Tavington was getting sick of the comments he had received since Lord Cornwallis had announced his engagement to Grace. It had spread like wildfire around the camp that Tavington had lost his heart to the young girl, and wherever he went he was congratulated. He had no desire to be congratulated. His marriage to Grace was simply a transaction, much in the same way that one might procure land or be granted a commission. He had therefore threatened that the next man to broach the subject of his wedding would be sent immediately to the front line in nearby Moncks Corner. It seemed to have done the trick – however, it did not work with the officers.
'Not long now, Colonel,' Captain Borden said with a malicious glance in the Tavington's direction. They, and a handful of other lower ranking officers, were stood around a map of South Carolina discussing military tactics in the grand tent which performed as headquarters away from battle. Tavington looked sharply at Borden.
'Not long till what, Captain?' he said, with a challenging glare. His patience had been tried already today. From without the tent he could hear the faint screams of the men who had been injured in another militia attack that afternoon. Yet again they had failed to capture the 'Ghost', and he had not been sorry to hear that some of the men required the painful removal of musket balls by forceps.
'Till we capture the "Ghost", Sir,' Borden said, noting the danger in his Colonel's eyes and deciding better of testing him further. He had heard with mild amusement the rumour around camp that Tavington had lost his heart to Grace Cornwallis. He knew that nothing could be further from the truth – in fact he would be surprised if his commander even had a heart.
'Oh you think so do you Captain? As much as admire your optimism I think it's a little too early for celebration. After all that is the third run this month that has ended with our men wounded and the militia … victorious.' Borden was silenced by Tavington's contemptuous tirade. 'Now,' he said, 'You men have your orders, see that they are carried out. And if anyone comes to me with tales of woe about the militia then that man might just find himself wishing that he had listened less to ghost stories and more to the methods for the non-surgical removal of musket balls from his private parts.' He barked the last sentence with such viciousness that some of the men jumped. All turned to leave without a word.
'Just a moment, Lieutenant Ederick,' Tavington said, holding out his arm to stop the General's son-in-law from leaving.
'Yes, Sir?' It was a curt response. Ederick was annoyed with the Colonel for taking Grace's hand. He took it as a slight that he would rather be joined with the General's bastard granddaughter than one of his own, legitimate, children.
'What do you know of General Cornwallis's younger son?' Tavington said casually.
'Lieutenant Joseph, Sir?'
'Yes, that's him,'
'Nothing Sir,' came the abrupt reply. Ederick folded his arms, his pointed shoulder blades pulled back tightly and his nose firmly in the air. Tavington sighed - he had not meant his marriage to alienate him from his Lieutenant who was a useful ally.
'Come now Henry,' he said lightly, 'You know given the choice I would have had Miss Ederick as my wife. I am taking that daughter-of-a-whore simply as a favour to the General. Ederick looked directly at Tavington, slightly appeased.
'What do you want to know?' he said eventually. Tavington smiled as he stooped down to retrieve the bottle of whiskey that he kept in a trunk with his gunpowder, muskets and bayonet.
Tavington and Ederick were still deep in conversation when the tent flap was flung open by a flustered redcoat.
'Colonel!' the young soldier said, saluting.
'Well?' Tavington spat.
'The 'Ghost', he's been sighted not far from Lord Cornwallis's manor.'
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Grace had not meant to journey so far from the grounds, but the wedding was only three days away and she had woken up feeling reckless. She was sick of Eliza and the others congratulating her on an engagement that she had not wanted. All they could say was how lucky she was to have made such an agreeable match. She had to bite her lip hard to not give away her true feelings on the matter. She could not bare for Jane to find out that her Grandfather had ordered her to marry – so often had she spoken to her of 'true' love, and sneered at Jane's willingness to settle for any 'match' deemed suitable by her father.
So that morning she had escaped her governess once again. She had commandeered Othello, the only stallion in her Grandfather's stables, from a gullible stable hand and had set off on a ride in the surrounding countryside. It was a beautiful day and she had gotten carried away by the delightful scenery; the wild flowers which Grace did not know the name of, scattered around lush meadows, with petals of scarlet red or royal blue and the hills that seemed to stretch far up into the sky, appearing in league with the swirling white shapes that drifted overhead.
Regrettably Grace was now lost. She had allowed a tired Othello to drink from a creek that she had stumbled on quite accidentally; but as she had led him idly around the perimeter she had become disorientated – and it was then that she began to realise that she did not know the way back. As she stood trying to figure out from which direction she had come she suddenly heard rustling amongst some nearby hedges, followed by colonial voices. Panicking, she quickly ducked down in a large flowered bush, the thorns of which tore mercilessly at her bare arms as if in a conspiracy to make her call out and be seen. She quickly realised how stupid she had been. Here she was at the mercy of a band of colonials, Othello in full view. She wished that she had simply mounted the horse and raced off in any direction – she was confident that she could outrun any colonial rider, man or no man.
'We sure showed them today, father,' came a voice. Grace craned her neck to peer through the gaps in the top branches to see how many men she was faced with. As she did so she was pleasantly surprised. Not only were there only two men, a father and son, but the younger was the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had deep brown eyes, which flashed with sincerity, and long blonde hair caught back in a loose knot. His blue and white uniform was shabby, but it had a realness to it that was quite pleasing, and an implicit hint of dissent. He was smiling pleasantly at the older man and there was obviously a great deal of respect between them.
'Yes,' the older man agreed, who was also quite handsome, the skin of his honed physique browned by the American climate, and his bright blue eyes the colour of the sky. 'I have a feeling that they might hunt the 'Ghost' with a great deal more fervour now that he has commandeered the Colonel's wedding attire!' The younger man laughed as Grace covered her mouth in shock – these men knew the 'Ghost' who had been causing Tavington so much trouble.
'Well you certainly provoke them, father. Did you see the looks on their faces today? I think they thought that if they touched you with a blade it would disappear right through you.
'Funny, your mother always said I was quite thick-skinned aswell!'
'These rumours of the 'Ghost' have certainly given us an advantage.' The younger man went on, 'Perhaps they think our camp is invisible too -'
'Well it may as well be – there's no one who would consider looking for us in the swampland so close to Cornwallis's palace.'
As the two men laughed together the panic in Grace's heart took hold of her body, circulating in cold waves through her veins, he hands clammy and shaking: This man was the 'ghost'!
'Hang on a second, Gabrielle,' the elder man said holding out his arm to stop his son. 'Do you see what I see?' As Grace held her breath, certain they would hear her heart beating from within her chest, the two men advanced cautiously towards Othello, keeping their eyes open for any Redcoats. Othello, perhaps sensing their advances, chose that moment to seek out Grace, bending his nose low into the bushes and nuzzling into her shoulder.
'Go away Othello,' she whispered as loud as she dared, trying desperately to push him away - but this only made him whinny loudly. It took only seconds for the two men to make their way towards her hiding place.
'Well, well, well,' said the 'Ghost', 'I think we have ourselves a lady.' Grace's cheeks reddened. If the rumours she had heard about the ghost was true she was about to be in very serious trouble. She cursed herself again for riding off without an escort – it was well known that the members of the militia were a band of villains, only too ready to murder or rape whoever they came across.
To her surprise, however, the younger man reached out his hand to gently pull her to her feet. Her stomach jolting at the contact of their skin. He seemed to mistake her reaction as fear.
'Don't be scared my lady. Neither me nor my father will hurt you.' His voice was soft, and Grace was immediately reassured.
'What's a young lady like yourself doing so far out of camp?' the 'Ghost' asked. His voice was also kind, and he simply appeared amused.
'I was riding,' she said, 'I lost my way.' She noticed that the eyes of the younger man had not left her since he had pulled her to her feet and her cheeks suddenly felt hot.
'May I ask your name?'
'Its Grace,' she said after a moments pause, 'and that will have to do.'
'Very wise, very wise.' the man said, his eyes twinkling, 'Although it is not our intention to hold you for ransom, not given as we are to kidnapping young ladies. My name is Benjamin, and this is my son Gabrielle. We are delighted to make your acquaintance.'
'She's a beauty,' Gabrielle said, stroking Othello lovingly. Grace smiled, she thought it to his credit that he could appreciate a fine horse.
'Of course we shall have to commandeer it I'm afraid, my lady,' the 'Ghost' said, as casually as if he was commenting upon the weather.
'Father …' Gabrielle protested. He had taken a liking to this young English girl. She was extremely beautiful, her long blonde hair glistening like silk in the sun and her cheeks flushed with the ride, and had a spirited manner that he scarcely would expect on such a refined 'lady', given away by the steeliness of her jaw and the fire in her eyes. He had no intention of allowing her to be stranded.
'Oh its okay,' the 'Ghost' said, holding up his hand to silence his son. 'We will not leave you abandoned my lady. We will retrieve our horses which are tethered over there in the bush and exchange one for the other.'
'I'm afraid that that will not be possible, Mr Benjamin,' Grace said before she could stop herself. 'That horse is not yours to 'commandeer'. Gabrielle grinned broadly at his father's obvious astonishment.
'I'm not sure you are in a position to bargain my lady,' the 'Ghost' said, definite amusement in his tone.
'Still, Mr Benjamin …'
Grace was interrupted by a shabbily dressed man who burst from the bushes on horseback, his hand clutching the reins of two further mares.
'It's the British,' he shouted.
Immediately Gabrielle and Benjamin leapt into action. They abandoned Othello and jumped quickly to horse.
'Goodbye, my lady,' Gabrielle called over his shoulder as the disappeared into the woodland. A split second later a clattering of hooves announced the arrival of the Dragoons led by Captain Borden. Grace could do nothing but watch helplessly as they tore off after the three men. Grace found herself looking round wildly at the passing Dragoons, hoping not to see any trace of Tavington or her Uncle. Unfortunately she was disappointed moments later by an angry voice behind her.
'I thought I recognised that horse,' Ederick spat, 'How dare you take it! How dare you ride this far away from the grounds! A fine ransom you would have made for the militia – after they had finished ravishing you. Perhaps we should have held back longer …' Grace did not dare turn around.
'That's enough Lietenant,' came a second voice. She did not need to turn round to realise with horror that it was Colonel Tavington. 'Take this horse and follow the men.' Grace slowly turned round to face Tavington. Clothed in an immaculate green uniform, whip in hand, and completed with a tall riding helmet, he made a fearsome figure. His stature was enhanced greatly by the height given by his horse and he looked like he could trample Grace in the blink of an eye. She recoiled slightly, her heart beating faster than when she had been discovered by Gabrielle and his father.
'Sir,' she protested. 'Follow your men. I will ride back to the manor on Othello.'
'No,' he said, a dangerous sneer forming at his lips.
'I will take my leave, Colonel,' Ederick said, his eyes passing back and forth between the two of them, satisfied with Grace's discomfort.
'Very well,' said Tavington, not taking his eyes from Grace, 'But Lieutenant, make sure that you do not reveal the identity of the 'girl' to any – or else I shall be very displeased.
'As you will, sir,' Ederick said before saluting and riding off, Othello in tow.
'Climb on my horse,' Tavingon ordered. Grace did not dare refuse. She crossed slowly over to where the Colonel had paused. As she got near he bent down and grabbed the back of her dress, half-dragging her into position in front of his saddle.
'Colonel – I – I did not mean to travel so far …'
'You will do well to be silent,' he interjected, his whip poised in his hand threateningly. 'We shall talk at the manor.'
With that he kicked the belly of the horse, flicking his crop against its side and riding off in the direction of the manor.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I especially appreciate comments on my failure/success in the writing - please be as critical as you want!
I couldn't decide between one chapter or two for this update, but decided that sorter is better when your reading … would appreciate any comments on either.
