Chapter Eight


Disclaimer: I do not own T.P., only Patricia Kellings.


A/N: Skipping ahead a month later. And remember, people, I am a review freak, and if I do not get reviews then I will assume this story sucks and stop writing it! Review! Sorry, this chapter is themedium one, I think. The next one is pretty short.


Patricia did not talk for many days after that. Many days. Her mind was filled with anguish, and if only she had a friend in the encampment, she would release any tears she had on to them. However, no one here payed attention to her, and she kept them in. She was only silent because of the shock, but she wanted to scream.

It had been Tavington? Wrong. It had been Cornwallis. But Tavington shot him. Wrong. Cornwallis had ordered it. Who was to blame? The employee or the employer?

She worked as a servant, not a slave. There was a small difference. She often found herself cleaning for little pay, which she had yet to collect, and also, she caught herself looking for Tavington. She had finally decided it was Cornwallis' fault, and she wanted to apologize to him for the accusations and such.

Finally, she found her chance.

Any respectable British soldiers, generals, lords, colonels, lieutenants, and such, were to attend a ball in New York, in a fancy loyalist estate called Midnight Hall. The man who owned it was named Merchant Bodd, and he was letting any servants come to help clean up afterwards and serve the food. Patricia enlisted as one of them.

When she was there, she was cleaning tables. She looked up to see Cornwallis and O'Hara side by side, chatting with a large bunch of ladies. They seemed quite pleased with themselves.

But, where was Tavington? Was he late? She knew he had been invited, so...Where was the damned man!

Ah, there he was. Tavington was standing alone, drinking a glass of champagne and looking around, evidently for someone.

Suddenly, a pretty woman with long blonde hair came over to him, stood next to him, and jumped into a conversation with him. Patricia watched something she'd never seen before - the cruelty leaving Tavington's eyes and being replaced by happiness. She knew he would never look at her like that.

She looked at the woman. Her hair went down to her shoulders, she was about two inches shorter then Tavington, and had large steel-gray eyes. She wore a handmade colonial dress, and it was very pretty.

She watched as Tavington laughed at what she was saying, toasted to her, and kissed the back of her hand. She giggled and went back of into the crowd.

Patricia stopped clearing the table.

What was that?

Patty felt something weighing on her chest, and questioned it. Was she feeling...? No, it couldn't possibly be jealously. Who could be jealous of Tavington...?

'Stop it,' she thought to herself, 'Do you realize what you're saying!'

But, with the jealousy or not, she decided to make her appearance with Tavington known to the world once again.

Walking over to him, she stared him straight in the face. He looked at her, his cold, blue-green icy eyes watching every movement she made.

"Yes?" he asked, irritated.

She took a breath. "Colonel Tavington, I'd like to apologize for accusing you of my husband's murder; I've decided that it was Cornwallis' fault this whole time, and I want to say I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Tavington was apparently taken aback by this. He looked up and refused to make eye contact with her.

"Yes, well..." he said, and if anyone had been watching him at the time, you would've seen he looked quite distraught, like the 'agitated bird' who puffs up it's feathers when it has been bothered.

The woman who he had toasted to then came up to them, her eyes locked on Patricia as if she had been part of the conversation all along. She locked elbows with Tavington. Patricia looked down at her. So did Tavington.

"Who is this?" the woman asked, never taking her eyes off of Patricia. There was a hint of anger in her voice.

Tavington paused. "This is but a servant girl..." His eyes had the 'get back' look, "Who has so generously offered to take my cup away." He smiled darkly.

"Ah," said the woman, nodding her head. Patricia was glad that she had stopped looking at her, because being under that woman's eyes was like being under a scanner.

The lady held out her hand.

"Lady Sarah Cardian," she said.

Patricia took her hand. "Patricia Kellings."

There was an awkward pause, and Tavington handed her his glass, keeping a close watch on her. Patricia nodded, and she turned and left.