullah, instead of…"

"To his bed?" Thomas snapped. "Three months, Beth! You are a married woman, yet you went off with another man! Now, I never found out why he took his belt to you, likely because you wouldn't shut up and let him explain! But we whipped him raw for doing it. And we told him if he ever did again, we'd be back there with our whip in hand. But I tell you now, after what you've been doing these last few months, I'm not sure that we should retaliate, if he did choose to use his belt on you again!" Her gaze was still fixed firmly on her fingers as she worked them in her lap. "After you were off screwing Tarleton, I don't think I could blame him! Can you?"

Beth gave a listless shrug.

"You say you were crazed?" Thomas ranted. "You weren't thinking? You were blinded by fury? How do you think he was feeling, when you wouldn't bloody let him speak?"

"You've started without us, I see."

Thomas whirled and Beth's head jerked up as their father's disapproving voice interrupted them. Gabriel and Nathan flanked him, one on either side. Benjamin approached, then came to a halt before them. Beth had jumped to her feet and was again clutching her skirts with that grip of death. She stood stock still, not making any move to embrace their father. And Benjamin made no move to embrace her, either.

"That was not William's reason, Thomas," Benjamin said, his upper lip curling slightly. "He had far more provocation than frustration at Beth not listening. Didn't he, Beth?" She lowered her eyes and when she did not answer, Benjamin's voice cracked like a whip. "Well? Your brother asked you a question. What is your answer?"

"I'm not saying William didn't have just cause," Beth said to her father, the only two in the clearing who knew she'd lost her virginity before marrying William. Her voice quavering only slightly. "But Thomas asked why I did what I did. And I've said why. Though I did not know it at the time, I was already with child and I have come to realise that my outburst was made more unreasonable because of it."

After a startled moment, Benjamin threw back his head and laughed. Not the jolly laughter of hearing the punchline to some grand and intricate joke. It was the contemptuous, disbelieving laughter of someone refusing to be deceived.

"Very good," he chortled darkly. "Clever. Using your pregnancy as a means to excuse your conniption which, the time of which conveniently places William as the father, because of course you were pregnant the day you left Fresh Water." All mirth - even black as it was - slipped from Benjamin's voice. He towered over Beth, lips peeling back as he whispered, "and I thought you could stoop no lower."

Beth drew in a sharp breath, eyes widening as far as they could go. Thomas closed his eyes, jaw clenching. I will not defend her.

"I know you think lowly of me," Beth's soft voice came to Thomas' ears. "I can only imagine the… disappointment, the… shame, you must feel toward a daughter who has done the things I have done. But father, William is the father of this child. Mrs. Garland is my midwife, and the first time she examined me, she told me I was five months along. That was three weeks ago. I'm nearly six months, now. I left… Fresh Water…" Thomas had the distinct feeling Beth had been about to say "William", before changing it. "Four months ago."

Thomas opened his eyes, to judge his father's reaction to this news.

"Well, I'll be praying that that's true, Beth, because if that child isn't his…" Benjamin trailed off ominously. Eyes on the ground, Beth nodded, and Thomas could see it was already a fear of hers. What would Tavington do if the child wasn't his? "So?" their father snapped. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry," Beth whispered. Thomas could see the tears in her eyes, but she was keeping herself in check, not giving into them. Good tactic, he thought. Don't show your throat to the wolf, you might just get it ripped open.

"You're sorry," Benjamin said, voice flat. "That's it?"

Beth went to open her mouth to say more, but snapped it shut again when Harry Burwell approached them.

"This is a family affair," Benjamin snapped and even Thomas was taken aback from the tone in his father's voice. He'd never, ever, heard him speak to Harry Burwell like that. Nor had Burwell. The General stopped dead, lips parted, eyes wide with shock. "You need to leave, now, while you can still walk," Benjamin threatened and Burwell's mouth fell open. Suddenly Nathan and Gabriel were moving, Gabriel to stand before Burwell as if to keep him back, and Nathan rushed to stand in front of his father, as if to do the same. Thomas was slower to react but when Beth began to back up as if trying to put herself out of harms way, he finally understood. There would be a fistfight, started by Benjamin, if the boys did not stop it. Thomas went to join Nathan, knowing fully well that Benjamin was the one in need of being held back.

"What the devil is this?" The General snapped when he'd recovered himself. He took a step toward Benjamin, as if Gabriel's arm was not there barring the way. Thomas met Gabriel's eyes, his older brother nodded, flicking his eyes toward their father. Keep him back, no matter what. Because if the Colonel landed a punch on the General, it would be as good as signing his own death sentence.

"What the devil is this?" Benjamin roared the question back at Burwell while the finger of one hand pointed accusingly at Beth. "You were my closest friend, Harry, Goddamn it. After all we've been through, how could you do this to me? How could you disgrace me like this? We were as brothers! Well, no more. Do you hear me? We are friends no more! And this thing between you? Your disgusting little affair? It ends now. I'm taking Beth back to her husband, you will never see her again. You will never see any of us, ever again."

Harry stood there, looking dumbfounded.

"Papa, how could you think -"

"How could I think it?" Benjamin rounded on Beth. "After everything you've done, I don't think it lass. I know it." He jerked an angry finger toward her and she fell silent. "I dare you to deny it," he ground out, eyes fixed on hers. "I dare you, daughter."

"I do deny it, whatever the consequences. I am not having an affair with General Burwell," she said, voice strong, back straight, head held high. "I am not."

She said it with such conviction, not a hint of dissembling. Burwell looked as guilty as a school boy caught out at some mischief or other, but Beth…

"Come on, Beth," Gabriel said, sounding both tired and disbelieving. "You have been seen leaving the General's tent almost every single night since you arrived here."

"I have, have I?" Beth managed a contemptuous scoff. Jesus, no wonder William took his belt to her, Benjamin felt like doing so now - the defiant little hussy! Benjamin was about to call her down for her tone, at the very least, but she ploughed on ahead with, "last I looked, Electa was far taller than me. Far slighter, as well; she doesn't have this," her fingers splayed across the large swell of her stomach. "I guess my sins have given me greater height."

"Electa?" Gabriel asked, and they all looked to Burwell. Benjamin saw the slow, embarrassed flush climbing his neck. "You and… Electa?"

"Electa and I, yes. Not Beth and I," Harry confirmed with a short nod, he looked embarrassed at admitting it but they all knew he had no choice. Looking to Benjamin, he said, "perhaps you could have enquired, before accusing me?"

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know it was Electa?" Gabriel asked, looking aghast at his mistake but angry at the same time. "Everyone here is saying it's Beth. What did you expect us to think, considering?"

"Of me? I'd expect you to think the worst, I suppose," Beth said, and even Benjamin was taken aback by the resignation in her voice. "But of Harry? What has he ever done to make you think so low of him? You owe him an apology." Beth dared to look at him, Benjamin, as she added, "you both do."

A flare of red washed across Benjamin's vision and before he knew it, he was pushing past his sons and marching forward to seize Beth by the arms. He jerked her upward to the tips of her toes, leaning down at the same time, so they were nose to nose.

"You dare take me to task?" He hissed. "You dare demand apologies from me?"

"Father, you're hurting me."

It wasn't a plaintive plea like one would expect to hear. It was said with such matter-of-factness and it was like ice water thrown in his face. He released her immediately. She didn't even rub her arms though he knew they must be hurting, she just stared up at him as if waiting for the next blow.

"Ben, go easy on her, will you?" Harry asked but his mouth snapped shut at the imperious finger Benjamin threw up to silence him.

"You," he said to his daughter, "what you have done… it sickens me," he said, and he watched as her face became less composed, shifting from expectant to horrified. "I feel sick… to my stomach… when I look at you." His words were clipped, deliberate, enunciated with excruciating care. His body trembled, slivers of rage that made him want to scream. He kept his voice low, even. Devastating. "It sickens me, to call you daughter."

"Father -" now she was plaintive, her brown eyes welling with tears. Her mother's eyes. Gods, she looked so much like his Elizabeth on the outer, how could she have become so wrong on the inner? He spoke over her.

"I will not entertain explanations. I will not suffer further disobedience. No more defiance. You will return to your husband and you will become the dutiful wife you swore - you bloody swore in a church! - that you would be, or by God, I vow, I will never, ever see you again." He watched as it sunk in, her face draining of colour. "Nor will I ever lift a finger to help you. Nor will your brothers. If you leave him again, do not even think of coming to us, for none of us will take you in."

"And if he doesn't want me?" It came out a squeak.

"I can tell you right now, he doesn't," Benjamin said cruelly and Beth's face blanched, "and if it comes to pass that he refuses you, if he turns you out through no fault of your own, only then will we help you, and even that will be at a stretch because by God, Beth, if my wife did to me what you've done to him, I wouldn't have her back either."

"He beat me," she whispered, fingers clutching her skirt. "He strapped me with his belt!"

"I know. And he was punished for it. I also know why he did it, Beth," he said and her face turned a little grey. "Should I tell your brothers why, Beth? Shall I tell Burwell?"

"Harry knows," Beth said, eyes cast to the ground. "He knows."

That took some of the wind from Benjamin's sails. He shot Harry a look. Harry nodded, confirming Beth's claim.

"I see. Well. And yet you still go off gallivanting around together for the whole damned week."

"It was hardly gallivanting," Harry said, offended.

"All of your men think that you are fucking my daughter," Benjamin was deliberately crude; he hardly ever cussed like this and it was having the desired affect. Beth shied back as if he'd struck her and Harry began grinding his teeth, because he had nothing to say in his defence. To Beth, he said "You wonder why I'd easily believe you bedded Burwell? After all you've done, is it any surprise I'd jump to that conclusion?" She lowered her eyes, her tear wet cheeks flushed. "I thought it, the entire camp thought it!" To Burwell, he said, "you must have known they were thinking it. That they were saying it. Did you do anything to dispel the gossip? Anything at all?" Benjamin saw the rise and fall of his friend's chest, the stubborn look on his face, and he saw the guilt there too. No, Burwell hadn't done a damned thing to stop the rumours. "Tell me, Harry. Did you think about it?" Benjamin advanced on the General, but was thwarted by Gabriel, who stepped between them. "Did you consider having an affair with my daughter?"

"Father -"

"Silence!" Benjamin roared, rounding on Beth. "You will not speak until I give you leave." Let's see how long that lasts. Beth folded her arms, shoved her fisted up into her armpits. She looked as though she was gnawing out her own tongue. Benjamin ignored her, turned his attention back on Burwell. "Well? You knew I'd be sending her back to her husband. Did you consider making off with her? Taking her back to Virginia, making her your mistress?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Harry said and that red rage flooded Benjamin's vision again.

"So you admit it. You have no respect for me or our friendship whatsoever."

"I have enough to have not pressed the issue," Harry said. "I love her, Ben."

"As if that's all the excuse you need. Fools in love," Benjamin spat. "You love her so much that you'd take her as your mistress, after refusing to marry her? That's love, is it? If you loved her so bloody much, you should have married her. You have done as much to disgrace her and me, as Tarleton ever did." He did not need to remind Harry of the details, his friend knew exactly what Benjamin was referring to. Harry's shoulders slumped. "You ruined her as much as Tavington ever did." Another step forward and this time, Gabriel gripped Benjamin's arm to stop him going another and closing on Burwell. "At least Tavington was gentleman enough to marry her after indulging in her!"

"You compare me to him and you find me wanting?" Harry gasped, stunned.

"In this, most certainly. You had your chance to marry her. You fooled about with her like you were married already but when you found out about her and William, you fled your responsibility like a fox fleeing the hound. When I offered it again, you still said no. All this talk of loving her? You had the chance to marry her - twice! - you refused both times Yet now you'd make her your mistress?"

"It was considered for a moment only," Harry said, sounding apologetic. "I never would have done it, I never would have disgraced you."

"You disgraced me by considering it, even for that moment," Benjamin said. How could Harry not see that? To Beth, Benjamin said, "and Harry's intent, brief though it might have been, was a reflection on you. A poor one, for no gentleman would make such a suggestion to a woman he considered to be virtuous. It reflects poorly on you indeed, for he knows you have become the sort of woman who would flee her husband and become mistress to another man. Or did you take his suggestion as a compliment?" He asked snidely. Let's see how far she's fallen, if that's how she viewed it.

"Of course not," she whispered. "It was an insult to me, one Harry has apologised for repeatedly since he proposed it."

Oh, so he actually proposed it, did he? "And how did you answer him?"

"I refused."

"After a moment's consideration?" He shot back with a dark laugh.

"No, father. I refused immediately."

"So, there's hope for you yet," Benjamin curled his lip. "So much for a moment's consideration," he said to Burwell. "If Beth had accepted your… proposal… I daresay the moment would have stretched on for years, with the both of you living nice and comfortable in Virginia."

"Until her husband died in battle," Harry agreed. "Then I would have been free to marry her."

"Christ, Harry! We've gone from 'a moments consideration' to a full blown plot! Jesus, you were free to marry her!" Benjamin shouted, throwing his arms wide. "You both were!"

"I don't believe Harry would have gone through with it, papa," Beth said softly. "Even if I'd said yes."

Benjamin considered her for a good, long moment. It stretched until it felt like days, until Beth was shuffling under his stare. Even Nathan and Thomas were growing restless, unsure of what was to come. Who Benjamin would scream at next. He felt some of his anger drain as hopelessness poured in.

"I begged you," he said to Harry, the fire in his voice gone. "I humbled myself, like a starving man begging scraps. I pleaded with you to marry her. And you said no." He shook his head. Harry's shoulders slumped a little more. "And yet you think so lowly of me, that you would consider making her your mistress, instead." He threw his arms wide. "How much would be different now, if you hadn't refused? If you'd said yes, the path we'd all be on would be a far cry better to what it is now. You wouldn't have to entertain thoughts of making off with her to be your mistress, despite what it would do to our friendship, and I wouldn't be here suffering the disgrace Beth has done my entire family!"

"You blame me?" Harry asked. "For all of it?"

"Will you pretend those nights never happened?" Benjamin shot back. "She was still a virgin after you were done, but the damage was done and you never bloody married her!"

"Harry has apologised for that, father," Beth said, defending Burwell. "We have both apologised, for we were both at fault. Harry has treated honourably with me since I arrived here -"

"How would you know? How would you recognise true honour, when you have so little of it yourself?" Benjamin asked. There was a collective gasp among the boys - they were as wroth with her as he was, but it seemed this was going too far for them. None of them understood, nor would they understand, until they had daughters of their own. Beth began trembling all over, shaking from head to foot. She stared at the ground, seeming not to know what to say, or do. Reaching blindly behind her, she set her hand on the a large boulder and sat heavily, as if her knees were unable to hold her. What had she been expecting? A happy reunion? She was supposed to get off lightly, was she? For traipsing off with another man, for gallivanting about, for being his willing whore? "You've disgraced us all," he said, trembling himself, unable to hold back his fury a moment longer. "You have disgraced our family. You have disgraced me. Your husband. You disgraced yourself! You let that filthy little rogue put his hands on you! You allowed yourself to become his… his… strumpet!"

"Strumpet?" Beth squeaked, then buried her face in her hands and began to weep in earnest. Benjamin was glad he no longer had to look into Beth's eyes, her mother's eyes, the eyes of the woman he'd loved so desperately.

"Imagine if your mother were here," he said, gasping the words out, the agony as great as it had been when he'd just lost his Elizabeth, as if he were kneeling at the foot of grief's door all over again. "Imagine how disappointed she'd be."

Beth was sobbing now. Burwell made a move to go to her but stopped when Benjamin flexed his arms, ready to start the brawl he'd promised, if he tried.

"If mother were here, none of this would be happening," Thomas whispered. Benjamin jerked his head in ragged agreement.

"Elizabeth would have kept Beth on the straight and narrow," Benjamin said woefully.

"Mother would have kept you on the straight and narrow too, father," Thomas said, and Benjamin tensed, seeing iron enter his son's eyes. "You would never have been allowed to disgrace us, either."

Benjamin drew himself up, shoulders back, his face an incredulous scowl. Not this again, surely? Thomas had come so close to flinging his affair with Charlotte in Benjamin's face a week ago, but the boy had backed down. Benjamin waited, letting the silence stretch, giving his son time to do so again.

Only this time, Thomas didn't.

I championed her before, back in Pembroke. And where did that get us? Beth went off and married Tavington and the next thing, she was off having an affair with Tarleton. I will not champion her again. Not this time.

"You dare speak of apologies?" Father was saying. Gods, his grip looked so tight, the tips of his fingers looked like they were really digging into Beth's flesh. Thomas almost stepped forward but he forced himself back. There has to be consequences. I will not champion her again.

"Father, you're hurting me."

Beth was being rather brave, to speak with such calmness under the circumstances. Thomas had to admire that. Any other woman would have been in tears. Perhaps Beth was accustomed to it by now though, their father seizing her as he did would have to be a trifling to the strapping Tavington had given her. His sister, accustomed to savagery and violence; Thomas didn't know how to feel about that. His father released her, he looked quite taken aback. Had he expected tears and begging, as Thomas had?

"What you have done, it sickens me."

Thomas closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, slowly, as his father's tirade continued. He wished he was suddenly deaf so he could not hear the awful things being said. Beth was far more affected by their father's awful words than she had been by the violence of his grabbing her arms. Thomas almost said something but again, he held back. Father began to lay down his ultimatums, ultimatums Thomas agreed with. If Beth left her husband for another man again, why should any of them help her? He was glad that father would assist her in the event that Tavington set her aside, though.

"He beat me," Beth said. Thomas shook his head. He couldn't ever imagine taking his hand to Lucy and he'd certainly been fierce with the whip when it was his turn to flog Tavington. There were consequences, after all. But what was she thinking? That Tavington would sit down and offer her a cup of tea after learning that she'd already given her virginity to Tarleton before becoming Tavington's wife? Everyone knew he was a madman. They didn't call him Butcher for nothing. And Beth went and married him. And was surprised when the madman surfaced? Jesus. "He strapped me with his belt!"

"…did you tell him why William beat you?" Father asked in such a way. "Shall I tell him, Beth?"

Thomas looked to his father, seeing him for the first time, in an entirely different light. He'd always known Benjamin could be formidable when his temper was roused. He hadn't ever known his father to be outright cruel, though. Finally, Benjamin began unleashing his temper on a stronger foe and Thomas breathed a sigh of relief as Burwell began to cop it. It wasn't that he wanted Burwell in the firing line, but he felt strongly that Beth needed some breathing space.

"Did you consider making off with her? Taking her back to Virginia, making her your mistress?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Harry said and Thomas suddenly decided he was quite happy for Burwell to be in the firing line. The discussion continued, with the boys - and Beth - remaining wisely silent. But when father said "if you loved her so bloody much, you should have married her." Thomas had to bite his tongue. Dear God, how hard he bit it. The pot calling the kettle black. Thomas had discovered this past week, that his father was a hypocrite. Samuel had been right on that score. But Thomas said nothing, for now was not the time. Besides, he was quite determined. He would not champion Beth.

"You were free to marry her! You both were!" Father shouted.

And you were free to marry aunt Charlotte, the thought sang through Thomas' mind. Thomas stood quietly at Nathan's side, ready to intervene if it came to a brawl, as his father continued to rail at Burwell. Thomas listened in silence, even when Benjamin shifted his attention back to Beth. He had to steel himself again, he would not be Beth's champion and besides, his father was right. Beth had disgraced them all. But…

"You let that filthy little rogue put his hands on you! You allowed yourself to become his… his… strumpet!"

Thomas turned back to his father, stunned. He'd just called Beth a strumpet. Beth reached behind herself, she sat heavily onto the boulder, and Thomas's heart seized. She couldn't even stand. She looked just as stunned for all of a heart beat before burying her face in her hands and sobbing as if her heart were breaking. Jesus. Yes, Thomas had used the word harlot when thinking of what Beth had done. Charlotte and Mage, too. But he'd never said it outright. And in truth, he never really meant it, either. But for Benjamin to call Beth a strumpet… His own daughter. Their father was going too far.

"Imagine if your mother were here. Imagine how disappointed she'd be."

Thomas remembered his mother quite well. Her gentle hands, her calm smile. Her warm embrace. The stroke of her fingers along his back whenever he needed comforting. The soft hand brushing unruly hair back from his brow, her musical laughter whenever he did something that amused her. He had tried hard to amuse her, just to hear it. Their family, large though it might be, had fallen apart without her. With her passing, they'd begun to shatter. She had been the rock that they'd all clung to, Benjamin included.

"If mother were here, none of this would be happening." Thomas meant it, too. Beth would have been far more gently reared, under their mother's guidance, imbued with their mother's moral compass. His father would never have strayed to Aunt Charlotte, if his mother had lived. Their mother would have kept Beth from Tavington, she would have steered her, and the rest of them, along the right path for them all. His father was nodding, as if in agreement. He didn't understand Thomas's meaning though, not at all.

"Elizabeth would have kept Beth on the straight and narrow."

The words seared into Thomas like a hot poker driving into his flesh. Elizabeth would have kept Beth on the straight and narrow? As if she hadn't had a father who could have done so? Their mother had died, yes, but with her passing, they hadn't bloody become orphans.

"Mother would have kept you on the straight and narrow too, father," he said, holding his father's startled gaze. Thomas drew himself up, let his hands fall to his sides, and faced his father. "You would never have been allowed to disgrace us, either." The silence stretched. Nathan whispered something at him but Thomas ignored it. Now was not the time for distractions. "Look, I'm as angry with Beth as the rest of you," he began, looking from Nathan to Gabriel and finally to their father. "But honestly, what did you expect from her, considering how you raised her?"

"How I raised her?" Benjamin spluttered, outraged no doubt, by the accusation behind Thomas' words.

"Who else can be blamed, father? When mother died, you disappeared," he threw his arms wide and shrugged.

"What are you talking about? I never left!"

"You were there with us but you weren't there for us," Thomas amended. "You know, it occurs to me now how well 'The Ghost' fits you. You were the Ghost well before the British started calling you that. You were like a spirit moving along the corridors. There, yes, but frankly, useless. We were left to our own devices, all of us were. Aunt Charlotte visited - and we all know now why she did!" He spat, accusing and his father opened, then snapped his mouth shut. "Beth got some small influence then, no where near as much as Margaret and Susan are getting from Anne. Gods, you should see her, looking like a young lady, walking like one, talking like one, all under Anne's guidance. Aunt Charlotte wasn't there often enough and when she was, she spent as much time in your chamber as she did out of it, didn't she, father?" Benjamin stared, Thomas could see the struggle within him. He wasn't enjoying this, not at all. But nor did he argue. He did not defend himself. How could he? When Thomas was speaking truthfully. "Beth saw her, father," Thomas pressed on, taking several steps forward, meeting his father eye to eye. "She saw our Aunt go into your chamber, wearing nothing but her night robe, she heard the two of you kissing and carrying on together. That was how she learned the two of you were having an affair. What sort of impact would that have, do you think?"

"Not a good one," Burwell said softly, as if remembering. "Beth was quite distraught that night." Thomas had almost forgotten that Burwell had been there, but he realised that she must've gone straight to Burwell to express her confusion and doubt. Was that the same night their own dallying had started up? Not the sort of question he could ask outright, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Beth had started dallying with Burwell on the very night she'd discovered Aunt Charlotte and their father's affair.

"And you expect her to act differently, do you?" Thomas pressed on. "When she sees you conducting an affair with the one woman she's ever had to model herself on. Well, except for Aunt Mage but we all know she was no better, either. And here you are, confronting Burwell about the things he did with Beth, and taking him to task for not marrying her. I agree, he should have done and you are well within your right to be wroth with him. Most certainly, he should have married my sister, after all he did with her. But you, you did so much more with Aunt Charlotte, enough that you worried you might have sired a child on her. And yet you never married her. Father, are you a hypocrite?"

Benjamin blanched.

"What the devil are you playing at, Thomas?" Gabriel strode forward, fists clenched like he was ready to throw punches. "Aunt Charlotte bedded Bordon! Right there outside the kitchen! And you want father to marry her?"

"Oh, aye, he won't marry her now, because of what she did with Bordon. But father was bedding Aunt Charlotte for years before that, Gabriel, so what was his excuse back then? What was your excuse, father, for not marrying her?"

"I wasn't ready to move on from your mother," Benjamin said, voice clipped.

"It seems to me like you were," Thomas barked a contemptuous laugh. "Every time you saw Aunt Charlotte."

"You go too far!" Benjamin shouted even as Nathan shouted "Thomas, that's enough!" Beth had stopped sobbing, she was sitting quietly now, pale faced but listening. A realisation hit Thomas like a smack about the head - damn and blast it, he was championing her.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

"I'm not going nearly far enough," Thomas said. "You say Beth has destroyed our family with her conduct? That's only because her conduct has become public, while yours hasn't. Hers has been no worse than yours - the only difference is, hers has become known! You blame her, that the Ferguson's might withdraw from our arrangement? What would the Ferguson's say about me marrying Lucy if they knew about you and aunt Charlotte?" He let the words sink in, he wanted his father to understand that his own conduct had been a far cry from what it should have been, for a man wanting the best marriage matches for his children. "If they knew about you and Aunt Charlotte, Beth could move to France and turn into a nun, and I'd still have no chance of marrying Lucy. Because of you. Just because you kept it all quiet and therefore our family hasn't been damaged by it, doesn't make what you have done alright."

"You're right, I should never have had an affair with your aunt," Benjamin said, Thomas thought he sounded reluctant.

"Or you should have married Aunt Charlotte the very next day after the first night you spent with her," Thomas said. "You denied us a mother for so damned long. In keeping Charlotte as your mistress, you denied us further! She could have become our mother. The two of you, a properly married couple, showing us with your conduct what ours should be. Instead, you kept her all to yourself. You enter into an affair and you tried to keep it secret for years. Is it any surprise that Beth would do as she has, with such examples as you and Aunt Charlotte guiding her? Again I ask you, why should she have done any different?"

"Because she's my damned daughter," Benjamin spat.

"Oh, do as I say, not as I do is it?" Thomas scoffed. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, father. Aunt Charlotte was someone's daughter too - I wonder what grandfather would say about you right now, if he were alive? You honoured one of his daughter with marriage while dishonouring the other with an affair. Well, father? What would my grandfather say of you, do you think?"

"Nothing good, I would imagine," Benjamin ground out.

"If you'd wanted Beth to be the perfect daughter, you should have been there for us!" It wasn't until that moment that Thomas realised just how much he'd resented it. The losing of his father at the same time as his mother. That complete and irrevocable walling off from his own children. He'd lost two parents the day his mother died. "You turned away from all of us. You left us to raise ourselves because you were incapable; choosing solitude in your grief and completely forgetting you were still a father to eight children! We were grieving too!" He cut short, his energy spent. Quietly, he said, "we needed you. And you weren't there. How we turned out as adults…" he shrugged. "That was for you to determine. And you have. And you can't complain about it now." Thomas looked at Gabriel and then Nathan, waiting for them to argue against him. To defend their father. Neither did. Gabriel was staring off into the woods, in an entirely different direction, as if he were unable to meet their father's eyes. Nathan was conducting an intent study of his shoes. Beth was as quiet as a mouse, staring at the hands she had twisted in her lap. Benjamin seemed also to note his sons' unwillingness to defend him. His eyes became bright, swimming, and Thomas had to look away, struck as he was with guilt. Maybe he'd gone too far. Perhaps he shouldn't have -

"Is that how you really feel?" Benjamin asked, voice ragged.

"Yeh, I guess it is," Thomas shrugged. "Though I didn't know it until just now. But here we are, and there it is."

"I'm sorry, son," Benjamin said, his voice thick. He swallowed hard. His eyes looked puffy. "I am sorry. I have not been the best of fathers."

"No. And as such, you can not expect Beth to be the best of daughters," Thomas said softly, pressing his point, though he was certain it'd been made. "And you can't expect your boys to be the best of sons," he said, Samuel's name springing to mind. Lord, when was the last time they'd seen him? When was the last time they'd thought of him? Guilt twisted in is stomach like a live thing. Thomas had told Beth earlier that she had perhaps ruined the chances of her siblings to make a decent marriage match. He'd listed his siblings - and he hadn't mentioned Samuel at all. "Samuel," he said now, as if to rectify that. "You took him, a boy of what, barely twelve years? To murder Redcoats, papa! And look what that did to him!" Visibly distressed, Benjamin squatted on his haunches, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His sons offered no words of reassurance, for in this, they all felt the same. The boys did not move to comfort him. But his daughter did. Thomas watched as Beth rose from her rock, she went to stand beside their father, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. Still clearly shaken herself, still reeling from the awful things their father had said to her, the strumpet still had enough compassion within her to offer their father what solace she could. Benjamin - his face buried in his hands - must have felt the light touch, but at first, he made no move to acknowledge it, not at first. He must have known it was Beth's hand and not they boys, for it was a very feminine thing to do. After a few moments, Benjamin rubbed his hands over his face - to dry tears, Thomas saw with chagrin, and eventually he placed his hand over Beth's, still resting on his shoulder. That was some progress, at least.

"Gabe, Nate, Beth, Sammie and me, none of us are perfect, papa," Thomas said softly. "But perhaps you'll do better with Margaret, William and Susan. They're still young enough for you to steer in the right direction, as long as you stay on course yourself. As for the rest of us, you can't blame us for how we've turned out. Besides, I'm sure Beth's as sorry as can be, for what she's done."

"I am," Beth whispered. "I'm so sorry and I'm going to do everything I can to make it right."

"Don't see how you can," Thomas said, "but I appreciate the sentiment." To his father, he said, "it might be nice for Beth to have that burden relieved a bit by her own da not calling her a strumpet."

Benjamin cast his eyes upward toward the sky and blinked several times, as if willing back tears. His gaze shifted to Beth, Thomas saw his father's fingers flex as he gave Beth's a gentle squeeze. "I am sorry, daughter. I should not have said that."

Beth gave a listless shrug. "You think low of me. I deserve it." She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and kept her eyes averted, not meeting their gazes. It must be hard, Thomas thought, suffering the condemnation of an entire family.

Brushing dirt from his buckskins, Benjamin stood and Beth's hand fell away. They made no further move toward one another, no embracing. That might come eventually, after many, many small steps. But for now, Benjamin strode past them and Thomas heard him mutter about needing a drink. The siblings exchanged uncertain glances, should they follow? Would the discussions continue now? Was the fight part over?

"Come on, let's find something to eat," Burwell said, giving them the direction Benjamin had failed to give. Yet again. Burwell held an arm out to Beth, who stepped past her brothers to accept it. She leaned into Burwell as if, without his support, her legs might not support her.

They found their father at a campfire away from the Continentals, he was sitting with several of his own militiamen Thomas recognised from his father's militia. Burwell and the siblings joined them, Beth sat rather awkwardly as though she wasn't certain if she should stay or go.

There was a bottle of whiskey being past about. Earlier, Thomas had started out his walk pleasantly tipsy and light of heart. Eyeing the bottle as it moved about the group, he hoped that soon, he could reclaim that feeling. When it was his turn, he took a generous swig and prayed that when this one was empty, some kind soul would produce another.