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Our heroes suffer the whims of outrageous fortune. Part the first.

Chapter 9: Destiny's Playthings: Tavington

Morning light slanted through the shutters. Tavington lay alone in bed, missing Elizabeth, wondering if getting up was worthwhile, and almost regretting how late he had stayed up the night before, talking with Pattie Ferguson.

He had forgotten had excruciatingly dull the army could be in peacetime. With the truce, he had only routine patrolling and routine inspections to occupy him. Boredom was the enemy of military preparedness, but O'Hara was a good enough commander to consider his forces' morale. Tavington anticipated a round of balls and parties for the officers, some dances for the men, and horseracing and cricket for all. He must order his own captains to start organising some activities within the Legion, if only to keep the men reasonably sober.

He could hardly ask Elizabeth to join him here, in her current condition. Still, he indulged in the fantasy: calculating that a two-day journey to Charlestown and then a slow, easy voyage north could bring her to him in less than ten days. She might find it restful, away from all cares and duties.

He sighed. No. Elizabeth would not leave Arcadia, not with the growing season demanding her attention, not with the little Montgomerys needing a steadier hand than that of their weak, silly mother. Elizabeth was Arcadia's linchpin, and it could not function without her. For now, their marriage would be by correspondence only. He must write to her today.

Discipline finally asserted itself, and he decided to face the morning and perhaps go for a walk. Williamsburg was a fine old town, and he should acquaint himself with it.

At length he was satisfied with his appearance, and left his quarters, nearly running into Polly Featherstone, emerging from the suite of rooms that Pattie and his mistresses occupied. She was attired in a fashionable walking habit; the full petticoat partnered with a short curacao jacket of a somewhat military cut. A very pretty plumed hat gave a final flourish. She looked perfectly the lady, and Tavington paused to admire.

"Miss Featherstone," he greeted her. "You are all going out?"

"Sshh," she whispered, laying her hand gently on his arm. "They're sleeping. I was just going down for some breakfast, and then for a walk."

Breakfast was laid out in a sunny, east-facing parlour. There were a few other officers quartered in the house, but they had either already left to attend to their duties, or were sleeping late. Tavington found himself breakfasting most privately with pretty Polly Featherstone, and enjoying it greatly.

"Where are you planning to walk, Miss Featherstone?" he asked her, as he finished his eggs. "It is a little early for the shops."

"Just a walk," she murmured, stirring her tea idly.

"I have nothing pressing planned for this morning," Tavington declared. "I shall escort you."

She finished nibbling her toast, and stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Please don't trouble yourself."

Tavington rose, concerned. "I will escort you. The town is full of drunken soldiers. You could be pulled into an alley and ravished before anyone heard you cry for help."

She did not look at him. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Stop." He grasped her firmly by the elbow. "You know that it is my duty to protect you." She sighed and took his proffered arm meekly.

It was a remarkably fine day, and they strolled west on Duke of Gloucester Street, peering into shop windows. Polly was quiet, and Tavington wondered what was troubling her. When they passed the church and reached Nassau Street, she turned to her right, and walked a little until they crossed Prince George Street. It was lined with pleasant homes, and was not far from the Palace Green and the Governor's residence. Polly paused in front of a substantial red-brick house, and eyed it wistfully.

"A pretty place," commented Tavington, admiring the neat garden abloom with larkspur and pinks.

"Yes," Polly said, her voice oddly muffled. Tavington bent to look at her face, hidden by the wide brim of the elegant hat, and saw tears running down her face.

"My dear, what is wrong?" asked Tavington, bewildered, and he groped for a pocket-handkerchief. "Do you know this house?"

Muffled sobs signaled her distress. Tavington put a comforting arm around her, wondering what he had better do. Polly sniffled into his handkerchief and controlled herself enough to choke out, "I used to live here."

"Really?" Tavington could think of nothing more intelligent to say, so great was his surprise. "You are from Williamsburg?" Right, he remembered, she and her sister are known in the army as Virginia Pol and Virginia Sal. You're a little slow this morning, Will.

She wiped her nose, and made an effort to restrain further tears. "Sally and I weren't trollops from birth, you see, " she said, attempting to make a joke of it. "Our father was a cotton merchant here in town, and that house is where we grew up."

Tavington knew that he was about to hear a most unhappy story, and resigned himself to it. "What happened to your father? I take it he is no longer living?"

She nodded, wiping her nose again. "It was the war, of course. Everything, everything is always because of the war." She stood up straighter and gave her head a little shake. The plume of her hat lightly tickled Tavington's nose. "He was for the King, and let everyone know it. One night his warehouse burned down, and a few weeks later, a mob gathered around him as he was walking home. They beat him." She paused, looking blindly at the ground. "They beat him, and left him for dead. Some decent people got him home, and helped us take care of him. A few days later, he died." She gave a small, mirthless laugh. "Apoplexy, the doctor called it. He wanted it to sound like natural causes so none of the brave Patriots would be prosecuted for murder."

"Had you no other relatives?" Tavington was already thinking ahead. Has she spoken to Pattie about this? The Featherstone girls might be due some restitution, if Polly's claim could be proved.

"Yes, unfortunately," she said so bitterly that he was again startled. "My uncle came from Richmond for us. He sold our house and the rest of father's property. Putting it in trust, he called it. Stealing it was more like the truth. He and his horrible wife made our lives a misery for the next two years. Finally, they decided to be rid of us, I suppose. Uncle took us with him on a business trip to Norfolk early in '78. One morning, he was gone." She looked up at Tavington, almost furiously. "Just gone. He left us at the inn. He didn't even pay the bill. He deserted us, and the landlord said he would have us in prison for debt. I was eighteen and Sally sixteen. Do you know what it is like to have nothing: no friends, no money, no one to help you?"

Tavington felt faintly ill. He had had a detestable uncle of his own, far back in his past, but even Uncle Fitzroy-Hughes was not as cruel as this. Tavington had at least been given an education of a sort, and a commission that would put him in the way of making his living. He was diverted from the idea of reparations for Polly and Sally into thoughts of revenge on their behalf. It was fortunate that Richmond marked the northern boundary of the corner of Virginia controlled by the British. There is still a garrison in Richmond, left by Phillips and Arnold after their raid earlier this year. How soon could we get a message there? If the uncle is still living he could be sued for their inheritance. It would take time, and be unpleasant, but he might yield to persuasion of one sort or another. He turned his attention back to Polly. "I've never had anything so dreadful happen to me, my dear. Tell me what happened then."

Her lip curled. "Exactly what you would expect. The landlord agreed not to prosecute if Sally and I would work off the debt. That meant working off the debt in the kitchen, but also in his bed, in his friends' beds, and with anyone who would pay him a shilling for us. We apprenticed our trade there in Norfolk, I can tell you. By the time he was through with us, there wasn't anything we didn't know or hadn't done. We left that hateful place, and headed south to the British. Eventually we were lucky enough to meet our Colonel Pattie in Charlestown." She managed a faint smile. "The rest you know. Men sneer at fallen women, but not one woman has fallen without a man or two to give her a good, hard push."

Tavington took his handkerchief and carefully wiped her face. Whatever he had been about to say was forgotten, for they heard "Polly! Polly Featherstone!" called out loudly, and turned to see an elderly woman in a huge cap and apron making a hasty if somewhat ponderous approach, running out of the house next door to the one that had been Polly's. Polly stiffened, and gave Tavington a look of frightened appeal. He took her hand again, fit it firmly into the crook of his arm, and gave it a comforting pat.

Polly caught her breath, and hesitantly greeted the old lady. "Mrs. Cartwright?"

Mrs. Cartwright, out of breath, gave her a gap-toothed but kindly smile. "It is you, little Polly Featherstone, as I live and breathe! How lovely you look, quite the fine lady. My dear, I'm so happy to see you again! Is this your husband? How handsome! (a bashful giggle) Is little Sally with you? I have missed my good neighbors." She leaned forward confidentially, "The Nances, you know, all right in their way, but your dear father was always so good about helping me with contracts and business!"

"I am very happy to see you, too, Mrs. Cartwright." Polly turned to Tavington. "Colonel, Mrs. Cartwright was the kindest of neighbors, and so good during all our troubles. Mrs. Cartwright, this is my friend, Colonel Tavington, who thought it best to escort me today. I wanted so much to see my old home."

The old lady was ecstatic. "Of course you would, my dear. You'll come in and have something, I hope?"

"Sally will be wondering where I am—"

"Oh, just for a minute, surely. I so long to talk to you." She led them into her cheerful home, prattling on. "I was sorry to hear of your troubles with your uncle. Such a severe man. Sit, sit, please. Oh, sir, I think you would like that seat." She blushed a little, and said to Tavington, "Mustn't speak ill of the dead, I know, but I told him how happy I would be to keep dear Polly and little Sally with me—a lonely old widow, you know—but he would not hear of it, and swept them off to Richmond with him."

Polly had been about to seat herself, but was suddenly frozen. "My uncle is dead?" Mrs. Cartwright had plumped herself in a favourite chair, placed, Tavington noted wryly, to command an admirable view of the street and any possible passersby.

The kind old lady stopped her chatter, and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh, dear! You did not know. No, and how could you, when the lawyer said that Mr. Featherstone himself did not know where you were? Oh, yes, my dear. Quite dead, back last year, and his wife before him in '78—or was it '79? I cannot quite recollect. Quite dead, though. The lawyer came to Williamsburg, for he was charged with finding you. Your uncle was ill some time, and a long illness always gives one time to reflect on one's shortcomings. He felt he had not done quite right by you and dear little Sally, and he said so plainly in his will."

Polly finally sat, stunned. "He remembered us in his will?"

"Oh, yes, my dear, and why not? They had neither chick nor child to leave their property to, but you and little Sally."

Tavington was silent, fighting laughter. The good old lady's constant references to "little Sally," were amusingly incongruent with "little Sally's" lush womanliness, or her behaviour last night, sitting part of the time on and about Pattie's lap.

Mrs. Cartwright called, "Liddie! Bring us some tea, and some of that cake from the sideboard!" She got up and fluttered about the parlour. "And he left a card. It is right here—I put it aside most carefully—if I can recall just where….." She stood still a moment, her head swiveling about, Tavington thought, like a puzzled hen.

"Numbers!" she declared triumphantly. Polly and Tavington exchanged a look, and stared at her. Mrs. Cartwright beamed, and snatched up her Bible from the parlour table.

"Numbers 27:8! 'And thou shalt speak unto the children of Israel, saying, "If a man die, and have no son, then ye shall cause his inheritance to pass unto his daughter."'" She withdrew a card from the marked place, and handed it happily to Polly. "I thought it was appropriate, except that you are nieces, and not daughters, but it's nearly the same."

"Jonathan Boggs, Attorney-at-Law, Richmond," Polly read. She sat back, bewildered. "I don't know what to say."

Tavington interposed smoothly. "When you return to your lodgings, Miss Featherstone, you must write to this Mr. Boggs, tell him where you are, and ask him to call and settle the business of your inheritance."

"I don't know what—I'm not sure I know how—" Polly was confused and fearful, and Tavington reassured her.

"Your friends will help you. Such things are easily managed. Think how delighted your sister will be!"

Polly contrived a smile. "Yes, yes, of course." She leaned over to take Mrs. Cartwright's hand. "My dear Mrs. Cartwright, I am so obliged to you. You are a true friend."

The good old lady had only time for a smile before the servant arrived with "Tea! Now then, Miss Polly—Colonel, do try some of this cake—it is a new receipt—I think it will do you good, my dear."

-----

And then she sobbed all the way back to their lodgings.

Tavington had been pleased for her. With any luck, the Featherstone girls would receive a decent sum. Even if it were not enough to keep them in comfort, perhaps it would allow them to choose their future protectors with some care, if Pattie should return home to Scotland or otherwise become unable to continue their liaison. Polly's sobs continued, however, far longer than Tavington would have supposed possible for the tears of joy sometimes even rational women like Elizabeth shed.

Polly finally stopped behind the corner of a shop, unwilling to step back out into busy Duke of Gloucester Street until she was calmer.

"I can't let anyone see me like this. I don't want anyone else here to recognise me." She lamented, "Oh, why didn't I think to wear a veil?"

Tavington said truthfully, "I am very happy for you, Miss Featherstone, and I know Pattie will be as well. I can't imagine that your sister will be anything other than delighted to hear of your good fortune."

Polly looked up at him pitifully, her eyes red. "I feel so dreadful about Mrs. Cartwright. That sweet, innocent old busybody. She'll blab to the whole town that she saw 'dear Polly,' and within a day she'll be told what we are." Her voice broke, and she sobbed harder than ever. "She's going to be so ashamed of us! She'll hate me, a known harlot, for sullying her home!"

Tavington could think of nothing better to do to stem the flood of tears and regrets than give the girl a shoulder to cry upon, and stroke her back gently. She rested her head against his chest, and her plume once again tickled his nose unmercifully. He tried to blow it away, but the more he tried to escape, the more the feather seemed determined to go up his nose. Polly pressed closer, and he was further distracted by the pleasant snugness of a pretty and nicely rounded young woman in his arms. He could smell her lavender water, and feel the boned corset tightly cinching the slender waist. It had been some months since he had held such an agreeable armful.

Knowing it was unwise to think along those lines a moment more, he set her firmly at arms' length, taking the soft arms in a bracing grip. "Now, my dear, you must command yourself. We only have a little farther to go, and then you can cry all you like back in the privacy of your rooms." He caught her eye, and looked at her questioningly. She nodded, gave a great sniff, and once again took his arm. They walked quickly back to the lodgings, and were upstairs in a few minutes.

She stopped before her own door, and turned to Tavington, putting her hands on his shoulders. "Thank you, Colonel, for lending me your strength today." She murmured, "I always knew you were a good man." Before Tavington could dismiss the compliment, she rose up on tiptoe and kissed him sweetly and warmly.

Surprised beyond resistance, Tavington reflexively pulled Polly against him, his good sense overthrown by the pleasure of the moment. It had been so long. Polly's kisses were slow and expert, and he returned them hungrily, there in the hall, as the light breeze through the window stirred the curtains. She felt his response hard against her, and gave an amorous little moan.

The sound was enough to bring Tavington back to disagreeable reality. He was a man married to the woman he loved, kissing his best friend's mistress outside said friend's door. Not only a betrayal of friendship and love, but damned stupid, too.

He pushed her away gently. She gave him a naughty smile, and said, "That's what I meant. You are a good man. And such a lovely one, too."

"Pattie is my particular friend."

She nodded wisely. "I love my Colonel Pattie dearly, never think otherwise. Still and all, I've always known that if he were upset in a boat with Sally and me, which one of us he would rescue first." She opened the door and called out.

"Sally? Colonel?" Polly withdrew the elaborate pin from her hat, removed the plumed creation, and set it on a table. Tavington guiltily considered fleeing to his room at once.

Before he could make his escape, Pattie emerged from the bedchamber, still in his shirtsleeves. "Polly, lass, where have you been? You were gone when we woke again." He saw Tavington in the hall behind her, "Good day to you, Will! What have you been up to? Stealing my woman?"

Tavington huffed a nervous laugh, and Polly dashed over to Pattie, flinging her arms around his neck. "I went for a walk, and Colonel Tavington said he must escort me. Sally! Come out here. This concerns you too."

Pattie gave her a quick kiss, and frowned with concern as he noticed Polly's still red and swollen eyes. Sally called from the bedchamber, "I'm not dressed yet, Polly! Go on and tell me."

Breathlessly, Polly told them about her walk, Mrs. Cartwright, and their possible inheritance; and then produced the card for Pattie's examination. He looked it over with interest, and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

"I'm happier than I can say, to think that you and Sally may have a wee bit between you. Aye, sit down and we'll settle the business right now. We'll send the letter with a courier to the Richmond garrison." Sally ambled into the sitting room, her corset not yet laced, and her generous breasts peeking saucily over the edge of her lace-trimmed chemise. She gave Tavington a cheeky smile, and eagerly scanned the lawyer's card herself.

Tavington offered, "I'll be leading a patrol north tomorrow. There's no reason that I can't take the letter myself. " He decided to raise the question of reparations with Pattie as well. "Miss Featherstone says that her father owned property here in the town that was destroyed by rebels. Doesn't O'Hara have that fellow Jenkins on his staff who is dealing with such claims?"

"Aye, Jenkins is the man. The silly lasses didn't tell me about this before." He glanced at Polly, and she blushed and looked away.

Tavington murmured low in his friend's ear. "They are ashamed to face their old neighbors, and are worried about unkind gossip. Polly was quite distraught after meeting Mrs. Cartwright."

Pattie nodded thoughtfully. He guided Polly to the table, and helped her gather the materials she needed for the letter. Sally, less ambivalent about the situation, was plying her sister with questions as to the possible amount of their inheritance.

Tavington decided it was time to go, and said his farewells. He had not planned to lead the patrol originally. Now he decided it would be best to get as far from pretty Polly and her allurements as possible. He could leave Hovenden with the bulk of the Dragoons, and take Kinlock, Cameron, and Monroe with their troops for an excursion to season the new promotions a little. Yes, he decided, liking the plan the more he thought of it, he would get away for a week, deliver Polly's letter, and by the time he was back, she would have forgotten their kiss in the hall.

He returned to his own room, shut the door, and sat at the escritoire for awhile, still somewhat restless and aroused. He finally retrieved the ink and a quill, carefully smoothed out some good quality paper, and sublimated his needs by writing to those dearest to him.

June 7, 1781

Williamsburg, Virginia

My dearest Elizabeth,

I am well and safe. I hope your health continues sound and that the increasing heat does not affect your condition adversely. If the little Montgomerys prove too great a charge, write to me. I shall take leave, return to Arcadia, and flog them all savagely (including Charlotte) with my sword belt until their conduct improves. You are laughing as you read this, imagining that I am not serious. I am. It is a wretched thing to leave you so burdened while I prosecute the war. I feel that I have not been the husband you deserve, and it pains me sorely. Whipping irritating relations may seem a strange proof of love to you, but I offer it as one, nonetheless.

I received your last, about the ball Amelia attended in Charlestown. She is quite the butterfly, your sister, and I hope the DeLanceys keep a weather eye on her. I passed on to Lieutenant Martin (yes, I promoted the boy recently) the news that Amelia has made the acquaintance of his sisters in Charlestown, as they all have the same music master. It was news to him, so apparently the sisters have not been corresponding with him frequently; but then I believe they are quite young, the eldest not fourteen, he said. He spoke glowingly of his aunt Charlotte Selton, whom he considers the epitome of elegance. Do you know her?

His father, Captain Martin, has gone with the other South Carolina commissioners to the New York peace conference. With a son on either side of this conflict, his is a voice that will be heeded. Young Martin confessed to me that his rebel brother has broken his parole and headed north to rejoin the rebels, much to their father's chagrin. I reassured the boy that his brother's treachery in no way reflects poorly upon himself. About the father I am not so sure. Certainly there must have been some great neglect there for the young man to be so unprincipled. Perhaps I am wrong to judge so, but I cannot help thinking that no child of ours will ever be so careless of honour. Mind you, our child will have in you the best of mothers. Of that I am in no doubt.

The peace is not entirely peace, but not war either, so we patrol our territory and glare impotently at the enemy at the borders. I am going up to Richmond tomorrow for a wide patrol that will sweep the whole northwest corner of our holding in Virginia. Some of the rebels have fled, and their properties have been confiscated and the profits used to relieve Loyalists who were previously dispossessed. The process is slow and deliberate, however, and many suffer before they can obtain their just restitution. Enough of the war. Pray God it will all soon be over, and well over!

So Julia is leading poor Miss Temple a merry dance. Do compensate the unhappy woman fairly for her trouble. It cannot be easy to teach a girl as lively as Julia, a boy as stubborn as George, and mob of children as silly as the rest of the Montgomerys. If Miss Temple can at least train Jane, Mary, and Sophie not to giggle, it would be a noble deed. If she cannot, there is always the sword belt upon my return. Then there is your cousin Wilkins Yes, he is perfectly fit and well: as strong as a plowhorse and nearly as intelligent. Do you think a match could be contrived between him and Charlotte? She's a pretty enough woman, though an utter simpleton. She would look up to him adoringly, and he might be pleased to have someone to watch over. The children all seem to like him, too, since he indulges their every whim. If he would take them all away with him to the new house he plans to build, however, he could indulge them to the point of lunacy with my fervent blessing, so long as I did not have to see it.

My dearest love, I am always pleased to hear of the plantation's prosperity and the improvements you have made to the house. Your thought for the curing sheds is very clever indeed. However, remember that while I respect the planter and the woman of business, I love the wife most dearly. Taking care of the estate is all very well, but it is you who are precious and irreplaceable. Care for yourself first of all.

I thought about you as I awoke today. I felt the loss of you keenly, and in a most particular way. Do you remember our delightful mornings together? I toyed with the idea of asking you to join me here in Williamsburg. A short carriage ride of two days, a sea voyage somewhat longer, and you could lie all day at your ease in the comfortable bed at my lodgings. Williamsburg is a pleasant town, but seeing it without you is a lonely business. I have been spoiled by the delights of marriage; and to be once again degraded to the status of bachelor, however temporarily, is not very agreeable. Women pass me by in the street, but they all have your sweet face.

Your most devoted,

William

June 7th, 1781
Williamsburg, Virginia

My dear Julia,

I do hope that Frank is no longer orange. You must be more careful when playing at Indians. If he were to be rendered permanently orange, he might remain a charge on your sister's hands for the rest of his natural life. And no, however great an improvement it might be, you cannot raise Caroline as a Wilde. A Montgomery she is, and a Montgomery she must remain. A hard fate, but there it is.

I sympathise with your desire to keep Jane, Mary, and Sophie out of your room. Perhaps it would be best to pack away the silver toilette set and the scent bottles for the time being. The girls will get into them, and you do not want your nice things to be spoiled.

Speaking of nice things being spoiled, Elizabeth has written to me about your treatment of Miss Temple. It will not do, my dear. Miss Temple has a hard time enough as it is, without you making it worse. Would you think it amusing if it were done to you? I think not. While I understand that it was more pleasant when Elizabeth taught you herself, you must do your part to make her life a little easier. She has cares enough. The new music Miss Temple is teaching you sounds most charming, and I look forward to hearing it.

Thank you for the picture. The horse is very good. I am glad that you and George are playing nicely now. Tell George that if he continues to behave, and thoroughly learns his first and second declensions, I will give him fencing lessons myself the next time I am there. Yes, you may have lessons too. If you behave.

Your loving brother,

William Tavington

He sprinkled the letters with sand and set them carefully to dry. He would post them himself, and then attend this afternoon to the preparations for the patrol. He leaned back in the chair, and heard Polly's voice, filtered through the doors, singing to herself.

"As I was a-walking one morning in May,
I spied a young couple a-making of hay,
Oh, one was a fair maid and her beauty shone clear,
The other was a soldier, a bold grenadier.

'Good morning, good morning, good morning,' said he,
'Oh, where are you going, my pretty lady?'
'I'm going a-walking by the clear crystal stream
To see cool waters glide and hear nightingales sing.'

'Oh, soldier, oh, soldier, will you marry me?'
'Oh, no, my sweet lady, that never can be,
For I've got a wife at home in my own country,
Two wives and the army's too many for me!'"

-----

Notes: Receipt is the word generally used in the 18th and early 19th centuries instead of recipe. Recipe began to be used in the mid-18th century and gradually overtook receipt as the common word for a cooking formula.

The song is The Grenadier and the Lady. Both "to make hay," and "to hear the nightingale sing,"are 18th century expressions for having sex.

Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: Zubeneschamali, LCWA, pigeonsfromhell, nomorebraces, ladymarytavington, Carolina Girl, and wolfgal. I really do take your remarks into account and find good new ideas in them! Keep them coming!

Next chapter: Destiny's Playthings—Thomas The truce continues (more or less), and lives are further complicated.