CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Circe and the Swine
North of the Tarr River, the land was unknown. Tavington and the Dragoons were everywhere, commanding the inhabitants to surrender their foodstuffs for sale on pain of seizure. The supplies seemed more plentiful here. Tavington felt relieved that he and his men were at last getting enough to eat, but they were all in need of rest.
An old countrywoman they came upon recommended they try Hawkforth House, the preeminent plantation in the area. On asking her for directions, the woman pointed west and said it was "on apiece," but not more than an hour.
They found a sunken lane, shaded with oaks. As the road turned, a tall, white house with an ivy-covered chimney came partially into view. Tavington was struck by a strange sense of having been there before, but shrugged it off as absurd. Coming closer, he saw it was a good-sized house with a pillared porch, garlanded with honeysuckle. To the west of the house was an orchard, white with blossoms.
Out on the veranda were two figures. Riding up to the house, Tavington saw they were a woman and a very small boy, who waved at them.
The woman, or rather, the lady of the house, was worth a second look. Tall, graceful, with red-gold hair uncovered, she was elegantly dressed in blue-flowered silk. She was looking gravely at Tavington; neither exactly friendly, nor openly hostile. The little fellow holding her hand was quite delighted at the sight of so many soldiers and horses, and was frank in his admiration.
"Mama, look!"
The handsome woman smiled down at the boy, and murmured something Tavington could not catch. The child quieted, still happily taking them all in. The woman looked Tavington in the eye, but said nothing.
Courteously removing his helmet, for she was indeed a lady, Tavington greeted her. "Good day to you, Madam. Is your husband at home?"
"No, he is not, sir." She said nothing else, but stood looking at him. Her eyes were quite wonderful: large and heavenly blue. The colour reminded him of something, but he could not quite remember what it was.
Handsome as she was, he had to ask, "Is he a rebel, Madam?"
She smiled slightly, "No, sir. He is in the army of his country, and fighting against invaders; therefore not a rebel."
Tavington held her eye a moment, and turned to Hovenden. "Captain, have the men make camp in the orchard."
Dismounting, he bowed to the lady. "William Tavington, Green Dragoons. You may have heard of me."
She curtseyed, unafraid, "Mary Sloan. Everyone's heard of you, Colonel."
"Madam, the service of His Majesty requires the temporary occupation of your property, and if it would not be too great an inconvenience, I will take up my quarters in your house."
She calmly led him inside. A cursory inspection showed that she could accommodate Tavington and all six of his captains. The slaves were quiet and efficient, and before he knew it, Tavington had been shown to a comfortable chamber and had the first opportunity in days to wash thoroughly.
He removed his jacket, waistcoat, and boots, and lay down on the wide, soft bed. Almost instantly he was asleep.
***
It was strange to be back at Arcadia, and stranger still to be upstairs for the first time. Tavington lay resting on the bed, when Elizabeth slipped into the room. She smiled at him archly, in a way so familiar and dear to him. She was dressed in a thin white muslin robe.
"Are you happy to see me?"
He smiled his answer, and was delighted when she unfastened the robe and let it fall to the floor. Coming closer, with an even naughtier smile, she stroked his hair and covered his face with light, teasing kisses. Enchanted by the sight of her revealed loveliness, he took her breasts gently in his hands, wondering at the softness of her skin.
"My dearest," she whispered reproachfully, "if you wanted to make love to me, you shouldn't have kept me waiting."
There was a knock at the door. "Dinner in ten minutes, Colonel sir," spoke the muffled voice of a slave.
Tavington lay alone in his room, throbbing with desire. It had seemed so real. His heart pounded, and he icily willed his body to leave him alone. He dressed quickly, smoothing down his hair; and he struggled to regain a cool demeanour. Briefly, he reminded himself to look at Elizabeth's letter again tonight. That would be something.
***The dining parlour of Hawkforth House was a handsome room, dominated by its handsome mistress. Mrs. Sloan stood by the head of the table, and gestured gracefully for him to take the place of honour by her. She had changed into a gown of gleaming peach satin, which threw reflections onto her wonderfully transparent skin. Cut low as it was, he could see the delicate blue veins of her breasts. Looking up at his hostess, he realised that she had seen him staring at her. She gave a slight, cool smile.
"Please be seated, gentlemen," she said softly.
The dinner was ample, varied, and excellent. Plainly Mrs. Sloan took pride in her hospitality, and wished to show her enemies that she was above the vulgarity of rudeness to guests, however uninvited. She took particular care of Tavington, helping him to the best of everything, chatting of inconsequential things, and showing no fear. Tavington admired her nerve.
There was some very good wine with dinner, and plenty of it. Tavington partook moderately, but his captains were less reticent, and soon were glowing with good fellowship. Wilkins seemed about to burst into song, when a repressing glance from Tavington silenced him. Unabashed, he grinned happily at his colonel, lifting his wineglass in salute.
A servant brought by a platter of chicken. Mrs. Sloan leaned toward Tavington, making the most of her low-cut gown, and asked sweetly, "Which do you prefer, Colonel? The leg or the breast?"
He made no answer, and looked at her until she blushed and dropped her gaze.
Carefully, she murmured, "I think I know," and served him from the breast. She must have seen his face tighten, for she then said, "I am most obliged to you Colonel, for allowing me to keep a roof over my head tonight."
"It would be foolish to burn down a house I myself wish to sleep in."
"And when you no longer require shelter, what then?"
"I generally feel some scruples about destroying homes that have afforded me hospitality."
She relaxed a little, breathing deeply. "Then I must see to it that my hospitality is all you desire."
It was late when the officers rose unsteadily to their feet. Mrs. Sloan had left them to the wine after dinner, and had vanished upstairs, presumably to see to her child, and to retire for the night. Tavington was loath to put a stop to the festivities. They had been riding so hard, for so long, with little enjoyment or relaxation. Still, the encampment must be inspected and determined to be secure. Kinlock and James appeared the closest to sober, so he told them to see to it. He left the dining parlour with them, to clear his head on the colonnaded veranda. The night air was sweet with honeysuckle.
Looking toward the orchard, he could hear the men singing around the campfires. They seemed louder than usual. Frowning, he decided to discover the cause for celebration himself. He could see Kinlock silhouetted in front of a fire, talking with a knot of dragoons. They seemed extraordinarily happy.
Within a few more strides, he saw why. They seemed to have come upon a supply of spirits. The earthenware crocks they were pouring from—or frankly drinking from-- suggested a local home brew. He had tried it himself a few times, and knew it for powerful stuff.
Kinlock, restored to his usual sobriety, saw him approaching and said, "Compliments of Mrs. Sloan, it seems. She had an ox slaughtered and roasted for them and the spirits were distributed. Lieutenant Cameron and the other officers felt the men could do with a bit of fun."
"They've had quite enough fun, I think. Have the junior officers collect the spirits. See to the condition of the pickets. If they are drunk, I'll have them flogged." It occurred to him suddenly that his generous hostess might have something in mind other than simple hospitality. If this has been a trick to make us ripe for an attack, I will kill her myself
Most of the men were obedient enough to turn over the crocks. A few were dead drunk, and one or two fighting drunk. The sight of their Colonel's grim face was enough to frighten them into clumsy submission. The camp was secured, the junior officers issued strict instructions about accepting any more "hospitality" without clearance from their superiors.
Tavington returned to the house and looked into the dining parlour. Wilkins was in there alone, asleep in his chair, head thrown back and snoring like a trombone.
Tavington shook his shoulder, "Captain!"
Wilkins emitted an unattractively loud snort, and his head lolled back and forth.
"Captain Wilkins! Wake up!"
Wilkins slowly opened his eyes, and beamed at Tavington. "Colonel! Isn't this a mighty fine party? A mighty fine…."
"The party's over, Captain. Get upstairs and get some sleep."
Wilkins eyes lost their focus. "Sleep…" His head dropped to the table with a thud, and he was promptly asleep again, drooling on the tablecloth.
Tavington stared at him in exasperation. He certainly was not going to carry Wilkins' bloody heavy bulk upstairs. Leaving his captain to sleep it off where he was, he left the dining parlour and went upstairs to his room.
She was waiting for him there. In a clinging silk night robe, hair unbound, lit only by the fire.
What is this? "I beg your pardon, Madam, I mistook this for my room."
She was warming something in a pan by the fire. "Of course it is your room, Colonel. I merely came by to see to your comforts." She rose from her knees and poured the contents of the pan into a silver goblet. "I thought you might like some mulled wine."
It smelled very pleasant. "You thought perhaps your guests had not had enough to drink already? Is it your plan to make fools of us?"
She offered him the goblet. "How could an unprotected woman make fools of men and soldiers? If you choose to make yourselves foolish, that is your own doing."
He took the goblet, and set it on the bed table. "You will not offer my men strong drink without asking my permission again."
"Whatever you say, Colonel. But they enjoyed it so much. I could hear them from the orchard."
"I shall make certain they do not disturb you thus again. Is that why you are wandering the house at this hour in your night robe?"
"I told you before. I am here to see to your comforts. You said you had scruples about destroying homes that had offered you hospitality. I am merely making certain that you consider my hospitality sufficient."
"Whatever you have heard of me, I am not in the habit of forcing myself on the women of the countryside."
She looked him over, and nodded. "Whatever you say, sir; but you can see how embarrassing it could be for me if I were mistaken about the nature of your demands."
"You are mistaken, Madam. And I now bid you goodnight."
She raised her eyes to his, and they were a gambler's, making a last throw. He could see the pulse in her throat, beating wildly. She raised her hand to the lace around the neck of her gown, and traced lightly along the edge. He found himself unable to take his eyes off her fingertips as they brushed the tops of her breasts.
She whispered, "And I thought you were a real man."
He answered, his voice low. "Madam, I am a real man; but I am not your man. Where is the absent Mr. Sloan, anyway?"
"I told you. Away fighting for his country. I am not entirely certain where. I have not seen him this great while."
Tavington laughed shortly. "Is that what this is about? You are angry at your husband's absence and wish to punish him? I can hear you now: 'My dear, what could I do? You know the monster's reputation! I was at his mercy!'" He sneered at the idea, but his eyes did not leave her.
She came closer, and warily pressed her hand over his heart. "I am at your mercy."
His body, the traitor, responded at once. He did not push her away. "I see now. An adventure—that is what you hope for? A exciting experience for which you need feel no guilt, since, as you say, you are at my mercy." He came close, and whispered in her ear. "Perhaps I am not a merciful man."
***
Tavington awakened for the third time that night as she slipped out the door. A few seconds later, he heard another door close down the hall. Warm and utterly gratified, he thought contentedly of Elizabeth, and of how happy she would be someday. After all, he told himself, it was important to maintain certain skills in order to properly delight his future bride. He fell into a deep sleep once more, with no infidelity of mind, at least.
***
When he came down to breakfast in the morning, Wilkins was still sound asleep at the table. The slaves looked helplessly at Tavington. He strode over to the captain and shook him violently.
"Captain Wilkins! It is time for breakfast!"
Wilkins jumped straight up in his chair, clearly disoriented. He saw Tavington, and grinned sheepishly. "I reckon I slept here all night, sir."
"I reckon you did. I couldn't wake you and let you stay there. I suggest some very strong tea."
Wilkins stretched and smiled at the breakfast being placed before him. "All the same, sir, it's pretty convenient. I didn't even have to come downstairs!" His smile changed to a look of discomfort. "Except—" He rose and quickly headed out the door. "Excuse me, Colonel."
Mrs. Sloan, exquisitely gowned, made a memorable entrance, and presided with great charm over the breakfast table. Some of the officers were feeling the previous night; some, like Wilkins, had shaken it off. The little boy, Charles, came downstairs, and wanted to make friends with the officers. He was quite a nice little fellow; Tavington guessed no more than three years old, and very interested in the horses. He trotted out after them, and Tavington called over Cornet Samuel Willett, and told him he was responsible for the little boy's safety.
Willett was hardly more than a boy himself, and little Charles took to him readily. Noticing the boy's love for the horses, he put him on his own mount and led the boy around the front lawn. Mrs. Sloan came out on the veranda, and her son demanded she admire him.
"Mama! See me! I'm a soldier!"
"You look mighty handsome, darling!" his mother called back. Tavington found himself amused at the little boy's excitement.
"You don't mind him fraternising with the enemy, Mrs. Sloan?"
Her eyes stayed on her son. "He doesn't know that you are the enemy, Colonel. Do you intend to enlighten him?"
"Only if you make it necessary."
She gave him a bitter, contemptuous look. "I see. My home is still hostage to my compliant behaviour."
"You mistake me entirely, Madam. Whatever happened last night was with your consent and indeed at your urging, and has nothing to do with the current hostilities. No. I was referring your over-generous hospitality to my men, which could have rendered them unfit for duty and easy prey for a raiding party. It crossed my mind that that was your intent."
She was astonished. "You overrate me, sir. Do you imagine me some sort of clever female tactician, organising the local militia against the fearsome Butcher of the Carolinas? Give me credit for more sense than that."
"Then what was your intent?—and don't make the excuse of hospitality. You wanted to see my men drunk."
Her lip curled. "Yes, I wanted to see them drunk and foolish—like all men. You all sicken me, with your rubbish about honour and liberty, or honour and loyalty. None of it can matter a particle to a woman. I see no one promising me a vote."
Tavington laughed, surprised, and then saw she was not in jest. "I presume some men have their uses."
The little boy was riding in front of Wilkins now. The captain had a knack with children that Tavington had noted before with his cousins. Wilkins was patiently showing Charles how to hold the reins. Tavington felt a curious pang, and remembered his imaginings about teaching his own son to ride someday.
Mrs. Sloan watched her son somberly. "Yes, you have your uses. You make charming pets when you are little. You are good for providing a living, and some of you," she cast a appraising eye over Tavington, "are good for a pleasant night's entertainment. For the rest, you are all pigs."
Tavington gave her an ironic bow, and returned to the Dragoons. He was going over to inspect Hovenden's men when he saw two Dragoons come riding into camp. He recognised them as Sergeant Patterson and his cousin Trooper Perry from Jacob James' troop. He changed direction and found Captain James at once.
"Those two--Patterson and Perry—where were they, and what were they doing?"
James was puzzled and called over the men's lieutenant, Michael Largin.
Largin was earnest in their praise. "They were out on patrol on their own, sir. They're very eager, and have a way of sniffing out hidden provisions. They've been doing this since the troop was formed."
Tavington frowned. It was all very well to show initiative, but this was allowing the men too much independence. "Just the two of them? No one else goes with them?"
"Well, sir, they're cousins, and they trust each other. They seem to work together well, and I thought it best to leave well enough alone."
"Perhaps," said Tavington, "but keep an eye on them. There's a fine line between patrolling and plundering. Remind your men that the Lord General has ordered that civilians are not to be robbed or otherwise harmed. Any confiscation must be done with official approval."
***
Both men and horses seemed to be enjoying their rest. Tavington sent out a few small patrols to confirm the security of the neighborhood. No one reported any signs of rebel activity. Mrs. Sloan, forbidden to give the men strong drink, plied them instead with rich and heavy food. The men sprawled out in the orchard in the afternoon, dozing while the apple blossoms drifted down and covered them. A few went fishing back in the marshes nearby, and brought their catches back to camp for supper.
One such catch was extraordinarily large, for Tavington, reading on the veranda, saw two dragoons approaching, carrying something between them.
"Colonel, sir! We thought you'd better see this!"
With a wet thump, they set down their burden. Wrapped in canvas was a strongbox. At Tavington's command, one trooper smashed the lock off with the back of an axe. Inside was quite a treasure.
Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Sloan came running outside. She stared, dumbstruck, at the strongbox. Tavington was amused at her dismay. He examined the contents.
"A lady's jewelry box. Some nice pieces. I am certain the lady who owns them would be delighted to have them back. Mrs. Sloan, have you any idea who the owner could be?"
She was coldly furious. "You know they are mine." She came forward to retrieve the box, but Tavington held her back.
"I think I must make absolutely sure. What else is there? Some family silver. The monogram 'S.' Anyone you know?"
She bit out, "You find this entertaining."
"I find it absurd, Madam. You could have as easily left this in your sideboard. Or did you fear having to count the spoons upon our departure?"
"Yes," she snarled. "I shall certainly count the spoons upon your departure."
"Well," he smiled. "You can save yourself the trouble, by counting them now. Trooper, if you would be so good as to take the box into the dining parlour for Mrs. Sloan, she can get on with her housekeeping."
She cast him a look of pure hate and swept back into the house. Tavington wondered what the night would bring.
***
She came to him again, without words and without courtesies. Tavington had never known a woman so desperate for novelty. It was delightful, in a rather frantic way, as they moved from position to position, barely long enough to savour the moment. Afterwards, lying shaking beside him, she still seemed in no mood for conversation. Tavington thought it just as well, since their conversations were invariably acrimonious; and he welcomed the delicious sleep that his release gave him. She was an odd, bitter woman ; but she was not his problem, and he would not trouble himself trying to understand her. As he fell asleep, he wondered if Mrs. Sloan had entertained other travelers thus.
***
The next day passed in dream-like calm. Tavington had determined that they would leave tomorrow morning, and was busy overseeing their provisioning. The men loafed, the horses grazed, and the pretty little boy continued his friendships with the officers and their splendid mounts. Tavington carefully avoided him. Considering his ambiguous relations with the boy's mother, he thought it improper to draw attention to them by noticing her son. Then too, teaching a little boy to ride was something to be kept back for his own child. He wanted no prior experience to sully the purity of that event.
Suddenly, he nearly laughed aloud, and admitted his own hypocrisy. He had had not the slightest scruple in practising his erotic skills on the boy's mother, and had in fact told himself he was really doing it for Elizabeth. He thought tenderly of his betrothed, safely back in Camden, and considered how very different she was from Mrs. Sloan. Elizabeth, at least, would never have to seek satisfaction with other men because her own husband was too unimaginative or too inconsiderate to care for her properly.
***That night, Mrs. Sloan clawed him a bit, until he rendered her helpless and vulnerable. It was amusing to draw the pleasure out of her against her will. He was gentle, even tender with her, thinking again of Elizabeth and how best to accustom her to these intimacies. When he saw the tracks of tears on Mrs. Sloan's cheeks, gleaming in the moonlight, he was satisfied that he had made her feel something. She turned away from him, silent and forbidding. He settled down to another excellent night's sleep, interrupted only once at her demand. She was gone, as usual, in the morning.
Dressed elegantly, she entertained them at breakfast with perfect courtesy, and gracefully accepted the thanks of the officers. Little Charles cried to see them go, and clung to Willett, imploring him to stay a little longer. His mother, capturing his hand and restraining him on the porch, gave Tavington a careful if aloof curtsey. He bowed his farewell to her and toyed with the idea of burning at least one barn, just to see her calm exterior give way. Still, she had a claim on his protection, and the message he had sent back to Cornwallis would ensure her another visit in a few days time. What would the Lord General make of her?
Their eyes met for one last, long glance; and he turned away, forgetting her.
Author's Notes: There are a number of versions of the story of Tarleton's stay at the house of Mary Slocumbe. Nothing suggests that they had an affair. I have changed the name to avoid libeling a presumably innocent lady. I used the bones of the story to create an anti-Arcadia, to show how the same man could behave very differently in different circumstances and when treated differently.
Some of you may object to Tavington's unfaithfulness to Elizabeth. I thought long and hard about this. I found I had to think like a—man—an 18th century man—an 18th century man and a soldier—an 18th century man and a soldier and not actually married—who hasn't had a woman in over 9 months—who is approached by a beautiful woman—a beautiful woman in his bedroom—an partially clothed woman in his bedroom—who insists on trying to play games with him. In such circumstances, I decided that Tavington would take advantage of his opportunity, and feel no guilt.
I may someday post elsewhere the unexpurgated "Circe and the Swine." It is very naughty, and would do violence to my PG-13 rating. Then again, perhaps not. Tavington is a gentleman, and gentlemen don't tell.