Author's note - I thought I'd get this chapter up before going to bed - it might be rough in places, some of it was an old draft I was working on but some of it's new and has only had a single edit. I'd go over it again if it wasn't so late and if I didn't have to get up so early :-) Thanks for your patience, I know there's been a bit of a wait between chapters, yet again.
And thank you to everyone reviewing - sorry for not answering the Guest reviews personally this time around! But my bed is calling :-) But thank you, I'm very grateful of every single review! Take care and good night.
Chapter 147 - Friends and Husbands:
The tent was tall enough for the women to stand in upright and to move about without having to push past one another.
The benefits of being the Colonel's wife, Beth thought as Mrs. Garland and Nancy helped her out of her clothes. Strange, that she would get those benefits still, at a time when she couldn't have felt less married to her husband. Despite Banastre's Reverend refusing to make her separation legal, she'd never felt so divorced. Yet there she was, in a tent large enough to accomodate a full war council, with enough room to stand upright in and for her chest and a bed, a table and two chairs, the same as she'd been provided with in Banastre's camp.
Another strange thing. There in Banastre's camp, they'd kept the tent partitioned in order to pretend innocence, to alleviate gossip of an affair, that the two weren't doing anything untoward, such as bedding one another. Here in William's camp, the partitioned tent - which kept Beth in close proximity to William - was meant to make all beyond the canvas walls continue to believe the Tavington marriage was as good and strong as it always had been, that there was no discord between them, or anything of that sort. The exact same set up in both places, but to convince outsiders of entirely different things.
Beth, standing still while Nancy untied her stays, glanced down at Electa. Beautiful, black haired Electa was lolling on Beth's bed, not lifting a finger to help, even as Mrs. Garland began to tidy.
"Remind me again why I bought you with us?" Beth asked.
"Come now, you know you like me," Electa grinned up at her, she lifted her arms high above her head in a languid stretch and gave a contented sigh. "Such a comfortable bed,: Electa was lying back on the blanket covered straw. "I could sleep here with you tonight, it's ever so cold, we should share the heat of our bodies."
Beth grimaced, her face flushing red at the temerity of the woman's flirting. Right here, in front of Mrs. Garland and Nancy. Not that Nancy noticed, the girl was distracted in her grief and barely spoke these days. She barely listened, either. It was as though she had the energy for neither. Mrs. Garland must have heard though. Would she discern the desire Electra was not so much as trying to conceal? The midwife barely batted an eyelid however, Beth threw Electa a glare.
"Nancy will be sleeping with me," Beth said, an edge to her voice.
"Lucky girl," Electa's eyes danced with mischief. Beth's blazed fury and embarrassment. "Because this tent is so large and warm." Electa added, as if that was her reason. That was for Mrs. Garland's benefit. Beth's lips tightened as she crossed the tent in her shift to sit at the table. Nancy followed, took up a brush and began running it through Beth's hair. The task was quickly done and Beth was soon kneeling before her chest with Nancy and Mrs. Garland on either side of her, going through her clothing. Mrs. Garland was careful of Beth's silks, they were folded, wrapped in cloth and set aside. Anything less costly - items made of wool and linen - were held up to scrutiny as the women discussed which items could be unstitched and sewn anew to account for Beth's expanding girth. William had bought the chest with him from Fresh Water and it was filled to bursting with clothes that Beth hadn't seen in months.
Within the chest was a smaller box, Beth opened the lid and saw nestled inside the rest of her jewellery. Why William had bought it from Fresh Water, she didn't know. What they were doing now - pretending to be a happily married couple - was a new idea sprung from General O'Hara's attempt at saving their hides. Before O'Hara stepped in and told everyone that Banastre had been escorting Beth to her husband all along, William had intended to send her to her aunt's as soon as he removed her from Banastre's camp. So why bring the jewellery from Fresh Water? Had he thought someone there might steal it? She gazed at the pieces, noticing immediately that he hadn't returned his grandmother's ruby pendant - the jewel William had given her the night he'd intended to propose, the pendant she had left for him when she fled the city to get away from him.
That wasn't in there, she saw.
Beth asked Nancy to hand her the pouch, it was still where she'd left it on the small table. Nancy did so and Beth reached inside and pulled out a plain circle of gold. Her wedding band. For a moment, she knelt there, poised, uncertain. Should she put it in the jewellery box with the rest of her jewels? She fingered it, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, undecided.
"You should wear it," Mrs. Garland said, making Beth wonder if she was that transparent.
"I don't feel married," she replied. "I took it off when I was with Banastre and I just… I don't feel like I should put it back on now I'm no longer with him, because I don't feel like I'm with William, either."
"Well, you are," Mrs. Garland said, voice crisp. "You're married to him, for better or for worse. It matters not how you're feeling inside." The older woman was making no attempt at hiding her exasperation. Beth was married, she was returned to her husband and it was as simple as that. Feelings mattered not at all.
"Well, I suppose appearances must be kept," Beth said, recalling why she was there. Why her tent was joined to William's. Why all of it. She slid the ring onto her finger and stared down at it, feeling no more married than she had a moment before. The day he gives me back his grandmother's pendant, that's when I'll feel married to him again. There was a questioning feel to her thought. An if. If he ever returned to her the pendant…
"I don't understand your trouble, I honestly don't," Electa adjusted herself until she was sitting cross legged. "Dear God, he is a handsome one," she purred, jutting her chin toward the partition where William was. They couldn't see him, but Beth knew Electa was speaking of him. Beth glanced at Electa, catching her would be lover, her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips as she swooned over William. "I can't understand why you'd ever leave him, even for Banastre."
At least she has the good sense to keep her voice down. Still, it irritated Beth. "That's enough, Electa," she commanded quietly.
"Come now, three out of the four of us here have bedded Banastre," Electa continued, "we can all attest to his… prowess… We all considered him to be handsome enough to bed at one time in our lives. But if I'd had your fellow to choose over him, I daresay Banastre wouldn't have gotten a look in. What say you, Nancy?"
Nancy, kneeling beside Beth in front of the chest, averted her gaze.
"Do you understand even slightly what it means to mourn a husband?" Mrs. Garland asked, the question snapping like a whip. Electa arched an eyebrow, seeming to be uncertain what she'd done - or said - that was wrong. "Nancy is a widow now, she is grieving her husband. And you should not be speaking so flippantly about Tarleton as though he were some past love. And you certainly should not be speaking of him here, with Mrs. Tavington's husband just next door," she said in a hushed voice that barely carried to Electa, let alone through the partition. Nancy had no more to offer the conversation than Beth did, both women were as silent as the grave.
"It's not as though I yelled it," Electa shrugged. "I know to keep my voice low. It's just a quiet conversation among friends."
"Is that what we are?" Beth asked. "Friends. Who talk about how handsome ones husband is and how you'd choose him over another past love. Are you going to bed my husband if he comes to you, Electa?" Beth asked directly. She wasn't sure if William would; while he'd been faithful to her when she'd been with him, he was sure to have been visiting doxies during her absence these last months and would likely continue to do so even with her return.
"Would you rather I didn't?" Electa asked.
In a strangled voice, Beth answered, "Yes, Electa, I'd rather you didn't."
"Then I won't," Electa shrugged. "See? Friends. It doesn't stop me from admiring him though. Tell me Mrs. Tavington, are you absolutely out of your mind?"
Because William was handsome. Beth blew out a breath and was grateful that they were whispering. And relieved. In bringing Electa, she hadn't delivered up to her husband a beautiful new lover. Instead of answering - for Electa already knew the reasons why Beth had left - she said, "please extend the courtesy to my cousin, also." At Electa's blank expression, Beth said more clearly, "keep your hands off Major Bordon."
"Oh, of course," Electa laughed her pretty laugh. "You know, your brother looked me up and down like he wanted to spend some time with me."
"Gabriel?" Beth gasped, aghast.
"No, not him. Too virtuous for his own good, that one," Electa scowled, leading Beth to believe that the pretty doxy had at least tried with Gabriel, despite being in Burwell's bed. "The other one. Thomas."
"Thomas," Beth snorted. "He wouldn't have known what to do with you."
"Oh, I could have taught him," Electa said with confidence. "But I told him he was far too young for me. Quite put out he was, he told me he was all of seventeen!" She giggled and Beth shook her head, not at all surprised.
"Your dinner should have cooled a bit by now," Mrs. Garland said, helping Beth to rise. As Beth sat at the table Mrs. Garland hovered nearby watching closely, as if she feared Beth - in her sorry and heartsore state - would refuse to eat. She needn't have worried, for Beth was ravenous - her pregnancy made her crave food - especially meat. Even with her life falling to pieces could not impinge on what her pregnancy - or rather her baby - demanded of her. She ate with embarrassing gusto, closing her eyes with pleasure as her appetite was sated, very much as she used to when in bed with William. She felt the woman relax as it became quite obvious that Beth was going to eat every crumb. She set her fork down and leaned back from the now empty plate with a contented sigh
"That good, was it?" Electa asked. They were on field rations and while the camp followers did their best to make the meals tasty, due to a lack of seasoning and herbs, they often fell short.
"Hunger is the best sauce," Beth replied and Electa laughed.
"So tell me, Mrs. Tavington, are there any officers here who are not under your protection?"
Beth sighed and shook her head. "If they are not married or engaged, you can do as you wish," she said, knowing she could not control Electa or William's soldiers. "Just don't come running to me when you get with child and you don't know by which soldier and not a single one comes forward to marry you."
"I can take care of myself," Electa replied, rising from the bed. She started picking her way through the clothes that had been set aside for alteration. "I can help you with these," she offered. "I'm rather deft with a needle."
"Then for goodness sake, become a milliner!" Mrs. Garland said, frustrated with the beautiful doxy. "I know you're deft with a needle, I've seen your work - so let that be your occupation. It's far more respectable and far less hazardous, than your current employment."
Electa's eyebrows lifted, she looked as startled as a fish snatched out of the water. Then her face closed over and she shrugged. "I have no tools of the trade. I'd need more than some needles and thread, Mrs. Garland. Besides, my current employment, as you put it, pays ridiculously more in a week than a milliner could earn in a year."
"You're a stubborn fool girl!" Mrs. Garland spat. "Mrs. Tavington speaks truly - you will become pregnant and without a husband, you shall have no protection - you'll end up alone and giving birth by some roadside tavern, likely dying in the process! And that isn't even the only danger! One of your lovers might deliver to you some horrid disease and we'll have to watch you die in agony, utterly unable to assist you."
"Stop, please," Nancy said, looking to be on the verge of tears. "Just stop it!" Offended, Mrs. Garland drew herself up back straight, chin high. Nancy continued, "I know yer speakin' to Electa but the same can happen to me too! Ye shouldn't be scarin' us like that when there's naught we can do about it! We got to do what we got to do to get by and I don't need ye puttin' the fear of Christ into me about what might come of it!"
"Nancy," Beth reached out and took both Nancy's hands in hers. "I've told you, you don't ever have to return to that life, not ever. You're my maid now."
"But ye don't know for how long. Ye said yerself, yer worried he'll send ye off and if he does, how ye goin' to support me? I'll need to do what I always did, to look after both of us and yer baby!"
Beth was utterly aghast, she gasped and pressed her hand to her open mouth. "Oh sweet Lord, you will never, ever, have to do that for me and my child," she said, laying a hand on Nancy's cheek. "Lord… yes, I'm worried he's going going to drop me off at the Ferguson's when we get close enough, but I didn't realise you were worried about it too!" Nancy - her eyes filled with tears and panic, held to Beth's as if to a life line. Beth shook her head and spoke firmly. "If he sends me to the Ferguson's, he will be accepting my father's arrangement. Reverend Oliver will call our marriage quits, William will relinquish all rights to me and the child. Further, he will be relinquishing my dowry back to me." Beth took a ragged breath as she stroked hair back from Nancy's cheek. "My fortune will be my own again. No matter what happens with William, you are of my household now and as such, you are under my protection. You are safe now, my oath on it."
Nancy hung her head, she was weeping softly and Beth pulled her into her arms. Electa was watching curiously.
"I don't recall you despising our… profession… before. I seem to remember you liking it fairly well back them."
"I ain't never been in love before," Nancy said miserably. "And now he's gone," she whispered.
"I know," Beth sighed. Nancy stepped away and wiped her eyes. Beth could make her assurances which would stop Nancy from fearing what would become of her. But she was powerless to remove the young widow's grief.
"Alright, let's see what we've got here," Mrs. Garland said briskly, turning their attention to the pile of clothes. She picked up a jacket and gestured to its matching skirt. "We can cut out a section from the skirt to use on the jacket. If we undo the stitches down the seams here," she ran a finger along the side of the jacket. "We could sew in panels to make it larger. We won't need much, the skirt should still be loose enough," Mrs. Garland said glanced down at Electa, who nodded agreement. Taking material from Beth's voluminous skirts and adding them to the bodice would keep Beth looking how a higher ranking Officer's wife she was meant to look. "A task for tomorrow, when there is light to go by. I'll make sure everything we need is on the wagon, we should be able to work well enough there."
When a man's voice sounded beyond the partition, the women fell immediately silent. The soldier announced the arrival of Mrs. Andrew's and Beth threw Mrs. Garland a stricken glance. She received a soothing gesture for answer as Mrs. Garland stepped closer to the partition, to eavesdrop. They all edged closer for the same purpose, but to no avail. They could hear hushed voices, but could not make out the words. Until -
"She had her menses in September!"
It was William's voice, he sounded furious and frustrated.
"He is determined not to believe me," Beth whispered and Mrs. Garland gave her a sympathetic glance. The midwife's soothing expression quickly shifted to outrage when William said "I want your assessment of the situation, mrs. Andrews. Not a repetition of hers."
"And he is determined not to trust me," Mrs. Garland sniffed.
A few more snippets of the conversation came to them, despite William's and Mrs. Andrew's efforts to speak softly. Beth grew stiff and afraid as she heard Mrs. Andrews admit that even she couldn't be entirely certain that the child wasn't Banastre's.
"That's foolishness," Mrs. Garland whispered harshly. "Twins don't necessarily make a woman's stomach larger. I'll have to talk to her."
"Shh," Electa said, still trying to listen.
"He's not going to be happy until he sees his child with his own two eyes," Beth whispered back. She spoke quickly, for she was still trying to keep an ear on the conversation next door. "But that's not going to help anyone of us, if our child has my brown eyes."
"As it very well might. Your father is blue eyed, is he not? Yet here you are with your mother's brown. Your baby will likely take after you, that is no indication that he is not the father. None of it means anything. Your husband is a foolish man," Mrs. Garland said. She fell silent, but the conversation beyond the partition was over, Mrs. Andrews was leaving.
Beth lay awake on the blanket covered pile of straw, her body covered from head to toe in several more blankets. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable - she was warm and dry at least.
She did not need to strain her ears very far to hear William settling down for the night. The rustle of the blankets and then his breathing - slow and deep. Within minutes, his breathing changed, became deeper, huskier, a slight, whisper of a snore. He was sleeping already. She thought how nice it was for him, he mustn't be very distraught at all if he could go to sleep with Beth only a few paces away, a slip of material their only barrier.
In contrast to her husband, Beth's thoughts ran restlessly, an unceasing cascade. She recalled the time when he pursued her all the way from the city. He wouldn't have let a sheet of canvas come between them, not then. He hadn't let her family come between them, nor her friends, and not her fears. He'd bulled ahead, forging a path through all of it, in an attempt to be reunited with her. Not now. Perhaps her family and friends and her fears were more easily overcome, than this thin sheet of canvas, which she understood represented her infidelity and utter shaming of him.
And her? What did that thin sheet represent for her?
For there was once a time that she had given everything up for him. Her family, her friends, and her fears. She could go to him, their marriage wasn't only his to fix. But she had her own obstacles - how could she overcome his beating of her? Or his infidelities? Not after they married, but prior - from the moment he met her, he'd been courting her. Yet there he was, screwing Linda nightly. And that barmaid, whatever her name was. And Vera Tisdale - their affair between them had begun the very day William had decided to court Beth. No. Not court - seduce. His courtship for marriage had come much later and even then, he'd continued to screw Linda Stokes, even bringing her out of the city and intending to continue with her after marrying Beth. He might have changed his mind, he might have been faithful from their wedding day, but he certainly hadn't been before, despite his intention to marry her.
And how could she get past his bastards? The two he'd left behind in Philadelphia, and now he has two more on the way?
That was what the thin sheet represented to her. That and his belt. She doubted she'd ever forget that.
He was only a few paces away. Time once was that she'd just reach out and stroke his hair, whether he was awake or asleep. He was sleeping now. How could he? Surely he was in as much torment as she? But there he was, his breathing, the deep, steady, untroubled rhythm of one in peaceful slumber.
Be fair, Beth. He is a soldier and soldiers train themselves to sleep whenever they can. Soldiers can't afford to lay awake at night, tossing and turning and churning over their troubles. And nor should you. Clear your mind, no more thoughts, no more feelings, empty your mind and… sleep.
It was easier thought than done but eventually it began to work. Eventually Beth felt the oceanic wave of blackness swelling around her, pulling her under. Her body was too exhausted to resist for long, titanic troubles or not.
Standing in the tent with her cape around her shoulders, Beth stared at William, who was talking to Richard, Wilkins and Brownlow. They would be leaving soon, the tents were already being struck, Beth's was about to be taken down as well. She had broken her fast there, but she could hide in the tent no longer. Nor could she hide in the carriage, for it was not yet here.
With William standing right there, and her stepping out into the morning finally, she would have no choice but to speak to him. To perform a public display of a happy, untroubled marriage. Lord, this was going to be exhausting. She could not be in public with her husband without making a show of cheerfully greeting him. Why the devil couldn't the carriage be already there? She wished she could climb straight inside it and close the curtains so no one could see her.
Heaving a vexed breath, she steeled her spine and stepped outside. Nancy followed along, a constant presence that those of higher rank would take no notice of; except for Beth, to who Nancy's presence bought great comfort.
William glanced toward her, saw her coming. The ease of his stance disappeared as he stiffened, his face closed over, his eyes become cold and hard. Stupid man. What was the point of her putting herself through this if he wasn't going to do his part as well? The public display could not be one sided, for if it was, all and sundry would see through it like the charade it was.
Smiling broadly as if to make up for his lack, Beth reached out and took both of his hands in hers. She was yet to put on her gloves, and she saw it when William's eyes flickered downward and caught sight of her wedding ring.
"Husband, you rose so early! You should have woken me, we could have broken our fast together. Have you eaten something this morning?" she said, making a show of wifely concern. She worded her query in such a way that it suggested to those listening that William had slept in her bed with her. She saw his lip curl - every so slightly; he knew what she was up to. As she held his gaze, some metal entered into hers. Her fingers tightened on his, tightly enough that it might have even been painful for him. If he did or said anything to sabotage this…
"You were sleeping so soundly, I did not wish to wake you," he said and she relaxed her gaze and her fingers. "Yes, I have eaten." He said.
It was done, their greeting was… sufficient enough. Richard and Brownlow knew the full truth - they knew the Tavington marriage was rocky at best, already over at worst. They understood that this little encounter was nothing more than a public display to throw off the suspicious. But James Wilkins was looking bored. He'd be looking shrewd, if he suspected anything was amiss. His men, Arthur, Michael, Marcus and a few others were not staring as if searching for signs of counterfeit or artifice. They were not suspicious either, they thought all was as it had been. At least it was working.
After exchanging some pleasantries with the other men and asking - with real concern, nothing feigned there - how Cilla was, the Officers began to dwindle away to whatever tasks they had to tend to. This left William and Beth alone in a crowd of busy soldiers, with only Nancy close enough to hear them. William, who had long since released Beth's hands, jutted his chin downward, his sneer far more pronounced.
"Wearing it again, are you? Do you think it makes us look more married, do you?" He asked, contempt in his voice.
"Yes, I do," she replied, chin raised high. As if that was the only reason she was wearing it - not because she loved him and cherished the ring, but for the public display. It was no longer a representation of their love but a visual cue to others that they were indeed married. His lips tightened with irritation. He opened his mouth and began to say something but was cut off when a soldier came to them, leading Thunder in tow. With a quick 'my thanks', William turned from Beth and began stroking Thunder's neck.
"At least your family is capable of doing right," he said, intimating that Beth was not so capable. "Thomas did well in caring for Thunder, he did even better in sending him back to me."
"You think that's how Thunder came to be here?" Beth asked incredulously. William turned to her with a puzzled frown. "My God," she said, barking a laugh. "You really are a God cursed fool."
With that, she turned on her heels and began striding away, as best she could on the sloppy wet ground. Nancy caught up with her and began chiding her at once.
"Why did ye say that?" For Nancy was aghast. "What did ye say it for? He's goin' to be angry with ye now. Yer supposed to be tryin' to make amends and then ye go and say somewhat like that?".
Nancy continued, like a bee buzzing in Beth's ear, all the way back to the tent. Why had she spoken to William like that? Because Beth had gone to great fucking lengths to protect Thunder, to spirit him away from Banastre's camp in the middle of the goddamned night and had been caring for him since. And Thomas gets the bloody credit? Thomas is praised for being capable of doing something right? As if Beth wasn't capable. When she was the reason Thunder was there all along! Furious, she snatched up her gloves and shoved them on, threw her cape around her shoulders, then sat down. She intended to stay there - glowering - until the carriage finally arrived.
The trouble was, the men who'd been assigned the task needed to strike the tent. Beth couldn't sit there seething, where no one could see her and wonder why. Nor could she hide in the carriage, for it was not yet ready. Again, she was forced outside and this time, planting a pleasant expression on her face wasn't only exhausting, it was damned near impossible. She managed, however. Wilkins - returned from whatever it was he'd been doing, came to chat with her with Arthur and the others. Eventually William joined them. She noticed the stiffness between James and William, but it was nowhere near to what she'd expected it should be. Perhaps James had forgiven William for having the camp followers beat Emily? She didn't know and she wouldn't ask, even if she wasn't too damned angry to care about it.
As they talked - actually, as James and the younger men talked, William kept throwing her inquisitive glances. She could see his mind working. What had she meant? How had Thunder come to be there, if not through Thomas? He didn't ask, but she could see he was unsure now. Curious, but too proud to ask. For clearly, what she had made abundantly obvious, was that Thunder's appearance had nothing to do with Thomas and everything to do with Beth herself.
They were not talking for long when Bordon joined them, and then Brownlow came trotting over. Bordon had just finished telling Beth that the carriage was fixed now - she hadn't even known there was a problem with it - and that Cilla was waiting for her, when Brownlow - panting - ran up, saying that he has a missive from General O'Hara.
The men and Beth fell silent as William broke the seal and opened the letter. The British Legion had been positioned to be the rear guard for Lord Cornwallis' battalions and as such, were slow to receive news from the main camp. This could be a summons from O'Hara to join the General's for a meeting, or perhaps to direct the Green Dragoons to go in search of rebels. In the end, it was the latter. Scouts had sighted a nest of rebels on the road and O'Hara feared that they would cause trouble for the vulnerable rear guard. William and Richard were to disperse the rebels with a small detachment of no more than twenty, as O'Hara also feared that the rebels would see a greater force coming and would escape. A small force was far less detectable and had a better chance of routing them.
"With only twenty men," William said, frowning. "A small force, so that we can move more swiftly and to attract less notice. And I'm not to delegate the task to one of my Captains who could perform the task just as well; he has commanded that Major Bordon and I lead them."
William lifted his gaze, he met Beth's eyes and a chill slid along her spine.
"Is this it?" He asked her. "Your uncle's conspiracy against Major Bordon and I?"
The others began to curse and Beth swallowed hard, hands wringing.
"Thomas said… he said that they took the seal and the cipher," she said, heart pounding. "My uncle has them no longer. He can't… he can't…"
"Unless he took copies of both before giving Thomas and that traitor Watson those forged letters that freed your father," William said, already moving toward Thunder and his saddle bags. After a quick search, he pulled out a letter wallet, which held O'Hara's old cipher and the new. A quick scrutiny confirmed it - this missive was forged. William drew a ragged breath. "Farshaw's hidden skill," William said scathingly. "God knows, the little bastard is good for nothing else."
"Would it have worked?" Beth asked, coming to stand beside him. "If you hadn't known of my uncle's intentions, would this have worked? It's far too dangerous for small companies that stray too far from the main body. You wouldn't have gone off with only twenty men, just you and Richard? You would not have done that, would you? I mean, why would you?"
"If I thought O'Hara commanded it," Tavington said shortly. "It would have worked."
Beth pressed her hands to her stomach and closed her eyes as a wave of nausea and guilt swept over her. Her uncle had taken copies. He'd had Farshaw write the message, enacting his plan to murder Beth's husband and Cilla's. To kill William. And it might have worked. She was battling blame, as if - because Mark was her uncle - she was somehow at fault for his violent conspiracy. Only when she felt strong fingers close around her arm did she open her eyes.
"Thank you, Beth," Richard said earnestly. "If you hadn't told us… Thank you."
"But… you would have asked O'Hara, wouldn't you?" She asked, desperate to discern of a technicality that would have prevented Mark's plan from working. "You wouldn't have ridden off toward danger without asking him about it?"
"Why would we?" Richard asked. "As far as we would have been concerned, we have our orders." Wilkins was nodding, as was Brownlow. She looked to William, who inclined his head. In thanks? Couldn't bloody say it out loud though. At least Richard thanked her.
"We need to discuss this with O'Hara," William said, mounting. He glanced down at Richard, who nodded and turned toward his horse. William waited long enough for Richard to be in the saddle and then the two began to gallop away.
Beth was left feeling somewhat embarrassed. Richard had thanked her, but William surely hadn't. Had Wilkins, Arthur, Marcus Michael and Brownlow noticed William's lack of gratitude?
"Well, this is an unpleasant turn. William is in quite a hurry now, to inform O'Hara," she said, hoping they would accept this excuse for William's lack. "What do you think will happen now?"
"They'll likely use this opportunity to try and catch Putman, I'd say," Wilkins said and the others nodded.
"Oh," Beth said, that ill feeling returning to her stomach. It made sense, it was actually the obvious course, now Wilkins had pointed out. And if it worked, if they captured her uncle, there was not a doubt in her mind, what his end fate would be. "Please excuse me, I need to speak to Cilla," she lifted her skirt at the hem and began walking as quickly as she could, in search of the carriage. It was supposed to be driven to her but she could wait no longer.
"I'm sorry, Cill," Richard said softly, his hand cradling Cilla's. She was weeping again, and Beth was looking miserable across from them in the carriage. "I'm sorry, Beth. I know this isn't easy on you, either."
"It's not," Beth said, voice ragged.
"If I can just speak to him," Cilla said, begging between sobs. "If I could just convince him that I love you and want to be with you… This vendetta he has will stop and he will leave you alone. He won't come after you again, I know he won't. Please, Richard -"
"They do not intend to capture him because of what he intended to do to Richard and William," Beth interrupted and Cilla bit her bottom lip with a long wail.
"He murdered twenty Dragoons," Richard said gently when Cilla quieted. "He murdered them, Cil. Even Captain Martin said his actions were not sanctioned. Dalton. And the rest. And he was guilty of treason, back in the city. If he hadn't escaped… To be frank, Cil, he should have hanged months ago. I'm sorry, my love, but there is more to this than your father's vendetta. He is no innocent. And as Colonel Simcoe has orders directly from Cornwallis, this is completely out of my hands. There is nothing left to be done."
"Except pray," Cilla whispered, distraught.
"Why are they sending Simcoe?" Beth asked.
"We are needed where we are - guarding the rear. And Simcoe is already in the field, and near to where Putman was going to stage his little ambush," he gave Cilla's hand a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Cil. I just… I don't know what else to say."
"Then don't. There's nothing more to say. Gods, I can't believe this is happening." Cilla's breathing was quick as she tried to fight back tears and panic.
"How long before we know?" Beth asked Richard.
"A day, two at most," Richard replied.
"Will they let Cilla speak with her father? I mean, before… you know… if they…" If they capture and hang him.
"I'll see if can arrange it," Richard said, feeling helpless as he pulled Cilla into his arms. He wanted nothing more than to see that damned murdering pig good and dead, but could Cilla handle any more of this? If they did capture her father, she was going to have to. He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her scent as he sighed.
