Note: I've uploaded 115 chapters to "A Massive Rewrite of Caught Between Three Colonels" so far, and have another 30 or so to upload. When I've done that, I'll continue this story there, and will likely mark this version as complete.
I don't think this chapter strays too far from the original story, it should all make sense. I hope ;-) These are the differences:
- Back when Beth sees Linda with William and she realises (or thinks) they're having an affair. In the original, it's Banastre who reveals to William that he had sex with Beth back before she married William. And she cowered away, all upset that he was revealing it. I realised that was pretty cowardly of her, and hypocritical too. Here she is accusing William of lying to her and having an affair, yet she cringes away when Banastre tells William the truth? So that's been changed in the re-write. The chapters are up now, so some of you have already read it. But for those of you who haven't, when William is trying to convince Beth that he wasn't sleeping with Linda, and when Beth is raging at him, she finally comes clean and tells him that she lost her virginity to Banastre. William still hits her with his belt, but she fights more in the new version too, slapping him and even biting viciously into his arm, doing all she can to dislodge him.
- In the new version, Beth never knew about William natural children (his illegitimate children). Banastre tells her, when he comes to Fresh Water and tells her that Linda is on her way with the Legion.
- Beth and William were married by Bordon, as in the original (though the wedding isn't the great lark this time around - it's a bit more formal and respectful. Oh, and Bordon could 'sort of' marry them, because in this version, I have him as a religious boy school drop out LOL. He abandoned the clergy before taking his Orders, and joined the military instead. Because of this, Reverend Fuller confronts Tavington and tells him his marriage is not binding unless a proper Clergyman says so, so the wedding is repeated (off screen though, I refer to it without writing it in full).
- In a previous chapter of the new version, Cilla confronted Tavington about his protection of Richard, after the rape. Tavington couldn't handle the conversation and had to leave the room.
Just subtle changes, but I know if I don't point them out now, it might be confusing to those people who haven't read the new version :-)
Thank you for the reviews!
Chapter 146 - Overwhelming Proof:
How do you sit next to the man you love, the man you wronged, the man you know could never possibly forgive you, and pretend everything is perfectly fine? How do you sit there, when every time he turns his false smile upon you, your soul shatters that little bit more?
Beth knew that the Generals wouldn't suspect there was anything more behind William's smile than the love and adoration he was pretending to project. Or was that anything less? For there certainly was nothing more behind the smile. It was an empty thing, as soulless as Beth was beginning to feel. She could see it, even if they could not. She knew him, where they did not. His arm across the back of her chair, not quite touching her but giving the impression that he had his arm around her shoulders. His body angled toward her. And that smile. It made her want to weep, to howl, to sob - seeing that empty thing that did not reach his eyes. She knew what it felt like to be smiled at by him - and this, this thing he was doing now - it was a sick parody. How could the Generals not see that? How could they look at them, and think they were happy?
They did, though, these Generals. Laughing and talking and toasting the couple on the sixth month of their marriage, one was now poking fun, jabbing his comrade while jutting his chin at Tavington and asking when they can expect the pitter patter of little feet running about? They giggled like girls, those two Generals. Beth pulled her cape tighter over her stomach, to hide the bulge there.
She wasn't wearing the cape now, that would be far too odd, to sit there with that around her shoulders - men didn't wear their great cloaks to dinner now, did they? No. She'd removed her cape, carefully while no one was looking, and then draped it across her stomach. An oddity still, but a lesser one, at least this way she could pretend she was feeling cold, and she got away with it. None of them saw her pregnancy.
Of course, if they had, they would assume the father was William, so in truth, she didn't really have to hide it. But she feared that that would be the straw that broke the camels back; his loving facade would snap like a twig, if he had to endure congratulations for a child he did not believe was his.
Better to hide it completely, than risk that.
She'd eaten her fill, her stomach was relieved, she set her fork down and sat back with a sigh. However, now that she no longer had her gnawing hunger to keep her mind off her troubles, her mind filled with the question.
How do you sit next to the man you love, the man you wronged, the man you know could never possibly forgive you, and pretend everything is perfectly fine? She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Stinging," she explained to the General seated beside her, giving him a smile as false as William's and praying that her voice didn't catch. "My eyes are. Must be the candles."
Talk continued around her, it included her, demanding she respond, to contribute. She did so, forcing a laugh when it was needed, feigning intensive interest as the situation required. And when William spoke - Gods, when he spoke… that low, deep, drawl, the voice she hadn't heard in months and missed so dreadfully, when he spoke… it was like her soul was singing, while being stabbed by William's sabre. His voice had her in a state of both joy and misery.
She wiped her eyes again.
Beth had answered all their questions. Yes, her sister was well now, much better, thank you. Yes, it had been quite harrowing, becoming separated from Tarleton's Legion, when Tarleton was meant to be escorting her to her husband after taking her previous escort - her father - prisoner. Thank you General O'Hara, for that quick thinking. She'd been told of this before the other Generals came to dine, she'd been instructed in what to say and she felt she'd done a good job of it so far, herself. But she could feel William's eyes on her, narrowed as much he would dare, the slight crinkling around the edges, the disapproval that only she could discern. She was doing the best she could, what more did he want? Or perhaps it was the mention of Tarleton's name that had him tensing up beside her.
Yes, she had said, she was awfully scared, but wouldn't you know it, with her father being who he is, she has friends among the rebels! None of them would wish for Colonel Benjamin Martin's daughter to be harmed, even if she was now married to William who - yes, of course!, she was absolutely delighted to be reunited with. Another stupid, false smile and a soft laugh. Gazing up at William hurt her soul but she did it, before shifting back to the Generals and continuing her tale. When she was confronted by rebels, all she had to do was tell them she was formerly Miss Martin and just like that, she was safe again. Not where she wanted to be, of course - that was with her husband. But she was safe. And where was she taken? To her brothers, she said. And was eventually rejoined by her father, who, she knew, the British Generals must be quite wroth with, for his escape from Winnsboro, but she had been well pleased to see him, just the same. Understandable, understandable, the Generals said gravely, while sharing dark and disappointed glances that their quarry had escaped. And on so they went, the conversation shifting to other topics when hers was entirely exhausted. Cornwallis and O'Hara were watching and listening, she was aware of them constantly, weighing and judging, finally relaxing as the Generals appeared appeased by hers and William's performance. There was no further mention of Tarleton, no suspicious stares, no one hinting shrewdly of the truths William and Beth were trying to conceal. All in all, it was proving to be a success.
Beth couldn't wait to leave.
"We're leaving," William said, voice blunt. "Are you ready?"
Dinner was over, Beth had been allowed a chamber to lie down for a bit, after pleading exhaustion. Cornwallis, knowing the rigours she'd been put to (without knowing of the pregnancy) had her shown to a chamber where she could lie down, while the Generals and William began a council of war. There was no need for her to remain for two hours of tedious talk regarding the war.
That meeting was over now, and William had come for her.
She pushed herself up on the chaise and sat for a bit, trying to get her bearings and rid herself of the grogginess. Then she reached for her cape and began to pull around her shoulders again.
"Yes, hide the baby," William said snidely. "Did you and your father truly believe you would be able to pass it off as mine?"
Beth said nothing, she'd known he would confront her eventually and it seemed now was to be the time. He'd likely been pushed and provoked too much during the meal, where he'd been forced to feign a perfect marriage, that he couldn't keep his frustrations in any longer. "I'm not trying anything of the sort," she said finally, tiredly. "It's yours. You not believing it or not will not change that."
He curled his lip; she could see he was still spoiling for a fight. "You thought I was going to take your father up on his offer, didn't you? Earlier this afternoon? You didn't know I was bringing you here, you thought I was going to take you to the Ferguson's."
She didn't like his tone; both provoking and contemptuous. It spread fire across her stomach. She met his eyes. "No," she lied, for she had indeed assumed he was taking her to the Ferguson's. "I was only hoping it."
His face shifted from contemptuous to astonished.
"You were hoping it," he said flatly.
"When I left him, do you honestly think I was coming here, to you? I wasn't. I was going to Gullah, to be with my Aunt Charlotte and my sisters in truth, and I'd likely be there by now if I hadn't been waylaid by Burwell's men."
"Is that right," he drawled down at her, his top lip curving into a sneer.
"Yes, William, it is," she said, for it was the plain truth. "That changed only at my father's insistence, otherwise I'd be in Gullah, right now, as we speak. You think claiming the child is yours is my father's and my attempt to have you take me back? I didn't want to come back here, to you. For what? More of your belt? Your awful comments every month when I couldn't conceive? Luckily I won't have to suffer any more of that," she laid a hand over her stomach. "No, now I'll just have to suffer your constant denials, your insistence that it's not yours. Do you think I wanted to come back for all of that? For more of your lies? My soul is laid bare now, I revealed to you the truth I was hiding. But you? I had to learn through Banastre that you were still fucking that whore, that you were bringing her to Fresh Water, that you intended to continue an affair with her after we were married. You didn't tell me any of that, did you? Oh and yes, there's your bastards, I learned about them through him too. And now you have a third one on the way. Four, if Vera Tisdale's child is yours. Do you honestly believe I wanted to come back to all of that? So much so, that I would collude with my father in some stupid attempt at making you believe this child is yours? To ensure you won't send me away. Dear Lord, you're deluded. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here!"
Oh yes, that's just wonderful. Let your mouth run away again, that'll save your marriage. She was powerless to stop herself, however. In some perverse way, Beth enjoyed seeing the contemptuous smirk wiped from William's face, enjoyed seeing it replaced with the realisation that she didn't choose to return.
"Then why the devil are you here?" William hissed, taking two steps forward to tower over her, blue eyes blazing.
"Because I've made a damned dogs breakfast of my life and yours and my father's and my father told me if I did not at least try to fix this, he was done with me. Forever and always. He would never see me again. And so I am here." She cut short, some of the steam evaporating as she realised that in this, her latest tirade, she was hardly trying to fix things. She sat down on the chaise, confused and exhausted and struck with grief, for she did love William and Gods, why couldn't it just be like it was before? "I'm sorry. I am supposed to be trying to fix things and I am failing at that," she said quietly. "Whether you send me away or keep me, I want you to know that I'm sorry. For leaving with him. For not listening to you. For… for not telling you the truth before we married. I should have," she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He was silent as the grave, tense as a drawn bow string. But he was listening. How he was taking what she was saying, she did not know; he was giving nothing away. But he was listening, and he might not listen again, so she continued, doing what she could now. "I am sorry, for not telling you when we found each other in Pembroke that day. I am sorry I married you without revealing it - please believe me, I wanted to. I am sorry for not revealing it later, when Reverend Fuller performed the ceremony a second time, making our marriage properly binding." She swallowed hard, her voice cracking. "I am sorry, for not waiting for you. I wanted it to be with you, I wanted you to be my first and only."
Silence reigned, until William turned on his heel and strode toward the door. Beth sighed, closing her eyes.
"I would prefer we try to find away to be together - " she began, but was interrupted quite harshly when he whirled back to her.
"Because you fear your father will spurn you!" He snapped.
"No," she said, shaking her head, opening her eyes. "He won't, not now. I've done what he asked, therefore, even if you send me away, I will always find sanctuary in his household." She noticed his look became grim, eyes narrowed, wrinkled at the edges. Outward signs of disapproval, frustration, anger. But she had no idea what he was thinking. "I would like to try, because I still love you."
There, she'd said it. But Gods, would he take this as begging? 'If you begged on bended knees, I will not take you back', he'd said. 'I'll never beg,' she'd replied. Would he construe what she'd just said now as begging?
Was she so filled with pride, that she would baulk and take back her words, lest they be perceived as begging? Shouldn't she be doing all she could to salvage their marriage?
Shouldn't he be trying, also?
Heaven above, her marriage was a battlefield. But how was she going to procure peace between them, when she was her very own war?
"We have choices," she said. "Thanks to my father. I think he actually likes you now. We can do as he wishes, and try to find some peace between us, try to find a way to be together. Perhaps even properly, not just outwardly for the sake of fooling others. Or you can send me away, but that will mean the end of us. Perhaps that is what you would prefer, for us to end - Gabriel told me you had no intentions of having me with you. If that is how you feel, then send me to the Ferguson's, and free us both. And when the child is born, you need never deal with either of us, ever again," she said slowly, measuring each word. He stared at her, breathing heavily, face blotched with fury. "I know I did… The worst thing… possible," Beth forced herself to speak with strength, not heartbreak and distress. "You tried to tell me the truth. You were faithful. I would not believe you. I left, with him, and I did the worst thing possible. I had an affair, I ruined myself, I ruined us all. That, I never should have done, and I will regret it to my dying day. But I am telling you the absolute truth, William. This child is yours."
He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, before turning back to the door. This time, as he stormed out, she did not try to stop him.
"…And you are now under suspicion, Mrs. Bordon," William's crisp voice was saying as Beth entered the tent. She went immediately to stand in front of Cilla, hands outstretched and reaching for her cousin's.
"I'm so sorry, Cil, it's all my fault. As if you don't have enough to think about just now… I didn't meant to - it's just… My father, before we parted, he told me I was to be honest about everything. Brutally so. So I was. When Cornwallis asked about Farshaw, I told him that he and two others were spying and that when your father arrived, he took charge of them. I never dreamed that Cornwallis would immediately think of you, but he did, because you spied in the city and reported back to your father, so he assumes you would have done it again, when your father took command of Calvin and those others, he assumes that you must be one of the others. I'm sorry, Cilla. I've betrayed you."
"You haven't betrayed me, cousin," Cilla said with a sigh. She exchanged a look with Bordon, who was as still as a statue, his face as white as snow.
"And why is that?" William snapped out the question. "Because you weren't spying, therefore there is nothing to betray? Or have you proven yourself traitorous, yet again?" He asked Cilla directly and she gazed back, back ramrod straight.
"You have to understand, William, things between us weren't as they are now, not back then." Shockingly, it was Richard who answered. "It's much better between us now. But at the beginning, it was bad. You know that. Cilla had no reason to love or be loyal to me. Not as she is now."
"You knew!" William snapped. "And you're telling me that Cornwallis is right - she betrayed us! Again!"
"My wife and I have no secrets between us," Richard replied. "And yes, she did betray us again."
"Gods, Richard! She committed treason, she is guilty!" William spat.
"As is Beth," Richard said and William drew a sharp breath. "I kept your secrets. I helped you to protect the woman you love. I would hope you would extend to me the same courtesy now."
William's jaw was working, Beth could hear his teeth grinding.
"In protecting Beth, you and I both committed treason, William," Richard said, pointing out that they were also guilty of betraying the Crown. Not just that though, he was reminding William of his own sacrifice, in having done so. He could see by the tightness around William's eyes, that the point was made.
"I stopped months ago," Cilla said, as if she hoped that might make a difference. "I have not spied on any of you, since the day Richard bought me back to Fresh Water after I tried to leave him."
Beth shifted, she knew of this already, for her brothers had told her. But she was sure there was plenty more to be told.
"All that time before, from the moment you became Mrs. Bordon, you were spying on us," William ground out, barely able to contain his fury.
"Not from the start," she said. "A month or so after, I think, and it helped to keep me sane," she said. "Or have you forgotten why Richard and I married?"
William's face shifted from outrage to something resembling very real pain. He took a step back and lowered his eyes.
"Did I owe you something back then?" Cilla continued, cocking her head.
"No, you did not," William said softly.
"And I still don't," Cilla said bluntly. "Frankly, William, the scales of who owes what to whom are still very much in my favour." She held his gaze and he breathed out a long, slow breath. "Back then, Richard knew I was a rebel, and so did you. I wasn't loyal to any of you, and you all knew it. I was forced into a situation I had no desire to be in, and being a Patriot, when the opportunity presented itself, you'd best believe I seized it with both hands, you'd be a fool to think otherwise. And I honestly don't think you should be taking me to task for it, considering…"
William's face was well warmed now, the red stretching upward from his neck to his forehead. Beth frowned, feeling very much like she'd missed something.
"Considering what?" Beth asked, looking back and forth between them and she saw William's face grow very still. She was still holding Cilla's hands. "Cil, they know you spied in the city but from the moment you married Richard, it would have been taken for granted that you would not do it ever again." Cilla arched an amused eyebrow. "I just mean that that's what they would have expected, anyway." Beth continued. "What I'm saying is, I can't understand why you would think William shouldn't take you to task over it."
The silence stretched as Cilla stared at Tavington. Beth had the feeling Cilla was making it stretch, on purpose. There was something happening here that Beth didn't understand, some silent communication between all three of them, that Beth couldn't hear and her suspicion that she was missing some vital information grew. She was about to ask when finally, Cilla turned to Beth. "I just mean that he knew I was a rebel," she shrugged as if to say 'what else could he expect from me?' - "I'd committed treason back in the city, he knew I was a rebel, so why would he think I would stop being one, just because I married Richard?"
"Be that as it may, he'd still be within his right to take you to task over it -" Beth began only for Cilla to speak right over her.
"William was there the day I was made to marry Richard. He knew I didn't want it. The only reason I fully surrendered, was because I realised I'd be at Fresh Water," Cilla squeezed Beth's hands and she smiled, "with you. But then you were gone and everyone was gone, and I had nothing. Then Farshaw came by one day and he told me my father was alive and Gods, what joy," Cilla's eyes brimmed and she struggled to maintain her composure, Beth knew she was thinking of her mother, who she would never see again. "I started straight away, I read Richard's journal, I listened at doors. One time, I went to speak with William, and he left me there in his office. I gained a lot of information that day. And I got word to Farshaw, every chance I could."
"Jesus. Goddamned. Christ," William spat.
"Let her finish, William," Richard said.
"Then, it all got too much," Cilla said softly, her eyes swimming tears. "Not the spying, but Richard. And Harmony. And their expectations of me. Harmony understands now, and she's sorry. But back then, it was horrid, Beth. I couldn't take anymore, I had to leave. So I did. And in the doing, my father killed twenty men, and Dalton died," tears began to slide. "I just… well, I realised I loved Richard and I also realised I… I couldn't do it anymore. Men had already died because of me. My father killed them…" Cilla trailed off.
"You love Richard?" Beth asked and Cilla gazed at her husband with adoration, then nodded. "So you stopped spying? Because you love him and because of what your father did?"
"Yes," Cilla said. "And because I didn't want more death, and I realised that if I continued to send word to my father, more men might die. I told Richard, too. All of it. As he said, we have no secrets between us now. He was livid, of course," she laughed softly, it sounded wet, like a sob. "But he loves me, too." Beth reached up and slid a finger along Cilla's cheek, her cousin leaned into the touch.
"So you both decided to keep it all to yourselves and not tell me," William accused. "What about the two men you reported too?" He shifted his gaze to Richard. "What did you do to them?"
"I… This is the first I've heard about there being two others," Richard shifted his gave to Cilla, who began to gnaw on her bottom lip. Richard approached her, he took her arm, which made her release Beth's hands. He pulled her gently to him, gazed down at her. Beth thought they looked like a giant towering over a child. Cilla didn't look afraid, though. There was no terror, only grief. She began to shake her head. "You have to," Richard said. "Cil, I thought there were no secrets between us. I can't have spies among the men. William will not tolerate it either."
"I can't. Richard, please," Cilla began to sob. She was already at the ragged edge with learning her mother was gone, she could not bring herself to condemn the two spies she'd been colluding with. "I stopped because I didn't want more death. If I tell you, there'll be more death. I can't… Please..."
Cilla couldn't do it. And Beth understood why. It wasn't only because she knew that her words would condemn two men to execution. But it was also because she had colluded with them, she was as guilty as they. Yet she wasn't going to hang, any more than Beth would, for her spying. The men would, for Richard's and William's protection did not extend beyond Cilla and Beth. Beth stood there watching Cilla weep. The men were watching her weep. And they were waiting for her to stop, to answer them, for they were unmoved by her tears. Beth could feel the tension growing from William, whom Beth knew would not let it rest here. Cilla would be questioned, badgered, coerced, shouted at, threatened, until she finally gave up those names and the doing of it might break her.
Trellim, Banksia, Simon Howard. Their faces all rose up in her mind, expressions accusing. Drawing a deep breath, Beth followed her father's instructions again. "Jack Statton," she said. "And Eric Clayton."
Cilla gasped, lifting her head. Richard and William both turned to stare at her. It was too Cilla that Beth spoke. "I'm sorry. I knew you couldn't do it. But it had to be done."
"Didn't Cornwallis ask you this already? Didn't you tell him you didn't know?" William accused hotly. "I thought you said your father instructed you to be completely, utterly, entirely honest, in all things pertaining to the rebels?"
"In all things pertaining to anything, yes," Beth corrected. "With you. I am to be honest in all ways, with you. Not with Cornwallis. Being honest with him was a choice, only."
"And would you have told me about them? These two spies? How do you know about them?"
"Thomas told me and," she cocked her head, thinking about it. "And yes, I would have. When I remembered."
"When you remembered," William ground out.
"I've only been here half a day, and we've not spent much time of that alone," she pointed out, trying to be reasonable about it.
"God damn it, Beth! Cornwallis asked you! You lied blank faced to Cornwallis!"
"And he believed her," Richard said. "Which is why Cilla is going to do precisely the same." He turned back to his wife. Her face was wet with tears, he thumbed her cheeks dry. "You will not tell him any of this. You will tell him you never met Farshaw. No one ever made contact with you. You were cut off from the rest of the camp, like a prisoner. You will tell him you did not know your father was alive, until you learned he'd killed Dalton and his detachment. That is what you are going to tell him." Cilla stared up at him, her dark eyes wide and her lips parted. Richard wound his hand to the back of her neck, bent down, and kissed her hard. It went on for some time, long enough for Beth to feel a little uncomfortable, for she was standing with three feet of distance between her and her husband, who used to kiss her the same way, but never would again. She lowered her eyes and turned away. Richard finally lifted from the kiss. Holding Cilla, he turned to face William.
"I kept your secrets. I protected you, and Beth. Will you do the same for me?"
"Damn and blast both of you," William spat. "How long ago was it that Cilla confessed her spying? Yet she said nothing of those two others, and they've been left to continue their work. Yes, you kept my secrets, you protected me. But she let them stay," he pointed at Cilla, his finger trembling with the force of his rage. "I will do the same for you, Richard, but they will hang. The spies. And Cilla, I want your word - your Goddamned vow - that you will never spy again. You say you owe me nothing and I could not agree more, considering. But despite previous unpleasantness between you and I, this is my Legion, and I will not suffer any more of this disease. Swear it on Richard, on your life, and the life inside you, that I can trust you at least in this. That you will do this no more."
"That's a strong oath," Cilla replied, her head resting against Richard's chest, her arms around his waist, as she peered up at William. "I give it freely."
"Goddamn it," William snapped and stormed from the tent, leaving Beth there with Cilla and Richard.
"Are you alright?" Beth asked, reaching up to brush Cilla's hair back from her face. "I'll come with you, if you like."
"You just came back from there, you'll be tired."
"I'd rather that, than to stay here and… Gods, I don't even know what's going to happen here. With him," Beth's eyes lingered upon the exit William had just taken. "I'll come with you."
"Thank you," Cilla smiled, reaching out for Beth's hand.
"Yes, thank you, Beth," Richard said. He was a little guarded, Beth noticed. A little cool toward her. Well, she had called him a hound nipping at William's heels, or some such thing. What was it again? William's faithful hound. One of the last things she'd said to Richard, before she fled from Fresh Water to become Banastre's mistress. Perhaps he had every right to be a little aloof with her. Then again, he had helped to keep Linda's presence a secret from her… "For giving those names when Cilla couldn't."
"What's two more faces haunting my dreams?" Beth asked, feeling sick to her stomach. Cilla squeezed her hand.
"Do as Richard said. Deny it utterly. Without evidence, Cornwallis isn't going to do anything," Beth advised. "You're the wife of a British Officer. It would reflect poorly, if he had to hang you for treason. He would do it, I think, if it could be proved. But as it can't…"
"He won't," Cilla drew a deep breath.
"And tell Cornwallis of the vow you just made to William. Richard and I can be your witnesses. You have honour - Cornwallis knows that, and I don't think he'll risk the ramifications of questioning your honour by doubting you," Beth advised.
"Alright," Cilla nodded. "Shall we get this over with?"
"I agree, best to get this done quickly," Richard said, taking up a cape and wrapping it around Cilla's shoulders.
"I'm glad you're coming with me," Cilla said, still holding Beth's hand.
"There's no where else I'd be," Beth said.
The Tavington marriage had once been a happy one, both in the privacy of the bed chamber, and outwardly for the world to see. There had been a time when there had been no doubt that Tavington loved his wife, and his wife had loved him. They'd had their share of difficulties and their arguments had, at times, been loud and unrestrained. Yet their great affection and love for one another had been overt and undisguised. They'd lived in close quarters with Dragoon Officers, soldiers and servants, the circumstances almost communal, rarely had there been true privacy.
Which was why William was forced to have Beth quartered with him in the Dragoon section of camp.
Doing otherwise would be a cause for gossip, whispers that tried to suggest that his was not a happy marriage. Very few people knew the truth, even among his Dragoons. And he was determined to keep it that way. His pride and his ambition would not allow ill news of him and Beth to take root, and there was only one obvious way to deter it. By returning to their almost communal living among the Dragoons, soldiers, camp followers and servants, and by pretending as though Beth had just returned from the place he had been saying she'd been all these months: visiting her sick sister, and later under Banastre Tarleton's protection, when he captured her father - her escort.
To promote this thinking, this idea that all was well, William needed to have Beth quartered with him, as he'd quartered with her before, at Fresh Water. Anything else would raise eyebrows. Ordinarily, it was common-place for a husband, within his own residence, to have his own chamber while his wife kept hers. But it was a practice William and Beth had never participated in before, preferring to be constantly together, sharing their chamber, their bed.
Therefore, how could he possibly have them sleeping in separate tents, now?
For so many reasons, Tavington was forced to return to their old arrangement, living intimately together as they had at Fresh Water. However, he had arranged to do so with one marked difference.
Beth was to have her own tent, set up in such a way that it was an extension of his, with a partition between them, that the happily married couple could step through whenever they wished to be in one another's company, while at the same time, giving his pregnant wife her much needed space.
That was what he was encouraging others to think, while hiding the truth of it from them all. He hoped no-one found it too strange, he hoped that his reasoning was accepted at face value, for he desperately needed the partition between them, no matter how thin.
The truth: He could not stand the idea of having his wife, so freshly returned from her adulteress affair, returning to Tavington's own quarters, to his tent, to his bed, as though nothing had happened. He needed his own space, he needed time, he needed privacy. He needed this separation, even if it was just a thin stretch of canvas, or he was certain he would go mad.
As it was, he wondered if he was already crazed. He could hear them, Beth's voice and these new women of hers, quiet murmurings of conversation and even laughter. Sitting at his small desk, his fingers curled around the quill he held until it was bent double, until it snapped in his hand. Overreacting, William, he chided himself. That's not Beth's laughter. The Lord knew, if it had been, if she dared to show merriment and amusement, he wouldn't be able to help himself. He'd be in her tent like a shot, shouting her down, decrying her, for how dare she know joy, after all she'd done? It was not her, however, and he knew it. It was that new one - the beautiful one, Electa Alden. Their voices were too low for him to know what she found so amusing, but he knew it was she, and not Beth, who did so. He picked up another quill and continued writing.
Beth had returned with Cilla and Bordon after Cilla's meeting with Cornwallis. While they were gone, Tavington had found the two spies and after a brief questioning, had hanged them both. Now, a few tents away, Richard was with Cilla - another traitor, one who would get away with her crime. Then again, perhaps she deserved to, he thought, as he recalled the dreadful sight of entering the dungeon only to find Richard behind her, violating her. She was right, what had either of them expected of her, considering..? How could William take her to task, after all she'd been through?
Perhaps if she hadn't done it again, after Richard's violation of her, he wouldn't feel the need to. Then again, Richard hadn't been punished, had he? Cilla had confronted William on that score once, several months ago now. It was a conversation he never, ever wanted to repeat. No. She'd given him that vow, that had to be enough for him. Richard had protected Beth, and William would now protect Cilla. He believed they both understood that if she did regress, that protection would evaporate immediately, he would shelter her no longer. Yes, he thought. She must know, she must understand that. Still, it might bear speaking to her about later. If she did break her vow, he would escort her too Cornwallis himself. And if that happened, there would be no bounds to Cornwallis' anger. For he had believed the lies Richard had trained her to say today, and the embarrassment of being duped would lend to Cornwallis unfathomable fury. William decided then, that he would speak to Cilla of this again, to warn her of what would happen, if she did feel tempted to do it again.
A private stood just outside the Colonel's tent, a constant presence ready to leap to attend or defend the Colonel on the spur of the moment. That private knocked on the wooden post outside, to announce the arrival of a visitor.
"Come," William called curtly and for a moment, the murmurings next door fell immediately silent. All talk ceased, as if William had called to them. He hadn't. A moment later, Mrs. Andrews entered and beyond the curtain, that murmuring started again. It sounded nervous, stilted.
"You wished to see me, Sir?" Mrs. Andrews asked, wary eyes flicking toward the partition. She kept her voice low a well, not allowing it to carry far enough for Beth to hear the conversation.
"Has she apologised to you?" William asked in the same low volume and Mrs. Andrews nodded. He gestured to the seat opposite him across the small table and she took it, her thin gaze nervous.
"She did, Sir. To Miss Cordell also," Mrs. Andrews continued to keep her voice pitched low, her words could not be heard a foot from the table.
"And you have forgiven her? I would understand completely, if you did not."
"Sir, I don't want any further unpleasantness. It is a relief, if I'm honest, for it to all be over. I am not the sort of person to hold a grudge, or if I do, it has to be over something far more serious than a confused young woman having a tantrum. She showed to me genuine remorse, and I am not the sort of person to allow another to bear pain. Especially when I did keep the secret from her. I for one wish to put it all behind us. Miss Cordell is in agreement, we will not be holding any ill feeling toward Mrs. Tavington."
Tavington lifted his lip in a quick sneer.
"She told you the same, did she? Her reasoning, that she must have already been pregnant? That she thinks it caused her… tantrum?" He asked carefully, cautiously.
The child was his, Beth said. And Benjamin wrote the same. Both trying to place him as the father, not Banastre. William's hands rested on the letter Beth had carried from her father, the parchment was crumpled for he'd screwed it up into a ball and only a last moment decision had saved it from being tossed on the fire. He'd instead smoothed out the creases and read it through again. And again. Beth was already pregnant, Benjamin wrote. They know this, because Mrs. Garland said so, and because of her crazed, deranged reaction to a situation that could have been easily explained, had she been in the state of mind to listen.
William did not believe it. Benjamin knew William well enough to know that William would never agree to raising Banastre's bastard. And so they had seized on this cock and bull story in an attempt to hoist the bastard onto Tavington.
Mrs. Garland maintained that Beth's pregnancy was longer in duration than her time spent with Banastre. But he found it far more likely that Mrs. Garland, Beth's midwife bought from Banastre's camp, had been bribed to be the mouthpiece for the Martin's, paid to say whatever they wanted her to say.
He trusted Mrs. Andrews, however. After Beth's… tantrum… he doubted she would lie for Beth, even if she was not the sort to hold a grudge.
"Yes, she did," Mrs. Andrews said.
"You would know more than I. Enough to not be fooled by such. Is it possible? Can a woman become so unhinged over a trifle during her pregnancy?"
Mrs. Andrews laughed. It held no humour in it whatsoever. "Pregnancy can wreak havoc on a woman's body, emotions, and her mind. I've seen some dreadful things happen to a woman during and after her pregnancy. As for a trifle - Colonel, let me be frank. Seeing you with Mrs. Cox was not a trifle," Mrs. Andrews said, forthright as always. "Any woman would have been hard pressed to take that in her stride, pregnant or not."
"I was not -"
"I know, I know," Mrs. Andrews held up a placating hand. "I know, Sir. But that was the impression Mrs. Cox intended and Mrs. Tavington believed it. A woman in love would most certainly react with passion. A pregnant woman in love…?" Mrs. Andrews trailed off, she appeared lost in thought.
"Yes?" Tavington asked. He had never been the most patient person in the world. Pregnancy can wreak havoc on a woman's body, emotions and her mind, she'd said. What did that mean? "You said you've seen some dreadful things? What did you mean?"
"A woman's humours are confused, when she gets with child. The balance shifts. For some women, the alterations are fairly mild. Their taste is heightened, food is more enjoyable. One might be overcome with tears by a happy story that would not move them to tears usually. She might be a little tired, and she might feel nausea or even vomit. Changes, but not too violent. Mrs. Bordon has been going through those sort these last two months, but she's mostly on an even keel. For some women, however, pregnancy can cause a raft of emotions from sadness so dreadful she might consider taking her own life."
"I beg your pardon?" William asked, eyebrows lifting incredulously.
"Those feelings can intensify after her pregnancy and last for a good few years. You've never heard of a new mother taking her own life? And or that of the child's?"
"Yes, but…" he trailed off, frowning.
"It's the humours. No one truly knows how or why, or even who might become effected. If Mrs. Martin was still alive, perhaps she would say she experienced the same, and we might not find it so strange, that Mrs. Tavington is thus effected."
"You're telling me that my wife is going to try to kill herself, and her child?" Or mine. Gods, would Beth kill my child?
"No, I am not saying that at all," Mrs. Andrews said quickly. "Mrs. Garland and I have spoken of it at length, and we both intend to keep a very close eye on her. Mrs. Garland has seen the same as I, and knows the effects wild swinging emotions can have on a pregnant woman or young mother. But Mrs. Tavington hasn't displayed the… let us call it melancholy… that we've seen in other women, whose humours are more drastically out of kilter."
"My wife isn't sad?" William spat, furious. "She goes off and screws Banastre for months, and she returns un-remorseful, she's not even sad?"
"Lord," Mrs. Andrews closed her eyes and lifted her chin as if praying to the heavens. "You have no idea what I am speaking about, and how can you? You're a man," she shook her head, opened her eyes. "Your wife is remorseful and that wasn't the sort of melancholy I was speaking of, anyway. But never mind. I am trying to tell you that I do not believe she is a risk to herself or the child. However, she has already shown she is capable of uncontrolled emotions when pushed to the highest degree, far more than what warranted the situation, therefore we shall be keeping an eye on her during and after her pregnancy, for she has shown tendencies that have us both concerned. As for your question - yes. I do believe that Mrs. Tavington was already with child when she left Fresh Water, and that her pregnancy heightened her humours, causing her to the highest degree of fury and unrestraint and inability to reason, after seeing you with Mrs. Cox."
William glared at her, this was not what he wanted to hear. He'd wanted vindication from this woman he trusted - he hadn't wanted her to vindicate Beth instead.
"You discussed this with Mrs. Garland?" He asked, voice harsh. She nodded. "I told you, I do not believe her. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that she has been paid off by the Martin's -"
"So you said," Mrs. Andrews agreed.
"I want your assessment of the situation, Mrs. Andrews. Not a repetition of hers."
"I am not parroting Mrs. Garland, I have examined Mrs. Tavington myself," came the reply. "I had her strip naked, I asked her a host of questions, all the while I measured and felt her stomach. It is my belief that she is almost six months along. Unless she is carrying twins. Nothing else can account for her size. I believe she conceived at the end of August."
"She had her menses in September!" William blurted. Only a couple weeks before Beth left him, she'd had her menses.
"I remember. She came to me, confided her fears, and your disgruntlement. She was desperate and in tears," Mrs. Andrews said, "for she was afraid she was barren." William tightened his lips at this reminder of his own poor conduct. "I believe her tears and her fear - while both were warranted - were exaggerated due to already being pregnant. As for having her menses - I recall her saying at the time that her bleeding had been very light. I remember because she remarked upon it, stating that it surprised her. We both put it down to the stress she was under, however…" Mrs. Andrews shrugged. "It is not unusual for there to be some light bleeding even when a woman is with child."
"You've all got answers for everything," he scowled.
"The difference is, Colonel Tavington, I am not here to deceive you," Mrs. Andrews replied. "You know that you can trust me. I would not - in a million years - allow you to believe that this child was yours, unless I truly believed it myself. I could still be wrong - even with all my experience, and with my examination of Mrs. Tavington and recalling things she said at the time, even then, I must draw to my own conclusions and at the end things, my conclusions are still only a guess. An educated one, one made after putting together all of the facts as I know them, but still just a guess."
"What is the chance that this child is Tarleton's?" William rasped out, hands balled to fists.
"Very, incredibly, slim," Mrs. Andrews replied, voice firm. "As you said, she had her menses a few weeks before she left. I say that is normal for pregnancy but then again, she might have had her menses simply because she was not pregnant," she said this in such a way that William knew she did not believe it. This was a 'for argument's sake' scenario only. And she followed up with another one. "I say that her stomach is of a size that would suggest her to be six months pregnant. But perhaps she is carrying twins," the woman shrugged. "Tarleton's twins. Perhaps. But there is her unbridled, unreasonable, unrestrained reaction to seeing you with Mrs. Cox - "
"Beth's temper has always been unbridled, unreasonable and unrestrained," William pointed out harshly.
"Yes. But if you recall, I did say that I spoke with her the morning she left. She mentioned then of feeling ill of late, and I worried she might be getting yellow fever. She had gone off her food and again, I worried about yellow fever. It had been rampant through your household and camp, and Mrs. Tavington spent much time with those afflicted. My first thoughts did not go to pregnancy as perhaps they should have done, they went to the possibility that she might be getting sick herself. Only, she never did, did she? So you tell me, Sir, why was she feeling nausea at that time? Why wasn't she eating certain foods? Why was she sitting there, weeping, because she could not fall pregnant and was terribly worried that she would disappoint you yet again the following month?"
"Surely that alone is enough to make her thus distressed," he replied stubbornly. "I should not have spoken to her as I did, but I can imagine her weeping when she spoke of it to you."
"Or she was already pregnant and it was the baby that exacerbated the weeping fit," Mrs. Andrews said and it was clear which she thought to be more likely. She sighed, blowing air out slowly. "You asked me to examine Mrs. Tavington and report my findings to you. I have done so, and I am as certain as I can be, that the child is yours. You will have to do with that what you will, there is nothing else I can say."
"Very well. Thank you," William uncurled his fingers and made a gesture toward the exit. Across from him, Mrs. Andrews rose, and he did also. A gesture of politeness so ingrained it did not take thought, but instinct only, to stand, bow his head and sit again. What did take his thoughts, what did explode through his mind, was the possibility that Beth and her father had spoken truthfully.
That the child she was carrying, was indeed his own.
Lips twisted and heart pounding, William poured himself a whiskey and returned to his seat, elbows on the table, breathing laboured as he glared at the partition, as if he could bore a hole through it to the silhouette that he knew was his wife, with his will alone.
They were all saying it. Beth. Benjamin. Mrs. Garland. Now Mrs. Andrews. The child was his, they claimed, each and every one of them. But by damn, he was not going to believe it. He might be a cuckold, but he was not going to be the fool as well. Despite what they considered to be overwhelming proof, until he saw the baby for the first time, until he saw himself in the child they claimed was his son or his daughter, like hell was he going to believe a single bloody one of them.