I'm going out of town for a few days, and I thought I'd go ahead and post early rather than be late. Hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 17: To Gallop in a Coach and Six
The news of Tavington's situation was met with a variety of responses. Some of them surprised Jane.
Aunt Alice spoke up immediately and was very kind and sympathetic, sounding more rational than Jane would have thought possible.
For Ashbury Rutledge, it was the solution to an irritating problem. He had been feeling for some time that it would be most convenient if his ties to Colonel William Tavington and the British Army were not quite so manifest. If Jane wanted to run off into the blue after the man, it would be a good excuse to be rid of her, especially since she was of no longer of any financial value to him. She had been a thorn in his side long enough. He had felt some concern about losing her services as housekeeper, but he found Selina disagreeing with him about this.
That Tavington had been seriously wounded was a great shock to Selina. The impression of him had faded somewhat—it had, after all, been over five months since she had last seen him—but she had some fond memories of him, and above all there was the child--his child-- that she carried. She sat in silence for some time, torn between the horrible idea of Tavington dying alone and uncared for in the wilderness, and the horrible idea of Jane going to him and caring for him and earning his gratitude. Both were quite awful. At length, she finally decided that since Jane was too unattractive for him ever to feel much for, it would best after all if she went and made herself useful. Besides, it would be very pleasant to see the back of her stepdaughter.
And so, as soon as Jane left the room, she vocally threw the weight of her influence on Jane's side. "Yes, Jane ought to go. It's her duty. If you were hurt you'd want me to come, wouldn't you?"
Rutledge smiled. "That's entirely different, my dear."
"Yes, I know, but Jane might save him. Otherwise she'll be here underfoot for the rest of her life."
"I don't like the idea of you being burdened by the housekeeping—"
"My love, it is no trouble at all. I am sure that Aunt Alice—" she said. The little woman beside her listened with carefully suppressed excitement, grateful to God that her hour had come at last; when she could prove how indispensable she was to this family. If Jane were to leave, everything would fall to her, and she was ready.
And so, by the time Jane returned, she found her father much more disposed to be helpful to her. He gave some genuinely intelligent and practical advice about traveling north. He knew the roads and the taverns and the inns—what was left of them—on the way. He knew which merchants to visit, and how to pack for a long journey. He took her into his study, and sketched out a copy of the pertinent map (though he did not give her the valuable map itself). He also sensibly pointed out the need for loyal servants to accompany her.
"I am taking Biddy and Letty," she told him. Surprised that he was not objecting, she felt compelled to excuse herself. "I know it will be unfortunate for Little Ash, but Biddy is an inexperienced sick nurse."
His face was expressionless. "Biddy is your property. You can do with her as you see fit. I was more concerned about menservants. You'll need a good coachman and footman."
It then transpired that he expressed himself willing to part with Old Silas and his young son Seth for a mere fraction of their value. Jane seethed, knowing that her father wanted to get as much of the lost two hundred pounds as he could; but in the end she was forced to consider the proposal. Either she could buy Silas and Seth for a hundred pounds, knowing that they were good and reliable men; or she would have to buy slaves of unknown quality for more money. She asked for a moment to consult the men herself. Unwilling slaves bent on escape would do more harm than good.
She stepped out and found them in the stable yard. Explaining her mission, she found them agreeable.
"Are you sure this won't make you unhappy?"
Seth seemed inclined to go, but first looked at his father for his opinion. The older, grizzled man shook his head.
"No, Miss Jane. I don't mind taking a trip up north with you. You buyin' me and Seth from the Old Master, you say?"
"Yes, I'd be taking both you and Seth. Papa will have Amos as coachman."
Silas frowned thoughtfully. He knew that he was getting old, and he knew the fate of Rutledge's slaves when he considered them no longer of use. Biddy sure sets a store by Miss Jane. Maybe I better get out while the gettin's good.
"I reckon we'd just as soon go along with you then, Miss Jane. Do me good to see the open road again."
That settled, Jane completed the agreement with her father in short order. Jane noticed that he did not offer her his coach. That she would have to see to herself.
When told of the plans, Selina had only one objection.
"I cannot do without Biddy," she complained. " How can you let Biddy go when I need her?"
"Now then," smiled her husband, "you know Biddy is Jane's, and so is Letty. They came to her from her mother. You have Coral, and I'll send her cousin Sukey to help up there in the nursery. We'll have a proper physician for you when your time comes. Biddy's getting old, anyway."
"That's true," agreed Selina, somewhat mollified, "and she's always fussing over Jane. It's time for a change, I suppose."
-----
It was very convenient, Jane reflected, to be the daughter of Ashbury Rutledge, the Rice King. People knew her by sight, and everyone had heard of her father. Tradesmen were eager for her custom, and her lawyer wonderfully obliging. Jane simply told people what she wanted, and, as if by magic, her wishes were granted
Of course, it all cost a great deal of money, but that was the least of her worries. Jane found her little tin box quite equal to the demands. She wasted no time in putting her plans in action. A coach and horses were the first priority and she pursued them immediately and ruthlessly.
"It's not new, ma'am," apologized the carriage-maker, "but it's big and sturdy, just like you wanted."
In truth, the heavy road coach was exactly what she needed. Too big for the carriage maker to easily dispose of, it had been bought for a song when its last owner packed up and left for Jamaica. It looked opulent from a distance, and its seats were comfortable enough. New it was not, however: the body was scratched and weathered, and the brilliant primrose damask of the upholstery was worn and stained, and had faded over time to a rather nasty shade of mustard yellow. But it was strongly built for long-distance travel over bad roads, and it had the essential virtue of being wide enough for a tall man to lie down inside. How else was she to get Tavington back to Charlestown, if he were badly injured?
The team of six strong horses was even harder to procure, but bribery and corruption served her turn. Six strong horses appeared that evening in her father's stable. They were not a matched team, but Jane cared nothing for appearances, and it mattered not to her if a mixture of greys and blacks and chestnuts pulled her carriage.
Biddy had accepted that she was to go, wistfully stroking Little Ash's bright hair back from his face the day Jane broke the news to her. The boy shrugged off her gentle hand impatiently, eager for a gallop on his stick horse. She wondered if he would remember her when she was gone, and then decided it would be best if he did not. He would only grieve uselessly. But Jane would always be her nursling, and whether a slave or not, Biddy was older than her mistress, and let her voice be heard in the preparations.
"We need to take some food with us, honey. No telling what we'll find out in the backcountry with the soldiers going up and down. There might not be a pig or a chicken left 'twixt here and Camden. Those inns your Papa tell of—they might be there, and they might not. You need to stock up, honey— rice and corn meal and 'lasses, and a ham or a side of bacon. Tea and sugar, and cooking gear, too. A lantern and candles. We need bandages and healing herbs. You might go to the 'pothecary and buy some of that laudanum."
"The hospital should have all that, Biddy."
"Should's not the same as does, honey. And it's cold out. It'll be colder when we camp. If an inn ain't standing no more, we'll have to camp out—maybe sleep in the coach. We'll need quilts and blankets and such. And even if you did sleep at one of those inns, you might find yourself with fleas and lice from the dirty straw on the beds. And if you try to lay the Colonel down in the coach, what's he going to lay on? You need to roll up a featherbed and take a few pillows."
However impatient she was, Jane could see that Biddy was making sense. She sat down with Biddy and Letty, and together they made a long, practical list of what to take. Silas and Seth were consulted. Silas explained to her that the trip would take longer than she thought. They would not be able to change horses at the inns, as they would have in peacetime, and thus would be stopping often to rest the team. As for protection, Silas had an old fowling piece given to him years before, and Jane purchased powder and shot for it. It was not a very imposing weapon, but it was better than nothing, and could be used to shoot game and birds—"if the country ain't all hunted out already," Silas observed cynically. He was not really supposed to own a firearm, but slaves often did. Seth hinted at his own desire for such a weapon, but Jane was afraid to defy the Slave Code to that extent.
The second night after the letter, Jane lay in bed thinking hard, and finally decided that when she left her father's house, she would be leaving forever. One way or another, whether William Tavington lived or not, she would never dwell under this roof again. The world was wide. If her husband were dead, she would find a place of her own, where she could raise her child in peace. If he lived—well, she would just have to see; but she was never coming back here.
The next day, she pulled out all the trunks and boxes they were to take and looked over them, deciding what would fit on top of the coach, what could be carried in the back, and what would fit under the seats. Silas and Seth would each have a small bag of their own, but they would not take up much space. Small trunks were purchased for Biddy and Letty, and a few items were found ready-made to eke out their belongings.
Jane had a large trunk in which she stowed whatever clothing she would own hereafter. The new, loose-bodied gowns from Mlle. Renaud's were already packed. Her new traveling habit, made to accommodate her growing girth, was exactly what she would need. It would have been nice if she had had time for new boots, but she would have to make do. At least her hooded cloak was thick and warm. Her books and music went into a box; her newly purchased medicines into a neat chest made for the purpose. A number of personal items from her room would be taken: her candlesticks and a few pieces of her mother's old-fashioned china and silver. Of course, there was the baby linen and additional bedding as well.
She stood some time in front of the tiny spinet, wondering if taking it might be possible. She described it to Silas, who thought it was. The legs would come off, making a small flat box. A featherbed could be tied around it, and the whole wrapped in oilcloth and strapped on top of the coach.
"What about putting in the back?" she objected.
"On top's better for it, Miss Jane," Silas told her patiently, wishing that silly young women would not try to tell him his business. "You want to put your big trunk in back. That's just clothes. The joltin' and all is worse in back, but it don't hurt clothes none." Jane bowed to his experience, and felt quite elated. She did not want to leave behind anything precious to her. She would include extra strings and the tuning key. Her husband liked music.
"Don't forget your fiddle," she reminded Silas, who only smiled. He would certainly not leave either of his two dearest possessions behind.
-----
"Jane, I believe you are mad!"
"Cousin Mary, I am not mad. It is my duty to go--"
Mary Laurens set her tea cup down very carefully. It was Wedgwood jasperware, and she cherished it as she did her other possessions. Jane might have gone mad, but that was no reason to smash teacups.
"My dear Jane, even without the war, it would be a difficult and risky venture. Will your father accompany you?"
"Papa!" Jane paused, quite astonished at the idea. "No, but he drew me a map—"
"Drew you a map!"
"Yes. I have the preparations well in hand. I bought the Pruitts' old coach—very large and sturdy. I've got a good team of six—"
Mary Laurens lowered her voice to tone of desperate calm. "Jane. We are in the middle of a war. You are a woman alone. Who will protect you?"
"I'm taking Letty and Biddy, of course; and Silas to drive and his son as footman."
"Jane! You should have an armed guard of at least four outriders! And that is in peacetime!"
"I can't imagine where I'd find armed guards. Any man able to bear weapons is already in some army or militia. I haven't any male relatives nearby to ask. I'll simply have to do the best I can. My husband needs my help. You cannot mean to persuade me to stay safe while—"
Her cousin caught her hand and squeezed it. Jane was so startled at such an emotional display that she fell silent.
Mary Laurens was actually upset, no longer speaking in the accustomed sugared drawl. "Jane! If the house were on fire, and you saw me running inside to get my figurines, wouldn't you try to stop me?"
"It's not the same thing!"
"It's just exactly the same. You are running straight into a blazing house and someone should hold you back."
Jane squeezed her cousin's hand in her turn. "I must go. Have some faith in me. I'll write to you as soon as I reach Camden, so you'll know I'm all right."
"You are mad."
-----Silas' fiddle was actually the last thing put on the coach on the day they left. Silas had prudently stowed his beloved firearm with all its accoutrements into the driver's box somewhat earlier, so no one would take much notice of it. Afterwards, they were all in a bustle: loading, tying down, wrapping and covering, making last-minute checks, and finally, bidding friends and family farewell. There were tears shed for the slaves in the nursery, in the kitchen, in the slave quarters. Jane's servants shed a few of their own, though they were not going unwillingly.
No tears were shed for Jane. Selina did not feel up to leaving the house, and bid her a cool farewell in her own bedchamber. Unable to resist a final jibe, Selina said, "Do take good care of Colonel Tavington. He's a man who deserves everything a woman can give."
Jane smiled back tightly. "Do take good care of Little Ash, Selina. He deserves a decent mother." She turned her back, and left.
Outside, her father was waiting. Aunt Alice was there, too, though Jane had always expected that she would do what was proper. Bows and curtseys were exchanged, decorous and meaningless. Her father even handed her into the coach personally. Jane decided that it was to make sure she really left. She sat back against the seat and took a deep breath, and smiled at her companions.
Silas looked around from the height of the driver's seat, wondering when he would see Charlestown again. He caught his son's eye, and they gave each other a nod. Without quite waiting for Rutledge to make a dignified step back to the front walk, Silas chirruped to the horses, and they lumbered away.
Down the street, around a corner, and out of the city. Unwillingly, Jane remembered her Cousin Mary's face, when she talked about running into a house afire. The image stayed with her, as she headed into the unknown.
The first leg of the journey went by quickly. Jane watched first Charlestown, and then the Carolina Low Country fall behind, as she headed into terra incognita. She had never been anywhere, except to Cedar Hill and a few neighboring plantations. As long as she could remember, everyone around her had spoke of the backcountry as a savage, dangerous place, populated by crude, uncivilized folk who were unfit for decent society. She was pleasantly surprised when they were directed to an inn that provided an edible meal and hot water to wash in.
I suppose I'm having an adventure, she thought in wonder. If this is the backcountry, it's not so very terrible.
As the days and miles passed, accommodations became more primitive, and the accents stranger. Biddy and Letty sometimes looked about fearfully at a new stop, but Jane thought of Miss Gilpin, who, after all, had crossed the ocean and come to Carolina from England years before, and who would not have been intimidated by uncouth ways. Jane tried to emulate her fearlessness, but realized that she must seem haughty rather than brave.
Yet even here, her father's name worked its magic. Some people scowled, and some muttered about the 'high-and-mighty Rice Kings,' but she was treated with respect on the strength of that relationship. It was her husband's name that gave the countryfolk pause, she realized. She had thought the stories about him absurd, and the usual lies any army spread about its enemy, but everyone seemed to believe them. One woman, hearing her name, spat at her feet, to her great astonishment.
A rebel sympathizer, clearly, she thought. What a vulgar creature.
Following their map, they reached the town of Pembroke, and found it deserted. Possibly the inhabitants had found themselves in the direct path of war, and had fled. It was a neat little town, absent only a church to make it complete. Possibly there had been a church, for there had certainly been a fire. If not a church, then a large public house, or even a residence had been burned. Jane craned out of the window to see.
"That looks like a shop. Stop there."
Obediently, Silas reined in the horses in front of the little frame building, and Seth got down to call for the storekeeper. They heard him shouting, and in a few minutes he was back.
"Ain't nobody there, Miss Jane," he reported. "They's still goods there, but nobody come no matter how loud I holler."
They all got out to stretch their legs. Biddy found a good well, and the water barrel was refilled. Jane passed the empty, white-painted houses, the little log buildings, and felt somewhat disturbed. How strange for everyone to be gone.
A sudden gust of wind pulled at her cloak. A shout followed. A ragged man reeled out of a little white house. "Eliza! I knew you'd come back!"
Biddy pulled at her sleeve. "Come on, Miss Jane. That man is drunk!"
"No, ma'am," whispered Letty. "Crazy."
The man shouted again, "Eliza!" He waved wildly, rocking back and forth with joy. He wiped his mouth, and started toward them.
Biddy made an anxious signal to Silas, who reached over and patted the musket beside him. "You come on now, Miss Jane. You don't know what some men out here might do."
Biddy and Letty were pushing her toward the coach, eager to get away. The man broke into a run.
"Eliza, wait!" His voice was hoarse, sounding rusty from lack of use. Jane wondered if there was something she ought to say to him, something she could do, but she could think of nothing, and, in fact, was fairly alarmed by the man herself.
Seth was shutting the door, and jumping up to the driver's box, to take up the fowling piece. Silas gave the reins a shake. "Get on, you horses!" The coach lurched, and Jane held on to the side, trying not to fall from the seat. The man was still calling.
"Stop, Eliza! Don't go!"
The voice cracked. Jane peered timidly out of the window, and saw the man shambling after them. An untrimmed beard veiled the open, wailing mouth.
"Eliza!"
-----
Another day passed, more miles vanished behind them. Rumors of militia bands—from both sides—were heard more frequently as they penetrated further north. The stories of the killings, the pillaging, the robberies grew uglier, more lurid. There seemed little to choose between Loyalist and Patriot. Jane became more uneasy, knowing that so far they had been lucky. It had sounded like a great adventure, and a noble deed, journeying into the hinterland to tend her wounded husband, but now she began to wonder if she had not been very foolish. South Carolina was so big—so much bigger than she had ever imagined. If they were to be accosted, no one might ever know their fate.
And they might not know themselves in danger until it was too late. How to tell friend from foe when everyone looked the same, dressed the same, spoke the same greetings, and paid the same meaningless compliments? Passing horsemen now struck little cold darts of fear into her heart. She was past the worst of her morning sickness, but the growing feeling of danger awakened the nausea again. At least she could pass it off to her servants so, without cutting a pitiful figure of cowardice before them. Twice they were accosted by redcoated officers, who seemed astonished to see a woman travelling with only her servants. Both very earnestly urged her to turn back, and Jane, just as earnestly, explained why that would be impossible.
Biddy had been wise in suggesting that they bring their own provisions. Two of the inns marked on her father's map were burnt-out shells. Another was a still standing, but proved to be no more than a crude log cabin, whose guest quarters were a pair of cornshuck beds in the loft. With some intrepidity, Jane decided she would sleep there, and persuaded the landlord to let her women share the loft with her—a great favor, since he thought his fine establishment lowered by the presence of slaves. Silas and Seth made do in the stable, thinking it advisable to take turns guarding the coach and the horses. As little as the landlord liked them, he and the old men who gathered at the little log tavern to drink were soothed by the sound of Silas' well-played fiddle.
They were still two days away from their destination when the horsemen came through the trees at the side of the road and stopped the coach.
Quiet they were, and grim. They hardly spoke to them, ignoring Silas and Seth completely, other than to give them terse commands. There were no explanations given, no excuses.
"You will get out of the coach, now," said their leader, unsmilingly and brusque. He was well dressed, and Jane tried to reason with him.
"Sir," she protested mildly, "we are only women. I am traveling north to tend my wounded husband." She wondered if she dared give his name. With a horrible, sick feeling, she began to think that these must be rebels. God alone knew what they would do if they knew she was Mrs. William Tavington. Cautiously, she said, "Ashbury Rutledge of Cedar Hill is my father."
One of the men flashed the leader a lifted brow. That man, however, simply gave her a long, expressionless look, and repeated. "You will get out of the coach, now—ma'am."
There was little else they could do. There were a least a dozen of them. If Silas or Seth were so foolish to fire upon them, they would be killed immediately. Biddy squeezed her hand, and inclined her head toward the door. Jane nodded.
Slowly, they descended from the coach. Seth handed her down, then Biddy and Letty. The women huddled together nervously. The two menservants hovered. A few of the men on horseback looked them up and down, assessing them.
"Bet that lady has some gold on her," one remarked to a fellow, as if the women were deaf.
"Have a look at the trunks first," another suggested.
"That's a purty gal," another observed, pointing at Letty. He and a friend strolled over for a better look.
Letty backed away, and clutched Biddy's hand. "Mama—"
"Hunh!" one of the men grunted at the other. "She's the old woman's. A high yellow. I'd have taken her for white, Nate."
"She's worth good money," his companion agreed. "I know a dealer who'll dig deep in his purse for a piece like that."
Jane gulped and spoke up. "If you are quite reassured that we pose no threat, sir, perhaps you will let us be on our way."
A few of the men chuckled. The leader ignored her, and instead dismounted and began examining the coach horses. "Strong animals," he observed to his lieutenant.
"They'll do for a fact," that man agreed, leaning over his horse to spit.
Jane kept her face calm and asked, "May I have your name, sir, and know your intentions toward us?"
The men, intent on the horses, did not answer at first. The leader was examining the team, and giving a cursory look to the carriage. He muttered, "We could drag it off the road out of sight. "Pollard!" he called, "Get the horses unharnessed and have the men move the coach into the trees before the regulars come through." He turned then to Jane, and said, "I am Captain William Cunningham. Some call me Bloody Bill."
He was not a rebel, as she had assumed. He was, instead, a very well known Loyalist militia leader. He was not a rebel, then, but for all he was a Loyalist, he was clearly not a friend. Jane took a deep breath and asked, "You cannot confiscate my horses. I am Jane Tavington. My husband is Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington of the Green Dragoons. "
Cunningham was unimpressed. "I hear he's like to die, up at Camden. The war's over for him, but not for me. I still need horses." He lost interest in her, and called his subordinates over for a discussion. They moved away, and occasionally looked back at Jane and her servants as if deciding what to do with them. There were quiet remarks and a few laughs. One of them said, in a louder voice, "—No need for that. What can she do about it, anyway?"
"—and the slaves would likely talk," a red-haired rifleman agreed. "No matter. Once in the woods we'll have time to go through it end to end."
Jane felt hot tears welling in her eyes, and tried to blink them away. These men would not be moved by a woman's pleading. They would take everything: all her food and her clothes, all her baby's linen. They would leave them here in the wilderness, in the cold of early February. And then how would she get to Camden? Still more frightening were the possibilities for her servants. Biddy and Letty said nothing. Biddy's head was bowed in prayer. Letty was shaking a little.
"You!" The leader shouted at Seth and Silas. "Get over here and help unharness these horses!"
Silas looked at the ground. Seth clenched his fists and shook his head.
At a sign from Cunningham, his men grabbed the two slaves and manhandled them away. Silas fell to the ground, and one their captors gave him an oath and a kick. Seth tried to help his father and was pummeled mercilessly. The militiamen found ropes to bind the men's wrist, and then dragged them out of sight, still struggling.
"Stop!" Jane shouted. "How dare you!" she cried at Cunningham, too angry to be fearful. "Those are my servants! How dare you hurt them! Let them go!"
She tried to run after them, but Cunningham reached out easily, and caught her painfully by the upper arm. "You'll be quiet, ma'am, if you have any sense.. I am requisitioning your slaves and horses."
"How am I to get to Camden?"
He made a vague, northerly gesture. "It's about twenty-five miles, that way. Just follow the road. If you start walking now, you should get there—" he gave her an amused, wintry look—"in a week or so, if you live that long."
Jane hissed through her teeth. "You are a thief, and a robber, and a bandit."
He shrugged. "Just fighting a war."
"You intend to loot my coach, as well."
He grinned, then. "How much do you think you can carry by yourself on your march to Camden? No use in letting it go to waste." He walked away, no longer interested in her. He was about to call some of his officers over, when there was a new threat.
"Horsemen!" shouted a militiaman. From farther up the road a distant rumble of galloping horses shook the earth. Even the inexperienced Jane could tell it was a large force.
"Powell! Gibbs!" ordered Cunningham. "Have a look at them. The rest of you, withdraw into the woods." Casually, he glanced back at Jane and her servants. "You women too, get out of sight and keep your mouths shut."
A big man in a rough linen hunter's frock grabbed Jane's arm and pushed her ahead of him. "Get moving!"
Biddy followed, trying to keep up with Letty. She was knocked aside for her pains, and rolled down the other side of the hill. Two of the men, Nate and his friend Buck, had fastened on to Letty, muttering and leering. They pushed and dragged her up the rise and flung her into the underbrush. The man who had Jane shoved her down out of sight. She fell awkwardly, her hand scraping against the rough bark of a cedar.
"Ouch!" she hissed, slowly pulling off her glove and picking at the splinters in her palm. A few drops of blood oozed out. Her captor turned on her furiously.
"You shut up, gal!"
He was big and ham-fisted, and Jane shivered, pressing her lips together. She was so intent on keeping her distance from the man that she missed the first glimpse of the horsemen coming around the bend in the road. Then a flash of red caught her eye, and then she saw the distinctive helmets. A skull and crossbones, and the words "Or Glory." And then she realized she knew their leader. She staggered to her feet and waved.
"Oh! Mr. Nettles!" Jane cried out. "Mr. Nettles!"
The young officer's head swiveled toward her. He threw up a hand, and the cavalrymen pulled at the reins, milling about. Jane shoved the militiaman aside, and scrambled out of the brush. "Mr. Nettles! We need your help!"
-----
Harry Nettles heard the young woman's plea. A lady's voice, refined and modulated. He swung around in the saddle to look at her, not recognizing her at first, and then felt a surge of delight and surprise.
"Miss Rutledge!"
There was a growled curse from the militiamen in the trees. No use to hide. Grudgingly, they emerged. The leader, not at all abashed, walked out to greet the officer and identify himself.
"I'm Captain William Cunningham. These are my volunteers."
Jane glared with repulsion and fury at her captor. She made her way around him cautiously, nursing her hurt hand. The dragoon officer remained mounted, staring down at Cunningham.
"Henry Nettles. Seventeenth Light Dragoons. I've heard of you, Captain," he remarked coolly. "I am surprised to see Miss Rutledge in your company."
Jane had reached the two men by now, and blushed a little as she corrected him. "Mrs. Tavington, now, Lieutenant."
Nettles blushed himself. It was rude of him to ignore her marriage, unpleasant as he found the event. "I beg your pardon, madam. Mrs. Tavington, of course. How came you here?"
Jane gave Cunningham a wary, uneasy glance, which he returned stonily. "As you know, my husband was wounded at the Cowpens. I am on my way to care for him. These men seemed to think me some threat, and stopped my coach."
Cunningham gave a faint, impudent smile. "I was merely taking this lady under my protection."
Jane narrowed her eyes. "I believe I understood you to be taking my horses and my slaves under your protection. You suggested that I walk to Camden."
Nettles turned a cold eye toward the militia leader. "No need for you to protect Mrs. Tavington or her horses. I will relieve you of that task." He turned to Jane. "I am at your service, madam. My men and I shall see you safe to Camden."
Jane was too relieved to be calm. "Oh, thank you, thank you, sir. We shall not delay you. Biddy! Letty! Come, the lieutenant is going to escort us!" She turned back to Nettles, and said, "My coachman and footman have been bound by Captain Cunningham's men."
Biddy climbed down the embankment cautiously, calling to Jane. "I don't know where Letty is, Miss Jane! Those men were trying to get her to go along with them!"
Jane turned big, pleading eyes in Nettles' direction. He rapped out, "Sergeant Eccles! Have your men collect the lady's servants and belongings—all of them! " He looked challengingly at Cunningham. "I hope that does not disoblige you, sir."
"Not at all, Lieutenant," shrugged Cunningham. "Since you vouch for the lady, I will leave her in your hands." He gave Jane a careless bow, and turned his back, sauntering off to seek easier prey.
Sergeant Eccles, tall and muscular, swung off his horse, along with a handful of troopers. The men trotted easily up the embankment, with Biddy following them as quickly as she could.
The militiamen were withdrawing, with loud complaints and considerable spitting. The dragoons outnumbered them, and soon had the six horses retrieved and the carriage ready for departure. Seeing that Cunningham was out of the way, Nettles was anxious to get moving again, and not sorry to put distance between himself and his dubious ally.
He saw her hand. "Are you injured?"
"Only some splinters. I am so, so relieved that you came. It seems a miracle. I am certain those men meant to rob me."
"At least."
Silas and Seth limped into view. Seth was supporting his father, and sported a bruised jaw. Silas was clutching his middle and wincing.
Seeing Jane's alarmed expression, Silas shook his head. "It ain't much, Miss Jane. I've had worse."
"Can you drive, or do you need to lie down?" she asked, feeling sorry for his injury, but vexed that they might be further delayed.
"I reckon I better let Seth do the driving for awhile, but I'll be fine tomorrow. I'll just sit up there on the box with him and rest." With Seth's help, he climbed carefully back up to the driver's seat and settled back with a faint groan. Seth bustled about to find a water jug, and helped his father to a long drink.
Nettles nodded, and turned his horse's head. "I shall be back shortly, Mrs. Tavington, to see to your progress. Let me know of anything else you require."
-----Letty had scrambled away for the second time, but Buck caught her by the hem of her cloak and hauled her off her feet again. Nate was sitting on a fallen tree nearby, considering her.
"Damn purty thing. Think the Colonel'd let us keep her for a day or two?"
"I reckon, if we go shares. He squatted next to Letty, who lay trembling. "You lie still, gal, or we give you something to make you quiet." They listened to the sound of the hoofbeats coming nearer. He lowered his voice and growled at his friend. "Soon as that ruckus passes by, let's flip a coin to see who goes first."
"Fair enough."
There was a woman's cry, and the passing horsemen were slowing to a halt. "Damn," Buck grunted, gripping his rifle. He exchanged looks with Nate. A toothless oldtimer grinned at them.
"Reckon you'll have better things to do than tend to a stiff rhubarb. Should have tied the wench to a tree."
Letty took a breath to call out, and Nate threatened her with the butt of his rifle. She shrank away, and he chuckled.
Buck peered over the rise. "It's redcoats. The Seventeenth, looks like. Captain's talking with 'em."
Nate sighed and lowered his rifle. Letty tried to understand what was happening. There was no time. Nate was reaching into a bag for a coin, and made to toss it in the air.
Buck grabbed his arm. "Nothin' doin'." He snarled. "Here," he said, passing the coin to the old man. "You do it. That way it's fair."
Letty took advantage of their distraction to crawl a few more feet, and slowly got her feet under her. Quick as a squirrel, she was up and running through the trees, her steps muffled by the carpet of pine needles.
"Buck! She's getting' away!"
Booted feet pounded after her, a quick soft sound. She dared not look behind. Skirts held up out of her way, she twisted through the tall straight trunks, ducking under low branches. Mama and Miss Jane must be up ahead, down the gully—
Something heavy slammed into her back, and she crashed to the ground, face-first. Half-stunned, she felt rough hands grabbing at her legs.
"Put her over the log there. She can't fight none, that way."
Desperately, she dug her fingers into the forest floor, trying to take root there. Ten trails snaked after her, digging through pine needles and rocks and damp sod, as she was pulled by the men, who each had her by a leg.
A new voice, gruff and commanding, said. "Let her go."
There was a pause, and the captors stopped in their tracks, dropping her legs.
"We're just having some fun. Hell, you can have a turn too, sergeant."
"That's so," Nate agreed. "One soldier to another."
Letty twisted around to see what was happening, while pushing down her petticoats in shame. She was just in time to see the big redcoated sergeant's fist smash Nate's grinning face. Buck stared in disbelief, and was next.
-----
Jane was relieved to see Sergeant Eccles come back in a few minutes, half-carrying a shaking Letty. Her dress was torn and her nose was bleeding. Biddy was hurrying alongside her, whispering urgently in her ear. Letty shook her head, gave a trembling smile, and her mother gasped out a smothered cry of relief.
"Are you badly hurt, Letty?" Jane called, still trying to dislodge the painful splinters in her hand.
"No. I'm all right, Miss Jane. Those men didn't do more than grab at me and say ugly things. I'm fine." She was not fine, but she thought she might be. It had been so wonderful to see the big, redcoated sergeant knock her attackers down. I will never say bad things about Englishmen again, not even Miss Jane's husband.
"Thank God," Jane sighed.
Biddy saw Jane's hand, and turned it over to examine it. "I'll take a needle to those," she nodded, indicating the thin lines of grey piercing Jane's palm. "We'll soon have your hand right."
"We can worry about that later. See to Letty first," Jane said, wearily leaning against the coach. The water cask was opened, and Biddy washed the blood and dirt from her daughter's face.
Nettles returned. Jane got to her feet and managed a smile. "It is so pleasant to see you again, Mr. Nettles. Is not Mr. Patterson with you? I shall never forget the gallantry the two of you showed me at my father's ball."
The lieutenant's face darkened. "Tom's dead at the Cowpens."
Jane hardly knew what to say. "I am very sorry to hear it. He was so young."
"Yes, a great shame: but he wasn't the only one."
It occurred to Jane that she had been remiss in asking about her own husband. "Mr. Nettles, my last news was weeks ago. Do you happen to know if my—have you heard if Colonel Tavington still lives?"
The young man regarded her gravely. He still remembered the elegant young lady of the ball last spring. This was a different woman: anxious, travel-stained, and weary from her journey and its dangers. And yet, there was a certain glow about her he found quite appealing. He had liked her from their first meeting, and was not about to stop now. Kindly, he told her what he knew.
"I was at Camden four days ago, and he was alive then. He's not well, but he's still with us. I have visited from time to time, but he's not always quite in his right wits—fever, you know. I am sure—" He bit his lip, still feeling a faint resentment, but determined to get the better of it. "—I am sure he will be very glad to see you. You are a brave woman to come to him."
Jane smiled doubtfully. "A foolish one, perhaps."
"Hardly that." He dismounted, and came forward to help the women into the carriage.
"Then," she amended, smiling at him in a way that touched his heart. "A very lucky one, today." She was once more settled securely against the faded cloth of the cushions. She smiled again, with a sigh of relief.
He smiled back, wishing for impossible things. "It was my honor to serve you. 'All's well that ends well.'"
-----
Next—Chapter 18: Reunion in Camden