Genre: comedy
This adventure finds our heroine the victim of a Series of Unfortunate Events. A comedy of errors, of manners, and of 18th century punishments...
Episode Seven: Mary Sue and the Wheel of FortuneThis was it. Kayla smirked, knowing that her plan was working perfectly. Tavington was on the way, galloping up to the deserted plantation house, and she was there waiting, heart fluttering, eyelashes batting, and bosom heaving rather majestically, pressed into cleavage by the merciless corset. Well, sometimes a girl has to make sacrifices to get what she wants…
Tavington saw her as he reined in, and gave her a sharp nod. Turning to his subordinates, he began barking orders. "Wilkins, I want the horses watered within half an hour! Bordon, get that map out! I want to see if we can make it back to camp before sunset!"
He looked again at Kayla, standing in the shadow of the porch, and approached her, his voice softened to a purr. "Good day to you, Madam. Is your husband at home?"
Kayla drew herself up to her full five-feet-eight, tossing her golden head just enough to catch the sunlight, and sighed dramatically, "He is away, fighting for his country. You find me all alone and completely unprotected." There, that should do it, she thought, watching him surreptitiously, her azure eyes veiled by artfully lengthened lashes. She was somewhat surprised and thoroughly annoyed to see Bordon and Wilkins catch each other's eye and start snickering.
Tavington looked around at them and frowned. Immediately the two captains composed themselves and gazed back innocently at their commander. Tavington returned his attention to Kayla, who felt quite flustered, seeing the two men stifle guffaws the minute their colonel's back was turned. She scowled at them, and they grew red with suppressed laughter. Wilkins appeared in danger of falling from his horse.
Tavington ignored them, and spoke gently. "You need fear nothing from us, Madam. We shall be gone within the hour. We need only to water and rest our mounts, and then we shall be on our way."
Oh, he is so sneaky, Kayla scoffed. Trying to lull me into a false sense of security, and then he'll grab me and carry me off like he does all the others. Tavington had killed more men and raped more women than any redcoat in America. He had boasted of it publicly. She was sure of her facts, for all the Patriot newspapers had quoted him, and his remarks had gone down in history as unquestionable truth. He was a real villain, but oh, so sexy! And now she would experience living history, as his latest—and most willing—victim. This was so much better than that lame 1900 House show.
She looked up pitifully, in the way she had practiced so often. "I am completely at your mercy," she declared, (Ah am cohmpletely at yo' muhsy) and pressing her hand to her heart, walked in seeming dejection into the empty house. Once inside, she ran to the window, and peeked around the frame to see if he was following.
To her immeasurable disgust, he was not. He was dismounting and talking to some no-name officers. The men were laughing about something, and the Colonel looked annoyed. He went over to the well, and one of the soldiers passed him a dipper full of freshly-drawn water. He drank deeply, and then pulled out his handkerchief, wetted it, and wiped his face. Then, even more outrageously, he strolled over to the shade of some trees and sat down to rest!
Fuming, Kayla sat down herself, on the floor in front of the window, and watched him. Minutes ticked by. The horses were being led around and around, for no reason Kayla could imagine. Bordon joined Tavington, leaning on the tree while the two men talked as if Kayla were not in the house, ready and waiting. A soldier came by, and gave them mugs of tea. The two men kept on yakking and yakking as if they had something important to say. Kayla got madder and madder. Hey, has Tav forgotten there's a helpless woman to abuse right under his nose?
She had compared completely for this adventure. The pockets tied around her waist were packed carefully with things she could use: money, comb, tinder and flint, some jewelry, even small vials of aspirin and antibiotics in case of emergency. She had actually given this whole 18th century deal quite a lot of thought. Now Tavington had to do his thing, and they could get on with their romance, and so forth, and so forth. Kayla knew how pretty she was, and there was no reason in the world Tavington wouldn't want her. She could work her wiles on him and in a few days he'd be eating out of her hand, just like all the men she had ever known.
Sitting on the floor, she grew tired watching them, and dozed off in all the heat, leaning against the wall. She was startled to hear shouted orders, and the noise of men mounting up. She looked for Tavington, and to her horror, she saw he was already on horseback, preparing to lead his men away. He wasn't going to carry her off at all, the slacker! Her leg had gone to sleep, and she stumbled getting up. Running outside, she was too late to attract Tavington's attention with a pretended faint.
"Wait! Where are you going?" she wailed. Desperately, she racked her brains for Plan B.
Aha! There was a covered baggage wagon, nearly ready to roll. The men around it were talking, and Kayla crept past the trees, and quickly climbed into it. It was full of barrels and crates, and she hid among them, trying vainly to find a comfortable position . Take that, Tavington! she thought angrily. You can't get away from me so easily! Within a few hours she would be discovered, and brought before him, no doubt suspected of spying. She shivered in anticipation.
Ouch! The wagon jolted and a wooden box bumped her head, hard. The jolts continued, as the wagon rolled on over the rough dirt path. Kayla was bounced around mercilessly, and felt a little queasy. For what seemed hours, she crouched in the back of the wagon. The canvas overhead gave some shade, but it grew hotter and hotter, and Kayla was drenched in sweat, trying to prevent the boxes and barrels from crashing into her. She would be black and blue by the end of the trip, and she hoped the payoff would be worth it.
At last the ordeal was over. Faint shouts came from the front of the column, and the wagon slowed to a halt. There was talking around her, and then it was moving away. Kayla got ready slip out and find Tavington. She peeked out the back and it looked clear, so she slid down to make her escape.
She was brought to a shocking halt, dangling from the back, and there was a ripping sound. Her stupid petticoat was caught in the wheel! Goddammit! Her toes did not quite reach the ground. She grabbed the back of the wagon and pushed furiously. There was a longer, more ominous tearing sound, and she was free, trailing a flounce of white muslin behind her like a flag of truce.
"Hey, you!" shouted a man's voice. Kayla did not stay to look behind, but panicked and made a run for it.
Alas, the horses had been there before her. She slipped in a stinking pile of manure and slammed, face down, in another.
"Here, who are you?" A strong hand grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. Frightened and embarrassed, Kayla frantically ripped off the trailing piece of petticoat and used it to wipe her reeking face.
Two tall Green Dragoons loomed over her. They were grinning, and one still held her by her upper arm.
"Pretty thing, ain't you?" said one.
"Mighty pretty, 'cept for the horseshit," agreed his comrade.
More and more of the soldiers were crowding around, laughing and pointing. Kayla realized with horror that some of the horse droppings were in her golden hair. She scrubbed at herself furiously.
Another dragoon, even more enormous than his comrades, pushed his way toward them. "What's all this, then?" he bellowed. "Hello, love!" he beamed, seeing Kayla. "Got a mind to join the Dragoons?" He had huge shoulders, a shockingly scarred face, and a disarmingly childlike smile.
The man holding her arm sulked. "I saw her first, Sergeant."
The sergeant dismissed this remark with good-humoured contempt. "That's as may be. A sensible girl always chooses the sergeant." The other man dropped her hand with a muttered curse. The sergeant rested an immense, ham-sized paw on Kayla's shoulder possessively. She began to feel quite uneasy, but was saved as a short, black-browed officer pushed through the throng.
"Sergeant Davies! Who is that woman? The Colonel gave orders to leave that lot back at camp!"
The sergeant was deferentially polite to the officer, but did not take his admiring eyes from Kayla. "New recruit, sir. Seems she hid herself in the baggage wagon so's she could join us."
"Nonsense, sergeant! That's a lady, from her clothes! Madam," he said, staring at Kayla censoriously, "I must ask you to come with me. The Colonel will wish to question you."
Sergeant Davies sighed, and whispered in Kayla's ear. "Not meant to be, love. Too bad. You'd have been better off with me."
Sniffing haughtily, Kayla pushed her way through the dragoons and followed the glowering officer. They had stopped by a small farm and its log cabin. Tavington and Wilkins were talking to a ragged-looking man and his wife. The woman had no teeth. Kayla looked away in disgust. After a moment, Tavington caught sight of the officer approaching, and Kayla with him. He bade farewell to the poor folk, and they went back to their cabin, thanking him for something.
"Madam!" Tavington looked at Kayla again, and stopped. "You were at the last plantation! How came you here?" He glanced at the officer.
The man said, "Apparently, sir, she stowed away in the baggage wagon on purpose to accompany us." Wilkins snorted and rolled his eyes. Tavington's mouth tightened.
His eyes wandered over Kayla. Ordinarily she would have reveled in this, but now she was painfully aware of the stains, the bruises, the lamentable state of her hair, and the possible manure smudges on her face. This was all wrong.
"Well," Tavington asked impatiently. "What have you to say? Why on earth would you conceal yourself in our baggage wagon? If you needed to travel with us, you had only to say so!" He looked at her not with admiration, but with disapproval, and Kayla flushed.
"Perhaps I'm a spy!" she suggested, with an air of defiance. Wilkins grinned and shook his head. He looked around and saw Bordon; and then gestured for him to come closer. Bordon, Kayla saw, had an expression of gleeful anticipation as he hurried to get an earful.
"Oh, rubbish!" Tavington snapped impatiently. His face grew red, and he looked at her with—could it be fear? "I know what you are." He sounded faintly horrified, and rushed on, "You're one of them! One of those women! Always chasing after me! Always trying to get me alone so you can accuse me of horrid crimes!" He took a step toward her, eyes huge and alarmed. "Well, it won't work! I don't care what lies those filthy rebel papers have printed about me!"
This wasn't working out at all well. Kayla tried her tender, wounded expression. She dropped her voice to a throaty murmur, meant for his ears alone. "It's true: I really do need to speak to you alone, but I have vital information. The outcome of the war could depend on it!" He narrowed his eyes in frank disbelief. She lowered her voice even more, and the shamelessly eavesdropping onlookers craned closer, literally breathing down her neck. She swatted at them, shouting, "Oh, stop it!" and a few stepped back, blushing.
"Not you, Bordon!" Tavington exclaimed, grabbing his captain by the sleeve. "I need a witness."
"My information is for your ears only," she protested.
"Too bad." Tavington looked down his nose at her. "Anything you have to say you may say in front of my second-in-command."
She glared at him, checkmated.
He smirked. "I thought so." Turning to the crowd of officers and men enjoying the show, he called, "Here, Willett! You're a family man. Take charge of this woman until we've returned to camp."
The horrified officer tried to escape. "Colonel, my wife will never forgive me if she finds out I've been riding around the country with a-a-a—" He took in Tavington's implacable expression, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He threw Kayla a furious look.
Oh, no, she groaned inwardly. And he's not even cute. Medium height, brown hair and eyes, nothing special about him at all. A waste of my time.
"For heavens' sake, man!" Tavington looked beyond exasperated. "I'm not saying you must take the female with you on your horse. We can't have an unprotected woman wandering around the countryside to be the prey of any outlaw! Keep her in the wagon, since it was her idea in the first place. Assign two guards, and see that she goes nowhere but back to camp with us. We can sort her out there." He turned his back and walked away. Lieutenant Willett's shoulders sagged with relief.
He pulled himself together, and glared at Kayla. "You heard the Colonel, ma'am. Get back in the wagon. You! Flanders and Swann! Ride behind the wagon and see she stays in it."
Two Dragoons swept her up between them and began marching her back to the horrible wagon. "Wait!" she objected. "I need to— need to-" The officer stared at her, eyebrows raised. She felt herself growing red with embarrassment. "I need to relieve myself before I get in the wagon."
The officer snarled at the two Dragoons, "Let her take care of her business, but don't let her out of your sight! Or at least---be sure you can always see the top of her head."
Kayla exploded. "Well!"
All her protests, arguments, struggles, and pleas had come to nothing. Within ten minutes, Kayla was bundled back into the wagon, and was further pummeled by its bouncing cargo.
At length, she crawled forward to sit with the driver, a rugged and odiferous old-timer with a cheek full of a plug of chewing tobacco.
Well, sitting with him on the wagon seat can't be as bad as being bashed by the cargo.Carefully, she climbed out on to the wagon seat. "Do you mind---" she began, as the driver turned to spit.
Unfortunately, in her direction. A stinking, glutinous brown mass splattered squarely into her eye. "Aaack!"
Startled, the driver apologized. "Sorry, missy. Hyar, ye kin can use my kerchief to wipe yo'r purty eye." Reaching inside his filthy shirt, he withdrew a stiff, stained rag of great age. She fumbled for it, trying not to gag, and succeeded in wiping her eye, after a fashion.
When she could at last see again, she noticed that the driver was leering at her openly.
"Iffen I war ten yars younger, and a few shillin's richer, I'd dig deep in my purse fer ye," he grinned, showing a few rotting teeth. He patted her knee affectionately.
"That's—very nice—I guess." Kayla shrank back from the wagon seat. "I think I'll just lie down back there right now." She slunk quietly back into the wagon and decided a few bruises were not that bad. She peeked out from behind the canvas. Flanders and Swann, her personal guards, were staring right at her, alert as fox-hounds. She smiled weakly and gave them a little wave.
The men's conversation grew more animated. Apparently the camp was in sight. Kayla prepared to make her escape when the wagon stopped. She tore off the rest of the hanging flounce, so as not to trip again, and kilted her skirts up out of her way. She would make a run for cover, and then seek Tavington out when things had quieted down. And when she was cleaner.
"Whoa!" called out the driver, and the wagon ground to a halt. Quick as a weasel, Kayla jumped from the wagon and darted away toward a thicket.
"Halt!" came a deep-throated shout, and she heard hoofbeats thundering after her. In a sprint, she might have made it with decent running shoes, but the ridiculous 18th century slippers slowed her down just enough that within five seconds she felt an inordinately strong forearm grabbing her around the waist and lifting her into the air. She thudded painfully down across the front of the saddle, her breasts mashed against the pommel. It really hurt, and she could not help saying so. She kicked uselessly, and she heard some laughs and some admiring comments about her legs. The rider said nothing, just grunting as he hauled her further over the saddle. She abruptly stopped kicking, realizing that she was simply giving a bunch of guys a look up her dress.
There was a bustle among the men, and suddenly the raucous shriek of an outraged woman. "Frank Swann! Who is that hussy?"
Kayla could see nothing but the horse's side, the rider's booted leg, and some of the ground. By the sound of the woman's voice, she was approaching rapidly, and she was not pleased.
Her guard, Trooper Swann, answered sheepishly, "Just a prisoner, Molly. She was trying to get away, but I caught her. Colonel's orders."
"I'll 'Colonel' you!" Rough hands grabbed her by the ankles and she was pulled back over the saddle, scraping herself on the leather. "You get away from my husband, you—you—scarlet woman!"
Kayla fell to the ground and found herself looking up at a hard-faced, broad-shouldered woman who could probably box welterweight. Rather than be her punching bag, she explained quickly. "I really am Colonel Tavington's prisoner! I'm not after your husband!"
A thudding right slammed into her jaw, and Kayla saw stars. Molly snarled, "What! You think you're too good for him?"
Kayla scrambled away, and was stopped by the soldiers pressing closer, hoping for an all-out catfight. She screamed. The woman had grabbed her by her hair, and was trying to claw at her. Kayla kicked back and stamped on her assailant's instep, just as her self-defense teacher had taught her to. The woman screeched and stumbled back. Kayla shook herself free, and tried to push through the soldiers. She was knocked down by a howling, furious woman jumping on her back. Dust filled her mouth, and it took her a minute to think straight.
Molly was pounding on her. "Trollop! Strumpet! Harlot! I'll spoil your hoity-toity face!" Men were shouting, making bets, and Trooper Swann was trying to pull his wife off Kayla.
"Now, now, Molly, my dear—"Kayla twisted underneath her and clouted the woman over the ear. Her clothes were torn, and her skirts were over her knees. The damned woman just wouldn't stop. She scrabbled at Kayla's gown and tore off an elbow ruffle. Kayla swayed and tried to get away again, but the soldiers shoved her back toward her attacker. Trooper Swann was trying to restrain his enraged wife, and she responded by kneeing him in the groin. He howled, clutching himself, and let go. While he was bent double, Molly launched herself at Kayla like a she-wolf, screaming like a banshee, teeth bared and ready to bite.
"Stop this at once!"Magically, the men fell silent. Two came forward and caught the wild-eyed Molly, dragging her away from Kayla. Another trooper took Kayla by the wrist.
The soldiers parted like the Red Sea for a coldly angry Tavington, looking them all over like so much rubbish.
"What the devil is this riot?" He saw Kayla. "You!"
Molly Swann burst into tears, and struggled in her captors' arms. ""Twas her doing! That harlot was stealing my man! She needs a good flogging, the yellow-haired slut! She—" She saw Tavington's glacial eyes, and collapsed into noisy sobs. Tavington turned accusingly toward Kayla.
"It wasn't my fault!" she protested. "That crazy woman saw me with the guard you said I needed, and she went off on me! I didn't do anything!"
Trooper Swann had managed to stand straight and put his arm protectively around his wife. "The prisoner was running away, Colonel, and I caught her. She was over my saddle, and Molly here thought the worst." He hovered placatingly over the tearful welterweight and cooed, "There, there, sweetheart! You know I'd never look at any girl but my sweet little Molly!"
Eeeew, thought Kayla. Tavington must have thought the same, for he rolled his eyes and spoke harshly. "Nonetheless, Swann, I expect you to control your wife. And you—Mistress Swann, be mistress of your temper, or you will find the consequences not to your liking." She sniffed, big-eyed, and shuffled behind her husband. He raised his voice, staring down the soldiers and their women who had gathered there with them. "Do I make myself clear? I won't have this sort of brawling. We are here to make war on the rebels, not to stage prize-fights." He glared at the officers on the fringes of the crowd. They fidgeted nervously, taking in the silent reprimand. The men were called back to duty, and the crowd melted away.
That's telling them! Kayla thought. He's quite the leader of men. She was feeling rather approving until he turned to sneer at her.
"As for you—what the devil is your name, anyway? I don't tolerate troublemakers among the Dragoons. If you're here to follow the army and find a protector, that's all very well, but you'll do it discreetly, or I have you riding the whirligig before you can bat your eyes at me again!"
Whirligig? What does that mean? Puzzled, Kayla told him, "Kayla. Kayla Branson." She tried a flirtatious smile, which faded when she saw he was not responding. Still, she had him to herself at last, and decided to make the most of it. "And I can't thank you enough for saving me from that awful woman. She's absolutely out of her mind.""You brought in on yourself by running."
She tossed her hair. A few dead leaves fluttered from it. The breeze blew one in her mouth, and she had to blow it back out again. That bit of business ruined her attempt at dignity as she declared, "It's the duty of every prisoner to try to escape."
"Would you have preferred us to have left you in the woods to starve or die of cold? Besides, you wouldn't have been a prisoner in the first place if you hadn't done something as hare-brained as stow away in the baggage wagon."
"I told you. I have information for your ears only."
Tavington sighed heavily, and gave her a level, disdainful look of incredulity.
Kayla shrugged. "All right, I had an idea. I could spy for you. Parties, balls, whatever—I could go and keep my eyes open and then report to you."
He was still looking at her. Abruptly he asked her, "Do you know where the Ghost is?"
Taken aback, she faltered, "Well, no—I guess he's in the swamp somewhere… I guess."
"How very useful." He growled, "Unless you know where the Ghost is, you have no information that I need." He started walking away. Kayla stared after him, dumbstruck.
"Wait!" she ran after him. "Aren't you going to lock me up?"
"No." He kept walking.
"I might be a dangerous prisoner!"
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am! I'm very dangerous, and I know loads of secret things. You should keep me under your personal surveillance." He was striding faster now, and she had to skip to keep up.
"No, I shouldn't. You're a very silly woman, and I don't have time to waste on you."
"But I'm your prisoner!"
Tavington stopped dead and whirled on her. "You're free! Go on, go where you like."
"Just like that?"
"Yes." He entered a tent, and dropped the flap emphatically between Kayla and himself.
Undaunted, Kayla pushed the flap aside and followed him. He drew a deep breath, but she cut him off. "But about the spy thing--no, really! It's a great idea. I'll dress up beautifully and no one will know who I am. I find out all sorts of things." She perched on a camp stool, and smiled smugly.
He gave her an odd smirk. "And you feel you are prepared to enter society?"
"You can teach me! I'm a quick study!"
He gave her another unbelieving stare. "Young woman, I am a colonel of dragoons. I am patrolling the Carolina backcountry. I am in the saddle nearly every day. I don't have the time or the inclination to undertake the tutelage of a silly young campfollower." He pulled off his jacket and went over to a basin to splash his face. Reaching for a towel, he continued, "It is my understanding that we have sources of intelligence—even at such places as--" he sneered contemptuously, "balls and parties. It's mostly rubbish, but we do have very loyal people, well-educated and committed, who already do the best they can for us. Some of them are undoubtedly women. So you offer nothing new, or even particularly useful. If you lived in the area, or were acquainted with the Ghost, I might consider your offer. But it's unlikely. You could as easily," he grunted, wiping himself off, and throwing the towel aside, "be an agent for the rebels, trying to pass false information." He cocked his head, considering her. "Though I think you are too silly even for that."
He stood up then, and slipped his shirt up over his head. His chest was lightly dusted with dark hair, which shaded to a line leading alluringly to his navel and parts south. It was a thing of beauty, and Kayla admired him frankly. He paused, and looked at her quizzically.
She came to herself with a start. "What are you doing?"
He rolled his eyes yet again. "If you want to make yourself useful, you can mend this shirt."
What? Rather huffily, she declared, "I don't know how to sew."
He stopped and looked at her, genuinely confused. "You don't know how to sew?" he repeated in disbelief.
"No, I don't. I'm not very domestic. I never bothered to learn."
He regarded her with some gravity. "Just what do you know how to do?"
Hmmm. That was a puzzler. What do I know how to do? I know how to drive, jet-ski, use Word, Access, and Excel, burn discs, cook a microwave dinner…I'm a terrific shopper…She became distracted by his handsomely bare chest again, and he grimaced with annoyance. "Can you do laundry?"
Hmmm…with a washer/dryer…I guess…"No," she confessed.
"Can you cook?"
Not over an open fire… I'm not a dorky Girl Scout. No microwaves here, I suppose. She shrugged, "No."
"Can you care for the wounded?"
"Not if there's blood."
He snorted, and shook his head. "Can you do anything?"
"Of course I can!"
"Speak French, make lace, play the pianoforte?"
"What is this, a finishing school?"
"All right, then," he snapped. "Tell me one thing you can do."
Hmmm…one eighteenth century thing… hmmmm…hmmm…"Well?"
"I arrange flowers very artistically."
Tavington burst out laughing. "So you have neither the skills of a common woman, nor the education of a lady!"
Kayla was furious. "Now wait just a minute! You make it sound like I'm some illiterate know-nothing! And I bet you don't know any of those things either!"
He laughed again. "Of course not. I am a professional soldier. I know dozens of ways to kill people." He gave her a pointed look. She fidgeted uncomfortably, and he added, "Besides, it is you who make yourself sound illiterate!"
She stamped her foot. "I'll have you know—I can read and write—and I've studied Spanish—and I've had two years of algebra!"
"Algebra?""And geometry," she added, proudly.
"That must be the most ridiculous course of study that ever I've heard. Nobody uses algebra but artillerymen and professors of mathematics."
"I don't use algebra either. But I know it. And I can dance."
"Every savage can dance."
"Not like me. I've had years of ballet, and jazz and tap—never mind, you wouldn't understand." Oops, I can't tell him about the belly-dance lessons either. I bet he'd like it, though. If only I had my music and my really neat costume…
He was dangerously close to gaping at her like she was some nutcase. He opened his mouth to speak, but before she had a chance to hear his opinion of her, there was a voice from outside the tent.
"Excuse me, Colonel. The Lord General requires your presence."
Tavington brushed Kayla off, and answered. "Give his lordship my compliments and inform him that I shall be there instantly." He pulled a clean shirt out of a trunk and slipped it over his head.
Bye-bye, chest, sighed Kayla. It was nice seeing you.
Tavington threw on a fresh uniform jacket, and smoothed his hair. "Out," he commanded.
"What?"
"You heard me. Out of here. Find something to do. Find some man to look after you who's not particular and can do his own sewing."
"But what about us?"
He snapped. "There is no us. I don't want you hanging about in here. Go home. Go to Charlestown. Go to Bedlam, if they'll have you. But get out of my tent. And behave yourself. I'm warning you."
"Fine," she shouted. "Be like that!" She rushed out of the tent, and stumbled into the arms of a very young officer. He blushed and smiled, and looked down the front of her torn dress longer than strictly necessary. He was fairly cute, but Kayla was in no mood for him. "Excuse me!" she snarled, and stamped away.
A very unpleasant late afternoon followed. Kayla had to decide if she was going to cut her losses and open a time gate home, or wait another six hours and hope for better luck. Finally, she decided to give Tavington one more chance.
Everyone was staring at her in her torn dress. The camp women whispered to each other, and turned up their noses. One woman even had the nerve to come over and offer to loan Kayla a needle and thread to fix her gown. Kayla ignored her at first.
I suppose she means well…"Wait!" she called to the woman, as she walked away. "Look here—I have some money. I'll pay you to fix my dress. How much do you want?"
The woman, short, dark-haired, very thin, and with slight moustache shading her upper lip, looked interested. "Three shillin's. Do you have the other elbow ruffle? It don't do to look slatternly is this camp. The Colonel reckons if camp women want to be makin' a spectacle of theyselves, they do it at his pleasure and on the whirligig before the whole regiment!"
Whirligig? Kayla wondered. That's the second time I've heard about that. What is it?
She was distracted from her questions by their brief search. The missing ruffle, much trampled, was found, and Kayla went into the woman's tent to take off the gown. It was still hot in late afternoon, and hot in the tent, and Kayla enjoyed taking off the heavy, boned gown, and the heavy petticoat, and lounging around in shift, corset, and underpetticoat. The woman said little, concentrating on making tiny stitches. Kayla lay back on her cot and started to doze, when a deep voice startled her.
"Well, look what a purty little thing is already stretched out on the bed. She a new one of yours, Liddie?"
Kayla's eyes shot open. A hulking dragoon was grinning at her. Kayla felt surprisingly exposed, considering all the undergarments.
"She's right purty, Jock, but she ain't one of mine. Although," the dark-haired little woman said, eyeing Kayla judiciously, "I reckon she'd be a right good goer if she wanted to earn her keep." She turned to Kayla, and asked her frankly. "What do you say, dearie? Jock here always pays first, and he'll tell all his friends about you if you give satisfaction."
Jock had started removing his jacket, and Kayla squeaked, trying to get up off the cot, "Ahh—I don't think so. Is my dress finished? Because I've really got to go now."
The dragoon grinned wider and pushed her down. "Now don't be shy, missy. You and me are going to be good friends. Here, just to show my good faith." He pulled out some coins and plunked them right into her palm. "Can't say fairer than that." He leaned over her and began tugging at the frill of her shift. The dark-haired woman just kept on sewing calmly.
With a shriek, Kayla jumped up, scattering the coins over the ground. She ran out of the tent and fled blindly away, still screeching. The woman called after her, "Don't you want your gown, dearie?"
Kayla looked down, and realized that she was running through the camp in her underwear. A number of dragoons stopped to look at her, and comments and catcalls followed her all the way to the brush beyond the tents, where she crouched down and hid.
Peering though the leaves, she could see more of the camp as a whole. There were lines of white tents and an open square with a raised platform. There was a framework of some kind, where she supposed floggings took place. There was also a strange contraption that looked a little like a child's merry-go-round. A wheel was set parallel to the ground and someone sitting on it would spin around. What's that? I've never heard of anything like it.
She saw Tavington coming back through the camp, talking with Bordon. Some men were laughing and they went up to Tavington and told him something they thought was really funny. Kayla cheeks burned. They were unquestionably talking about her running through the camp in her underwear. Tavington looked irritated, and said something sharp. The other soldiers nodded and walked away. Tavington went into his tent, and Kayla lost interest.
It was hideously boring. She would wait for dark, and then go see Tavington again. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger, and she was tired of watching bugs crawling up the trees.
Finally, she found a stream and dug in her pockets for her comb. Washing her face and arms and fixing her hair gave a semblance of normal routine. Night was falling, and soon she could seek out Tavington and deliver her ultimatum. Either he admitted his attraction, or she would leave him forever. And I mean—forever, she thought to herself, imagining the dramatic scene.
The camp was growing quieter, lit by the fires blossoming at intervals. She dared not risk going through the camp more than necessary, since her white undergarments would be glaringly visible. She crept around the perimeter of the camp, slinking from bush to tree to bush, until she was fairly close to Tavington's tent. Then, crouching, she broke silently from cover, and made her way, tent by tent, towards her goal.
Tavington's tent was dark. A guard stood on duty by the entrance. Luckily, these primitive eighteenth-century tents didn't even have floors, so all she had to do was creep around to the back, wriggle under the lifted side, and she was in.
"Ow!" she banged her head into something hard. She got to her feet, and heard Tavington's voice and a hissing, metallic sound.
"Who's there?"
Ooops, she thought, he sounds really mad. I guess I woke him up. Well, too bad. "It's just me."
There was an exasperated exclamation. "Stay right where you are!" She could hear him stirring, and a few seconds later a candle was lit.
"You!" he snarled. "I knew it!" Kayla thought that even thought he seemed really irritated, he looked very nice. His beautiful hair was down, loose around his shoulders, just like the cover of a really good romance novel. He was dressed only in a long, roomy shirt, so she could see most of his legs and his strong-looking, well-shaped feet.
He really was mad at her, though. "You've done nothing but cause me trouble all day, and now you must disturb my rest as well!"
The guard's voice, uncertain, called, "Are you all right, Colonel?"
"Yes, damn you!" Tavington shouted back. To Kayla, he snarled, "This is insupportable!"
"I know," Kayla reassured him. "I feel just the same. I couldn't rest without seeing you either."
"You're damned lucky I didn't cut your throat, you little idiot!"
Kayla stared, and then saw the unsheathed knife by his cot. Ick. Good thing I didn't try to wake him with a kiss. Paranoid much?"
"What happened to your clothing? Why are you running around the camp half-naked? Think it will be good for business, eh?"
Kayla stamped her foot at him. "That is so unfair! I'll have you know I was running away from a man who was trying to take advantage of me."
"After you removed your gown?" He sneered, and set the candle in a metal lantern. The light flickered, and she was able to see that she had bumped her head on a trunk coming in.
"It was being mended! Anyway, it's a long story, and I don't care anymore. I just needed to see you." With that, she launched herself onto him, and glued her lips to his. He had very nice lips and felt otherwise satisfactory, though he could use a really good deodorant, she decided. Stupid primitive culture.
He started struggling, trying to pull her hands away. She redoubled her efforts, and he stumbled back onto his cot.
"Thanks," muttered Kayla, throwing herself on top of him and pinning him down.
With a mighty heave, he shoved her away. "What the devil do you think you're doing, you awful woman?"
"Making love to you, dimwit!"
"And this from the woman who complained of a man taking advantage of her!"
Kayla paused. He really was angry. I should have let it build more slowly, she admitted to herself. Maybe he likes to take the lead.
Somewhat chastened, she tried to make him understand. "But I love you!" she wailed.
Tavington stalked to the door of the tent and flung it open with a snap. "Trooper O'Neil!"
The guard stiffened to attention. "Sir!"
"Fetch Sergeant Davies. Tell him to bring a punishment detail to my quarters on the double."
"Sir!" The trooper set off into the night.
"You're not going to—whip me—are you?" she asked, trembling.
Tavington was red with rage. "Whip you! You infamous creature! How dare you suggest that I would strike a woman—even a strumpet like you!" He began hastily pulling on his breeches. "No, there is a better punishment for wanton females-—and perhaps one that will make you think again before offering your favours so shamelessly!"
And so, with the dawn, Kayla was dragged out of the tiny tent she had been tied up in for the night. A discreetly sympathetic Sergeant Davies led her out into the brightening day. The camp was already stirring and expectant, and as Sergeant Davies explained, was assembled to witness her punishment.
"Now don't you worry, love. It don't hurt, but you'll feel mighty sick for awhile. When it's all over, I'll take you to Liddie Barnes' tent." He saw her start. "And no visitors, so don't you worry. Your clothes are there, and Liddie feels mighty sorry about the misunderstanding. You'll get some rest and something to eat, get dressed, and then find a new regiment, mebbe the 71st. And stick to sergeants," he advised with a wink. "Not that the Colonel ain't a fine man and a good officer—as officers go. But I've been with him a long time. He don't see the funny side of things, and he only fancies fine ladies." He took her by the arm, and whispered, "Just be brave for the next hour or so. 'Tis like that play with the old mad king in it, where the fellow in the stocks says, 'Fortune, smile once more, and turn thy wheel.'"
"Is that Shakespeare?" she quavered, glad to think about something other than the coming punishment, and deciding that his scarred face wasn't as ugly as she had thought at first.
Sergeant Davies gave a deep chuckle. "He don't belong only to the gentry, you know. That bit stuck with me when I heard it. Whatever happens, it can't last forever. You think on it."
Her heart pounding, she was led up to the little wooden platform she had seen before. Two of the troopers grabbed her up, and she was planted firmly on the little seat above a wheel. She gasped with protest as her legs were pulled apart and her knees strapped down to the framework. Her wrists were tied to a pair of uprights on either side of her. She felt horribly vulnerable, aware that in true eighteenth century style, there was nothing under her shift. Stupid eighteenth century. No underpants, no knickers, no underdrawers. Now I know what really makes my time better than theirs. It all boils down to civilized lingerie.
There was some little ceremony involved. Tavington was there, dressed in full uniform and accompanied by his officers, whose expressions varied from amused to disapproving to distressed and compassionate. Kayla kept wondering what was going to happen. Is this like the stocks or the pillory? Am I going to have to sit here all day? Will people throw things at me?
Sergeant Davies got a nod from Tavington, and stood in front of the troops and their women. "By order of the Colonel: The conduct of females in the Legion shall not be contrary to good order and discipline!"
Tavington called out, "Seven minutes, Sergeant! That should be sufficient!"
He signaled the troopers who had tied her to the device, and one of them reached for a wooden upright on the framework. With a jolt, Kayla found herself spinning round and round. The trees, the tents, the soldiers rushed by. There was no noise from the crowd. Apparently, Tavington did not tolerate commentary. And in fact, the punishment was made worse by the utter silence. Everything rushed by again. It was almost fun, for a little while, until her underpetticoat flew up into her face, and Kayla was horribly aware that everyone could see her most intimate parts, naked and exposed. She screamed with embarrassment, but it didn't stop.
The wheel kept turning, faster and faster. She began to feel nauseated, and was for the first time glad she hadn't eaten in nearly a day. Her petticoat flapped up and down, as she whirled round and round, utterly helpless. She shut her eyes, and tried counting seconds.
Only seven minutes. These are going to be the longest seven minutes of my life. She clamped her jaw shut. She couldn't scream anymore, because she was moaning with terminal motion-sickness.Round and round. Incredibly fast. She kept her eyes pressed shut and tried to think about anything else. She thought about her own time, and the lack of institutionalized corporal punishment, and decided any further time-travelling would be confined to civilized eras. She concluded that good looks alone do not a romance make. She gagged, but nothing came up. Oh good, dry heaves.
After a lifetime of whirling, there was a shout, and the wheel slowed, and bounced to a stop. To Kayla, however, the spinning went on and on. She felt herself being untied, and pulled to her feet. She immediately fell to the ground, completely unable to walk.
Sergeant Davies came up, and was standing by her, whispering, "Come on, love, try to get up, and we'll get you out of here. I can't help you unless the Colonel says so."
She tried to crawl, but couldn't get more than a few feet before the dry heaves hit her again. Far away she heard some murmuring. It sounded like an officer speaking low.
Quite distinctly, she heard a nearby woman mutter to another. "Nothing came up. She must have been starving, poor thing."
"And so pretty, too. "Tis all that lunatic Molly Swann's doing. She got the girl in trouble from the first and spoiled her clothes."
Another woman chimed in. "And she was just trying to protect herself when she ran away from that Liddie Barnes' tent. But will the officers listen?"
"And then—I heard that she was taken from the Colonel's tent at dead of night! Perhaps she tried to resist him and now this is her punishment."
"'Tis a wicked world, Sally."
Next, she heard Tavington's clear voice raised in command. "Get her out of here, Sergeant Davies!"
To her unutterable relief, she was swept up in a pair of mighty arms and carried off. The world was still spinning madly, and would continue to spin for another half-hour, but at least she was cured of Tavington, and was at last getting away. As she reckoned it, by nine o'clock the time gate could be opened again, and then it was back to a world that made sense.
Had she not been still ready to puke, she would have laughed. She had already had her revenge. She had contributed her share, rightly or wrongly, to Tavington's reputation as a sexual predator. He would still be known as the man who had boasted that "he had raped more women than any man in America."
Serves him right, the stuck-up jerk, she thought spitefully. Only fancies fine ladies, indeed! "Fortune, smile once more, and turn thy wheel!"
Notes: Whirligig designs varied. Some medieval whirligigs were barred cages. The perpetrator was then thrust inside and spun until he/she threw up. However, a political cartoon from the 18th century—one in fact dealing with Banastre Tarleton and his lover, Mary Robinson—shows quite a different device: a simple seat on a pivot, with restraints to hold the arms stationary and spread the legs wide apart. This seems apropos to the type of crime the whirligig was used for—a loose woman, for the second type of whirligig would play up the excessive exposure of which the woman was found guilty. The illustration can be found in The Green Dragoon by Robert D. Bass.
Davies quotes Kent in King Lear, Act II, scene II. There is no reason he might not have seen a performance of the play, though it might have been a bowdlerized version in which Lear and Cordelia survive. The correct quote, though, is "Fortune, good night. Smile once more; turn thy wheel!" I didn't think Davies would memorize the semi-colon after only hearing it once.
And no, Trooper O'Neil didn't tell anyone what he knew about Kayla's visit to Tavington's tent. He had better sense than to blab about something only he could know, and which would have gotten him in incredible trouble with his Colonel.