Author's Notes: Wow, I've been hit by a
sudden bombardment of reviews!! Since everyone's been clammoring for an
update.. here it is!! See, if you review a story and prod the author to
continue, it really can make a difference! Thanks to everyone who took
the time to leave me a note about the story. I'm glad it's being enjoyed
so far! For whomever requested more of Ban.. here you go! Trust me, he's
not going anywhere. Expect to see quite a bit of him in this story.
On a side note- I've reformatted the first 5 chapters. Hopefully they look a bit better now. I'll try to update this one again soon. I'm also working on a Bordon-fic posted here, so I'm trying to split my time between the two.
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Chapter 6- Stirring Up Old Ghosts
By the time they reached her room, Emily realized how tired she really was. Before departing, Lillian offered to have supper sent up for her, but Emily politely declined, citing her desire to rest and go to bed early. Mrs. Middleton smiled and told her breakfast would be at nine the next morning, then hurried off to make sure her husband hadn't discovered the business in the parlor downstairs.
Emily closed the door softly and heaved a heavy sigh before turning to face the monstrous pile of her luggage, which had been heaped in the far corner of the room next to a door she assumed went to a closet. She was far too tired to deal with it at the moment though, and moved instead toward the wide bed in the room's center. It had a lovely floral quilt, and resting in the middle was her smaller carry-bag. Emily sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled the bag toward her, unfastening the small clasp and opening it wide. She started removing the items inside and setting them out on the bed next to her, so she could decide where to put things in the room. She pulled out a wide, soft bristled hairbrush, a small powder case and a few other personal items and put them off to one side before her hand rested on a large velvet pouch. She let her fingers linger on its soft, crimson surface a moment, feeling the chill beneath the fabric before she lifted it from the bag.
The pouch was heavy. She set it on her lap and loosened the delicate strings that held the pouch pinched closed. Once they were loose enough, she gave the fabric a tug and it came open. Her hand slid inside and she wrapped her fingers around the cold, finely polished wooden grip, slowly withdrawing the pistol her father had presented her before she boarded the ship for her voyage to the Colonies. He'd waited until they were alone, not wanting Mrs. Durnham to know their 'little girl' might ever possibly need such a thing. He'd taken her aside while her mother saw to the loading of the baggage and shown her how to load and aim the gun... 'Just incase...'
Emily raised the pistol in the dimming light from the window. A red glint from the sunset reflected off the metal barrel and she turned it in the light, examining as she had so many times during her sea-journey the engraved pattern that ran its length. The delicate swirls took on the shape of stylized roses that bristled with sharp thorns. 'Blood roses' her father had said. She liked the sound of it. A strange chill passed through her as she stared at them. She heard a metallic click and realized she'd unconsciously pulled back the pistol's hammer, locking it into place. Emily lowered the gun and pointed it at the last glint of sun visible through the window as it settled over the trees in the distance. Her finger tensed on the trigger and squeezed. The pistol's hammer came down with a loud snap, but nothing else happened. The gun was unloaded.
Her voice came in a whisper as the sun winked out over the horizon and dusk settled in, "Got you."
A sudden knock at the door caused her to jump and she quickly stuffed the pistol back in her travel bag before hurrying to the door. She turned the knob and opened it partially. The servant girl on the other side was a few years younger then Emily, with a strange olive tinge to her skin and pitch-black hair.
"Sorry to disturb you, Miss, but Madame sent me up to light the candles for you." The girl raised a lit candle in a simple brass holder she clutched with both hands, the light from it flickering across her face and giving her a slightly eerie appearance.
"Oh, thank you..." Emily nervously backed up, pulling the door open to admit the girl, who crossed the room quickly and proceeded to light several candles in various places around the room.
"Madame also wanted me to tell you that if you need anything, I am at your service. My name is Francine." She smiled and bent to light the bedside candle, which was stubborn but sputtered to life after a few seconds, casting wobbling shadows around the items on the table. "I'm sure you're tired, so I'll get out of your way now. Would you like me to wake you in time for breakfast?"
"No, I should be able to get up in time. Thank you though, Francine." Emily offered a small smile as the girl left and closed the door once more. Turning back to the room, it suddenly seemed like an entirely different place. The cheery floral prints and light, airy colors of the room became a dark, flickering jungle of unfamiliar objects and larger-than-life furniture. She shuddered and turned to the one point in the room that seemed non-threatening- the enormous stack of familiar luggage in the corner. Emily crossed the room and stood before the pile, going through the various sized pieces in her mind in an attempt to judge how much time it'd take to put everything away.
Emily gripped a lumpy bag on the top of the heap and pulled it off, wrestling it to the top of a nearby bureau. Upon opening it she found the weight of the bag stemmed from a number of heavy, leather bound books, one of which she removed fondly and settled with on the bed. Thumbing through the well-worn pages, she found what she sought and opened the book wide so she could see the page in the candlelight. The familiar words there formed in a whisper on her lips as her eyes scanned them slowly, her eyelids growing heavy."From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer:
'Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.'"(1)
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Emily stirred on the bed as the early-morning light began to creep in through the open window. Her eyes cracked open and she yawned, stretching her stiff frame. A loud thud noise suddenly brought her to her senses, as she realized her movements had caused the book she'd been reading the night before to slide off the bed and onto the floor. As she slid over and stretched to pick it up, her eyes caught on the light blue fabric running up her arm. Not only had she fallen asleep on top of the covers, she hadn't even changed for bed!
All but one of the candles in the room had burned themselves out, leaving Emily feeling guilty for having wasted them. She started thinking of how she'd apologize to Mrs. Middleton as she sat up slowly and swung her feet to the floor, wondering what time it was. The morning sun was still low on the horizon, so she guessed it to be sometime after 7. Casting groggy glances around the room, her eyes caught on a small table clock near the window. It was 8:30. 'Only a half hour before I'm expected down for breakfast...'
Emily quickly stood and walked to her baggage, pulling bags off haphazardly in search of one that might contain clothes. After opening several and finding none, she kneeled by one of the larger chests and lifted the lid, relieved to find it contained several of her day-dresses.
Emily shed the badly wrinkled blue dress she'd accidentally slept in and donned clean underthings before lifting a peach colored dress with cropped sleeves from the chest and putting it on. Surveying her appearance in the mirror, Emily quickly decided she looked like hell and went to the washbasin on the bureau, splashing some cold water on her face and forearms. After scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes she found the hairbrush she'd unpacked the night before, pulling it through her hair until she worked the tangles out, her chestnut tresses falling in waves over her shoulders. Emily dug around in the chest some more and found a small wooden box, which she opened and removed several hairpins. Returning to the mirror, she twisted her hair up onto the back of her head and secured it with a few of the pins, leaving a few strands hanging loose.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, Emily put the brush back on the bureau and slipped silently out the door on her way to breakfast.
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Downstairs in the dining room, Tavington massaged his temples and leaned his elbows on the table as one of the servants refilled his cup of tea. Nursing a terrible headache from drinking in the parlor the night before, he cast a biting glare at Tarleton who, despite consuming as much if not more of the bourbon, seemed completely free of its less fortunate aftereffects. Ban merely grinned and continued munching his food amiably, making occasional light comments to the servants who bustled in and out of the room on their morning routines.
"So, where's Bordon?" Ban queried, stuffing another fork-full of egg into his grinning mouth.
Tavington flinched, his teeth clenching painfully at the sound of his fellow officer's voice, "Christ, keep the volume down, you blighter! I sent him out to make sure the men were up and breaking camp. I know you prefer to let yours do whatever they damn-well please, but I prefer a little discipline in my command..."
Ban mopped the last of the egg yolk off his plate with a bit of biscuit, a look of mock sorrow painting his face. "My, that's a low blow, Tav! I'm beginning to think you don't care for my company on these little missions of ours." He grinned and his eyebrow quirked roguishly, "But then, sometimes I forget that you're fully capable of winning this war entirely on your own, don't I? Forgive my youth and foolishness, dear sir."
Tavington managed a slight grin and shook his head slowly, "I swear, Ban, your wit is far too much for me this early in the morning. If you're quite finished demolishing your breakfast, I strongly suggest you see to your own men. We've got to get out of here and on patrol within the hour and I don't want your rabble slowing us up."
Ban rose from his seat in one fluid movement and bowed with a dramatic flourish. "Noted and as good as done, Colonel. My 'rabble' and I will be ready and waiting whenever you're set to go. Mind you don't slow us up yourself..."
Ban stuck his tongue out and puffed his cheeks in an imitation of being sick, which prompted Tavington to snatch a biscuit off one of the nearby platters and hurl it in the green-coated Dragoon's direction. Tarleton anticipated the move and neatly sidestepped the edible projectile, flicking a quick salute to the grumbling Tavington before exiting the dining room with a jaunty step, his spurs jingling as his heavy boot soles thumped across the hardwood floor and out of sight.
Tavington sipped his tea slowly in the silence that followed Ban's departure, thinking over the day that lie ahead. Scouts had brought word of a group of Continental stragglers in the area, separated from what was left of the Rebel army's main body during their retreat after the fall of Charlestown. Cornwallis' parting orders before setting out for Fort Carolina were for Tarleton's command, the British Legion- a mixture of infantry and dragoons, and Tavington's group of dragoons to intercept the group and eliminate them before they could cross the river and reunite with the rest of the retreating Continental force.
Intelligence reported that the stragglers were unable to move with any considerable speed, as they were heavily burdened with wounded. Catching up to them should be a simple enough matter.
The Colonel drained the last of the liquid in his cup and set it back down on its saucer before rising from his seat. Thankfully the effects of his hangover had reduced somewhat, but the dull headache still lingered. Tea always seemed to help after a night of heavy drinking.
Tavington silently cursed Ban for his inhuman tolerance for alcohol. Such fortitudes really were wasted on the young.
After retrieving his helmet and gloves from the chair at his side, he started for the door with quick strides and began ticking through his mental checklist for the upcoming patrol.
Upon rounding the corner he collided roughly with a small form headed into the dining room. Emily cried out at the impact and stumbled before losing her balance and falling backward, hitting the floor with a thump. Tavington, somewhat dazed by the speed with which it all happened, stared down at her blankly.
"Why, Miss Durnham... a bit hurried this morning, are we?"
Emily sputtered angrily and quickly tried to straighten her dress, which had heaped and twisted itself about her legs in a most undignified manner. Tavington grinned at her obvious discomfort.
"You... you devil! Why don't you watch where you're going?" Emily struggled to get up but got snagged in her skirts and floundered.
Tavington rolled his eyes and slowly offered her a hand. She glared stubbornly and batted it away, making another attempt to get up on her own. Almost instantly a hand seized her roughly by the arm and yanked her from the floor. Emily gasped.
"Never strike me again, you spoiled little witch!" Tavington's voice hissed fiercely in her ear, his breath hot on the side of her neck as she twisted in his grasp.
"Your uncle may be in command here but you, my dear, are not! I'll be damned if I'll allow a woman to hold dominion over me!"
He firmly shoved Emily away and released her arm, fixing her with an angry glare. Emily trembled silently, sparks of mixed anger and fear dancing in her eyes.
"Forgive me, Colonel," Emily's voice was shaky and hesitant. "I should not have snapped at you in that way."
Tavington's expression chilled as the anger in his eyes began to fade slowly, his mouth twisting into a cold sneer.
"Quite right, Miss Durnham. Now, as much as I'm enjoying this quaint little conversation, I have to be going." He brushed past her quickly and headed through the parlor toward the front foyer.
"Are you going on patrol, Colonel?" Emily called after him, quickly regaining her composure. Tavington stopped suddenly but did not turn back toward her.
"How do you know that?"
"I saw a number of men outside as I passed one of the windows on the way from my room. Some of them had uniforms like yours..."
Tavington was silent a moment.
"Quite perceptive of you, Miss Durnham. Yes, my dragoons and I have been ordered to track down some Rebel stragglers." He began walking again but Emily's voice chimed out behind him once more.
"Good luck to you, Colonel Tavington."
Tavington halted. There was no malice in her voice. Emily stared at his motionless back silhouetted in the doorway, waiting for some kind of sharp response, but none came. Only the loud workings of Mrs. Middleton's hall clock and the sound of the Colonel's boots on the wooden floor as he quickly left.
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The Rebels had been exactly where the scouts indicated.
Tavington watched the confused rabble of blue-coated soldiers scramble in disarray as the Legion infantry pursued them across the field. The wagons full of wounded had been abandoned as soon as Tavington and Tarleton's combined force sprang upon them, the surprised Continentals grabbing whatever weapons lay nearby in an effort to defend themselves against the sudden attack.
A handful of the American rebels managed to take up positions around a few battered field canon, struggling to bring the heavy guns to bear on the British infantry that flooded into their camp. Others simply ran and were promptly pursued and cut down by Ban's dragoons. Tavington hung back with his own men, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
The battle was done almost as soon as it began. Tavington urged his horse slowly across the field littered with Rebel dead and wounded. Occasionally cries of pain rang out below him as the hooves of the huge dragoon mount pressed heavily on the arm or leg of a Continental that was not quite dead. He ignored the sound and surveyed his own troops positioning on and around the field as they pursued the last few fleeing Rebels. They seemed to be headed in the general direction of a large plantation house nearby.
Withdrawing his field glass from a pouch on the side of his saddle, Colonel Tavington brought the lens up to eye and examined the house from a distance. The plantation had a large barn and several small outlying slave quarters, while the house itself was a two-story construction with a wide porch. Squinting through the telescope he could make out several figures standing on the porch. It appeared to be a man and several children.
Bordon noticed his commander's scrutiny of the house and pulled his horse beside Tavington's.
"What is it, sir?"
Tavington lowered the field glass and returned it to its pouch.
"Rebel sympathizers. I think it's time we made an example for the locals that support and assistance to these damned Continentals will not be tolerated." The Colonel seemed pleased by the idea, a sinister grin creeping across his face. "Get the dragoons together. We're going to have a few words with that farmer."
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Notes: 1) This is a snippet from Matthew Arnold's poem "Self Dependence". It was actually written in 1852, so forgive my little time warp in having it as part of a pre-1780 book.
On a side note- I've reformatted the first 5 chapters. Hopefully they look a bit better now. I'll try to update this one again soon. I'm also working on a Bordon-fic posted here, so I'm trying to split my time between the two.
------------------------------------------------------
By the time they reached her room, Emily realized how tired she really was. Before departing, Lillian offered to have supper sent up for her, but Emily politely declined, citing her desire to rest and go to bed early. Mrs. Middleton smiled and told her breakfast would be at nine the next morning, then hurried off to make sure her husband hadn't discovered the business in the parlor downstairs.
Emily closed the door softly and heaved a heavy sigh before turning to face the monstrous pile of her luggage, which had been heaped in the far corner of the room next to a door she assumed went to a closet. She was far too tired to deal with it at the moment though, and moved instead toward the wide bed in the room's center. It had a lovely floral quilt, and resting in the middle was her smaller carry-bag. Emily sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled the bag toward her, unfastening the small clasp and opening it wide. She started removing the items inside and setting them out on the bed next to her, so she could decide where to put things in the room. She pulled out a wide, soft bristled hairbrush, a small powder case and a few other personal items and put them off to one side before her hand rested on a large velvet pouch. She let her fingers linger on its soft, crimson surface a moment, feeling the chill beneath the fabric before she lifted it from the bag.
The pouch was heavy. She set it on her lap and loosened the delicate strings that held the pouch pinched closed. Once they were loose enough, she gave the fabric a tug and it came open. Her hand slid inside and she wrapped her fingers around the cold, finely polished wooden grip, slowly withdrawing the pistol her father had presented her before she boarded the ship for her voyage to the Colonies. He'd waited until they were alone, not wanting Mrs. Durnham to know their 'little girl' might ever possibly need such a thing. He'd taken her aside while her mother saw to the loading of the baggage and shown her how to load and aim the gun... 'Just incase...'
Emily raised the pistol in the dimming light from the window. A red glint from the sunset reflected off the metal barrel and she turned it in the light, examining as she had so many times during her sea-journey the engraved pattern that ran its length. The delicate swirls took on the shape of stylized roses that bristled with sharp thorns. 'Blood roses' her father had said. She liked the sound of it. A strange chill passed through her as she stared at them. She heard a metallic click and realized she'd unconsciously pulled back the pistol's hammer, locking it into place. Emily lowered the gun and pointed it at the last glint of sun visible through the window as it settled over the trees in the distance. Her finger tensed on the trigger and squeezed. The pistol's hammer came down with a loud snap, but nothing else happened. The gun was unloaded.
Her voice came in a whisper as the sun winked out over the horizon and dusk settled in, "Got you."
A sudden knock at the door caused her to jump and she quickly stuffed the pistol back in her travel bag before hurrying to the door. She turned the knob and opened it partially. The servant girl on the other side was a few years younger then Emily, with a strange olive tinge to her skin and pitch-black hair.
"Sorry to disturb you, Miss, but Madame sent me up to light the candles for you." The girl raised a lit candle in a simple brass holder she clutched with both hands, the light from it flickering across her face and giving her a slightly eerie appearance.
"Oh, thank you..." Emily nervously backed up, pulling the door open to admit the girl, who crossed the room quickly and proceeded to light several candles in various places around the room.
"Madame also wanted me to tell you that if you need anything, I am at your service. My name is Francine." She smiled and bent to light the bedside candle, which was stubborn but sputtered to life after a few seconds, casting wobbling shadows around the items on the table. "I'm sure you're tired, so I'll get out of your way now. Would you like me to wake you in time for breakfast?"
"No, I should be able to get up in time. Thank you though, Francine." Emily offered a small smile as the girl left and closed the door once more. Turning back to the room, it suddenly seemed like an entirely different place. The cheery floral prints and light, airy colors of the room became a dark, flickering jungle of unfamiliar objects and larger-than-life furniture. She shuddered and turned to the one point in the room that seemed non-threatening- the enormous stack of familiar luggage in the corner. Emily crossed the room and stood before the pile, going through the various sized pieces in her mind in an attempt to judge how much time it'd take to put everything away.
Emily gripped a lumpy bag on the top of the heap and pulled it off, wrestling it to the top of a nearby bureau. Upon opening it she found the weight of the bag stemmed from a number of heavy, leather bound books, one of which she removed fondly and settled with on the bed. Thumbing through the well-worn pages, she found what she sought and opened the book wide so she could see the page in the candlelight. The familiar words there formed in a whisper on her lips as her eyes scanned them slowly, her eyelids growing heavy.
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Emily stirred on the bed as the early-morning light began to creep in through the open window. Her eyes cracked open and she yawned, stretching her stiff frame. A loud thud noise suddenly brought her to her senses, as she realized her movements had caused the book she'd been reading the night before to slide off the bed and onto the floor. As she slid over and stretched to pick it up, her eyes caught on the light blue fabric running up her arm. Not only had she fallen asleep on top of the covers, she hadn't even changed for bed!
All but one of the candles in the room had burned themselves out, leaving Emily feeling guilty for having wasted them. She started thinking of how she'd apologize to Mrs. Middleton as she sat up slowly and swung her feet to the floor, wondering what time it was. The morning sun was still low on the horizon, so she guessed it to be sometime after 7. Casting groggy glances around the room, her eyes caught on a small table clock near the window. It was 8:30. 'Only a half hour before I'm expected down for breakfast...'
Emily quickly stood and walked to her baggage, pulling bags off haphazardly in search of one that might contain clothes. After opening several and finding none, she kneeled by one of the larger chests and lifted the lid, relieved to find it contained several of her day-dresses.
Emily shed the badly wrinkled blue dress she'd accidentally slept in and donned clean underthings before lifting a peach colored dress with cropped sleeves from the chest and putting it on. Surveying her appearance in the mirror, Emily quickly decided she looked like hell and went to the washbasin on the bureau, splashing some cold water on her face and forearms. After scrubbing the sleep out of her eyes she found the hairbrush she'd unpacked the night before, pulling it through her hair until she worked the tangles out, her chestnut tresses falling in waves over her shoulders. Emily dug around in the chest some more and found a small wooden box, which she opened and removed several hairpins. Returning to the mirror, she twisted her hair up onto the back of her head and secured it with a few of the pins, leaving a few strands hanging loose.
Finally satisfied with her appearance, Emily put the brush back on the bureau and slipped silently out the door on her way to breakfast.
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Downstairs in the dining room, Tavington massaged his temples and leaned his elbows on the table as one of the servants refilled his cup of tea. Nursing a terrible headache from drinking in the parlor the night before, he cast a biting glare at Tarleton who, despite consuming as much if not more of the bourbon, seemed completely free of its less fortunate aftereffects. Ban merely grinned and continued munching his food amiably, making occasional light comments to the servants who bustled in and out of the room on their morning routines.
"So, where's Bordon?" Ban queried, stuffing another fork-full of egg into his grinning mouth.
Tavington flinched, his teeth clenching painfully at the sound of his fellow officer's voice, "Christ, keep the volume down, you blighter! I sent him out to make sure the men were up and breaking camp. I know you prefer to let yours do whatever they damn-well please, but I prefer a little discipline in my command..."
Ban mopped the last of the egg yolk off his plate with a bit of biscuit, a look of mock sorrow painting his face. "My, that's a low blow, Tav! I'm beginning to think you don't care for my company on these little missions of ours." He grinned and his eyebrow quirked roguishly, "But then, sometimes I forget that you're fully capable of winning this war entirely on your own, don't I? Forgive my youth and foolishness, dear sir."
Tavington managed a slight grin and shook his head slowly, "I swear, Ban, your wit is far too much for me this early in the morning. If you're quite finished demolishing your breakfast, I strongly suggest you see to your own men. We've got to get out of here and on patrol within the hour and I don't want your rabble slowing us up."
Ban rose from his seat in one fluid movement and bowed with a dramatic flourish. "Noted and as good as done, Colonel. My 'rabble' and I will be ready and waiting whenever you're set to go. Mind you don't slow us up yourself..."
Ban stuck his tongue out and puffed his cheeks in an imitation of being sick, which prompted Tavington to snatch a biscuit off one of the nearby platters and hurl it in the green-coated Dragoon's direction. Tarleton anticipated the move and neatly sidestepped the edible projectile, flicking a quick salute to the grumbling Tavington before exiting the dining room with a jaunty step, his spurs jingling as his heavy boot soles thumped across the hardwood floor and out of sight.
Tavington sipped his tea slowly in the silence that followed Ban's departure, thinking over the day that lie ahead. Scouts had brought word of a group of Continental stragglers in the area, separated from what was left of the Rebel army's main body during their retreat after the fall of Charlestown. Cornwallis' parting orders before setting out for Fort Carolina were for Tarleton's command, the British Legion- a mixture of infantry and dragoons, and Tavington's group of dragoons to intercept the group and eliminate them before they could cross the river and reunite with the rest of the retreating Continental force.
Intelligence reported that the stragglers were unable to move with any considerable speed, as they were heavily burdened with wounded. Catching up to them should be a simple enough matter.
The Colonel drained the last of the liquid in his cup and set it back down on its saucer before rising from his seat. Thankfully the effects of his hangover had reduced somewhat, but the dull headache still lingered. Tea always seemed to help after a night of heavy drinking.
Tavington silently cursed Ban for his inhuman tolerance for alcohol. Such fortitudes really were wasted on the young.
After retrieving his helmet and gloves from the chair at his side, he started for the door with quick strides and began ticking through his mental checklist for the upcoming patrol.
Upon rounding the corner he collided roughly with a small form headed into the dining room. Emily cried out at the impact and stumbled before losing her balance and falling backward, hitting the floor with a thump. Tavington, somewhat dazed by the speed with which it all happened, stared down at her blankly.
"Why, Miss Durnham... a bit hurried this morning, are we?"
Emily sputtered angrily and quickly tried to straighten her dress, which had heaped and twisted itself about her legs in a most undignified manner. Tavington grinned at her obvious discomfort.
"You... you devil! Why don't you watch where you're going?" Emily struggled to get up but got snagged in her skirts and floundered.
Tavington rolled his eyes and slowly offered her a hand. She glared stubbornly and batted it away, making another attempt to get up on her own. Almost instantly a hand seized her roughly by the arm and yanked her from the floor. Emily gasped.
"Never strike me again, you spoiled little witch!" Tavington's voice hissed fiercely in her ear, his breath hot on the side of her neck as she twisted in his grasp.
"Your uncle may be in command here but you, my dear, are not! I'll be damned if I'll allow a woman to hold dominion over me!"
He firmly shoved Emily away and released her arm, fixing her with an angry glare. Emily trembled silently, sparks of mixed anger and fear dancing in her eyes.
"Forgive me, Colonel," Emily's voice was shaky and hesitant. "I should not have snapped at you in that way."
Tavington's expression chilled as the anger in his eyes began to fade slowly, his mouth twisting into a cold sneer.
"Quite right, Miss Durnham. Now, as much as I'm enjoying this quaint little conversation, I have to be going." He brushed past her quickly and headed through the parlor toward the front foyer.
"Are you going on patrol, Colonel?" Emily called after him, quickly regaining her composure. Tavington stopped suddenly but did not turn back toward her.
"How do you know that?"
"I saw a number of men outside as I passed one of the windows on the way from my room. Some of them had uniforms like yours..."
Tavington was silent a moment.
"Quite perceptive of you, Miss Durnham. Yes, my dragoons and I have been ordered to track down some Rebel stragglers." He began walking again but Emily's voice chimed out behind him once more.
"Good luck to you, Colonel Tavington."
Tavington halted. There was no malice in her voice. Emily stared at his motionless back silhouetted in the doorway, waiting for some kind of sharp response, but none came. Only the loud workings of Mrs. Middleton's hall clock and the sound of the Colonel's boots on the wooden floor as he quickly left.
------------------
The Rebels had been exactly where the scouts indicated.
Tavington watched the confused rabble of blue-coated soldiers scramble in disarray as the Legion infantry pursued them across the field. The wagons full of wounded had been abandoned as soon as Tavington and Tarleton's combined force sprang upon them, the surprised Continentals grabbing whatever weapons lay nearby in an effort to defend themselves against the sudden attack.
A handful of the American rebels managed to take up positions around a few battered field canon, struggling to bring the heavy guns to bear on the British infantry that flooded into their camp. Others simply ran and were promptly pursued and cut down by Ban's dragoons. Tavington hung back with his own men, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
The battle was done almost as soon as it began. Tavington urged his horse slowly across the field littered with Rebel dead and wounded. Occasionally cries of pain rang out below him as the hooves of the huge dragoon mount pressed heavily on the arm or leg of a Continental that was not quite dead. He ignored the sound and surveyed his own troops positioning on and around the field as they pursued the last few fleeing Rebels. They seemed to be headed in the general direction of a large plantation house nearby.
Withdrawing his field glass from a pouch on the side of his saddle, Colonel Tavington brought the lens up to eye and examined the house from a distance. The plantation had a large barn and several small outlying slave quarters, while the house itself was a two-story construction with a wide porch. Squinting through the telescope he could make out several figures standing on the porch. It appeared to be a man and several children.
Bordon noticed his commander's scrutiny of the house and pulled his horse beside Tavington's.
"What is it, sir?"
Tavington lowered the field glass and returned it to its pouch.
"Rebel sympathizers. I think it's time we made an example for the locals that support and assistance to these damned Continentals will not be tolerated." The Colonel seemed pleased by the idea, a sinister grin creeping across his face. "Get the dragoons together. We're going to have a few words with that farmer."
-------------------------------------------------------
Notes: 1) This is a snippet from Matthew Arnold's poem "Self Dependence". It was actually written in 1852, so forgive my little time warp in having it as part of a pre-1780 book.