His mind was travelling strange roads: sometimes showing him the past, sometimes showing him the things for which he had most hoped. His father was standing by his bedside, ashamed and apologetic. Tavington tried to shout at him. He wanted to tell him he was being duped—that his investments were worthless—that his false friends were laughing at him while they milked him of every penny. How could you do this to us? He tried to shout at his father, but could not, because they were on horseback, inspecting Tavington's estates in Ohio. The sky was a clear, heavenly blue. His father was smiling at him with loving pride. With a wink, his father leaned close, and said to him, "You see, my boy? I told you it would all come right in the end."
Elizabeth, Amelia, and Julia were standing nearby on the front porch at Arcadia with Margaret and Celia. His mother was there too! They were all getting on so well. They were speaking about him, and he heard a whisper, "Look! He's smiling!"
Elizabeth gave him a sweet, languorous smile, and said softly to Celia, "Perhaps he's having a pleasant dream!"
He was in bed, and his lovely mother was stroking his hair back from his brow. She was still alive! He must be home from school. He must be sick.
"Sleep, dearest. It's the best thing for you now."
"Mamma," he breathed.
He awoke in a room unfamiliar to him.
Not that it was a bad room. It was infinitely better than the hospital, with its straw stinking of blood, urine, and feces. It was infinitely better than the jolting wagon that had carried him to Camden. It was handsomely furnished, and painted blue. There was a comforting fire crackling on the hearth. Something soft brushed his right hand. Carefully, he turned his head to look. Elizabeth had fallen asleep at his bedside, sitting on the floor, her head resting near his hand.
He laid his hand softly on her hair. Unbound, it fell below her waist. He had seen her hair unbound once before, and had dreamt of it often. He could feel the warmth of her through it. She stirred, and looked up at him. She rose, and leaning over him, kissed him softly on brow, cheeks and lips. He wondered if he should be embarrassed to be alone with Elizabeth, naked but for his bandages and the sheet and quilt covering him, smelling her rosewater-scented hair; but it all seemed perfectly natural, and not unpleasant.
"It is you," he said quietly. "I thought perhaps it was the laudanum again."
"No, I am here with you." She looked troubled. "Are you in pain? Do you need some more---"
"No," he said. "Just sit here with me." He looked around again. "I take it I am upstairs at your aunt's. I thought the house was already full."
"George gave up his room to you. Aunt had a bed made up for him in the attic."
"That's very good of him."
"Not that he was given a choice. But, still, he was happy to do something for you. You are his idol."
"A fallen idol."
"No less dear for all that." She kissed him again, very softly, as if afraid of hurting him.
"What of your pupils?"
She smiled. "What of them? Amelia has stepped in. She is only a little younger than I was when I came home to educate my sisters. She is doing admirably."
"Everyone seems to be doing admirably but me." The pain of failure hurt Tavington worse than any wound. He had been defeated, for the first time since he became a soldier. His enemy had put his mark on him, and yet lived.
He turned away, ashamed to face her. 'I have failed myself and you," he whispered.
Elizabeth looked at him, bewildered. "My dearest, how can you speak to me so? You are alive—do you know what Charlotte would give for Frank to be alive, however badly wounded?"
"You don't understand," he said. However disgraceful the truth, she must know this someday. Better from my own lips.
"The Lord General had promised me an estate from his own land grant in the Ohio Territory, were I to deliver the Ghost to him. I have done everything in my power. I have done things—things that I would not have done otherwise. Still I have failed. All those dishonourable acts were in vain."
Elizabeth took him gently in her arms, his head resting against her breast. "My dearest William," she said quietly. "I am neither blind nor deaf, nor a fool. I know something of which you speak. I know how much you want to provide a future for us. But tell me one thing." She paused and took a breath. "Do you like Lord Cornwallis?"
He was baffled by the question. "Like him? Well, no, I cannot say I like the man. He has given me little reason."
"Then why, my love, were you willing to make a bargain with him that would have tied us to him forever as his vassals and dependents?"
He lay still for awhile, listening to her heartbeat. He had never considered his agreement with the Lord General in such a light.
Elizabeth went on. "You know that any gift of land you received from him would have been hedged with all sorts of conditions and obligations. We would have danced to his tune for the rest of our lives."
She held him closer, stroking his hair away from his face.
"There are some people, even essentially good people, who can sense a need to distinguish oneself, a desire for recognition, a drive to rise above one's past; and those people cannot resist using and manipulating such desires and drives for their own ends. Do you really think his lordship would treat you as he does were you some titled halfwit with ten thousand pounds a year?"
He sighed.
Elizabeth kissed his brow softly. "The Lord General may be a great man, especially in his own mind." Tavington gave a tired laugh. "But he is not the King, and he is not the source of all patronage. We need care nothing for him; and he would treat you better if you made that clear to him. The Crown already wants settlers in the West Indies, in Canada, in Bermuda. We still have the possibility of the land in Kentucky. We can go where we choose and find a place of our own; and we will be beholden to none."
She bent over him, murmuring softly in his ear. "As I have let go of Arcadia, so you must let go of your need to win your commander's favour. As long you show him how much you desire it, he will withhold it. Let it go." She took a bowl of broth from the bedside table and began spooning it up. He turned his face away.
"Elizabeth."
"What is it, dearest?"
"Some things I have done recently—some things—very questionable. I must tell you--."
She was looking at him with such dread that he could not go on. "My dearest," she whispered, "tell me anything you like, if it eases you, but know that I love and trust you in any case."
"We killed everyone in Pembroke."
She sighed, "It is true, then. But they were rebels, were they not?"
"Probably not all of them. The children were not."
She sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair. "What is done, cannot be undone." She offered him some broth, and he took it more readily this time.
She said, "The threatening letters have stopped. Some others in the town had received them, but they have stopped coming to them as well."
"That mystery is revealed."
"So it would seem. The loyal people here in town who have heard the rumours largely think the rebels have reaped what they have sown. And Lord Rawdon says that there has been no rebel activity from the entire area surrounding Pembroke for weeks. It was not wholly in vain, you see; however harsh your methods. I know that whatever you did, you did it to protect us, and to protect all who are loyal to the King."
Samuel Forrest, one of the surgeons from the fort hospital, visited once a day. He supervised the changing of Tavington's bandages, and was a source of endless advice about cleaning Tavington's wounds, giving Tavington his medicine, and keeping up Tavington's spirits. Tavington himself found him tiresome, if well meaning, and was glad when the man was gone each day.
The work of nursing him fell to Elizabeth, helped by Charlotte Montgomery and a middle-aged slave woman who was introduced to him as Calypso. She was tall and lanky, and might once have been very good-looking. Tavington thought she, like Ganymede, had been in Miss Everleigh's service so long that she had taken on some of the mannerisms of her mistress. Calypso had as scornful a demeanour as Ganymede at his worst, but she was gentle enough, if rather stern, with Tavington.
Charlotte Montgomery's mild manner was not as irritating to Tavington, in his weakened state, as it had been before. Now he found it rather soothing. She said little, but had deft and very soft hands that tended him agreeably. She was an excellent barber, and was teaching Elizabeth how to shave him. Had he not been in pain, the attentions of two ladies, one smelling of roses and the other of lemon verbena, would have been a dream come true.
Whatever qualms Tavington might have had about Elizabeth tending to his most intimate needs were rapidly overcome. In the course of his first lucid interval with her, she had assisted him with a chamberpot in a calm way that had done much to allay embarrassment. He found himself very much looking forward to the times she bathed him, finding it tender and pleasurable to feel her hands upon him. He was a little surprised at Miss Everleigh allowing her innocent niece to perform such tasks, and said so late one evening.
"And what has she to say about it?" asked Elizabeth, serenely patting his right arm dry. She smiled down at Tavington. "She has not come upstairs in the past ten years. Who would say me nay up here? Charlotte?" She set the damp towel aside, and covered him warmly. "My love, I cannot claim to be a nurse of great experience, but I did help care for my father in his last days, and tended my brothers through many childhood ailments. The male body is not a complete mystery to me."
He must have looked a little disappointed, for she smiled again, and kissed him sweetly. Mollified, he kissed her back, comforting himself with the reflection that one day he might have more surprises in store for her than she suspected.
"Indeed," she continued, "we have few other options. Calypso must spend considerable time tending my aunt; and Charlotte has six children who cannot be left entirely to their nursemaid or to their cousins."
Tavington was not about to argue the point. He was only too happy to have Elizabeth's ministrations. Growing sleepy again, he whispered, "Lie down here with me."
She lay on top of the quilt, curled on her side beside him, her hand resting gently on the unbandaged portion of his chest. He could feel her soft breath against his shoulder, and she stroked his chest delicately, lingering over the fine dark hairs. The room was dim with shadows, and through the nearby window, he could see the stars of Orion.
As he dropped off to sleep, he heard Elizabeth murmur, "Besides, we are betrothed, and we are at war."
Tavington was impatient to improve, and constantly analysed the state of his body, his various wounds, his strength. He had had only one bad bout of fever since coming to the house. Some infection had drained from his lower chest wound, and he hoped that it would now heal more quickly. He was, in fact, beginning to feel well enough to be bored, when one afternoon he awoke to find not Elizabeth, but Julia, sewing quietly in the chair beside him.
He smiled, taking the opportunity to look at her carefully. Children changed so quickly at her age. She was already a different girl than the pert little maiden who had greeted him from the veranda of Arcadia. Her face had thinned a little, beginning to lose its puppy fat, and she had grown notably taller. She looked more than ever like her eldest sister, especially now, as she bit her lip in concentration. She must have sensed his gaze, for she glanced at him, and then her face lit up, seeing him awake.
"Colonel!" She was out of her chair and hovering at his bedside in the blink of an eye. Tavington, in fact, did blink. She restrained herself enough to give him a gentle kiss on the brow, rather than the rib-cracking embrace that was her first impulse, judging from the way she was waving her hands. She seated herself cautiously on the edge of the bed, and took his right hand in hers.
"I'm so happy to see you awake! You can't imagine how worried we've been. When they carried you upstairs that day, we all thought you must be dead and we were so sad, but Lilabet said you were just tired out from the journey, and that we could see you when you were better, but she kept putting us off---" She took in the tiredness in his smile, for she softened her voice, and continued less impetuously.
"We've hardly seen Lilabet, but today Aunt ordered her to get out of the house and take some air, and that it was for her own good. And then Melly said she wanted to go to the hospital at the fort and see That Boy."
"Which boy?"
"You know, that David McKay boy. Melly is in love with him! I know, because I looked in her journal, and in it she's written out the name 'Amelia McKay' about a hundred times."
"Julia."
"What?"
"You shouldn't pry into your sister's journal." Tavington tried to be serious, but could not help smiling. It was so very delightful to be near someone so alive.
"That's what Lilabet said, but I already had, so I know. Lilabet asked me how I would like anyone reading my journal, but I don't write silly stuff, so I wouldn't care. At least I'm not making a fool of myself over a Boy."
"Was Mr. McKay badly wounded?"
"Pretty badly, Mr. Forrest says. He was shot in the lung, and they thought he was going to die, but he didn't; because Mr. Forrest says he's tough as old boots, just like you, and so it's going to be all right."
"Mr. Forrest said I was tough as old boots?"
"Yes, that's right. So anyway, Melly begged and begged to see That Boy, and told Lilabet she should understand; and Aunt said she couldn't go alone, because I guess it's a rough place and everybody's naked there—"
At this point, Tavington began to laugh, which hurt him enough to make the laugh come out as a pained groan. Julia looked frightened.
"Did I hurt you? I'm sorry! Should I go get Calypso?" She rose to leave, but Tavington held her hand.
"No, don't leave, but you mustn't make me laugh." She sat down again, looking serious. "Now tell me," he continued, "have they all gone to the hospital?"
"They called for the carriage, and Melly and Lilabet went, and Cousin Charlotte went with them because she's been married. They left Calypso here if you took a bad turn, and they told me to sit with you and not upset you or tire you out, or this time I would really be in trouble—" She gave him a smile and a little shrug. "Anyway, they took him some invalid food and some fresh linen and some books, and Melly went to hold his hand, or whatever it is they do."
Tavington frowned thoughtfully. "Books---would be pleasant."
Julia was overjoyed. "Would you like me to read to you?"
"I would be greatly obliged to you. What would you like to read?"
"What would you like to hear? No—really, I'll read anything you like, even if it's Pious Extracts. Really. Whatever you like."
"I think we can save Pious Extracts for another day. What is your favourite book?"
She smiled delightedly to herself, as if contemplating a feast. "Well," she began slowly, "I like Gulliver's Travels, and I like Castle of Otranto. and I like Tom Jones, but I wasn't supposed to read it yet, so don't tell. I used to really like the Iliad, but now I'm sick of it because of Melly."
Tavington essayed manfully to remain grave. "Dear me."
"She's always talking about it," Julia told him. "Ever since Lilabet had her write a composition 'comparing the current rebellion with the Trojan War,' she's always seeing the Trojan War everywhere. It's even worse now that she is studying Mr. Dryden's translation of the Aeneid. She compares everybody to people in it, as if we were all characters in a book. I don't like it: it worries me, especially when she called me Polyxena the other day. I don't want to be the Trojans, even if they are nicer."
"Well, then, we will leave out Homer and Virgil. Is there any other kind of book you particularly dislike?"
"Yes!" She grew even more animated. "I can't bear those novels that are all letters. They are so stupid. I'm glad nobody writes me such stupid long letters. If they did, I just wouldn't answer, and then they would leave me alone."
Tavington took a few, long, calming breaths.
Julia reflected briefly, and then asked him, "Do you like Robinson Crusoe?"
"It has been years since I read it. Yes, I remember I liked it very well."
"I like the first part best, when he's alone on the island, and salvaging the things he needs to survive, and making plans. I like it because he has problems, but he thinks about what to do, instead of just giving up."
Tavington fought down a shocking impulse to weep. He turned his head away from her a little, and said, "Why don't we begin right away?"
They were well launched on the story by the time Elizabeth returned. A brief exchange at his chamber door revealed that George Montgomery had been sitting outside, listening to the tale. Elizabeth allowed Julia to find a decent place to stop, and then chased the two children away.
She kissed him gently, asking, "Has she exhausted you? I told her to sit quietly and let you rest, but apparently that was beyond her."
"Don't blame Julia. I found it very entertaining." Elizabeth looked at him darkly, plainly thinking anything he might find entertaining could be hazardous in his current condition. Tavington refused to be cowed, and asked, "How is Mr. McKay?"
"Not well, but holding his own. He seemed very pleased to see us. You are smiling. Did Julia tell you her suspicions as to Melly's sentiments?"
"She told me what she had read in Amelia's journal."
Elizabeth bit her lip, and appeared to be forcing a serious expression. "That was very wrong of her; and it was very wrong of her to look at Melly's journal in the first place. Melly is very young, and it is hard enough to endure a first love at that age, without the additional pain of seeing the loved one near to death."
Tavington had been forming a demand for the past few minutes. Now it emerged full-blown.
"I want some clothes."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I want some clothes. I cannot receive Julia, or indeed anyone else, in my current unclothed state. It is humiliating and indecent."
"It is more convenient that you be unclothed, when caring for your wounds."
"I want some clothes, and I want to relieve myself like a grown man. I would be glad of your assistance. Otherwise I shall venture it alone."
Obviously put out at his stubbornness, Elizabeth returned him scowl for scowl, but assisted him as he wished. He lay back on the bed afterwards, feeling that progress had been made.
Elizabeth asked, "Are you happier now?"
"Yes. Yes, I am. What about my clothes?"
"I think it would be a bad idea for you to lift your arms enough to don a shirt, but we will ask Mr. Forrest for his opinion. In the meantime, there is something you can put on. I shall fetch it, and be back shortly."
It was a beautiful banyan of dark red velvet. Tavington was amused and touched at the opulence of the garment. With it was a pair of matching slippers. Carefully, Elizabeth helped him slip the coat on, and knelt to fit the slippers to his feet.
The sight of the woman he loved kneeling before him was almost more than Tavington could bear. He laid his hand softly on her head, smoothing the cap that restrained the dark curls. How could he have been such a fool as to pursue a personal quarrel with Martin? How could he have put his hatred of an enemy before his duty to Elizabeth, or even before his duty as a soldier, and his duty to his men? Silently, Tavington swore that he would never, never again lose sight of what was most precious to him—his love and his honour.
Within a week, he was coming downstairs to dinner for the first time. It was made a great occasion by the inhabitants of Everleigh House; and it was all Amelia and Julia could do to shoo the little ones from under his feet as he carefully descended the stairs, Elizabeth by his side.
He was ushered into the dining parlour, a place that had such meaning for him now, and was greeted by Miss Everleigh herself.
"Colonel! Back in good looks, I see! All the better. Now come and sit by me, and I'll tell you all the news that's fit to hear!"
Tavington smiled, genuinely glad to see the old lady again, and looking forward to some bracingly acid commentary. As he seated himself, he looked at her again, and was shocked. He had not seen her since Christmas, and she was now painfully thin, her yellowed skin tight over the bones. Her nose had a sharpened look to it, and he at once knew what such a change foretold. Miss Everleigh's eyes met his. She saw his reaction, and smiled ironically. She patted his hand.
"'Well, we are all mortal.' Ganymede! Serve the dinner while we are still alive to eat it!"
Comfortable as his room was, it was very pleasant to be able to leave it at will, to take his meals with the family, and to lounge on a parlour sofa with a book. Elizabeth and the older children did their utmost to keep the little ones from troubling him unnecessarily, and generally achieved this by surrounding him: Elizabeth beside him, Amelia and Julia on hassocks in front of him, and George standing guard against an over-enthusiastic approach. Charlotte helped by keeping Frank and Sophie in the nursery with their baby sister. Jane and Mary were able to grasp that their Colonel must be protected, and had learned to play quietly with their dolls and their Noah's Ark. Sometimes Miss Everleigh joined them in the evening. More and more she did not. Julia often entertained them by reading from Robinson Crusoe. George's reading had improved to the point that he could sometimes take a turn.
Tavington found these evenings the sweetest time of all. The children would be sent up to bed with their candles: first Jane and Mary, then George and Julia, then Amelia half an hour later. Afterwards Tavington and Elizabeth could nestle together on the sofa, looking at the fire. It was a tantalising taste of married life. As Tavington grew stronger, he was finding it increasingly difficult to restrain his longing for Elizabeth. Occasionally, he regretted his decision to defer their marriage. He was on guard against himself, strictly regulating how he would let himself kiss his love, where he was allowed to caress her, what was forbidden him. When he found himself dwelling too long on the delightful plans he had for pleasing her, he would take himself off hastily to his solitary bed. Sometimes, however, he could distract himself with conversation.
One such night, she brought up the subject of their future home, and suggested that she could begin preparing for their household not only with her sewing, but with some sensible household purchases, including some slaves.
Tavington decided it would be foolish not to be perfectly explicit. "I find the idea of owning slaves distasteful."
She stared at him, astonished. "But, my dearest," she expostulated, "Everyone owns slaves."
"Everyone does not own slaves," he contradicted. "Not even here in the South." He would not mention Benjamin Martin, and prayed that she would not either.
She was still bewildered. "Are you an—advocate of the Abolition?"
"I have not thought on the subject to such a degree," he admitted. "I can only say that I myself, as an individual, do not wish to own other human beings." He was not entirely sure why the idea repelled him so. Perhaps it was those years of being a poor relation, or perhaps because of my school, and being whipped on a schoolmaster's whim. No noble reason, probably. Maybe just because of Uncle Fitzroy-Hughes. I would prefer to never live under the same roof with someone who hates me as much as I hated him.
She looked into the fire thoughtfully. "Mother said it was difficult for Father at first too. Perhaps, my love, if you gave yourself time to become accustomed—"
He was unyielding. "I do not wish to become accustomed to such a thing. I have quite enough of life and death authority in the army. I will not own a slave."
"I suppose we could make do with servants. But it is really much simpler and less expensive to own slaves."
"I daresay it is. But we will make do with servants, as you say."
"Well," she said. "Well, then, there are probably places that would not be ideal for us. I really see no way to pursue sugar planting in the West Indies, for example, without—"
"Too hot."
"Too hot?"
"I have already considered climate. I do not want to live in a place with such hot weather and such a threat of fever."
She was more understanding of this issue. "I certainly agree that our summers can be unpleasant. I gather that Kentucky is more temperate, and there we might be able to farm tobacco without needing such a great number of labourers. I suppose hired men would do."
"Hired men have sufficed in England for centuries. I am sure they would suffice for us."
She still seemed perplexed by his dislike of owning slaves. Tavington was not sure she would ever quite understand his reasons; he was not quite sure he understood them himself, but it was enough for now that she would obey him. He kissed the frown away, and soothed, she smiled up at him and returned to the more important task of kissing him back.
Three days later, Tavington received a note. Lord Rawdon asked if he could have the favour of a visit. Tavington had always liked Rawdon. The Irishman was a straightforward fellow and a fine soldier, and had managed to get on well with Lord Cornwallis, without acting the sycophant. Still, Tavington could not help feeling anxious. Lord Rawdon would be calling to assess Tavington's health and his fitness for further command.
He could at least receive Rawdon looking fairly respectable, as he could now manage shirt, breeches, and stockings, with the banyan over all. A new uniform was being tailored for him; and Elizabeth was sewing him yet another shirt because, as she wryly put it, "something apparently befell one of the shirts I made you." Wilkins had managed to retrieve his sword, and had seen to it that his belongings were sent with him in the wagon to Camden. Tavington would have to replace his pistols, and more importantly, his horse.
Rawdon appeared at the appointed hour, and was shown into the parlour by the unrelentingly dour Uncle Ganymede. Tavington and Elizabeth awaited him. Tavington had expected Miss Everleigh to join them, but Calypso had approached Elizabeth after breakfast, and informed her that Miss Sarah Jane Minerva was not feeling well enough to leave her bed that day.
"My dear Colonel Tavington," smiled Rawdon, and bowed with his usual good manners as he and Elizabeth were introduced to one another.
"You have grossly deceived us all, Tavington," laughed Rawdon, looking him over. "We had heard you were at death's door, and here you are instead, sitting at your ease with your lovely fiancée, looking quite the pasha!"
Elizabeth served them tea, while they chatted of the weather. Then, catching Tavington's eye, she excused herself and left the two men to talk.
"So, my dear fellow, how are you really?' asked Rawdon, looking Tavington over curiously.
"Really, my lord, I'm getting stronger all the time. I've had good care, my wounds have not mortified, the stitches are out, and I feel nearly myself. I wouldn't want to try a thirty-mile ride today, but soon it will not be beyond me."
"Cornwallis wants you back, you know." Rawdon gave Tavington an understanding smile. "The Green Dragoons don't do as well under anyone else. Your senior captain, Hovenden, is a good man, but he is not you. Cornwallis needs someone they trust, for moving fast and deep up into North Carolina. He wants to beard those Virginia rebels in their own lair, and he needs you to do it."
"It cannot be very pleasant for him to admit it," said Tavington frankly.
Lord Rawdon was thoughtful. "My dear Tavington, I don't pretend to understand what the difficulty is between the two of you, but I tell you it must stop, for all our sakes. Cornwallis is willing to shake hands and make a fresh start. Are you?"
"Yes," said Tavington, "Yes, of course; and I want to return to the Legion, just as soon as I am fit. I truly believe it will not be long. Another week—two at the most—and I will be ready to set out. Except—" He might as well tell Rawdon his situation. "Except I must find a horse. Mine, as you know----"
Rawdon's large nose quivered in distaste. "Damned disgusting, that. Imagine killing a fine animal with his own bloody flag! These rebels are a savage lot." Rawdon frowned, and then the frown changed to a smile. "You could have my spare horse, Aeolus! Damned decent animal, well-schooled, good lungs. I paid two hundred fifty for him, but seeing it's you, and we have to have you mounted, I'll let you have him for a round two hundred! What do you say?"
Tavington groaned inwardly. I have only a little over five hundred pounds to my name, and I'm going to spend nearly half of it getting remounted! There was no help for it: the army would issue him a horse, but it would likely be one of the broken-down screws that were coming their way more and more often. War's casualties were not only human ones.
He managed a smile. "I should have a look at him myself, my lord, to see if we suit one another."
Rawdon laughed. "Good idea! I'll have my groom bring him around this Friday. Think you'll be up to it?"
"I know I shall."
Author's notes : Polyxena was the youngest of the daughters of Priam, King of Troy. She was sacrificed by the Greeks at Achilles' tomb after the fall of the city. Amelia was not one to communicate everything she was thinking, but one cannot help but wonder if she saw herself as Cassandra, Priam's prophetess daughter, who was under a curse never to be believed.
I realize that my Lord Rawdon is not speaking like a Barry Fitzgerald Irishman. Lord Rawdon was an Anglo-Irish Protestant nobleman, educated at Harrow and Oxford, and no mention is made of him having the then socially undesirable Irish manner of speech.
A banyan (also called an Indian coat or Indian gown) was a man's long dressing gown, used as informal wear around the house, typically over shirt, breeches, stockings, and shoes or slippers. I must pause a moment now to consider the inflammatory effect of Sweet William, hair loose about his manly shoulders, clad in frilly shirt and red velvet dressing gown. Oh, my.
Marg B. will understand the pasha reference. I must take this opportunity for expressing my obligation to her for her wonderful Tarleton website, which has been an invaluable source of historical information.
To Vivienne Tavington: no, the Tavington/Sharpe thing is entirely my own invention.