Disclaimer: The makers of the film The Patriot own Colonel Tavington. I own the rest.

Genre: romance/fantasy

Even the best-prepared researcher might not be equal to an extended stay in the past. A young Colonial servant relates the story of her mysterious employer and a British officer…

The Madwoman of Princess Street

Part Two

The Colonel had gone scouting, and Mr McKenzie had gone with him, of course. Their absence left the house surprisingly forlorn. Mrs McKenzie went sturdily about her work, used to such separations. Miss Lindsey was helping me make a new cap—a very pretty one that I should have to wear to church. It began raining on Thursday afternoon, and the rain grew harder, and the skies darker. I felt bad, thinking of the Colonel and poor Mr McKenzie, riding out there in the wet, soaked to the skin.

Miss Lindsey seemed very depressed. She grew quiet, and did not converse much as she helped me with the tricky curved seams of my new cap. There was a flash of lightning, followed by a distant rumble. McCavity raced into the room and hid under the sofa.

"Oh, McCavity," she sighed. "It can't hurt you in here. Come up and sit on the sofa with us." The cat paid her no heed, and did not come out while the storm lasted. The little boys had been sent upstairs out of the rain and were roughhousing in the attic, making thunder of their own. We could hear them all the way down in the parlour.

After awhile, Miss Lindsey went over to the pianoforte, and began playing a very strange piece. It wasn't like any song I had ever heard, but was full of strange dissonances and broken chords. It sounded like the storm and then the last little raindrops. It was very, very loud, and then so soft I could hardly hear it, and it finished with a high bright chord like the sun coming out of the clouds. Miss Lindsey had been behaving almost normally lately, except at eight o'clock, and the wild music surprised and frightened me a little. When she was done, she sat at the pianoforte for a long minute, her hands resting soundlessly on the keys. She turned and saw my face, and gave me an odd smile.

"Jardins sous la pluie," she said. I must have looked very blank, for she explained. "That's French. It means Gardens in the Rain."

"It was very unusual," I commented uneasily. "Did you make that up yourself, ma'am?"

"No, indeed!" she laughed. "A wonderful work by Claude Debussy." She stroked the keys thoughtfully. "I do miss Debussy. And Brahms, and Ravel, and Rachmaninoff." An even stranger expression flickered in her eyes. "I wonder what you'd think of Prokofiev?"

I must still have looked confused, and she laughed again. "And no, there's no reason you should ever have heard of them—and no reason for you ever to hear of them again. I'm sorry—it must have sounded very peculiar. Come here, and we'll play something you'll like better."

Saturday night, Mrs McKenzie carried the bathtub downstairs, and everyone had a hot bath in the kitchen, even the two struggling, dirty little boys. Bath night always vexed Miss Lindsey. I received the impression that she felt it was all more trouble than it ought to be, but she entered into it with a will, even washing my hair with fine Castile soap. She combed it out for me, and I felt beautifully clean and ready for the joys of Sunday.

And late that Sunday afternoon, the Colonel came back.

He and Mr McKenzie were all right, but for some scrapes and a great deal of dirt. Mr McKenzie carried the tub and the water upstairs for the Colonel's bath; and he himself had a wash in the wellhouse with the attendance of Mrs McKenzie, while I kept the little boys occupied. Mrs McKenzie was so happy to see her husband, and they came back to the kitchen beaming: he much cleaner, and she very bright-eyed indeed.

The men had missed dinner, so Mrs McKenzie set to making an especially fine supper for all of us. She even allowed Miss Lindsey back into the kitchen to make a cake, rich with nuts and raisins, layered with custard and topped with sweetened cream. The little boys and I helped in the kitchen, carefully removing the seeds from the raisins, and eating nearly as many as we gave to Miss Lindsey for the cake. It was all very festive, and it felt something like a homecoming.

Miss Lindsey wore her pretty blue gown, and the candles were lit in the dining room. I helped Mrs McKenzie wait at table and saw that all was well there, too. Miss Lindsey and the Colonel looked at each other across the table and smiled. Spontaneously, they began talking to each other: she asking him all about his adventures; he telling her all the details with every evidence of pleasure and satisfied vanity. At length, we brought in the cake, and the Colonel was suitably grateful and delighted. Miss Lindsey sent us back to the kitchen, to our own supper, and she and Colonel remained at the table, chatting animatedly.

They were so engrossed in their conversation that no one noticed the time or the chime of the hall clock. So it was quite a shock, when we heard Miss Lindsey cry out, "Oh, God!" and the sound of a glass shattering. "Hannah! Hannah!"

The McKenzies stared at each other amazed. I raced into the dining room. Miss Lindsey had risen to her feet, hand to her heart, and gasped, "Oh, Hannah! It's nearly a quarter past! Run upstairs to the attic! I'll look in the parlour and then the bedrooms! Hurry!" I took to my heels, running for the staircase. Miss Lindsey's voice followed me, raw and agonized. "And, oh, Hannah, look carefully!"

Colonel Tavington called out, "Miss Lindsey, calm yourself—"

I heard my mistress behind me, as she dashed in to the parlour and after less than five seconds, dashed out again. I was already going up the attic stairs when I heard her on the front stairs, crying, "Wait! Wait!" She slammed a door open, and ran in, then out, and then slammed open another. I ran through the attic, my heart pounding, and my eyes searched the neat chamber of Mr and Mrs McKenzie. I flung myself on the floor, bruising my elbows, to peer under the bed, and then scrambled away on all fours, and was up and running for the little boys' room. I could hear the McKenzies' urgent questions, and Colonel Tavington's voice, raised in discussion. Downstairs, I heard another door slam open.

The quarter hour chimed. Miss Lindsey screamed, "No!"

I ran downstairs. She had not managed to reach the second spare bedroom, and had fallen to her knees, wailing. "No, no, no, no…"

Colonel Tavington was running up the stairs. He shouted behind him. "McKenzie, keep those children of yours away!"

Miss Lindsey was simply beside herself. She pounded her fists against the shining wood floor, and shrieked, "I want to go home! I want to go home! I can't stand it here anymore! I want to go home! Itsnotfairnotfairnotfair!" Then she screamed again, wild and long. In a moment the Colonel was down on his knees beside her, his arms about her, trying to restrain her. She screamed again, arms flailing.

"Hysteria," the Colonel muttered, catching her hands in his, holding her fast to quiet her shaking. "Mrs McKenzie, bring us a cup of strong, sweet tea."

"Perhaps a surgeon—" Mrs McKenzie suggested.

"No!" Miss Lindsey cried, looking horrified. "No doctors!"

She began gasping for breath, and the Colonel waved Mrs McKenzie off to the kitchen. He dismissed his orderly as well. "I can deal with this, McKenzie. Take your children up to their beds, and send your wife on when she has the tea." He held Miss Lindsey firmly, and asked, "You need to lie down, Madam. Can you walk?"

She replied with an incoherent mew, and he blew out a breath and stood, lifting her in his arms. "Get the door, Hannah," he directed me. I ran ahead, and opened the door as he carried her in and laid her gently on her bed. She whimpered, and he helped her sit up. "That cannot be comfortable," he agreed, and supporting her against him, he unpinned her cap and handed it to me. Her hairpins followed, he searching through her locks and placing each hairpin in my open palm. He ran his fingers carefully through her hair for hidden pins, while she gave an exhausted sob every few moments. "Fetch me her hairbrush," he ordered, and I obeyed instantly, glad that he knew what to do.

Miss Lindsey had very pretty, shining hair, with some curl at the ends. Colonel Tavington smiled slightly as he began brushing it with long, firm strokes. She became quieter, and sat listlessly while he brushed out her hair. He brushed her hair back from her brow, and then lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, carefully untangling it. She sighed, but she must have liked it, for everyone likes having her hair brushed.

Mrs McKenzie came with the tea, and looked relieved to see Miss Lindsey quiet. "Thank you, Mrs McKenzie," said the Colonel. "That will be all. See that the fires are out and the house locked for the night. Hannah and I can take care of the lady."

"Yes, sir," Mrs McKenzie replied. "Goodnight sir—and ma'am. I hope you feel better in the morning."

Miss Lindsey, sipping her tea, made an unintelligible response, but it satisfied Mrs McKenzie, who bustled away. The Colonel gave me the hairbrush, and steadied Miss Lindsey's trembling hands while she took another sip.

Miss Lindsey cleared her throat, and croaked out, "I'll never get home, now. I want to go home."

I shot the Colonel a worried glance, but he was perfectly calm. "My dear, you are home. You have a lovely home and you are safely in it right now. No matter where you might have lived in the past" (she gave a nervous laugh), "or where you might wish to live in the future, this is your home now." She laughed again, very sadly, I thought, and the Colonel held her close and stroked his hands down her arms in a soothing rhythm.

"I'm so tired," she whispered. "You can't understand what it's like. I've done everything they told me. I've kept my research notes up to date. They promised it would be three months, but it's been over two years. I shouldn't have to be here in the middle of a war. I can't keep up the pretense any longer." She took a long drink and sighed. "I'm so alone."

"My dear, you are not alone. Here is Hannah." He gave me a nod, and I stood in front of Miss Lindsey. "See, here is Hannah, and she depends upon you. What would become of her without you?"

What, indeed? I shivered at the thought of leaving this house, if Miss Lindsey were to be taken away.

"I'm not supposed to get close to people," she protested weakly. "I'm supposed to be an objective observer. If I care about people, I'll interfere with their lives and cause all sorts of trouble. And I'm not supposed to let anyone care about me."

He pulled her close, and brushed his lips against her brow. "Too late." Her head rested against his shoulder. At a glance from him, I took the empty teacup from her.

Speaking very earnestly, he said, "My dear, you must forget this obsession. This is your home. There is no other. You put yourself in a very dangerous situation with these fancies." He lifted her head up so he looked in her eyes. "This is your home."

"This is my home," she repeated dully. She still looked very sad, but we were both pleased and relieved at her acquiescence.

He smiled briefly. "That's better. Now you need some rest. Hannah, I think it is time you were in bed, too. I shall stay a little with Miss Lindsey, and I am sure she will feel better in the morning."

I did not want to leave her, but I was not bold enough to challenge Colonel Tavington. I gathered my courage sufficiently to lean forward and kiss Miss Lindsey's pale cheek. "Good night, dear Miss Lindsey. I hope you sleep well." To my surprise, she reached out and pulled me against her, and kissed my forehead.

"Thank you, my sweet little girl. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right."

Colonel Tavington looked approvingly at me, and bade me goodnight, with a quiet, "Be sure to close the door."

As I left the room, I heard his voice soften, as he asked her, "My dear Miss Lindsey, will you not tell me your Christian name?"

"Diana," she whispered.

"Diana." He echoed it tenderly. "It is the sweetest name." He nuzzled her again, kissing her brow, and then her ear. "You will rumple your gown. Let me see to your comfort…"

I shut the door behind me, and heard no more.

The next day, Miss Lindsey slept late. I finished my work in the cowshed and coop, and at breakfast Mrs McKenzie told me that the Colonel had thought it best that I take a tray up to her no earlier than nine o'clock. Both the Colonel and Mr McKenzie had already left for the camp, and would not be back for some hours.

Walking gingerly upstairs with the laden tray, I saw McCavity waiting patiently outside her door. I knocked softly, and received an equally soft, "Come in." McCavity trotted in ahead of me and leaped up on the bed, sniffing the bedclothes with a suspicious air.

She was already sitting up, propped up on the pillows, modestly arranging her nightdress, and looking about the bed to tidy it, I suppose. Her hair was very disheveled, but she seemed calm, and even happy. Her cheeks were pink, and there was a certain air of embarrassment about her. I knew she was probably terribly ashamed of her fit last night, and I wanted to do nothing to remind her of it.

She drank her tea and nibbled her toast. She leaned forward and saw herself in her mirror. "What a mess. Hannah, bring me my hairbrush, please. My hair looks like a rat's nest."

"And the Colonel brushed it so nicely last night, Ma'am."

"Ha!" She tried to hide her smile, but she couldn't, and turned even pinker. "Yes, the Colonel's a man of many talents." She brushed her hair slowly, starting at the ends. "I won't bother to put up my hair right now, Hannah. I'll just braid it and tie it with the blue ribbon, and put—that—cap over it."

I helped her with these preparations, and set about cleaning and straightening her room. She lay back on the pillows, quite relaxed. I was in and out for a while, but McCavity remained cuddled against her on the bed. She stroked his fur lazily, and seemed to be lost in pleasant thought.

"Will you leave your bed today, Ma'am?"

"Oh, yes, I'll be down for dinner, certainly."

I left her, and went next door to do the Colonel's room. He had taken her earlier rebukes to heart. His room looked barely used. I appreciated his consideration, and was done much more quickly than usual. Indeed, in the days to come, his room was always uncommonly neat.

He took his meals with us more frequently. I well remember how he and Miss Lindsey would just look at each other and smile, sitting at the polished dining table. Sometimes she would blush, and look down. He, however, would just smile the more. They would talk softly, and when he was there in the evenings, they would go to the parlour together, and she would play the pianoforte for him: pleasant Scottish and Irish airs, and grander pieces by foreigners with German and Italian names. Sometimes the clock would chime eight, and Miss Lindsey would pause for an extra beat, hesitating over the keys. Colonel Tavington watched her with an anxious countenance, but she would continue playing. Searching the house at eight o'clock for the bogeyman, as Mrs McKenzie said, was a thing of the past. She and Mr McKenzie exchanged knowing smiles and nods. Occasionally I sat in the parlour with my mistress and the Colonel, but I was always sent to bed by half-past eight, leaving them to each other's company.

Miss Lindsey had stopped writing in her journal as well. The books were stacked on top of the bookshelves, and would have gathered dust, but for Mrs McKenzie's labours. Altogether, Miss Lindsey seemed much better and happier, though she must have had disturbing dreams. One night, she cried out, waking me from my slumber. I ran to her room to see if she needed me. It was locked, and I knocked and asked, "Miss Lindsey, are you all right?"

Her voice was strangely muffled, and she called back, "Yes, Hannah, I'm quite all right. It was only a dream." She sounded as if she were laughing, but I was too groggy to make much of it, and went back to bed and to sleep.

So the days passed. The Colonel was gone more and more often and for longer each time. The talk everywhere was that the army would be moving north within the week. Miss Lindsey grew sad. I understood that she hated the war, and was afraid for the Colonel. She had never said what side she held to, but I had always assumed that she was for the King, because she and Colonel were so fond of one another. Near the end of his stay with us, though, I overheard some exchanges that made me wonder if I had been wrong.

He had come back after a patrol, and Miss Lindsey had gone upstairs to see if he needed anything. She did not know that I was in my room reading, and once they started talking, I did not wish to make my presence known. Miss Lindsey, it seemed, did not want him to go with the army. She wanted him to resign his commission and leave the war to others. He must have wondered if she had gone mad again.

I heard her voice, low and urgent. "The King doesn't need you. Let him lose the war by himself. Why risk your life for a doomed cause?"

He was very offended. "Diana, you know nothing of such things. I do not interfere with your housekeeping. Leave men's business to men."

"How can you imagine it has nothing to do with me? Women have to live in the world, after all. I can't bear the thought of you giving your life for nothing. You're in terrible danger if you go north! If the King wants to fight, let him come here himself!"

"That's enough!" He lowered his voice. "It is only natural for a woman to be fearful, but you are wrong. I have never lost a battle."

"Don't you see—" she sounded like she might cry. "Don't you see that you can win every battle and still lose this war? No—please listen to me—a few thousand soldiers, however brave and professional, cannot win a war in this vast place. The war was lost before the first shot was fired, when the King failed to deal with the Colonists' grievances."

"I had no idea, Madam," he replied coldly, "that you were such an ardent rebel."

"I'm not a rebel!" she protested. "Please don't be angry with me, William. I'm so afraid for you. Listen, I have some money—not a huge fortune—but nearly twelve thousand pounds." There was a silence, and then the Colonel's exclamation of surprise. "Yes, really and truly. You could resign your commission, we could go anywhere you like—you don't have to throw your life away."

"Calm yourself! Sit down, and here, blow your nose! You must not allow yourself to become so excited." After a few moments, he began speaking again. I crept to the door to hear better. I knew it was wrong, but I had to know what the future held. The Colonel said, "My dear Diana, I would be a shabby sort of man who would take your money without expending any personal effort to restore my family's fortunes. You may as well know this—my father was a fool and a spendthrift, and he squandered his fortune and my inheritance. He dragged our name through the muck, and I have sworn to redeem it. I have every reason to hope for fortune and advancement from this campaign. In the last war, the King rewarded his soldiers with land grants and appointments. I have great expectations, and I cannot give them up because you are frightened." There was quiet murmur, and then he continued, "Of course I care for you. I feel the greatest tenderness and esteem for you. You are a lovely and refined woman, and your care for that poor child shows that you would be an excellent mother. That you have a considerable personal fortune could indeed smooth our path. First, however, I must make my reputation and earn my just reward. Then, and only then, can I consider private life. I shall be leaving with the army in two days. If all goes as I hope, we can plan our future upon my return."

"I see." I heard her getting to her feet, and I moved behind my door, peering through the crack at the hall. "There's nothing more to be said, then."

"Diana, I will be back. You must not imagine that I do not love—"

"Don't! Just don't! Don't humour the madwoman. I know I'll never see you again." She burst out his room and ran into her own. I could hear her sobbing, but dared not go to her. The Colonel came out of his room, and shook his head impatiently. "Women!" he muttered. "Let her have her cry. Quite irrational." He went downstairs and I heard the front door open and close.

The McKenzies began packing to leave. Mrs McKenzie gave the house a good cleaning as a parting gift, she said. I realized that I would miss them, even the little boys. They would be going on a great adventure, and living in tents. Perhaps it might be difficult, but it would be very exciting. Miss Lindsey found presents for them all: small, portable, useful things to ease their journey.

The Colonel and Miss Lindsey went to the parlour that last night and sent me off to bed early. They must have sat up talking until very late, for they both looked tired the next day, when the Colonel took his leave. He kissed my forehead, and gave me three shillings. He kissed Miss Lindsey's hand, and put a piece of paper in it, closing her fingers around it.

"I will be back."

We stood in the doorway a long time after he had gone. She finally looked at the paper, and opened it. She gave a little gasping laugh, and read:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love."

"But that's beautiful, Ma'am," I exclaimed eagerly. "That proves he loves you. He wrote a poem for you!"

"Hannah," she said, her mouth twisted in despair, "that poem was written for a madwoman. And the sun doesn't move."

For the first few days after the Colonel left, Miss Lindsey hardly spoke. She dragged herself about her chores, not even happy to have the kitchen to herself. She cooked, she cleaned, she heard my lessons. It was all done dutifully and without joy. She did not resume either her journal writing or the eight o'clock house searches. The house grew dingy, and she would huddle silently on the sofa, stroking McCavity, staring blindly out the parlour window. He, good cat that he was, seemed to understand his importance, for his purrs resounded as though he thought they could heal her.

She grew resigned, and began talking very gradually by the end of that first week. She missed the Colonel terribly, I could see, and once I dared to mention him.

"When do you suppose Colonel Tavington's coming back, ma'am?"

Curtly, she replied, "He's never coming back."

I objected. "But he said he loved—"

"Hannah, don't!" I shut my mouth, abashed. She went on, her face bleak, "That's just something men say. It doesn't mean anything. The Colonel left, and the rebels are going to kill him. Even if he were to survive, he'd still find someone else he liked better. Someone younger, prettier, richer, and—sane. It was a happy time when he was here. I would have stayed with him. I would have given up everything, but he's gone now, and he won't come again. He's gone forever. So," she said, wiping her eyes, and pretending not to care, "we need to think about important things, like a new dress for you. I declare that you grow an inch every time I turn around!"

We resumed our quiet mode of life. She engaged Mama to make my new dress—green with pink flowers and a striped petticoat, this time, and I read and practiced writing. I learned new pieces on the pianoforte. We briefly had an officer or two billeted in the house from time to time, but Miss Lindsey had little interest in them. She cleaned their rooms herself, and spoke only necessary words to them. We kept ourselves to ourselves.

So the weeks passed, and then the months. We often heard about the Colonel. Some people called him "The Butcher of the Carolinas," and "Bloody Tavington." The names had nothing to do with the man I knew. We read of his victories and his raids on the rebels. He was making quite a name for himself. I never commented on the stories, but I would leave the newspapers where I knew Miss Lindsey would find them. She would sit and read about him, saying never a word. She kept the papers, though.

It was late in July, when I went upstairs one evening after finishing in the cowshed. I tidied myself, and looked through my linen drawer for something to monogram. The hall clock chimed eight, but I shrugged the old habit away, as I always did. I turned to leave the room.

And then I saw the blue light.

It was shaped like a door: glowing, pulsing, as it shone out from the wall facing the window. It was as if I could see through the wall and the light into a room beyond. Hesitantly I reached out to touch it, and then pulled back afraid.

Miss Lindsey, I remembered. Lights and new doors. I stood there nearly a minute, trying to collect my thoughts. Then I ran to the top of the stairs, calling out, "Miss Lindsey! Miss Lindsey! It's the light! It's here!"

She came out the parlour and looked up at me, her face drained of colour.

I shouted, trying to make her believe, "It's here! Come see! It's your door!" I ran downstairs and grabbed her hand, trying to pull her along.

Wearily she followed me, stumbling on the steps, "Hannah," she protested, "Hannah, don't be mean."

"I'm not being mean. It's a blue light and a door! Come see!" I pulled her into my room and waved at the glowing blue rectangle of light.

She stopped still, and then she screamed. "Hannah! Find McCavity! I've got to get my notes!" She ran downstairs so fast she nearly fell, and I ran too, remembering I'd seen McCavity in the kitchen. He was surprised when he saw me run after him, but I scooped him up and ran to the parlour, where Miss Lindsey was busy writing. She folded a paper and stamped her seal into the wax. Another note lay on top of the writing desk.

"Here," she said, giving it to me. "I had Mr Cox, the lawyer, witness this a little after you came to me. It says that when I leave, this house and everything in it is yours." I gasped, but she went on, speaking quickly, "The money box is under my bed. There's a lot of money there, so be careful with it! Take this note to your mother right away, and don't lose it or let anyone take it away from you."

"You're going," I mumbled, feeling my eyes start to burn. I never imagined that Miss Lindsey would really go. Everyone had said they were a lonely spinster's crazy notions, and I had believed that myself. Just an eccentricity. But she was really leaving. "What about Colonel Tavington?"

Her face crumpled, and she blinked away tears and shook her head. "He's never coming back, anyway." She sounded like she had convinced herself, and she laughed bitterly. "There was never any real hope of a long-term relationship, there. Not if he stayed in the army, certainly. No future there at all." She saw I was disappointed, and tapped the sealed message on the desk. "If, by some miracle, he does return before he—well, give him this. If he looks at it carefully, he'll know I wasn't crazy. Tell him—" she stopped. "What's the use? Just tell him the truth, and that I had to leave. But don't tell anyone else, or they'll think you're the crazy one."

She got up, carrying her stack of journals. "Quick, now," she said. It was twelve past the hour, and we ran upstairs: she, with her journals, and I carrying McCavity, who was fidgeting and trying to get down.

The light in the wall was brighter than ever. The blue light reflected off the windows. If it had been dark outside, the whole town would have seen it. Miss Lindsey tucked her journals under one arm, and reached for McCavity. He saw the blue light, and screeched, striking out with his paw and scratching a bloody steak across her arm. She cried out, and dropped the notebooks. He wriggled out of my arms, and ran away, a blur of speed.

I started to go after him, but Miss Lindsey grabbed my shoulder. "Don't chase him! He's your cat now!" She dropped to the floor to gather the scattered books, and I helped her. She held them close to her chest, took a deep breath, and walked right through the wall. I could still see her. She was blue as well, glowing like the wall. She turned and faced me, and I saw her lips move with the words, "Good-bye." There was no sound. The glowing blue shape began to shrink. Miss Lindsey shrank with it: smaller and smaller, until she was the size of a child, the size of a doll, and then there was a bright blue dot, and then nothing.

I sat down on the floor, staring at the wall. Finally, I got up the courage to touch the place where the door had been. It was smooth, hard, and cool. There was no sign of the blue light, or the door, or Miss Lindsey, or anything but plaster and paint. I sat down again and started to cry. I thought about the big brick house, all mine, and Mama and Becky and Andrew coming to live in it. I thought about my music lessons, and Miss Lindsey washing my hair. I thought about showing Mama the money box. I thought about Miss Lindsey and Colonel Tavington, looking at each other across the dining table in the soft light of candles. I wanted every one of those things to be true at the same time, and I just sobbed.

It was getting late, and I didn't know what to do, so I curled up on my bed with all my clothes on, staring at the wall. After awhile, my eyes closed, and I was asleep.

On a sunny day in September, I was watching Becky and Andrew at play in the garden, when I saw a tall figure in a red coat walk with a familiar, swaggering gait up to our front door. Leaving Becky to keep Andrew safe, I crept around the corner of the house and heard Colonel Tavington's startled voice, saying, "Gone! Gone where?"

Our housekeeper shook her head, giving him a soft answer, and she shut the door. Colonel Tavington stood there absolutely thunderstruck, not even moving for a moment. He blew out a breath, looking confused and very disappointed. I edged closer, and he saw me.

"Hannah!" he called. "What is this? The servant says that Miss Lindsey is gone, and gave everything to you. What does she mean? Do you know where she went?"

As shyly as at our first meeting, I approached him. I hardly knew what to say that he would believe. Then I remembered the sealed paper. "She went away suddenly, Colonel. But if you would be pleased to wait, I can get something she left for you."

I ran inside and up to my room. The sealed paper was still in my top drawer. I hurried downstairs and outside. Colonel Tavington was waiting under a tree, a vexed and worried frown creasing his brow. I slowed down, thinking over what to say.

"Well?" He put out his hand for the message.

"Before I give it to you, I have to explain what happened. Nobody knows but me. Miss Lindsey left a letter saying she was going away, and that the house and everything in was mine. I told everybody that she just left, but I didn't tell them everything."

He waited, his eyes fixed on me.

"You know how she used to go through the house looking for lights and door?" He drew breath in anger, but I hastily continued. "I swear on the Bible that I'm not lying. One night I was up in my room and there was a blue light on the wall and I called for Miss Lindsey, and it was real." His mouth opened, but no sound came out. "She screamed when she saw it, and then she ran downstairs and got all those books she had written in and took them with her. She wanted to take McCavity, too, but he was afraid of the light and ran away. And then she remembered you and started to cry, but she told me she had to go and to give you this. 'If he looks at it carefully, he'll understand,' she said. And then she walked into the blue light, right through the wall, and she turned and looked at me and the light got smaller and smaller and she disappeared." I gave him the sealed paper, and he turned it over with a wondering look. There was no one else in the world to whom I could confide my secret thoughts, and so I solemnly told him, "I reckon she was an angel."

He stared at me as if I were a lunatic, and ripped the seal open. Inside was no writing, but a copper coin that I thought must be a penny. Colonel Tavington looked at it, very puzzled. He brought it close and studied it, and then he laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, but a bitter, harsh sound. He looked up at the sky, and then he looked at the coin some more. He glanced at me again, and cleared his throat. "Did she say if she was coming back?"

"I don't think she's ever coming back, sir. I don't think she can. And she surely didn't think you were ever coming back. She took that poem you gave her to mean that you really thought she was mad."

He stared at the ground, saying nothing at all for awhile. Then he lifted his chin, and shrugged himself straight. "We seem to have been very much at cross purposes. She should have trusted me with the truth. I would have believed her." He was hurt, I could see. He muttered, more to himself than to me, "She must have feared I would torment her with questions. She feared to meddle with Fate." He looked at me, and I knew he was seeing not me, but her. He repeated softly. "She should have trusted me. But perhaps she had good reason to think I would not return."

He weighed the coin in his hand, and flipped it into the air. It made a shining, coppery arc, and he caught it deftly. Carefully, he put it away in the pocket nearest his heart. He gave me a faint smile. "So you are now, Miss Hannah Clay, a young lady of property and prospects?"

"Yes, Colonel. Miss Lindsey gave it all to me, and we are very grateful. We were so poor before, and now we'll never want for anything ever again."

"Then perhaps it was not all for nothing." He put his hand gently on my head. "Goodbye then, my dear Hannah."

He made to go, but I saw him take a last look up at the window of Miss Lindsey's room. He sighed, and then strode down the street, the jingling of his spurs fading off into the distance. He turned at the corner, and was gone.

I never saw him again. Months later, word came that the Colonel was dead, killed by the rebels up north at the Cowpens. It grieved me, imagining his strong body laid out under the earth. I wondered if the coin Miss Lindsey left for him was still in the pocket over his heart.

Years have passed. I am, as you know, a wealthy and respected lady, and no one ever speaks of the time when Mama could barely hold body and soul together with her sewing. The days of the British in Charlestown sometimes seem as distant and unreal as a fairy tale. McCavity has long since gone to a tomcat's reward, mourned briefly by the she-cats of the neighborhood. Life moves on, and leaves the departed behind in the wake of memory. A few people tell stories about the madwoman who lived here once. No one really remembers Miss Lindsey but me. But still, now and then, when the clock chimes eight, I go up to my room and gaze at the wall facing the window, half hoping for the blue light, and the open door…

End Part 2 of 2

Notes:

"No doctors!" If you have ever seen the sublime film, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, you'll understand.

"Doubt thou…" Hamlet to Ophelia.