"Sir!" cried Bordon, entering the headquarters tent. The stocky man was energized by his news. "We intercepted these dispatches. The rebels have asked for a leader here in South Carolina." He handed them to Tavington, who read over them thoughtfully.
"William Washington? The cousin of George?"
"Indeed so, sir."
Tavington considered the possibilities. "This fellow James Bradley has arranged a rendezvous at his house for the night of the 5th." A plan started to take shape in his mind, and his lips curved in a wicked smile. "They shall have their meeting."
"But Washington will know nothing of this. Did you want to let the dispatches go through?"
"Of course not. But they shall still have their meeting. With us."
Bordon's face lit up. "You plan an ambush."
"Better than that. Do you suppose that any of these rebels know what William Washington looks like?"
"Apparently not, from the sound of it. They know he's a great tall fellow like his cousin."
Tavington mentally reviewed his officers, and said, "Wilkins won't do. Too many of them will certainly know him."
"Monroe is nearly as tall, and he's from Virginia."
"And he has his wits about him." Tavington called in his orderly. "Tell Lieutenant Monroe to report to me at once." He turned to Bordon. "They shall see a great tall fellow. A few of us, without our jackets or helmets, will go with him. The rest of the Dragoons will be in reserve." He gave a short, sardonic laugh. "This will be wonderful!"
Wonderful it was. With Monroe in the lead, Tavington and a group of junior officers galloped up to the home of James Bradley, a former member of the South Carolina General Assembly. A large gathering of local men was already there, and crowded around excitedly. "That's him! That's Willie Washington!"
"Colonel Washington," a militiaman greeted Monroe, coming down the steps. "We sure are obliged to you for coming." Tavington scrutinized the militia. A mixed group. Respectable farmers and tradesmen, with a liberal sprinkling of rough backwoodsmen and one or two outlaws of the worst sort. He kept an eye on those, while the others pressed forward for introductions.
The militiaman, who it seemed, was Bradley himself, asked Tavington, "And your name, sir?"
Tavington replied, "Captain Williams, at your service."
Bradley frowned, "You don't sound like you're from around these parts, Captain. Are you from Virginia, too?"
"Manchester, Virginia" said Tavington with a modest smile.
"That explains it."
Mrs. Bradley came shyly out of the house, inviting them to dinner. Monroe threw his colonel a "What now?" glance, and Tavington shrugged. Monroe politely accepted her invitation, and Tavington and his officers sat down to a brief but rather delicious meal with some of the militiamen. The others were sent to round up the rest of the rebel sympathizers in the area.
The Dragoon lieutenant was no actor, but stiff and laconic as he was, the rebels all seemed to accept him. When he told them the prearranged story-- that he planned to attack Camden, they mounted their horses without protest and followed Monroe, Tavington, and the other Dragoon officers down the road; where they were instantly surrounded by the waiting Dragoons commanded by Bordon. Tavington drew his pistol and held it on the astounded Bradley.
"Sir, you are my prisoner. Throw down your arms, and you and your men will be spared."
Stunned, Bradley gasped, "Who are you?" The militiamen milled about on their horses in fear and confusion.
Tavington lifted his voice so all could hear. "I am Colonel William Tavington of the British Legion, and you are all my prisoners. You have heard my reputation, and I assure you I deserve it. Resistance is useless ."
Bradley paused and licked his lips. "Surrender your weapons," he finally ordered. Mutterings and complaints came from the men, but most complied. One of the truly dangerous men Tavington had been watching dropped a sword with one hand and, with impressive speed, pulled a pistol with the other. Tavington took aim, and put a bullet in his head before the man could fire a shot. The dead rebel slowly fell sideways from his horse.
This was the critical moment. Tavington half expected to be rushed by the enemy, but after the first shock, they submitted. As the Dragoons swept around them, putting them under guard and seizing their weapons, Tavington heard a plaintive voice from one of the militiamen.
"I can't believe Willie Washington went over to the British!"
Tavington returned to Camden in high good humour, even sense abuzz with the heady combination of danger, combat, and victory. Even General Lord Cornwallis would have to applaud this. Sixty rebels taken, with no casualties, and no executions to hypocritically deplore.
Indeed, the Lord General was unusually gracious. Almost, but not quite smiling at Tavington, he took his report with a benevolent air.
"I must commend your activity, Colonel," he said. "And your restraint. Some of these men may be persuaded to return to their duty and take up arms for the King." He glanced briefly at some dispatches littered about his desk. "We will need all the men we can find to make up our losses. We still have Greene and Sumter in the neighborhood. Sumter's capture of the post at Rocky Mount will certainly encourage Greene to move against us. I want you to continue your patrols. Be alert for any large scale movements." He looked at his map again. "And Colonel----?"
"My lord?"
"Did they really believe you were from Virginia?" The General smiled briefly. "Dismissed."
That went fairly well, Tavington decided. His lordship was in a mellow mood. He hoped it would last. Cornwallis had not taken to Tavington when the general had replaced Sir Henry Clinton. Tavington was no courtier, and had no idea how to go about charming his superiors. Sir Henry, a plain man himself, had accepted Tavington for his skills, and asked nothing beyond them. Cornwallis wanted more. Rumour had it that he hoped for a great estate in America, and wanted to live here after the war. Tavington could understand that well enough. What he could not comprehend was Cornwallis' desire to play the diplomat whilst trying to fight. Winning the hearts and minds of these people, he thought, would be accomplished by showing them that they could not win a war against the power of the Crown. That, in his own opinion, could only be achieved by naked force.
Quickening his pace, he hurried back to his quarters to pen a note to Miss Wilde and plan his own reward for his recent success.
They must have been watching for me, he thought, when he reined up at the Everleigh house. Amelia, Julia, the boy George, and his two small sisters ran out the door and stood waiting. The Wilde sisters greeted him happily, and the boy managed to bow somewhat less clumsily than before.
"Please come in." Amelia invited him softly. "Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva wants to congratulate you. She found the story very amusing." She glanced at the two little girls. "And, Colonel, these are our cousins, Jane and Mary Montgomery. Girls, make your curtsey to Colonel Tavington."
Tavington guessed the little girls to be about eight and six years old respectively. They were as blonde and doll-like as their mother, but far prettier. They bobbed their curtseys, giggling.
Tavington nodded indulgently, "How do you do, Miss Jane—Miss Mary?" They giggled again, and clutched each other's hand.
His lips twitched, "Excuse me, ladies." He entered the house behind Amelia, and heard the children whispering.
"He called us ladies! We're not ladies!"
"Speak for yourself! We're beginning to be ladies!"
The familiar, odd scent filled the shadows of the house. Amelia and Julia, with the boy George following them, led him into the parlour.
"Ah, Colonel!" The old lady held out her hand to him. "Sit down and talk to me! Lizzie will be down directly. I have no idea what she's doing upstairs." She sat back and gave him a genuine smile. "Tell me how you made bigger fools of those fellows than they already were."
He gave them the story in brief, and could not have had a more appreciative audience. He finished and realized that Miss Wilde was already in the room and laughing with the rest of them.
As he had requested, she was attired in her riding habit. He rose and she took his arm.
"If you will excuse us," he said. "I shall have her home well in time for dinner."
"I should hope so!" Miss Everleigh said tartly. "I am none too pleased with Lizzie going out riding with a man unchaperoned, but I suppose she's old enough to look after herself!"
"That will not be necessary, " said Tavington. "I shall look after her."
Miss Everleigh gave him an inscrutable look. "See that you do. And join us for dinner yourself."
It had given him some trouble to find a suitable horse for a woman and the proper tack to go with it. A captain's wife of the 33rd had finally agreed to let him borrow her beloved Sally for the day. He had never seen Miss Wilde so happy or so animated as when he gave her a leg up into the sidesaddle.
As he had surmised, she was an excellent horsewoman: good hands, good seat, elegant straight-backed posture. She was properly careful with another woman's animal, but still had him racing with her through the fields, laughing with delight.
After some time, they found a view of Camden, and dismounted, letting the horses rest. The wind blew lightly through the dark curls ruffled on her brow. She leaned back against her mount and smiled.
"You are a very clever and very generous man."
"Nonsense, Miss Wilde. I selfishly chose to go on a pleasant ride myself, and dragged you along."
"No. You are clever to have discerned what I would most like to do, and generous to actually enable me to do it. So many people give one things they think one ought to like, and then expect gratitude for them."
"I admit that I too have received such gifts."
"But not from your non-existent family?"
"Not anymore." His gaze fell on a clump of yellow wildflowers. "Those are very pretty," he commented.
"Black-eyed Susans." He looked at her doubtfully. "I know my flowers. They are Black-eyed Susans of the Asteraceae family. I shall show you my father's picture of them when we return home. Don't bother," she said, as he bent over them. "They are not fragrant, alas. I think flowers should smell like flowers."
"They do smell like flowers," he said. "They are simply not fragrant."
"What happened to your family, Colonel?" She will not let go of this, he thought.
"Do you remember how you described your own father, Miss Wilde? Incompetent, neglectful, careless? Unfortunately, my mother, though the sweetest of women, was not strong and capable, as yours was. Do I need to paint you a picture? My father's vanity and foolish extravagance would have been bad enough, but he also invested heavily in a number of schemes that led to utter bankruptcy. Neither my mother, nor I, nor my sisters knew anything of our difficulties until the day the new owner of our home came to evict us."
"I am so sorry," she whispered. "What happened?"
"Nothing pleasant. My father stayed in lodgings in London, trying to interest former friends in reviving his fallen fortunes. The rest of us lived as poor relations, shuffled from one reluctant connection to another. My elder sister was married off to a tradesman who wanted to parade a well-born wife. She died within the year, along with her child."
Miss Wilde came up to him, and put her hand on his arm. He refused to look at her, and continued.
"My little sister, Celia, was sent away to one of those dreadful schools that teach impoverished gentlewomen how to be governesses. She was so full of life, and it was crushed out of her. My mother received word that she was sick, and begged her brother to allow Celia to come home where she could nurse her. My uncle refused, and Celia died alone. When I first met your sister Julia, she told me that your betrothed was planning to send her and Amelia away to school."
"What?"
"You did not know? From that moment, I knew I was going to protect that child."
"And we are most grateful, but please, please, what of you? What happened to you?"
The sun was growing hot, and he led her underneath a tree. The horses grazed placidly, swishing their tails and cropping off sweet clover.
"Well, I am as you see. I was sent to an inexpensive and unpleasant school where, I assure you, we were whipped enough to satisfy even your aunt. When I turned sixteen, my uncle was prevailed upon to purchase a commission for me. I paid a brief visit, bade my mother farewell, and never saw any of them again, for my mother died two years later. Do not pity me, Miss Wilde, for I learned not to pity myself long ago."
She still looked so grieved, that he suddenly asked, "Would you like to see her picture?" She nodded, and he retrieved his pocket watch, and opened it.
"Oh, what a sweet face! She must have been lovely!" He became aware of how close she was to him, and she must have as well, because she looked briefly uncertain, and then stayed where she was. "But what of your father?"
"He is dead," Tavington said. "The details are unfit for your ears."
He put his watch away. "And now you know what sort of man you are riding with today. I have no fortune, no family, and no wealthy friends to smooth my way. I had no wish to tell you, but it is for the best. You are bound to hear rumours—"
"I do not listen to gossip"
"I suspect your aunt does. And surely, you must have heard things---"
"Yes, yes. But not about your family." He raised an inquisitive brow. "About you. Certain names---"
"The Butcher of the Carolinas?" She nodded.
"Everything you have heard is true."
She shook her head. "That is not possible. They say you have burned homes—"
"True."
"—shot prisoners—"
"True."
"—ravished women—"
He blinked in surprise. "Not true! Who said that?"
She blushed and looked at a leaf. "It is said that you boast of it."
"It is untrue, absolutely untrue. I never forced myself upon a woman in my life!"
"Colonel Tavington," she began carefully. "I may have little experience of the world, but I do know that sometimes a man persuades himself that a woman is willing when she is only frightened or resigned." She turned to face him. "I do believe, truly, that you would never harm me or my sisters."
He took her chin in one hand and deliberately tilted her head up to look deep in her eyes. "And you must believe me when I tell you that I know the difference between what is voluntary and what is coerced." He drew a deep breath, feeling vexed. "I am astonished that you would go riding with me after hearing these things."
"I have trusted you with my life. I know I can trust you with my honour."
"And that your aunt would let you--- she really is a malicious creature."
"Yes, she is. But I think it likely that she disbelieves the stories. She has such contempt for most people that she disregards much of what is said."
"I am relieved to hear it!"
"Are you angry with me?"
"No, not at all." He looked out again at Camden, peaceful in the distance. "But I will be, if you do not get back on your horse, and get your full measure of proper exercise." She laughed, and let him help her back up into the saddle. He took her hand from the reins and kissed it, lightly and thoughtfully, and then pressed it to his cheek. They looked at each other intently, while a moment passed. With a slight smile, he gently relinquished her hand, mounted his horse, and turned it toward Camden. "Now, let's see what Sally is really made of!"
Author's notes: Banastre Tarleton, the officer upon whom the producers of the The Patriot claim Tavington is based, really did capture a number of militiamen by impersonating Willie Washington in August 1780. The true story is more preposterous than my fictionalisation: it was the slender 5'6" Tarleton, complete with thick Lancashire accent, who successfully pretended to be the six-foot, heavily built Virginian. I cannot help it: truth is stranger than fiction.
My thanks to my kind and thoughtful reviewers: Zubeneschamali (whose correspondence encouraged me to post at all), Chocchip, Redone (thank you for your useful criticism—I shall try to keep Tavington sharp, but he can't hack his way out of everything with his sabre), Kariana, SilentBanshee, SlytherinDragoon (neat name), Tara Rose, Vetarru Cetkarr, Foodie, uptosomething, JaneyQ, and luvlucius. I have quite an undertaking before me, and your responses give me the stimulus I need to keep at it. I assure you, Tavington will ride again for many more chapters.