The hot weeks of summer passed. Attacks on supply trains and small patrols multiplied. Rumours of a new militia leader, a "Ghost," surfaced, and began to spread through the troops, and through them, to the countryside at large.
Tavington was angry. No sooner had he destroyed the threat of Sumter for the moment, than another of these self-styled rebel "Colonels" popped up to plague him. The losses themselves were minor, but any defiance of British authority could become dangerous. Then, too, the nature of the attacks was troubling: the baggage escorts in some cases had been slaughtered to the last man; and an army surgeon had declared that a number of the deaths had been caused by an axe, rather than sword or musketball, as was usual.
Just after Waxhaws, that prisoner escort that was massacred. Weren't some of those men killed with an axe? He had spoken with the only survivor afterwards, a frightened boy who had babbled something about being attacked by one man—one man—who had seemed like a----ghost. In that case a spy had been rescued by the rebels. My fault, really, he admitted to himself. If I had taken the time to hang the spy on the spot, those men would never have been killed. A moment's squeamishness was to blame. He had shot the spy's stupid young brother after an idiotic attack on the men guarding him. He had felt a certain distaste at hanging another of the farmer's sons right in front of him. Perhaps his ill-advised mercy then was coming back to haunt him—perhaps in the guise of this "Ghost."
The Dragoons were out constantly, patrolling the huge area. Fine as his men were, there were simply not enough of them. For that matter, the whole army under Cornwallis was only a few thousand strong, and kept the peace more by its reputation for skill and discipline, than because it was an overwhelming force.
Most embarrassingly, the rebels had raided a supply train carrying the Lord General's personal possessions. He had lost some of his wardrobe, his memoirs, and even those annoying dogs of his, Mars and Jupiter. Tavington considered those last no loss at all, as their appetites were enormous, and he thought it a scandal to feed dogs fresh meat while soldiers made do with the rotten, maggoty rations shipped from England.
As busy as he was, he found it difficult to see much of the Wildes. He had hoped to advance himself further with Miss Wilde than he had thus far. Since the memorable night of the Camden dinner party, however, he had never managed to see her alone. He was reluctant to take her out riding for awhile; at first, because after the battle he feared she might come upon a stray corpse, which would rather destroy the mood he was trying to create, and now, because of the possible threat from rebel militia. He had put her in danger once: he did not intend to risk her again.
One afternoon, returning to his quarters, he found a message waiting for him. There was to be a ball in Charlestown: some absurd gesture of cordiality to the local Loyalists; and a chance to gather his Lordship's friends and colleagues for some long-range planning. Tavington hoped that the Lord General would find him too indispensable in his role as dragoon commander, and would leave him at Fort Carolina to continue his patrols. Unfortunately, Cornwallis, for reasons of his own, denied his request to remain, and insisted that he and at least two of his troop captains attend the festivities.
If he must go, he decided to take Bordon along, if for no other reason than to have someone of sense with whom he could converse. After a little hesitation, he chose Wilkins for his other companion. Wilkins was a native, with family ties to a number of the other guests. Yes, he decided, Wilkins would be a politic choice, because he would set an example of service to the Loyalist community at large.
He expected no pleasure out of such a gathering, that was certain. He refused to don some sort of fancy-dress imitation of a real soldier's uniform and pay court to the mindless provincial belles in attendance. The only lady he would consider dancing with was not to go. At his latest visit to Miss Everleigh's home, he found that the Misses Wilde had heard about the ball, but had not been invited.
"No doubt, if Father were still alive, we would have been," said Miss Wilde, bitterly, "but the dead, even those dead in arms for the King, are soon forgotten."
"It's in the Iliad." Amelia spoke up. Her social skills were much improved, and she could converse with Tavington fairly freely. The Camden dinner and her fifteenth birthday had made a change in her; and now, quite the young lady in her dark rose gown, she shared more in the general conversation.
"In the Iliad?" asked Miss Wilde, quite puzzled at the change of subject.
"Yes, when Hector is killed. His wife laments the fate of their child, and how as an orphan, the boy will be shunned from feasts with the words, 'Outside! Your father is not dining here.'" Amelia saw her sister's stricken face, and said apologetically. "You told me to read it."
"Quite right, I did," Miss Wilde composed herself, and passed it off with a laugh to Tavington, "Once again, we study classic texts to better endure modern manners." She shrugged. "Besides, it is ridiculous to imagine we could have attended. Our aunt is not well enough to travel so far, and we could not have gone without a chaperone. I am much too busy with my pupils anyway. So you see," she said, smiling at Tavington. "it is not worth a regret."
"I shall regret your absence."
"That," she said, with an arch look, "is another matter entirely." Amelia blushed and became interested in the view through the parlour window.
It was quite dull, in rather an awful way. The most he had hoped for was good wine and some good conversation with a few of his acquaintances. The Charlestown ladies were as insipid as he had expected, and he could not help wishing Miss Wilde were here on his arm to give life to the evening. She would have enjoyed the music, and he would have enjoyed showing her off to those of his friends who had previously made merry at his lack of address with women. They could have talked about the view of the harbour, about the eccentricities of the other guests, about classic texts and modern manners. Instead, he found himself embroiled in yet another unpleasant and accusatory scene with his commander before he could even find himself a drink.
The Lord General was still incensed over the loss of his wardrobe, his memoirs, and his dogs. Trying on a new coat, the effort of a Charlestown tailor, he was in a testy humour, and called the opulent velvet garment "a horseblanket."
"Oh, I don't know, my lord," said Tavington, in an attempt to forestall further rancour, "it's really-- quite nice."
"Very well," retorted the Lord General acidly, "it's a nice horseblanket."
Tavington had no idea why he had been called to attend the Lord General at such a moment. If his commander was dissatisfied with him again, he hoped he would not rebuked in front of the valets.
But so it was to be.
"Colonel Tavington," began Cornwallis, in that tone which foretold unpleasantness to come. "Why after six weeks am I still at Middleton Place, attending balls in South Carolina, when I should be attending balls in North Carolina? First, the theft of my personal baggage, including my memoirs upon which I spent countless hours. Then half the bridges and ferries burned. Colonel, if you can't protect our supply lines against militia, how do you intend doing so against the colonial regulars, or the French?"
"My lord, they won't fight like regulars! We can't find them." And I certainly cannot find them wasting my time with this mummery!
"Colonel, they are militia, they're farmers----with pitchforks!"
You call them brethren, yet how you despise them; and how little you know them, really. Brothers, perhaps, but still you consider them very, very, little brothers. He told Cornwallis, "They are rather more than that, I'm afraid, my lord. Made so by their commander---this Ghost."
"Oh, ghost, ghost….you created this Ghost, Colonel."
"My lord?"
"Your brutality has swelled his ranks, without which this Ghost would have disappeared and I would have been in North Carolina or Virginia by now!"
At the point of tactlessly asking how he was to patrol all the thirty thousand square miles of South Carolina with only the Green Dragoons, Tavington began heatedly. "My lord, in my defense----"
"Oh, enough, enough!" The Lord General brushed his protests aside with a contemptuous wave. "Fine soldier you are—bested by a bedtime story." He collected himself and beckoned to the valet. "Give me the horseblanket."
At last the Lord General felt well groomed enough to make his appearance, and Tavington could escape. Finding a quiet corner of the mansion to brood in, he finally felt more himself, and stepped outdoors only to find that the Lord General and O'Hara were right in front of him. Cornwallis was still complaining about his wardrobe. He caught O'Hara's excuse.
"Colonel Tavington ordered the arms unloaded first."
So I am to be blamed for this too—for putting our soldiers' needs before yours, and for O'Hara's sloth in not undertaking the responsibility himself.
He snatched a glass of wine from a tray and downed it in a gulp. Then he snatched up another. Two of the vapid Charlestown ladies fluttered toward him and he sought to evade them. He found himself walking into Wilkins' broad back.
"Colonel!" Wilkins greeted him with a wide and not entirely sober grin. "Isn't this a mighty fine party?"
"Extraordinary."
Wilkins waved a well-dressed civilian over. "Stephen! Come here and meet Colonel Tavington!" The stranger was a sensible-looking man of about his own age. "Colonel Tavington, this is my friend Stephen DeLancey, judge of the King's Bench of Charlestown. Stephen, this is my commander, Colonel Tavington."
DeLancey bowed, "Your servant, sir."
Tavington bowed, eyeing the man curiously. "And yours, sir." Was this the DeLancey who was formerly betrothed to Miss Wilde?
Wilkins beamed, all innocence. "I've been telling him all about the Dragoons' exploits, Colonel."
DeLancey, reserved and far more genteel than Wilkins, was paying back Tavington's curiosity with interest. "I have heard a great deal about you, Colonel. It appears we have another mutual acquaintance."
Tavington schooled his face and merely raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, sir?"
"My friend James here has just told me how you extricated Elizabeth Wilde and her sisters from an awkward situation back in July. A pity they had to leave Arcadia: it is such a beautiful place."
Elizabeth! He certainly makes free with her name!
Tavington attempted polite indifference. "You are acquainted with Miss Wilde, then?"
"Very well, indeed," DeLancey replied, with a significant nod, "Elizabeth and my sisters attended school together. We have been friends since we were children. I was relieved to hear that she has severed her engagement to a man unworthy of her."
Ah, thought Tavington, evidently it was this DeLancey.
Wilkins grin faded slightly, as he became conscious of the growing tension.
Tavington smiled frostily, "I agree that not many men could be called worthy of Miss Wilde. However, a rational man will not forgo the company of a charming and cultivated woman simply because she is too good for him. Calling on Miss Wilde and her sisters is one of my greatest pleasures."
DeLancey laughed harshly. "Calling on her at the house of that harpy aunt of hers! Your reputation for bravery is well deserved!"
Wilkins protested, "Stephen, Miss Everleigh is my aunt, too, and she may be---"
DeLancey was all charm to Wilkins, pointedly ignoring Tavington. "Sorry, James, no offense. I meant to say that your Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva is an overwhelming personality. She certainly cut me to ribbons the times I was there."
Wilkins chuckled, mollified. "Well, Colonel Tavington seems to get on pretty well with her. She even gave a dinner party for him after the victory at Camden."
The wine DeLancey was drinking appeared to have grown sour in his mouth. He ground out, "How very-- gracious of her. Perhaps she recognizes a kindred spirit."
Tavington smirked, triumphant. "Perhaps. I find her challenging, yes, but also a stimulating and interesting lady. Above all, she has provided a safe and comfortable home for Miss Wilde and her sisters. That alone earns her my warmest esteem." He bowed, "A pleasure, indeed, to meet a former friend of Miss Wilde's." He gave his captain an uncommonly gracious smile. "Captain Wilkins."
He walked away, congratulating himself on routing a potential rival. Finding a liveried servant with a tray, he helped himself to yet another drink. An unwelcome thought crossed his mind. What if Miss Wilde had attended and had been happy to see that DeLancey fellow? Pictures of an untidy scene rose in his imagination, with Miss Wilde tenderly mopping his brow after he had thoroughly and satisfactorily thrashed DeLancey within an inch of his life, and then thrown him into the harbour. Or perhaps a duel with cold steel—no, Miss Wilde might think that unfair….
While he was mulling it over, Bordon found him. "Sir, some of us are going to Perdita's as soon as we can decently leave." he said, dropping his voice discreetly. "Perhaps you would care to join us."
Tavington considered it. Perdita's was the best brothel in Charlestown, and an object of regular pilgrimage for the British officers in South Carolina. Tavington had been quite taken with the place on his arrival earlier in the year, finding the atmosphere, accents, and accommodations exotic and charming. Right now, however, it was not quite what he wanted, and he found himself with little desire to employ one lady, whilst thinking of another.
"Thank you, Bordon, but no. Another time, perhaps. I'll just turn in early tonight."
Bordon did not press him, but obviously thought his commander could do with some diversion. Reluctantly, the captain said, "Well, goodnight then, sir."
"Goodnight, Bordon." He strayed along the garden walk, thinking—no, brooding. No-- sulking, he admitted to himself. At least that's what my old nursemaid Nan would have called it. Laughing at himself at little, he admired the moonlit rose garden, imagining what he could do with a hundredth of the Lord General's land grant. I wonder if Arcadia had a rose garden. I never took the time to look.
The two pretty imbeciles he had previously escaped appeared at either side of him, and besieged him with their attempts at flirtation. He surrendered to the inevitable boredom, keeping alert for the frequent passage of the wine trays.
A ball of light blossomed from the supply ship in harbour, followed by the sound of a violent explosion.
"Fireworks!" trilled an unappetising female. "Lovely!"
Tavington gulped his wine, dashed down the glass, and thought, he'll find a way to blame me for this as well. He concluded that the only way to make the rest of evening supportable would be to accomplish what he had so well begun: he would drink himself into a stupour.