Though still not perfectly well, Tavington could wait no longer to rejoin the army. The past two weeks had done much to restore his strength; whether loafing on the sofa, listening to the girls' music lessons, or dawdling about with a book. The reading of Robinson Crusoe gradually had become a family project, and was now complete.
Lord Rawdon's horse, Aeolus, had been duly brought out for his approval. He was a handsome chestnut stallion, sixteen hands high, with a smooth action and a good temper. Tavington knew he would do no better, and paid out the precious two hundred pounds accordingly. Aeolus, God of the Winds, thought Tavington, let us hope it is a good omen! Tavington made the effort to exercise the animal himself, a little longer each day.
A few days later, George Montgomery had approached him, looking about to see if they were being overheard.
"Pardon me, Colonel sir."
"What is it, Mr. Montgomery?" asked Tavington, deeply engrossed in Miss Everleigh's enscribed copy of Micrographia.
The boy paused, obviously making an effort to stand straight and not fidget. He said, "Please, sir, would you teach me how to fight with swords?"
Tavington put down his book and looked at George. Getting up, he motioned for the boy to follow him, and went outside. It was a mild South Carolina winter, not too cold to exercise out-of-doors in shirt and waistcoat. When Tavington paused by the dogwood tree, the boy backed off a little, and then was reassured when he saw Tavington breaking off two thin, fairly straight branches, and then breaking them further to about the same length.
"Over here, then," said Tavington, stepping away from the house and the nearby trees. He gave one stick to George, and kept another for himself. "All right, Mr. Montgomery, show me how you would hold your weapon. No, quite wrong. Here." Working with the boy on his grip, he then moved on to show him the advance, the retreat, and the lunge. Using muscles that had been idle for too many weeks was a reminder to him that he had to start exercising with weapons again, as well as on horseback.
"Keep your weight centered, or you'll fall on your face in front of the enemy. Then he'll have a good laugh while he's killing you." The boy looked at him wide-eyed. "I know. I've found it very amusing myself." He kept the boy practicing his basic movements for quite a while, then told him, "Now, try to run me through." The boy hesitated. "He who hesitates is lost, Mr. Montgomery. I want you to lunge and try to run me through."
"I don't want to hurt you."
Tavington rolled his eyes. "Most unlikely, sir. Now do as I say, or the lesson will be over."
George positioned himself and performed a creditable lunge. Tavington parried casually, and knocked the stick from the boy's hand.
"That was amazing!" cried George.
"No, that is swordplay, Mr. Montgomery. I parried your thrust. I want you to work a little longer on the movements I taught you today. Tomorrow, I shall show you some of the parries."
Elizabeth, seeing them from upstairs, opened the window and called out, "William, what are you doing?"
"George and I are fencing. I thought that was fairly obvious!"
"George doesn't need to know how to fence!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Tavington, giving George a sly smile, to which the boy responded delightedly. "Someday it may save his life."
"My dearest—" Elizabeth protested.
"Elizabeth, I do not interfere with your lessons. Please do not interrupt mine."
She was silent, and left the window. Tavington was resigned to further conversation on the subject later.
His new uniform complete and properly fitted, he had next ridden out to the fort. He needed to talk over the campaign plans in greater detail with Rawdon; and he wanted to visit Bordon and McKay, and some of the other men of the Legion at the fort hospital.
Forrest showed him off to his fellow surgeons, as proud as if he had built Tavington himself. Tavington was made to strip off his shirt and be prodded and his healing scars admired by the other sawbones at the hospital. He wondered if he would someday be written of in one of their revolting medical books. He had recovered rapidly, but such cases were not unheard of. He admitted to them that his scars did pain him occasionally, but he was assured that this would decrease with time.
David McKay looked frail and ill, but the boy smiled bravely at the sight of his Colonel. Tavington felt badly about McKay. He had, to some extent, lost control of himself at Cowpens, and it would be one thing if he alone had paid the price of his impetuosity, but that was not the case. Good young soldiers, like McKay, lying there, depended upon him for more than courage. They required leadership and sound judgement. He was determined that his judgement not fail him again. War was no place for private quarrels. If Cowpens had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that. But of course it taught me more, he thought, helping the boy to a drink of water. It taught me about my own mortality. It taught me to think about what is most precious to me—what is truly worth fighting and dying for.
"How is Miss Amelia?" asked McKay, who then blushed as much as his bloodless state allowed. "I mean, sir, how are all the ladies? They are so kind to visit me." Due to Amelia's insistence, they did in fact visit at least once a week.
"They are quite well, especially Miss Amelia," replied Tavington with an amused smile. "They will remain so if you continue to improve."
Tavington then went to see Bordon. His captain had not been as lucky as Tavington: his wound was badly infected. Tavington spoke to the surgeon in charge, and found the man unsure of Bordon's prognosis. Tavington decided to make up his own mind. He found that Bordon had lost a great deal of weight, and was nearly as weak as McKay, but he had one advantage. Polly Featherstone had taken up residence at the hospital and was providing him with constant care. Tavington hardly recognized her. She, too, had lost weight; and pale and unpainted, she more resembled one of the nursing sisters Tavington had seen in France years ago, than the harlot she was.
"You're looking very fit, sir," whispered Bordon.
"Thank you, Captain. And I see now, why you're making the good progress the surgeons told me of." He gave a smile and a nod to Polly, who hovered over Bordon protectively, as if afraid Tavington would order him out of bed and into battle on the spot.
Bordon took Polly by the hand, and smiled slightly. "Polly's been an angel of mercy. If I live, it will be entirely her doing."
"Don't talk nonsense!" said Polly, quietly fierce. "You are going to live and there's nothing more to say about it!" She gave Tavington an defiant look, daring him to say otherwise.
"You see, Bordon," said Tavington, with mock gravity. "You are going to live. Polly's orders." Bordon smiled again, more sleepily now, and his eyelids drooped. Tavington saw that he needed to rest and he motioned to Polly to follow him as he left the captain's bedside.
In the doorway, Tavington pressed some money into her hand. "Polly, if the worst happens, write to me, and I'll ----"
She cut him off without ceremony; "He's going to live. I couldn't save my Major, but I won't lose Hugh." She looked at the coins, and then prudently accepted them. "He's going to be all right, if I can keep the surgeons from bleeding him to death."
"I pray you are right. If anyone can restore him, it will be you." He kissed her brow, like a brother. "Good luck to you, my dear."
Later, meeting with Lord Rawdon, he looked about the room. This is where he had had so many unpleasant interviews with General Lord Cornwallis. Nothing of his former commander lingered there. Rawdon greeted him with great cordiality, had him sit down and offered him tea. Tavington was glad of the chance to rest. The ride to the camp and the visit to the hospital had been more taxing than he had anticipated.
Some of the remaining Legion infantry were to stay in Fort Carolina, on garrison duty. Out of the rest, a new troop of dragoons had been constituted, and were now mounted, after a fashion. Tavington would be rejoining the Dragoons in North Carolina, where they would be used to scout Cornwallis' advance into Virginia. It would be a long, risky, and arduous venture. It would be nearly impossible to maintain contact with Rawdon after several hundred miles. Cornwallis hoped to pursue, trap, and destroy the Colonial regulars, and to render their Virginia heartland harmless. Once they reached the sea, Sir Henry Clinton would sail down from the north and join with them.
It was a gamble. That was clear. There were indeed other options, but none of them were particularly attractive either. The Whigs in Parliament were furiously attacking the cost of the war. It was perfectly certain that no matter how dire the army's situation, no major reinforcements would be forthcoming. Whatever they could do, they must do with current resources.
"You know, Colonel," said Rawdon, hesitantly, "there are some who think we should just leave the northern colonies and Virginia to themselves, and content ourselves with partition."
"I hadn't heard," said Tavington. "What exactly does that mean?"
"Well, as you know, the most loyal of all the colonies are Georgia and the Carolinas. We have a real majority of the people behind us here, and it has been suggested," he paused, and Tavington wondered if it was Rawdon himself who had suggested this. "It has been suggested that we should concentrate on securing these three colonies, ridding ourselves of the enemies here, and establishing well-protected borders. Let the rest of the rebels rot! With these three colonies, and our territories in Florida and west to the Mississippi, not to mention Canada in the north, we would still have control of North America, and we gradually could encircle and strangle the rebel colonies into submission."
"It sounds like a reasonable plan, my lord, but a very long-term one."
"Yes, that's the problem. Too many people just want to get it over with. No great reputations or great rewards with a long-term plan! At any rate," Rawdon sighed, "Cornwallis' preferred plan is to go north and engage the enemy. We must do the best we can with it."
"Indeed we must, my lord."
Tavington had planned to look for pistols while he was at the fort, but found that he was simply too tired to make any more decisions that day. He rode wearily back to the Everleigh house. He confessed to himself that Aeolus' smooth gait and good behaviour would make his life easier than it might have been with a more temperamental horse. Still, the expense rather depressed him. He wondered how much he would have to pay out for a decent set of pistols.
George came out of the house as Tavington approached, and took the horse back to the stable for him for the groom to tend to. Tavington was grateful for the boy's thoughtfulness. He entered the house, undecided between going upstairs to bed, or just incontinently throwing himself onto a parlour sofa for a nap. The parlour was closer.
Tavington was very happy. He was sitting in front of a comfortable fire with Elizabeth on his lap. She was exquisitely unclothed, and he had pulled her inside his velvet banyan. Her lovely dark curls brushed tantalisingly against his cheek. She was bending down to kiss him—
"William."
He awoke with a start. Elizabeth was bending over him, stroking his face. He pulled her close and kissed her deeply, unsure if he was still dreaming or waking. She smiled as she broke the kiss.
"It is time for dinner. I thought I would wake you myself, or would you have preferred Uncle Ganymede?"
Tavington grunted expressively. "I was dreaming of you."
"That is flattering, for you see me all the time anyway."
He frowned. "Not for much longer, my love." The fire was blazing on the hearth. That had been real, too.
"When will you leave us?"
"Wednesday next. That will give me time to rest a little more and look out a good pair of pistols." He rose and went in to dinner with her. Miss Everleigh's place was empty. The old lady was failing rapidly, and Tavington was surprised at how grieved he felt. She was an original; and malicious and spiteful as she sometimes was, she had been a good friend to him and a generous kinswoman to Elizabeth and her sisters. She was one of those individuals who could not be replaced, for there was no one quite like her.
Amelia asked Tavington, "Did you see Mr. McKay?"
"Yes," answered Tavington.
Amelia sat fidgeting a moment, while Tavington grew more and more amused.
Amelia gave in. "And was he well?"
Julia was unable to repress an unladylike snort of laughter. Amelia flushed angrily.
Tavington said, "He was doing well, and he asked after—who was it? Some lady I know." He smiled at her, and she smiled back, somewhat abashed.
It was all so comfortable—so familial. Tavington knew he would miss everything about it when he left. He went to his bed early that night, tired and a little melancholy. When shall we all be together again?
The next day, they gave him the pistols.
It was immediately after breakfast that Elizabeth, Amelia, and Julia took him into the parlour, looking serious. George wanted to follow them, and was hurt when Julia told him it was a "family conference." Elizabeth, more kindly, whispered to him that they had a secret to tell Colonel Tavington, but that George should be the very next to know. The boy stationed himself outside the parlour door, as it shut behind Tavington and the Misses Wilde.
"There is no reason you should not have them."
Elizabeth was a little vexed at his reluctance.
Amelia seconded her. "We want you to have them."
"We want you to have them and shoot a lot of rebels with them," added Julia.
Tavington laughed, but he could not help taking the pistols from their case and looking them over covetously. They really were splendid weapons. He would never be able to afford such a pair, and yet he hated the idea of risking part of the girls' inheritance in battle. Still, as he handled them and found how perfectly balanced they were, how well they suited him, he felt his resistance weakening.
Elizabeth said, "I'm sure my father would be very happy that you should have them and make the good use of them we know you will. My poor father---when he and Richard joined the army, Mother was so grieved: Father was an artist, Richard a scholar, and she told them they wouldn't last five minutes against a real soldier. Well, they lasted a little longer, but Richard not much. I daresay Richard was quite at a loss at Brandywine, and then he came across—" she looked gravely at Tavington, "someone like you, and that was the end of him."
Her sisters sat silently on the couch together, and then Julia said, "Please take them. That way you'll have a token from us, like the knights of the olden days, and you won't forget us."
"Julia, my dear, I could never forget you—any of you. And I am loath to leave you defenseless."
Amelia smiled. "We are not defenseless. A good friend gave me this." She reached into her skirt, and pulled the little pistol from the pocket tied underneath.
He could not hurt them. "I am most grateful to you all."
The last few days passed in a kind of mist. Books, music, George's fencing lessons: all seemed remarkably pleasant and agreeable. Tavington and Elizabeth were more than commonly tender with one another, as their time together grew shorter. Every kiss, every touch seemed especially precious. Tavington feared that Elizabeth would beg to join him, and prayed she would not. This time, almost none of the wives or even camp women were going along. Most would be left with the garrison in Camden. The army, with the Green Dragoons in the lead, would be moving faster than ever.
Now at last the two weeks were over. Tuesday night, they had an especially wonderful dinner. They lingered over it, smiling with a kind of painful joy. When they withdrew to the parlour, they found Miss Everleigh sitting in her chair.
She was very nearly skin and bone, looking much smaller without her large wig. She still wore her pearls, and a beautiful cap trimmed with the lace Tavington had given her. The smile she gave Tavington was very nearly a death's head grin, but Tavington had to smile back at the old lady's brave effort. She motioned feebly for him to come and sit by her.
"No, the other sofa," she said, fretfully. "I can see your face better there. No point in having a good-looking man in my parlour, if I cannot have a good look at him." She spoke to Elizabeth, "Lizzie, I had Calypso put some music on the pianoforte. I want you to sing the songs I marked."
"Of course, Aunt." Elizabeth seated herself at the instrument and looked through the music on the stand.
"My mother," said Miss Everleigh, "was very fond of the music of Mr. Henry Purcell. I thought I would like to hear some of those old songs. When I am gone, there will be no one in the world who remembers my mother, but at least the children will know something about her."
"Music, music for awhile
Shall all your cares beguile---"
As Elizabeth sang, Miss Everleigh had a comfortable chat with Tavington. "So, Colonel, the time has come when I have to break down and make some decisions about my property. I don't intend to leave this house to Elizabeth. No offense, but I think you've made a few too many enemies in these parts to settle here. My nephew James too."
"I believe you are right."
"'Til Alecto free the dead,
From their eternal bands."
"I don't gainsay anything you've done, but I wouldn't care for either of them to wake up in a burning house." Her eyes held their old malicious sparkle, and she laughed. "No, there's no reason to keep it a secret. I'm going to leave the house to Charlotte's children. Charlotte's a fool, and she'll certainly marry again, so I don't want anyone able to sell the house until the children are grown. At least her litter will have a roof over their heads. There's a condition, though, that the Wilde girls can live here as long as they like. I won't have Charlotte's family turning them out, while you're off acting the hero."
"I owe Mrs. Montgomery a great deal. I am glad her family will be provided for."
"'Til the snakes drop from her hair,
And the whip from out her hands."
Music, music for awhile,
Shall all your cares beguile."
The song was over. Miss Everleigh told Elizabeth, "That was good. Almost as good as my mother, Lizzie. Now the next one. It's quite unusual." She smirked at Tavington. "Bess of Bedlam."
"From silent shades, and the Elysian groves,
Where sad departed spirits mourn their loves;
From crystal streams, and from that country where Jove crowns the fields with flowers all the year,
Poor senseless Bess, cloth'd in her rags and folly,
Is come to cure her lovesick melancholy."
Elizabeth shot a hostile glance at her frail old relative, and returned to her song.
Miss Everleigh considered him awhile, and then said abruptly, "You know, if you ride off tomorrow and leave Lizzie behind, there's a good chance you'll never see one another again."
"She cannot come with me. None of the other wives are coming. And we will be together someday. I know it."
"Did you but see my love as he pass'd by you?
His two flaming eyes if he come nigh you,
They will burn up your hearts!
Ladies, beware ye,
Lest he dart a flame that may ensnare ye."
"Well, I hope all may be well." Miss Everleigh looked at him with pleasure. "At least she'll have a good-looking husband."
Tavington did not bother to hide his annoyance.
"Why be embarrassed by your handsome face, Colonel? It seems to me that you could have made better capital of it than winning a dispossessed colonial spinster. You'd think there were no heiresses in England!"
"Poor Bess will return to the place whence she came,
Since the world is so mad she can hope for no cure—"
Tavington observed bluntly, "One always wonders why others make such curious choices. I, for one, have always wondered why you chose to live in a small provincial town, when you could sharpen your wit against less rustic folk!"
"Ha!" Miss Everleigh gave a delighted caw, distracting everyone from Elizabeth's song, and their own conversations. Miss Everleigh leaned toward Tavington and confided. "When you are as old as I, my boy, you may find it no bad thing to be a big fish in a small pond!"
Elizabeth was sitting grimly at the instrument. "I would prefer not to sing "The Fatal Hour."
Her aunt was unsympathetic. "Oh, Lizzie, how you refuse a old woman's last---"
Elizabeth interrupted with, "Very well." She gave Tavington a look clearly expressing her feelings.
"The fatal hour comes on apace,
Which I had rather die than see,
For when fate calls you from this place,
You go to certain misery."
Tavington blazed at Miss Everleigh. She chuckled, and grinned even more like a death's head. Julia, Amelia, Charlotte, and even George began to sniffle a little.
"The thought does stab me to the heart,
And gives me pangs no word can speak,
It wracks me in each vital part,
Sure when you go, my heart will break."
She finished, and sat slumped at the pianoforte. Julia came and put her arm around her. Tavington started to get up, but Miss Everleigh caught his hand, and called out, "Just one more, Lizzie, that's all I ask."
Elizabeth turned to the marked page. "You cannot possibly want me to sing this."
"Yes I do," stoutly replied Miss Everleigh. "It's a beautiful song, and it's my last chance to hear it. Melly, you'll like this. It's from the opera Dido and Aeneas." Amelia perked up, interested. "Poor Dido sings her farewell, after her hero Aeneas has gone off and left her."
Tavington considered choking her. Only this woman would use her imminent death as an excuse to torment her relations!
Elizabeth sighed, and rolled the opening chord of a recitative.
"Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me:
On thy bosom let me rest:
More I would, but Death invades me:
Death is now a welcome guest."
She began the descending chromatic octaves.
"When I am laid, am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create no trouble, no trouble in thy breast.
Remember me, remember me,
But ah! Forget my fate."
The company listened, and sat silently afterward: most in sorrow (Charlotte shedding tears as if she loved Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva more than anything in the world), Miss Everleigh is satisfaction, Elizabeth in exhaustion, and Tavington in baffled outrage. Would knocking her down be more socially correct than strangling her?
Miss Everleigh spoke up. "Well, that was mighty delightful, Lizzie. This is almost as good as getting to see my own funeral. Sad faces, good music, everyone saying kind things about the departed."
"How do you know they would be kind things?" asked Julia.
"Because, Julia," ground out Elizabeth, "one doesn't speak ill of the dead."
"Why not?" asked Julia pragmatically. "It's pretty safe, isn't it?"
Miss Everleigh burst out laughing, and Tavington had to laugh as well.
"Julia," said Miss Everleigh, 'don't you ever let your sister make too proper a lady of you! Now go find Calypso, and tell her I want you to bring my jewelry box in here. Let's decide who's going to get what!"
"Aunt," objected Elizabeth with great weariness, "That's utterly ghoulish!"
"Yes, isn't it? But utterly amusing too!"
They departed severally to their chambers afterwards. Calypso helped Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva down the hall to her room, Ganymede lighting the way. The others took their candles and ascended the stairs, murmuring excitedly. Amelia and Julia were admiring their new pearl earrings; George was enchanted with his great-great-grandfather's gold watch; Charlotte was sobbing over a garnet cross and a small box of jewelry with pieces designated for each of her little girls.
Elizabeth sat wearily on a hassock by the fire. Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva had promised her the splendid pearl necklace she always wore, "But not until I'm actually dead, Lizzie!" Tavington came and sat in the chair behind the hassock, and began gently to stroke Elizabeth's neck and shoulders. She turned toward him, and laid her head on his knee.
She murmured, "You may shoot me, if I'm like that when I'm old."
"If you are like that when you're old, I probably shall." She lay quietly, while he delicately traced the lines of her ear, her jaw, and then ran his finger down the arch of her nose and playfully tugged on the tip. She gave a muffled laugh, and batted his hand away. Sitting up, she looked at him gravely. "I suppose you should go to your bed, if you are to leave in the morning."
He rose, and lit a candle for each of them. Ganymede was standing discreetly in the shadows of the entry hall, waiting to close down the house for the night. Tavington gave Elizabeth his arm, and they went upstairs together.
Tavington envisioned a future night when he and Elizabeth would be thus, and would not be parted after. They reached the upper hall, and were reluctant to separate. She glanced up at him and trembled; and then took his hand and led him to his doorway.
"My dearest, it will be so long before we shall see one another again. I truly fear—"
"We shall see one another again." He disengaged his hand, and slid his arm around her, pulling her fast against him. Their candles threw fantastic shadows on the walls around them. He bent and kissed her slowly, savouring her, and committing her to memory.
She whispered, "My dearest, I am yours. If you wish---"
He silenced her with another kiss. "And I am yours. Do not think otherwise." Between his aching need and the appalling fate that might be hers if he failed in honour, there was no choice to be made. He guided her, arm about her shoulders, to her room; kissed her hand, and left her.
He was going north with a detachment of the 17th, rejoining the Legion. His effects had already been sent ahead to be packed in the baggage wagon. He made the rounds of the servants, giving them each a present of money, and to Calypso, a larger amount, with thanks for her care. She regarded him impassively, and told him to take better care of himself in future. Breakfast was a brisk affair, everyone doing his or her best to maintain a brave face. Tavington felt he must bid farewell to Miss Everleigh, and asked for leave to do so.
He was admitted to her private chamber. Evidently as she had aged, the former front and back parlours had been converted respectively to her sitting room and bedroom. The scent of the house was stronger here. Elizabeth was by his side as he approached the old lady. She was so still and yellow, sitting in her chair by the front window, he wondered if she had already died; but she opened her eyes with a wry smile, and bade him come closer.
"I am on my way now, Miss Everleigh. I have come to say good-bye, and to thank you for your great kindness to me." He took her bony hand and kissed it.
She gave a little laugh, "I, kind? What rubbish! A deception in order to keep a gallant fellow about to admire." She turned her head a little, and Tavington, understanding the gesture, kissed the papery skin of her cheek. She addressed Elizabeth with a little of her old imperiousness. "Fetch me that packet on my dressing table, Lizzie."
Elizabeth went, and returned with a thick packet of folded and sealed papers. She handed them to her aunt, who looked at them reflectively. "This for you, Colonel, but I must have your word of honour that you will not open this packet until you rejoin your Green Dragoons up in North Carolina."
Tavington took the packet from Miss Everleigh, examining it curiously. "You have my word, of course."
"Be off with you now, if you must; but don't forget to marry Lizzie when you're tired of playing soldiers!" She waved him away impatiently. He smiled, bowed, and left.
The children were lined up outside to say goodbye, even the oblivious but friendly little Frank, and tiny Caroline in her mother's arms. He was grieved, but not surprised to see Amelia and Julia openly shedding tears; but he was touched, and a little exasperated to see that Jane, Mary, and even the small, exquisite Sophie were tearful as well. George was sniffling, and Tavington gave him a look of mild reproof.
It appeared the little Montgomery girls all wished to kiss him; so he permitted it. He bowed to Charlotte.
"I am in your debt, Madam."
Charlotte smiled, timid again now that he was no longer an invalid. She offered him the baby's small face, much as a hopeful dog-lover offers a favourite pet to a forbearing friend. He kissed the pretty infant politely, careful of his new uniform. He took Frank's grubby little paw, and gave George a proper handshake.
"I'll never forget you, sir," the boy choked out.
"Just --keep your weight centered, and you'll be all right."
Both Amelia and Julia embraced and kissed him; Amelia squeaking when she hurt herself on one of his buckles. She blushed and backed away. Both girls seemed quite incapable of speech. Elizabeth, quiet, and with her tears already shed, turned her face up to him and kissed him briefly but meaningfully.
"God keep you, my dearest," she whispered.
He put on his helmet, and swung into Aeolus' saddle. Drawing his sabre, he gave them all his grandest salute; with a smile including the watcher at the front window, the Montgomerys, Julia and Amelia. He caught Elizabeth's eye beyond his upraised blade; and with a final nod to his lady, sheathed his sword, and turned his horse toward the north, and war.
Author's notes: Good swordsmanship did indeed save George's life at the Battle of Fallen Timbers in 1794.
Alecto is one of the Furies
Bedlam was the famous madhouse in London. The song is not a conventional ballad, but a more complex composition, using different meters and melodies to portray the mental confusion of the narrator.
Julia's remark about the safety of speaking ill of the dead is, alas, not mine. See L.M. Montgomery's Anne of Windy Poplars.