Chapter Eleven
Disclaimer: I do not own T.P.
Patricia had the day off.
She was bored. Tavington was out training the Dragoons, and she had nothing to do, which was unusual. She decided to sort herself out.
Her husband, Eric Kellings, had been shot and killed by Colonel Tavington of the Green Dragoons, whom she had sworn to kill. However, she had been shot and taken prisoner of war, and given the job a servant. Later, she had found that the man she had it in for was not to be held responsible for the murder, he did not choose to do it freely.
So she found herself pining for Tavington although, he, apparently, wanted her dead.
She felt weird. Was she having affections for the Butcher? It would seem so, but there were so many cloudy parts...
She ran to her friend, Lark, a fellow servant, and asked her, "How do you know if you're in love?"
Lark looked at her and leaned on her broom. She thought, then said, "It's a different kind of feeling... You feel like everything you've ever worked for was thrown away, and you don't care. You just think about that person until... It bursts."
She smiled. "Why? You got someone in your life?"
Patricia shrugged. "A childish crush, no more. You sound like you know love like the back of your hand."
Lark nodded. "Someone's been calling on me."
"Really? Who?"
"..."
"Who? A soldier?"
Lark grinned. "That's for me to know and you to find out. But who do you feel for? I can't imagine anyone you like," she said, "No offence."
Patricia smiled and whispered the name into Lark's ear.
Lark's face dropped like a stone. Pulling away, she stared in horror at Patricia. She shook her head.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," she said, and left.
Patricia felt a little down. "But wait!" she called, "What can I do about it?"
Lark looked over her shoulder. "I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you." She walked away, leaving Patricia alone.
And leaving her to think.
And suddenly, a dangerous, but wickedly good idea, popped into her head.
