Disclaimer: I own neither the rights to the film The Patriot, nor those to the novel Clarissa.
Chapter 8: Breaching the Citadel
After the debacle of the wedding ceremony, Jane wondered what else could go wrong that day. She scooped up the impossible wedding ring and stuffed it into her already-stuffed pocket, along with everything else. They all trooped to the clerks' office, hardly daring to look at one another. Blethers had been roused and made to sign the license as officiator, and then been dragged off bodily by the dragoons. Tavington was angrily silent, striding down the street so quickly that Jane, her arm linked indissolubly in his, was forced to trot to keep up.
The business with the clerk was concluded quickly. The clerk himself, Mr. Talbot, who knew Jane's father, looked at her with curiosity and concern. She gave him a timid acknowledgment, and then was whisked away by her new husband.
"Where are we going?' she asked.
"I thought you might be hungry. We are going to Swan's Tavern for a wedding breakfast."
"Oh." Jane had never been inside a tavern, and was fearful and excited, wondering if it could possibly be as dreadful as she had been told. She had never had a meal in a public house: for that matter, she had never had a meal at any table other than a relative's. This would certainly be a new experience. Then she said, "What am I to do with Letty?"
"She can dine with the servants there."
"But will they—" There was no more time, and Letty was told to go to the strange kitchen full of strange people. She felt as uneasy as Jane.
It was a big, noisy place, and looked very rough. Jane hung back at the sight of so many uncouth men drinking so much. A pair of soldiers were shouting at each other, and Jane thought they must come to blows at any second. She was so riveted by their quarreling that she ran into another officer coming her way.
"Miss Rutledge!"
Jane brightened at the sight of Harry Nettles' pleasant, friendly face. "Good day to you, Mr. Nettles. How do you do?"
Tavington paused, and greeted the lieutenant courteously. He had a very good opinion of the 17th Light Dragoons, and knew they would all be working together in the backcountry. Miss Gilpin was introduced and the officers made small talk. Nettles was surprised to see Miss Rutledge in a tavern, accompanied only by her companion and a group of officers. He was intending to pay a call at Cedar Hill before leading his men north, and taking a breath, asked Miss Rutledge if he could have that honor.
Jane was a little embarrassed. Realizing that she had not told Mr. Nettles of her marriage, she opened her mouth, when Tavington broke in, making everything clear.
"Why don't you join us, Nettles? We were going to take a meal upstairs in a private room to celebrate our wedding."
"Wedding?"
"Yes, Miss Rutledge and I have just been married. She is now Mrs. Tavington."
Nettles, startled and disappointed, nevertheless immediately managed a polite smile, and replied, "I wish you both joy." To Jane, in a softened voice, he said, "My heartfelt wishes for your every happiness, Mrs. Tavington."
Something in his eye caught her attention. The gentle regretful expression reminded her of his kindness at the ball. He was certainly nothing to look at compared to Tavington; but as he stood there, plain as herself, but considerate and attentive, she had a horrible, sneaking feeling that she had made an irreparable mistake.
"Alas," he was saying, "I am expected by Colonel Tarleton, or I should not have missed the occasion." He bowed. "Again, my sincere regards. Mrs. Tavington, your servant." And with that, he left, stunned at this unexpected stroke of bad luck. Jane looked after him with a little sigh. She could see writing on the helmet in his hand as he left the tavern, and tried to read it.
"'Or Glory?'" she puzzled.
Tavington was amused at her ignorance. "The skull and cross bones above the words signifies 'Death.' Thus, they are the 'Death or Glory Boys.'"
"Oh," she said, feeling very stupid.
----
Letty walked around the inn to the kitchen, small and low-roofed, with a covered walkway to the inn proper. Standing outside, not sure what to do, she was about to call out, when a tall, very black man saw her standing there.
He bowed, and looked puzzled. "Mornin' to you, Missy. You need to see the Master?"
His words attracted the attention of the slaves working within. The cook, a strong, rather fat woman with a stern expression, peered out through the open window at the stranger. She glanced quickly at the woman helping her, a little worried.
Letty felt almost too shy to speak. "No—I—I'm Miss Rutledge's maid, and they told me to go back here to get something to eat."
The man grinned and bobbed again; and with a flourish, gestured her into the hot kitchen. There was a long plank table with benches on either side. The cook was busy, but cocked her head and studied Letty carefully.
"Miss Rutledge? Miss Jane Rutledge?"
The other woman spoke up. "You her gal Letty? Biddy's daughter? I know your Mama. She's a mighty nice woman." She set down the bowl she was stirring and led Letty to a bench. "My name is Esther."
The cook was unimpressed. "Here! Jubal!" she snapped, lifting a heavy platter and giving it to the tall man. "You get this ham to the Missus before I give you a good swat!"
The man hoisted the platter, singing to himself, and the cook took another look at Letty. "I don't know about having such a fine-dressin' lady in my kitchen," she grumbled.
Esther shot Letty an apologetic little smile. "Miss Rutledge must be real nice to give you good clothes. That's a mighty pretty dress."
"Thank you kindly." She sat silently, not able to think of anything to say. Esther took a brown crockery plate, and began spooning up a generous helping of greens cooked with bacon. She added a huge chunk of cornbread, and set it before Letty with a kind, absent pat. That done, she went back to stirring her bowl and sharing gossip with the cook, whose name Letty overheard to be Sukey.
The food was hot and good, and Letty knew it was always wise to eat up when she had the chance. When she was done eating, she'd ask the women if she could help them. It would make the time pass.
Of course, Sukey was not sure a pampered house slave like Letty could do anything, but Esther gave her a plate of egg-whites to beat, and Letty whisked them diligently, feeling her wrist gradually go numb with her efforts. When the whites were in stiff peaks, Sukey grunted, and set her to picking seeds out of a pile of raisins. There was a crack of thunder, and the rain started coming down in heavy drops, thudding into the hard earth..
Two dirty, ragged little boys rushed in, steaming like puppies, and stopped, staring at Letty wide-eyed. She smiled at them, and they approached her slowly, examining her pretty straw hat with great interest.
The smaller one asked her straight out, "You a white lady? What you doin' in the kitchen?"
Sukey snorted.
"No," Letty answered, "I'm maid to Miss Rutledge. She's here with some friends. I thought I'd help out while I'm waiting for her."
"You talk fancy," the boy remarked innocently. Letty smiled and shrugged. He persisted. "You don't talk like no maid."
Esther thumped his small head with the flat of her hand. "Now hush, Lem! Some white folks like their maids to talk fine." To Letty, she said, "Don't you mind him, honey."
The older boy agreed with his brother. "You look like a white lady."
"Well, I ain't one," Letty said shortly, wishing Miss Jane would call for her soon.
The tall servingman, Jubal, came back. "Them folks upstairs will be wantin' that custard, Sukey." He sorted through the array of pies cooling on the rack. "Master says to take up a rhubarb tart, too." He grinned over at Letty. "That your Missus upstairs? She sure got herself a fine gentleman. He give me two shillings for myself."
The other slaves crowded to see this bounty. Letty did not reply. She did not think the Colonel a fine gentleman. He was handsome, she supposed, but she knew nothing else good about him. And she was terribly worried. He would be her master, and her mother's master. What if he did not like them? What if he needed money, and sold them? Or sold only one of them? What if he liked Letty herself too much? She felt sick. And what about Miss Jane? What if he was mean to her?
She worked away, trying not to soil her best gown. The rain continued, darkening the stepping stones outside, pattering on the roof above them. It was a long, long time before Jubal looked in to tell her that Colonel Tavington had called for the carriage. Letty got up and brushed off her skirts, and thanked everyone for the hospitality. Esther was busy, but gave her a smile. The little boys called out shrill farewells. Sukey did not acknowledge her.
Trying not to get soaked, she picked her way through the weeds to the side of the building. Turning the corner, she walked into a man who was relieving himself against the wall.
He was a big white man, in a rough brown coat. He was as startled as she. "Your sairvant, ma'am," he yelped, hastily buttoning his breeches. Letty tried to rush past, but he grabbed at her arm, peering down at her face. "What we got here? A purty yaller gal?"
"Let go of me!" Letty pulled hard, and did not admit to anything. Sometimes if men weren't sure she was a slave, it was easier to get away. Out in the street ahead was Silas the coachman. Overjoyed at her good luck, she yanked free of the man's grip, shouting, "That's my carriage!" and ran.
The man did not pursue her. Instead, he flushed with embarrassment at his foolish mistake, and hoped she wouldn't hold it against him, if they met later.
----
The publican led them up the stairs to a neatly plastered private room. There were six of them: Jane, Tavington, Bordon, Miss Gilpin, and two officers Jane knew from Cedar Hill—Captain Weatherby and Captain Prebble. They were pleasant enough men, but Jane felt too shy to talk much, other than to accept their good wishes.
Jane longed to ask Tavington about their new quarters, but felt unable to in such a crowd. The food was brought, and was good, but did not taste or smell like the food at home. She took a glass of wine that Tavington poured for her, and tried a little of the clear, brown turtle soup.
Tavington discussed military affairs with his officers. Bordon varied the conversation, asking Miss Gilpin about her family's home in Bedfordshire, and her correspondence with her brother there, a widowed clergyman.
His tact was rewarded, and Miss Gilpin spoke willingly about dear Edward and her young nieces. "I have never seen them. My brother has written often, asking me to make my home with him and help educate the girls, but with the war—"
"Yes, the war," Bordon sympathized. "And of course Mrs. Tavington would no doubt miss you very much."
This Jane could manage. "Yes," she agreed. "I am sure I should miss her very much indeed. And the journey would be dangerous, with the privateers and the French navy. She is much better here, where she is safe."
"Not so very safe," Captain Weatherby pointed out. "With armies and militia and bandits all over the countryside, not even a big estate like Cedar Hill can be perfectly safe. At least you weren't in Charlestown during the bombardment."
"No," Miss Gilpin affirmed. "Providence smiled upon us. But now that Charlestown is securely occupied, Mr. Rutledge will probably take his family to his house here in town, which was undamaged. He always does so in the hot months, for the sea breezes."
"Wise of him," Tavington observed. "The safest, healthiest place for all civilians."
The black servingman was bringing in yet more platters of food: glazed ham, beef pie, a savory corn pudding, an excellent dish of spring greens cooked with bacon. Jane could not see her way to more than spoonfuls of the heavy fare, but the men were eating heartily, as active men always did. The questions remained at the tip of her tongue, unasked while the men enjoyed their food and wine.
And yet more food arrived, a custard so dense that a bite felt like lead in Jane's uneasy stomach, little sugared cakes dotted with raisins, glasses of syllabub, a rhubarb tart. The men went on, happily eating and talking in their incomprehensible army jargon, and then switching over to a discussion about the dragoons' horses. This was not so tedious, but a little went a long way. Miss Gilpin was quiet too, and Jane sat restlessly, crumbling a cake to powder while pretending to eat it.
Tavington's good mood was largely restored by the meal. It was decent, plain food in a respectable inn, and they would miss such places when out chasing the rebels in the backcountry. He sensed his new wife's boredom with the conversation, but had no idea what to talk about with her. He had secured Jane and her fortune, and his future was looking brighter already. She was a nice girl after all, and had borne with the drunken Blethers to his admiration. Someday, perhaps, they would laugh about their ridiculous ceremony.
The rain was coming down hard at last, drumming on the roof, sheeting the rippled windows. The servingman hastily closed the sashes, and there was a crack of thunder nearby. Jane, her mind obviously far away, jumped at the noise, and Tavington smiled his amused reassurance at her. She did not seem too comforted, and went back to crumbling her cake, her brow knit in a frown. When left to herself, she is always frowning. Are her thoughts so gloomy?
The men lingered over their meal, but at last it was time to be up and doing. Tavington wanted to dispose sensibly of his new wife, and then finish his preparations for tomorrow's departure. He assisted her to her feet, and called the servant.
"Have the Rutledge carriage brought around to the door, and summon Mrs. Tavington's maid Letty to join her there."
Jane could ask her questions at last. "Where are we going?"
"To Cedar Hill, of course."
"But—"
"My dear—Jane," he said, thinking he managed her name quite well, considering it was the first time to address her so. "We must break the news to your father. And besides," he laughed, "all my worldly possessions are there. Yours too, I daresay."
"But then, we are going to our own quarters, are we not?" her words faltered and died, as she saw his blank expression.
"No need for new quarters. I'm leaving tomorrow, after all. I've decided that the best thing for you is to stay with your family until the war is over and I can come and collect you."
Her jaw dropped. Her eyes stretched wide with horror at the import of his words. "Go back?" she croaked. Papa will kill me. And if he does not, then Selina will.
Bordon caught Tavington's eye, with a reproving look. He had warned his colonel that Jane would not like this part of the plan. Tavington sniffed. It was his own plan, and in his opinion a very sound one. Jane would be safest with her own family--if they would have her. He admitted that Rutledge might be very displeased. That situation must be dealt with forthwith. Rutledge could not throw Tavington out: he was officially billeted there. It was best to deal with the unpleasantness at once, and then Jane would understand it was for the best.
----
Despite Tavington's haste in bundling her into the carriage, Jane still got quite wet. Her plumes hung sadly, dripping wet splotches onto her fine broadcloth habit. Her tears made yet more splotches, as she sobbed all the way home. Miss Gilpin and Letty sat on either side of her, each holding a hand, saying nothing. There was nothing to say.
She had tried to plead with Tavington, telling him she did not feel safe at Cedar Hill, that her father would be furious, and Selina spiteful. Tavington cut her off, telling her that he would have her obedience in this.
"You just gave your word to obey me, Madam. Are you to fail at the very first test?"
"Then take me with you--"
"Out of the question," he said, in a voice that forbade any further mention of that possibility.
She was silenced, but not convinced in the least. He did not know Cedar Hill as she did. She sat there, chilled and miserable, listening to the rain.
First they waited outside headquarters. Tavington had said he needed a word with Sir Henry about tomorrow, and that he would not be a moment. The moment stretched out into nearly an hour. By that time, the rain was letting up, and finally he and his officers appeared, chatting comfortably. They were off, and the sounds around Jane became those of the galloping hooves of the coach horses, and of the men accompanying them. Tavington had chose to ride rather than travel in the coach, probably to escape more of her pleading.
There was the last, well-known curve as the coach approved the carriage sweep. The horses slowed, and stopped, and the footman was jumping to the ground to unfold the steps and hand her down. Tavington was there before him, looking very commanding and inflexible. Jane glanced at him, and then stood aside, shoulders hunched, while he assisted Miss Gilpin. The women gathered in a dismal little group, not daring to enter the house.
Feeling some exasperated pity for his forlorn young bride, Tavington made her take his arm, and they marched in, followed by their loyal retainers. It's rather like storming a castle, he laughed to himself.
Selina appeared from the parlor, looking very cross until her eye lit on him. Then she was all smiles, coming toward him, hand gracefully outstretched.
"Colonel, so kind of you to rescue poor Jane. Too bad about your hat, Jane dear," she smirked, in mocking sympathy. "I'd say you looked like a drowned cat, but with all the feathers, you're more like a plucked chicken!" Tavington wondered why he had ever found this woman amiable.
Rutledge was emerging from his study. "Is that Jane? Where the devil have you been?"
This was his cue, and Tavington, who did not fear rebel or Frenchman, did not fear a paunchy old rice planter, either.
"She has been in Charlestown, sir, with me. We have just been married."
There was a heavy silence. Then Selina shrilled, "Married!"
Rutledge's eyes narrowed. He took one or two threatening steps toward Tavington and Jane, and then his mouth snapped shut vengefully. He glared at his new son-in-law and ground out, "Colonel, you have not dealt honorably with me."
Tavington looked down his nose at the shorter man. "I beg to differ. The arrangements previously agreed to have been undertaken by me. If you wish to speak privately of them, you will find that they are well in train and are likely to be completed to your satisfaction." He had gone to Sir Henry early that morning to plead his case. He had happened on his commander in an unusual sanguine mood. Sir Henry was prone to fits of melancholia, but when he was in good spirits, they were very good indeed. Given Rutledge's lack of written pledges to the rebels, Sir Henry was inclined to make an example of magnanimity. Rutledge should be publicly rewarded for his—not loyalty, exactly—but his absence of disloyalty. Rutledge's rice would not be released instantly, but soon, perhaps.
It was enough to get a hearing, if not enough to entirely mollify the angry father. Rutledge jerked his head toward the study, and snapped, "In here, sir, if you please." The two of them disappeared behind closed doors, and Jane and Miss Gilpin headed wearily to the parlor, followed by a venomous Selina. The officers milled about the hall, muttering uneasily among themselves, and then Bordon suggested they go to their quarters and give the family some privacy. Letty had already fled upstairs.
In the parlor, Selina was silent at first, her anger building, and then first had words with Miss Gilpin. "A fine chaperone, indeed! Why did you not prevent this outrage?"
Jane interposed. "Miss Gilpin knew nothing of my plans until we had actually arrived in Charlestown. Colonel Tavington met us at headquarters and we were married there by his regimental chaplain."
"A likely story! A shabby trick that could only deceive a little fool like you!"
"It was a legal marriage," Miss Gilpin declared fearlessly. "I saw the license and I saw it entered into the county marriage register."
"I don't believe it!" Selina was truly infuriated now, pacing back and forth, working herself into a rage. She felt betrayed by everyone: by Tavington, for whom she had waited all afternoon, by that pious shrew Miss Gilpin, and chiefly by Jane, who had used mean and underhanded arts to buy a husband—deliberately choosing Selina's lover to spite her. Of course Jane could not know he was her lover, but Selina felt the injury just as keenly.
"Well, I hope you find the bed you've made for yourself a delightful one! You've always pretended to be so clever, but I knew you were stupid as a slave off the boat from Africa!" She sneered, "You don't even have a proper settlement! It would serve you right if he took your money and went back to England without you! He can do that, you know, and he probably will, and it will serve you right, you ugly, worthless, useless piece of ingratitude!" Her voice rose to a shriek. "And where have you been all day, if you were married in the morning?"
Jane kept her voice low, trying not to lose her own temper. "After the ceremony, we went to the clerk's office and saw to the registration. That took some time. Then we had a wedding breakfast, and then--." It sounded feeble, even to herself, and she blushed.
"A breakfast! Where?"
"The Swan Tavern."
Selina burst into harsh laughter. "A tavern! He took you to a tavern! And afterwards, did he take you to a private room?"
"Well---yes."
"You abandoned creature! You went to a tavern and let him have his way with you!"
Miss Gilpin protested indignantly, and Jane was appalled in her turn.
"He did nothing of the sort! We had a meal—Miss Gilpin and the officers were there! We were never out of their sight for a moment!"
Selina was not listening. "You're nothing but a harlot! A trollop! Entertaining soldiers in taverns! You're a disgrace! You belong in the gutter, and your father won't have you in the house another minute!"
"Be quiet!" Jane screamed back at her. "You don't understand anything! It was a wedding breakfast! A wedding breakfast! Nothing happened!"
Miss Gilpin, terribly upset, begged them both to be calm. "Let us wait for Mr. Rutledge and Colonel Tavington and discuss this rationally!"
"Very sensible of you, Miss Gilpin," agreed Tavington, as he and Rutledge joined them.
Rutledge did not speak to the older woman, but merely cast an ugly glance her way. She sat down abruptly, and fixed her eyes on the floor.
Seating himself by Selina, he took her hand in his, patting it sympathetically. "I'm sorry, my dear. This scandal is too much for you. Jane's always been a stubborn, ill-natured girl, and now she's brought disgrace on us all."
"I believe," Tavington said icily, "that we agreed that such talk is pointless and reflects badly on your entire family. Your daughter and I are legally and honorably married. You have suffered no injury by this alliance, but rather the contrary." He stood by the chair where Jane sat slumped and sullen. "Jane, your father has agreed to accept our marriage and to receive you into his household once more as his daughter. It is by far the safest, wisest course while I am on campaign." He turned to Rutledge. "That was our agreement, was it not, sir?"
"Yes," Rutledge replied, as if he disliked the word. "As a daughter—a penitent, dutiful daughter, I will permit her to remain under my roof. But I will tolerate no more wild behavior. There's nothing else to be said. I have work to do, and we'll see you both at dinner." He assisted Selina to her feet with tender solicitude, and they departed.
"I think I shall go to my room and rest," sighed Miss Gilpin. "Please excuse me." She passed by, with a sympathetic pat for Jane and a chilly stare for Tavington.
The two of them were left alone. "It's for the best, Jane."
"I can see that it would be convenient for you."
Exasperated, he tried to make her see his point of view. "You are not listening to me, Jane. It is not just a matter of convenience. It is a matter of your safety. A woman alone—whether in the country or in a garrison town like Charlestown--runs terrible risks. You need the protection of your father and his entire household."
"Do you imagine that put to it, my father would actually protect me from danger?"
"Of course he would."
She huffed an incredulous laugh. "You don't know him." She rose. "I'm very tired, wet, and dirty, and I must go change. You are resolved then, to leave me here?"
"Absolutely. There is no other reasonable option. Here you will be safe."
"I don't want to be safe. I want to be free."
Tavington rolled his eyes. Swallowing her bitterness, Jane said nothing more.
-----After such dramatic disclosures, Tavington was himself glad of a chance to rest and change. He lay on the bed, thinking over the unfortunate events of the day. A pity that Jane did not agree with him, but it hardly mattered. He knew he was right, and she must learn to do as she was told. With a fresh shirt and some attention to his hair, he went downstairs to face his new family.
Dinner was unpleasant and ceremonious. Few words were exchanged, except among the officers. Selina hardly deigned to look at him, except to throw him the occasional pitying glance. Rutledge was grimly silent. Not a word was heard from Miss Gilpin or his new wife, still seated down the table from him. Jane looked wretchedly unhappy, and only picked at her dinner. Tavington hoped she would soon recover her spirits. Perhaps tonight—
It would be most deplorable, if their disagreement adversely affected their wedding night. Tavington was anticipating it with mixed feelings. Jane was not in her best looks: she had washed off the cosmetics and appeared red-eyed and sallow. Worse, she looked tired—wrung-out, even. Hardly the picture of a blushing bride. Not even Bordon was equal to trying to engage her in conversation. They ate their way through the meal, and when the ladies left, Rutledge declared he was going to bed.
The officers were left in possession of the dining room, with some good wine to attend to. Bordon quietly offered a toast to his Colonel's happiness, which was gravely drunk by all assembled. After a few more glasses, the conversation flowed more pleasantly. By the time they had finished, they found no ladies waiting in the parlor. Some of the officers were going out to relieve others at camp. The others agreed that an early night would be prudent, and they sat down to only a few hands of whist. Tavington knew it to be fruitless to delay the inevitable. He took a deep breath, bade the gentlemen good night, and went upstairs to do his duty.
----
She ought to be expecting him. He knocked softly, and receiving no reply, entered anyway. It was a pretty, virginal little room, mostly in white, smelling pleasantly of Jane's favorite lavender and lemon. The bed was dressed for warm weather with its white dimity curtains. Tavington brushed them aside to find Jane within.
His bride had fallen asleep, hands decorously folded on her middle, and at the rustle of the curtains parting she started up, looking very surprised. In her white nightgown, her hair done up in curling rags, she seemed small and vulnerable.
"What are you doing here? This is my room."
"Yes," Tavington replied patiently. "And it is now also mine. We are married, after all." He smiled, hoping to calm her, but she sat up in bed, pulling up the covers around her like a shield.
She hissed, "Don't you dare! Go away!"
He laughed. "I've heard of maidenly modesty, but that is perhaps taking it too far. A marriage must be consummated, my dear, after all."
"I don't know what you mean. I don't want to be married to you. You're not the man I took you for. You betrayed me!"
"I? How have I betrayed you? I was there when I said I would be and I married you legally."
"And I'm getting nothing—nothing—out of it. You get my money and all and I get nothing. You knew I wanted to get away from home more than anything, and you're forcing me to stay here."
"Jane—"
"You lied to me. You let me think you would help me and you're really just like my father—everything has to suit you!"
"Jane—" He was losing patience with her. He sighed and unclipped his sword. Laying it on the clothes press, he began unbuckling his sword belt.
Jane sat up in bed, eyes enormous. "What are you doing?"
"Getting ready for bed."
"Get out of here!"
"No." Grimly, he doffed his jacket and sat at the edge of the to remove his boots. If Jane had been in a good temper, he could have asked her to help him. Right now, she looked like she wanted to push him off her dainty white bed onto the floor. Tavington smirked, and the boots thudded to the floor, followed by his stockings whispering after.
"I'm going to scream."
"Go ahead. No one will help you." He regretted the cutting words immediately. Jane looked so frightened and desperate that he reached for her hand, wanting to allay her wedding night fears. "Jane—"
She hit out at him then, thin arms flailing frantically. "Get away! Leave me alone!" His good looks meant nothing to her at the moment. They were a trick, a bait for silly, lonely women like herself, a empty lure that drew her in, and then proved a sham.
Amused, Tavington caught at her hands, restraining her. She was surprisingly strong, and she wrenched her right wrist from his grasp and struck him across the nose, just enough to sting. With an angry snarl, he grabbed the clawing little hand and pushed her back on the bed, her wrists held tight.
Jane was terrified. This stranger had forced himself into her life, into her room, into her bed, and she was powerless against him. He could hurt her, he could kill her, even, and she could do nothing to defend herself. She struggled against him, trying to catch her breath, her head lashing from side to side. She thought again about calling for help, but knew even in her terror that it would do no good. My father would never help me, and Selina would just laugh.
And then, reluctantly, she began to cry. "Please," she sobbed, "please let go of me. You're hurting me. Stop, stop, please—"
Tavington hated this. This was the awful climax of a perfectly awful day. This was why, he reminded himself, he had always made it a point to avoid the company of virgins.
"Jane. Stop this nonsense. We are married, and I have a right to be here." She was still crying and struggling, and he hissed in her ear. "I never thought a sensible girl would lose her nerve like this. It has to be done, Jane. I won't let you go running off to Papa to ask for an annulment."
Her tearful eyes held no comprehension.
"Jane, there's no time for this! I must be gone in a few hours. Lie still and quiet: you're only making this worse for yourself." I ought to be gentle: I ought to be affectionate. I'm going to regret this night later. He took a deep growling breath, trying to hold his temper.
He asked sharply, "Are you going to hit me again?" Her hands pinned, Jane sniffed and shook her head in helpless surrender. "Good. I hate being hit on the nose."
Warily, he released her wrists, and she rubbed at them, still sobbing. With another deep breath, he unbuttoned his breeches. Just get it done. Just get it done and over with, and the girl will calm down. The anger building in him made it easier. He had wondered if he would find her attractive enough to perform properly, or if he would need to think about comelier conquests in the past to help him through the night.
She looked down at him, and her face was white with terror. She whimpered, "Oh, no, please, please, no, please don't—"
"Stop this wailing, Jane! You make my head ache." He was fairly hot with all this ridiculous wrestling, and pulled his shirt over his head, casting it somewhere into the shadows on the floor. Jane's nightgown was in his way: he would have liked to have had it off of her, but it would have meant further controversy. Instead, he pushed it up, exposing her pitifully thin hips and belly. Does the girl never eat?
Pushing farther, he groped at her chest, finding the small breasts, no more than nubbins, with small pink nipples. He fumbled past the fold of her shift to fondle one with thumb and forefinger. She looked up at him in astonishment, and squeaked faintly. This raised a half-smile from him, and his hand smoothed over her more lovingly. She had remarkably soft skin, he noted. He had always been told that every woman has her own native charm. This soft skin was Jane's. He stroked her a little longer, pleased at the feel of her.
Gravely, because he thought it incumbent on him, he lay beside her, wrapping her gently in his arms, and gave her a long sweet kiss. His best kiss, in fact, reserved in the past for his favorite charmers. Jane was certainly not one of them, especially since at the moment she was looking quite dreadful, but she was his wife, and was thus entitled to his best efforts. Nothing rough, nothing intrusive; simply a soft, slightly rhythmic pressure, opening her mouth just a little, humming low—
Jane shut her eyes at last. She was outraged and terribly, terribly angry, but this was nice. She had never been kissed by a man before. How warm and agreeable it was, and how pleasant. His strong arms held her fast; the scent of him ensnared her. Imperceptibly, she began to relax, hearing as if from far away her new husband commanding her.
"Now put your arms around me."
She obeyed. She had promised to obey him. This was a pleasanter command than others she had been given. Her nightgown was bunched around her shoulders, and she could feel his skin against her own. His legs were hard with muscle, and the hair on them and on his chest tickled her. He kissed her again, and she felt a deep, pleasurable twist in her belly, like a fish leaping in a moonlit pond. Her hands rested lightly on his smooth back. She did not dare move them. Pleased that she was at last quiet, Tavington kneed her legs apart, readying himself to finish the business. The first light pressure made Jane's eyes widen, and she remembered the red spear impaling Selina. No!
"Wait! Wait! Tomorrow—" Every sinew in her body tightened. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this. I'm not like Selina—
"Hush, Jane," he growled, voice thick, breath fast and hot on her cheek.
She pushed at his shoulders in a frenzy, trying to escape. He clutched her tighter, and then his flesh, thrusting deep, pinned her thrashing to the bed.
A sharp, tearing pain forced a cry from her: a series of thrusts, each deeper, each tearing a little more until he was inside her and she thought she must surely die. Jane bit the pillow beside her, trying not to scream, trying not to be a laughingstock, a figure of fun, an ugly, stupid, ridiculous joke to Selina and Papa. They must know perfectly well what was happening. Her chest pressed down by his greater weight, she panicked, feeling that she was smothering. Her eyes rolled back in a near faint.
Tavington gripped the exasperating girl, now gone limp in his arms. Thank God. He hammered away, trying to feel some satisfaction in possessing this scraggy little body. He imagined Selina, juicy and wanton, he imagined twenty thousand pounds… Ah, there. At last.
The man had stopped ramming into her. Jane lay trembling, hardly knowing if she was still alive. Was it over? She did not dare move. She could feel his flesh gone still inside her, except for a faint pulsing. One, two, three, four…
He grunted, and pushed himself off of her. Jane gasped, grateful for the blessed, blessed air filling her lungs. And then another sob rose in her throat to choke her. The terrible stranger dared to speak to her, very softly and gently.
"Jane, are you all right?"
Hating him, she sobbed again, clutching at her gown, pushing it down, wanting to cover herself. She was so cold. She was wet down there-- she was sopping-- something terrible had happened. She felt down and then looked at her hand and gasped with fright.
Tavington tried to calm her. It was wrong, really, for girls to be brought up to be this innocent. It only led to misery. "It's just a little blood, Jane. Let me help you."
He staggered a little as he got up from the bed, and nearly tripped on his breeches. Kicking them from his legs with an oath, he went to the washstand and splashed a sponge in the water. He looked back at the bed, where Jane was still shivering and sobbing soundlessly. He wrung out the sponge with a sigh, and climbed back onto the bed. Jane was staring at him as at some monster. When he tried to part her legs, she stiffened.
"I'm just going to wash you, my dear." Trying to help her understand, he said, "Such a fuss over losing one poor little maidenhead. Do you understand me? If you have read Shakespeare, you will know the word." She was still staring at him in disbelief.
He tossed her the sponge. "Fine. Do it yourself." And then he felt like a dog when she began to sob again. Impatiently, he pushed her back and manhandled the knobby knees apart again. He touched her with the wet sponge, and she gave a sad little bleat, like a hurt lamb. Feeling pity always irritated him, and he did the work quickly, wiping her clean without much ceremony.
"There," he said, throwing the sponge neatly into the basin. "You're all right. There's nothing wrong with you that hasn't happened to every woman in the world since Eve. You are officially deflowered. 'The affair is over and Clarissa lives.'"
She did not look convinced. And she had had as awful a day as he. He spoke more kindly, "Jane—"
"Leave me alone. You're disgusting. I hate you."
Jane wriggled away from him, toward the very edge of the bed, and turned on her side, her back to him. She was still sobbing, a faint gulping noise that she muffled with her pillow. He curled up behind her, wrapping an arm around her shaking ribs. Gently, he stroked her, avoiding anything overtly erotic. The girl needed calming and reassurance now: nothing that she might interpret as a threat. Still, he could not resist leaning around to kiss her cheek softly. She stiffened at the touch of his lips.
"Jane," he murmured. "My dear wife. Sleep sweetly, and perhaps in the morning you won't think so ill of me."
There was another gulp, and Tavington eased onto his back with a sigh, too tired to try to console her further. There was no time. He had won the day. The citadel was breached, the prize was taken, and victory was his. He needed sleep himself, for he would be leaving in a few hours. Somehow he would have to right things in the future, but now he must rest. Uncomfortably, he was aware that it had not gone well, and that in his impatience he had done rather less than his best. Oh, well done, Will. Well done, indeed. It took years for your mother to learn to hate your father, but you seem to have managed to make your wife hate you in a single night. But love-making, even love-making badly performed with an unwilling and unappealing partner, is a relaxing business, and Tavington was soon peacefully asleep.
It was pitch dark outside when he rose at three and dressed in his own room by the light of a single candle. An orderly reported to carry down his baggage. Tavington checked for anything he might have forgotten, and then knew he must bid farewell to his bride. He carried his candlestick with him, and entered the little white virginal room, now rather disordered. The curtains were drawn forbiddingly around the bed.
"I'm leaving now, Jane. I may not see you for some time."
Silence.
Jane did not speak or move, though Tavington sensed that she was awake. Still as a waxen image and barely breathing in the humid darkness, Jane Tavington stared up at the dim grey shape of her bed canopy, and listened to the fading hoofbeats as her husband left her, not much caring if she saw him ever again.
-----
Notes: "The affair is over. Clarissa lives." Tavington quotes Samuel Richardson's enormously long and equally enormously popular epistolary novel of 1748, Clarissa, (or more completely, Clarissa Harlowe: or The History of a Young Lady). Tavington and Jane both had read it, of course. Readers who know the novel know that Clarissa was not, unlike Jane, married when those words were written about her. Tavington is not serious in comparing their situations. Jane is not the indomitable and beautiful Clarissa, and Tavington does not believe he is anything like Lovelace.
Next—Chapter 9: "My Dear Jane—"