Chapter 23: The Pleasures of Charlestown

Well-built and reliable, and aside from the bloodstains and the two bullet holes, not much the worse for its adventures, the big carriage rumbled into Charlestown on a Friday afternoon. Inside the coach all was quiet. The last week had been spent in numb wretchedness. Letty was still mourning her mother, and slept a great deal while they were on the road.

Jane was silently miserable. The coach had become horrible to her, for every day she had to step again and again on the place where poor Biddy had died. Each time was a knife in her heart.

The baby was surprisingly sturdy, and was well-sheltered in a sheepskin-lined laundry basket on the floor of the coach. The redoubtable Moll hardly took her eyes from her charge, for nothing was too good for the family she had now adopted as her own. The child had been named William Francis, after his father and their good friend Lord Rawdon, who had agreed to be the boy's godfather.

Jane rejoiced in her little son, putting him to her breast with a poignant, aching love, but she was grieving too: bereft of the kind foster-mother who had tended her from the day she was born. She felt horribly guilty: Biddy had come with her at her demand, spending the last months of her life cooking and cleaning in a little backcountry hovel. That the heartless men who had killed her had themselves paid for their crime with their lives was little consolation: Biddy was gone, and Jane feared that Letty might never be the same. Jane had never before recognized how important the unconditional affection of her servants was to her. No one, not even Miss Gilpin, had ever truly cared about her to the same degree. It was shaming and humbling, and Jane vowed to herself that Letty would be protected and cherished for the rest of her life, come what may.

And Jane was physically unwell, too: suffering from persistent afterpains, an unpleasant collateral affect of labor of which she had never been informed. At times they were nearly as bad as labor itself. William had been very quiet and kind, and let her know that he had already sent directions ahead of the column to find them quarters. Eventually, when Jane was better, they would have to pay a duty call to her father, but Jane would be spared living in the same household.

Much had changed, since she had last been in Charlestown. New faces in the street, new names on the shops. Many people had left the city to join the rebels; some had left the Colonies forever, frightened away by the years of violence.

"Here we are, Madam," her husband called, as the carriage door was opened, and he dismounted and carefully handed her down.

"Can we burn the coach?" she asked Tavington. "I don't want ever to see it again."

Tavington smiled in wry understanding. "I shall have it sold, and perhaps find something lighter for our use later. With any luck, the only places you will need to travel are here about town, or out to your father's. Let us get you settled first." Very gently, he took the baby from Letty, handed him to Jane, and then helped Letty down from the coach as well, patting her hand with a word of encouragement.

Jane's new home would be on the floor above a milliner's shop. She knew the shop well, and the pleasant owner, the widowed Mrs. Todd, who lived in the rooms behind the shop itself. Mrs. Todd expressed the greatest satisfaction at the honor of offering lodgings to Mr. Rutledge's daughter. Jane nodded wearily, and did not listen to William's urgent whispers to their landlady. Nor did she respond to Mrs. Todd's compassionate glances in her direction. They ascended the steep, narrow stairs, and Jane was pleasantly surprised. The three rooms provided plenty of room for their little household, and when William left for headquarters, she and Letty and Moll took some time to get settled. Afterwards, all Jane wanted to do was to feed her little boy, and to take a nap in a bed that was not moving.

Within a few days, she felt able to call on a few relatives. Mary Laurens was the first of these. She was fond of Jane, and willing to listen politely to some of her adventures in the horrid backcountry. She was willing to admire young Master William Francis Tavington, as long as she was not expected to hold him herself. She even unbent so far as to agree to be his godmother, an undertaking that would require that she hold him at least once, when in the church.

"Such a tiny thing. A whole month early, you say? It is a wonder he survived. A very strong boy, no doubt, taking after his soldier father."

"Yes," Jane said, tremulous at the memory. "Biddy called him 'small but strong.' It was very nearly that last thing she said to me. The vile rebels attacked us and shot her down as she tried to protect me. I feel so very miserable and low whenever I think of it."

"My dear Jane! How dreadful for you! And how you must miss poor Biddy, who had been with you so long! I know I should be quite lost without my Dulsey and my good old Sam. Biddy was baptized, was she not?"

"Oh, yes, thank Heavens! When Letty was little, Papa permitted them to be baptized together."

"Well, then, that is a comfort, indeed! I remember talking about the matter once with Doctor Fellowes, who assured me that baptized Christians may be admitted into Heaven even if they are black slaves. Isabella Middleton was here at the time, having tea with us, and she was quite uneasy at the idea of—mixing, you know, but Doctor Fellowes insisted that it was so. I am inclined to agree. I feel certain that there must be a little corner in Heaven set aside for faithful slaves. Did Biddy receive a Christian burial?"

"Yes. Colonel Tavington saw to it. I was so weak—but Letty—poor Letty—wrapped her mother in a sheet, and the Colonel saw that the service was read over her."

"That was very kind of him," Cousin Mary allowed. It was very inconvenient that Jane was still bound to that brute of a husband. Inconvenient for her, and no doubt still worse for Jane, though the girl seemed pleased to have a child now. There was no accounting for tastes. Had the man died, Mary believed she could still have offered a home to Jane, child or not. It was not as if she would have had to tend the infant herself. It would have been better, of course, if the child had been a girl, who could have been brought up to become a civilized addition to her household someday. It was all very unfortunate. She then turned the conversation to subjects she found more pleasant: the social whirl of Charlestown, the latest scandal, and the deplorable shortages of necessities like sugar and lace.

Jane listened with only half an ear. She was still thinking of Biddy. She would talk to Doctor Fellowes herself. She was not satisfied at the idea of a little corner of Heaven for her beloved nurse. If Jane were found acceptable to Heaven someday, she wanted Biddy to be right there to greet her and to be with her. She wanted her to be waiting right at the Gate and to open her arms to Jane and pull her close in the soft, tight embrace that had always meant love and safety to her. Jane would put her head on Biddy's shoulder once more, and that would be Heaven indeed…

Her eyes were watering. She coughed and brushed the tears aside, trying to listen to Cousin Mary's gossip, delivered in the usual die-away drawl. It was hard to believe any of it mattered.

"And—" said her cousin, eyes gleaming with the shocking news, her voice a little louder and higher with genuine excitement--"Have you heard what it proposed by some of the British officers?"

"I'm sure I have not, Cousin."

"An African Ball! My dear, some of those mad Englishmen have organized a ball, and have invited their colored mistresses to it! Think of it! Mulattos and quadroons and women black as tar all dressed up in silks and satins; mincing in high-heeled dancing slippers, and fluttering fans! The world is upside down, I believe. I could not credit it when I heard it, but it is only too true! It is to be held Wednesday se'ennight at the Assembly Rooms. I shall never feel the same about the place again, I can assure you!"

"It sounds very odd. Of course, everyone likes to dance."

"My dear Jane, do you not understand? The officers will dance with those women! Together! In public! It shocks me even to repeat the news!"

Jane had been through too much in the past few months to feel the same righteous indignation. Of course, it was all very improper and odd, but so was nearly everything since the war had come to South Carolina. Such things had nothing to do with her, and she let Cousin Mary go on about them, saying very little herself. Her point was gained, and her son had a godmother.

-----

Letty, hearing the same news in Mrs. Laurens' kitchen, felt very differently. She was deeply depressed since losing her mother. Her world had changed, very much for the worse, and it was hard to manage a smile for Moll, when they tidied the rooms above Mrs. Todd's. It was hard to curl Miss Jane's hair as if nothing had happened. Sometimes she and her mistress would catch each other's eye, and they would both start sobbing, holding each other tight. But Miss Jane had the Colonel to look after her, and she had her little baby, and Letty felt alone and unloved.

Mrs. Laurens' Dulsey was no help. She was a well-meaning woman, who gave Letty a big piece of peach pie, and some kind words of sympathy, but she was not Mama. No one was, no one ever would be. No one would ever love her like her Mama.

Dulsey was chopping greens to stew, and told Letty about the ball those crazy men had planned, trying to make her laugh.

"A ball, for slaves?" Letty wondered. It did not seem ridiculous to her. It seemed like a dream, a beautiful dream that only strange people like the English could conjure up.

"Yes, honey. I'll tell you that the Missus and her friends just about died when they heard. Goin' to be at the Assembly ballroom. If I can, I'm goin' to slip out and have a look those women all dressed up. That'll be a sight to see. Jenny, Miz Rhett's maid, who done run off with the army, is goin' to be there. Her Mama done tried to get her to come home, but Jenny likes her gentleman. He give her money and clothes, and real gold earbobs, and he treat her real nice. I hear tell he give her a yellow silk gown to wear and satin slippers for her feet. Ain't that fine?"

"Oh, my!" She did not know Jenny personally, but had heard of her. Not as pretty as Letty herself, she had been told, but younger. Time was slipping away. Letty would be twenty-five soon, and too old even to dream of going to a ball. She imagined herself at the Assembly ballroom, dressed in Miss Jane's blue satin gown and holding the peacock fan. A gentleman in a red coat would bow to her and lead her to the dance. There would be music: beautiful music, and she would dance the minuet and bow and smile herself and speak like a lady in a novel. She ate her pie mechanically, staring at the plastered wall, entranced with her vision.

-----

The afterpains had stopped, and Jane was feeling somewhat better. Mr. and Mrs. Ashbury Rutledge had not been among the relations to visit since Jane's return to Charlestown. Jane knew what was proper, even if they were unequal to it. She wrote a note to her father: a very civil note, informing him of her return to Charlestown, of her confinement and illness, and that she was now well enough to wish to call upon him and Selina, with all appropriate filial duty.

The answer was prompt and equally civil. Her father and stepmother would be very happy to receive her and her husband, and they hoped to see the child as well.

Tavington had disposed of the damnably heavy coach, and had bought a light chariot for town use. He had considered a curricle, but if he were to transport Jane and the baby, a closed carriage was a must. It only required two horses, but Tavington enjoyed the luxury of having spare horses, and by using only two, they could put together better-matched teams. Silas was still not well, but Seth was a skillful and fearless driver.

When informed of the proposed visit to the Rutledges, Tavington was resigned to the propriety of it. He would be leaving with Lord Rawdon to head west to Fort Ninety-Six tomorrow, but he could spare some of his afternoon for such a visit. It was very dutiful of Jane, but he doubted either she or he himself would derive much pleasure from such a meeting.

"Very well, Jane. If we must, we must. However, I won't endure anything bur civility from them. The moment they say anything to you I consider disrespectful we will leave and trouble ourselves no more about them!"

"Just—don't say anything about Biddy, please," Jane pleaded. "If Papa were to find out what happened to her and then say it was my fault, I don't know what I'd do. I might fly at him, or—well, I don't know what, but I can't bear the idea of him talking about it."

"As you wish. I shall say nothing." Tavington personally thought the Rutledges unlikely to show any interest in Jane's experiences in the past few months. If the subject were brought up, she was just as likely to be wounded by her father's indifference to poor Biddy's fate. Tavington was not entirely comfortable with the subject himself. He knew he owed Biddy his life, and now he would never have the opportunity to repay his debt. He had failed to protect her, and the failure rankled. Jane and Letty were both clearly suffering. He hated feeling helpless. There had to be something he could do about the matter. The two of them rode to the Rutledge house in silence, lost in thought and unhappy memories.

The visit passed more easily than she had expected. Ashbury Rutledge was content to have Jane out of his life, and Selina had done her grieving for Tavington. They were greeted politely; and Aunt Alice, now very much in charge of the household, was all courteous attention as she showed them to the parlor. Jane looked about, briefly disoriented. The room seemed different, and much brighter. She realized that the walls had been freshly covered, and were now an eggshell silk, painted with flowers. It was very attractive. Aunt Alice admitted it had been her own thought, and accepted Jane's compliments with a smile.

The children, of course, were the main topic of conversation. Jane's father peered at tiny Will, and laughed. "Fancy me a grandfather! Who are his godparents?"

"Cousin Mary Laurens; and Lord Rawdon was so obliging as to stand as well." And attentive godparents they were--at least as far as worldly goods were concerned. A little prince's ransom of silver had accompanied William Francis Tavington's christening: an engraved cup, a porringer, a fork and a spoon; a little silver-backed brush and a tiny, silver-mounted comb. The Tavington scion was already living a privileged life.

Ashbury Rutledge gave the baby a calculating look, and said, "A shrewd choice!" He nodded condescendingly to Jane, and remarked, "Glad to see you making the most of your opportunities!" Jane smiled tightly, and Tavington helpfully turned the subject to the Rutledges' own children.

Selina was edgy and hostile, and stiffly defiant when her children were brought in. Jane kissed little Ash, now a sturdy toddler. He did not remember her, of course, which caused her a little pain. When he fidgeted in her arms, she let him go, with another, more final kiss.

"And here is our own new boy, Thomas Pinckney Rutledge," her father proudly said, making the introductions.

Baby Tom was four months old—old enough to look about with his baby blue eyes, and to give some hints as to whom he would eventually resemble. Jane sighed at the dark hair. She forced a little smile for her father, thinking None so blind as will not see. Selina looked beyond them both, as she held the child in her arms, meeting Tavington's eyes with a lift of her perfect chin.

Tavington himself, refusing to be embarrassed, studied the little boy thoughtfully. He was his, undoubtedly, but not his. He would never be able to claim this child. The boy would grow up, he hoped, in comfort here in South Carolina, and would have all the opportunities the legal husband of his mother could provide. It was hard not to be a touch wistful, when the little fellow turned bright eyes his way, and twitched a bit of a grin at him. There was nothing to be done, though. He had been careless, but he could hardly wish the child unborn. He dutifully took him in his arms, gave him a kiss on the top of his warm and fuzzy head, and then handed him firmly back to Selina.

"A fine boy," he remarked to Rutledge. "May he be a good and dutiful son to you in years to come." He did not look at Selina. Instead, he seated himself beside Jane, and took William Francis from her.

-----

Letty had heard more about the African Ball. By Friday, dreams had evolved into plans. She was going to go, somehow. Miss Jane always went to bed early these days. Letty and Moll slept in the baby's room, and Moll would not be surprised if Letty stayed up late in the sitting room, sewing or reading. The Colonel was gone: riding with Lord Rawdon to rescue the soldiers trapped at a place called Fort Ninety-Six.

She would get the gown out of the trunk, under the pretext of mending it. She really would have to add a gusset to the bust to fit in it properly, but she could do that and then remove it later, if she worked very carefully. She could get the other things she would need, too: the silver tissue petticoat, a lace-trimmed shift, silk stockings, and the wonderful peacock feather fan. Miss Jane's slippers pinched a little, but Letty could wear them. She would slip out after the baby was fed and the others were asleep, stay for an hour or two, and slip back in with no one the wiser.

How to get to the ball had to be settled. Finally Letty decided that she would wear her long dark cloak over her borrowed finery, the hood pulled down around her face. She could go past the back of the houses, from kitchen to kitchen. As long as she was careful, she should be safe enough.

Everything conspired against her the Tuesday before the ball, and she almost despaired. The baby was restless and kept them all up the night before. If he fell sick, Letty would not be able to leave. The gown lay in a chair in the sitting room, calling to her.

But by the morning the child was perfectly well.

"Here, give him to me, Moll," Jane said, sinking into the rocking chair. "Perhaps he'd like a bit of breakfast."

William Francis found his breakfast very much to his taste. Over the sound of his greedy sucking, Jane remarked, "It's a very good idea to change the bodice of that gown. It certainly would not fit my new figure. I hope I don't lose what I've gained when Will is weaned."

"No use worrying about that, ma'am," Moll pointed out, and she cleared the little table. "That gown's going to be out of fashion before the little rogue is ready to leave the breast. Might be a good idea to put a extra lining in it too, Letty, in case the Missus leaks!"

"Oh, Moll!" Jane protested, embarrassed.

Letty agreed with Moll. "Now, Miss Jane, that just good sense to think about it--but I think it would be better to use some sort of cloth we can push under the stays. If the lining gets wet, the silk will be spoiled. I'll work on it. You never know when you might get a dinner invitation. Your figure has changed since having the baby, and we need to be ready." It was all true, but she knew it was an excuse, and felt guilty. She had never deceived Miss Jane before.

The day crawled by. All the common, pleasant pursuits of daily life became a torment and a weariness. Letty fussed about the rooms, toying with the mending, reading to Miss Jane while she fed the baby, playing a little on the spinet. She could hardly keep still.

"Are you all right, Letty?" Jane wondered, when Letty got up yet again to look out the window.

"I guess I'm just restless, Miss Jane. Seems like I just can't settle down to anything."

Moll was going out to do the marketing, and offered to take Letty along. "We'll get out. We'll walk fast. Reckon that'll do the trick."

"We can't leave Miss Jane all alone," Letty objected.

Jane laughed. "Really, Letty! You'd think I was completely helpless. You go along and have a nice walk. Will and I are going to take a nap." Yawning hugely, Jane carried the baby into her bedchamber with her and closed the door.

Letty crammed her hat on her head and followed Moll out the door. They were not two steps down the street when Moll pushed Letty into the shadow of an alley.

"All right, then, gal. What's got into you? You act like you sat on a beehive."

"Nothing. I just needed a walk."

"Mrs. Tavington might swallow that story, but I'm not so easy to fool. You've been messing with her gowns for days now." She stared down at Letty, pale blue eyes opened wide. "It's that dance, ain't it? You're fixing to go to the African Ball!"

"No!"

"Yes, you are! Are you crazy, honey? There ain't going to be anybody there but whores and trollops and kept women and their keepers. You go to something like that and some officer's going to think you're showing off your wares! You'll be lucky to get out of there without one of 'em having his way with you! Is that it?" she said, very red and angry. "Are you fixing to meet a man there?"

"No! I thought about it, but no—I just like looking at Miss Jane's ball gowns. Can't help thinking about the dance, but I wouldn't know how to get there by myself. It's dangerous on the streets after dark. I know that. I was just thinking."

"Well, you better think straight. You stay home where you're safe. You go to a place like that, and the next thing we know somebody'll snatch you off the street and sell you to a whorehouse. Now let's get on to the 'pothecary, and you put that crazy dance out of your head. You hear me?"

Moll was tall and terrible, and Letty answered meekly, "I hear you." She frowned to herself. Everything had just gotten much more complicated.

Going on the errands did help somewhat. She kept her mind on the shop wares, and laughed at the thwarted attempts to cheat Moll. By the time they trudged home, some of her edginess was worn off. They prepared a simple meal out back in the kitchen, and made sure Jane ate her share at the prim little drop-leaf table in the sitting room. Letty felt better for the food herself.

"May I practice my music, now, Miss Jane?" Letty asked, needing a break from stitchery.

"Of course," smiled Jane. The baby was awake and looking about. Letty sat down and dutifully played though scales and exercises, and then through her latest set pieces, taking care about the little details that Miss Jane thought important. When she played the spinet like this, she could sometimes pretend she was a real lady.

Moll had laundry she wanted to finish that day. The baby made a surprising amount of work for such a little person. As usual, she did not want Letty's help. "You don't want to go spoiling your hands. You play pretty on that there spinet. That's the right sort of work for you—playing music and sewing fine seams. You leave the dirty work to me. I'm used to it!" She gathered up her washing and stalked downstairs with an independent air, humming.

-----

It was dark when Tavington reined in at his lodgings. Seth was already asleep in the little room out back he shared with his father. Behind the millinery shop was a small stable, with room enough for Tavington's two chargers and Mrs. Todd's own pony and cart. The chariot and the six carriage horses were boarded at the big stable further down the street, where Seth went every day to tend to them. At the sound of Tavington's footsteps outside, Seth rose and hurried to the stable, wondering if it might be a robber.

"Colonel? You back, sir? You all right?"

A grunt of assent. "Give him a good rub down, Seth. He's had a hard ride." So had Tavington. They had succeeded in saving the garrison of Fort Ninety-Six, but only by evacuating them. The fort, one of their last outposts, was gone now, destroyed as they departed. The area controlled by the King's forces had now shrunk alarmingly.

It was too late to wake the servants and demand a bath. He would have one tomorrow. Now all he wanted was sleep. He hoped he could creep into Jane's bed without disturbing her.

He struck a light, going up the stairs as quietly as he could manage. Once inside the door, he found the nearest candle, and lit it, replacing the glass shade. He would undress here in the sitting room, and worry about his clothes tomorrow. Moll would need to wash his linen anyway. He unfastened his sword and leaned it against the wall. Next, he unbuttoned his coatee, and began to remove it, stretching aching muscles.

The door to the nursery opened, and Moll appeared in a halo of light.

She started at the sight of him. "Colonel! I sure didn't expect to see you back so soon. I thought you was Letty. She oughtn't to stay up so late working."

Tavington stared back at her, not understanding her. "Letty isn't here. She must have gone to bed without waking you."

Moll's face froze. She looked behind her, toward Letty's bed, and felt as if she were falling from a great height. She licked her lips, and told Tavington, "Letty ain't here either, sir."

Instantly alert, Tavington only just managed not to shout. "What do you mean, not here? It's past ten o'clock!"

Moll's eyes were wide. She covered her mouth with a hand, as if afraid to answer him. She choked out, "If she ain't here, she must have gone to the African Ball!"

"What!"

He dragged Moll over to the settee and forced himself—and his horrified nurserymaid—to speak in whispers. What and where the African Ball was, Letty's moping over ball gowns, her agitated air. Tavington had the whole story in a few minutes. He was fairly horrified himself. Has the girl gone mad? What was she thinking?

Moll, fearless Moll, seemed frightened. "You ain't fixing to wake up Mrs. Tavington, are you, Colonel? It would just scare the tar out of her."

"No. We won't wake her. When she next feeds the child, don't say anything. Let her think that Letty is asleep. I'll deal with this."

"Please, Colonel, don't be hard on that poor little gal! She ain't been herself since her Ma died!"

"I know that," Tavington hissed impatiently. What did Moll think he would do, have the girl whipped? On second thought, that probably was the usual practice here. Tavington did not care. He would handle this in his own way.

"Stay here with Mrs. Tavington, Moll, and stay calm! Go back to bed—"

"No, sir! Can't rightly do that until I know what's happened! Are you going to go get her? She'll be easy to spot. She's wearing that peacock blue gown."

"All right, then. Stay here and stay quiet. Tend to your mistress and don't let anyone disturb her. I'll go find Letty and bring her back her as soon as I can."

He hastily buttoned the coatee and snatched up his sword, barely hearing Moll wish him luck. He was downstairs in an instant and made his way to the stable.

Seth looked up, surprised to see him again. Tavington gave his orders in his crispest voice.

"Get to the carriage and harness the horses. Drive to the Assembly Rooms and have the carriage waiting—not just in front—but a little down the street. I will meet you there. Say nothing of this to anyone."

Seth knew his Colonel well enough not to ask questions. As he hurried down the dark street, though, his mind was racing. Why was the Colonel going to the Assembly Hall—and not in his carriage? If he needed the carriage later, it was because he was fetching someone that he didn't want to be seen with walking through the streets after dark. Who would he be fetching from—the African Ball? He came to the obvious conclusion, and swore bitterly. Letty was in trouble for sure!

-----

After all her efforts to go to the ball, Letty was nearly refused admittance. She found a corner in the vestibule to hide her cloak in, and then squared her shoulders, and entered the ballroom with an air of assurance that she did not actually feel.

Near the door, an angry young black woman in yellow silk gave her a shove, nearly knocking her off her ill-fitting slippers. "Get out of here! It's just us black girls tonight! You white whores'll get your turn later!"

"But—"

Her taller adversary, by name Jenny, poked her again. "It's an African Ball, Missy! An African Ball! You deaf?"

"I'm a slave, too! I can't help how I look!"

Jenny peered at her, unconvinced, and shrugged. "Who's your gentleman?"

"Ain't got one," Letty answered sullenly. "I just come to see the dancing and to dress fine."

"You steal those clothes?"

"No." Her conscience pricked her. "Just borrowed for tonight."

"Well, come on in, but you stay away from my man."

"Don't care nothing about your man." Letty slipped by the taller girl, her skirts gathered up, alert for any further attacks.

Even with that unpromising beginning, the ballroom was a fairyland to her. Candles everywhere, and women of every shade dressed like queens. Letty saw no one she knew. There was a table, laden with delicacies, with a silver punchbowl. She wandered along the side of the room, lost in the music, delighted with the dancing. It was just what she had always imagined. She found a chair and got off her pinched feet, eager to watch the astonishing sight.

How lovely the women looked. She had always suspected that clothes made the woman. The women here might be laundresses or maids, or market women or harlots, but in their silk gowns they had the air and grace of born ladies. Many of them were truly beautiful, and wore the clothes well: as if they were only what they deserved. There was a long mirror on the far side of the wall. Letty got up and strolled over to it, wanting to see how she looked herself.

Miss Letty was reflected: a fine lady in a beautiful blue gown. She fluttered her fan, enchanted at the picture she made. She had done her hair as best she could, and it was a little disarranged from the hood of her cloak. She brushed a few stray curls back, and then sighed with satisfaction. If only Mama could see me now!

"A fair Venus, indeed," drawled a male voice behind her. "But perhaps—a little out of place, tonight?"

She turned. A pale, hook-nosed officer loomed over her, leering. Letty retreated a few steps until she found herself stopped by the mirror.

"No, sir," she whispered, with a curtsey. "I'm as much a slave as any woman in this room."

"A slave of Love, surely," he smirked. He was a captain, she noted. She had been in an army camp long enough to know one uniform from another. She tried to move sideways, but he leaned against the wall, trapping her with a long arm.

He would not let her get away, but started rattling on, in a way that Letty did not understand. She did not want to understand him. He was making overtures of some sort to her, implying that she could be his for a reasonable price, wondering who her current protector might be. It was very annoying to be wearing these ill-fitting slippers. Ordinarily she would just run away from a man like this.

Other officers approached, smiling. "Don't be so greedy, Peyton," a major admonished her irritating companion. "Let another fellow have a look-in."

Captain Hooknose—no, Peyton—stood away reluctantly, and gestured to Letty. 'Miss—I did not quite catch your name, fair one?"

Letty opened her mouth, thought twice, and then declared, "Pamela."

There were hoots of laughter.

Peyton grinned, and presented her. "Miss—Pamela, may I present my former friend, Major Youngblood, and his partners in crime, Captains Petherbridge and Strathairn?"

The men bowed elaborately. Letty curtseyed in her turn, uncomfortably aware that their bows contained a touch of mockery.

Captain Strathairn was a little politer than his fellows. "You are not dancing, Miss Pamela?"

"No one has asked me, sir."

More hoots of laughter, this time directed at Peyton's sloth.

"Well, then, Madam," said Strathairn, with some smugness, "if you would honor me with the next—"

"I would be delighted, sir," Letty answered, speaking as much like a novel as she could manage. It seemed to impress her new admirers favorably. Captain Strathairn gave her his arm, and they proceeded to the dance.

It was very grand and very elegant, but her feet began to ache. Letty suspected she would not be able to stay here long. She had not really expected more. Every minute here increased her chance of discovery at home. There was a tall clock in the room. Cinderella had been allowed to stay until midnight, but Cinderella's fairy godmother must have given her glass slippers that fit. Letty thought half past ten would have to do.

"Were you really a slave?" Captain Strathairn asked, with a hint of skepticism.

"I am a slave, sir," Letty corrected him. "Like my mother before me. That my master was also my father meant nothing. It is the way of the world."

"It is the way of the world here," Strathairn corrected her in his turn. "Your father was a gentleman?"

"Yes, he is. A very rich and great gentleman. A Rice King, in fact. Much good it does me."

"That is infamous!"

She shrugged. She needed to concentrate on the dance to avoid twisting an ankle. Strathairn was considering how best to approach her to make her his mistress. A lovely girl, and so presentable! Perhaps it was a lie, though. She certainly did not look like a black slave, or even like a mulatto. Perhaps she was a lady, enjoying a forbidden escapade. Still, she did not seem that jaded…

The dance ended, and Strathairn noticed that his beautiful companion seemed uncomfortable.

"You are limping! Did I tread upon your feet? Really, I am most—"

"No, it is not your fault. My shoes are a poor fit, I fear."

"Come, you must sit down. Here, let us withdraw—" He led her into an adjoining room and shut the door behind him.

-----

Tavington arrived at the Assembly Room, only slightly out of breath from his run through the dark streets. He tossed his helmet to a waiting servant, and smoothed his hair, looking about the brightly-lit room. Blue—she's in blue.

Black women in yellow, brown women in pink, a few in cream, in pearl, in silver. Blue! No, too pale. He strode through the room, his smile a grimace at the greetings of fellow officers, his eyes darting into every corner.

There! Peacock blue across the room. She was leaving the dance, she was walking away on an infantry officer's arm. Tavington quickened his pace, apologizing as he pushed his way though the crowd. A pity he could not stop to look about. It was all very exotic, and some of the women were magnificent. Really, had his sister-in-law not been embroiled, he might have thought it an amusing idea—

She was going into another room with the fellow. Oh, Letty, what are you doing? The door shut, and Tavington began to run.

-----

Letty fell into a blessed chair, and Strathairn stood before her, admiring and calculating. How to broach the subject, when he was so unsure of her real identity? Pamela—the name was obviously a false one. Who was she?

He knelt before her and removed the shoe from the poor swollen foot, rubbing the arch discreetly. The girl's eyes widened and she tried to draw back.

"Really, Madam," he murmured, you must allow me the liberty. Permit me to see if you are injured." His fingers traveled over the small foot, trailing up the ankle, kneading the calf, and slipping with a sly caress to the inside of her thigh. Letty stared at him shocked, and pushed her petticoats down in protest.

"Come, now, Miss Pamela," Strathairn coaxed. "You cannot expect a man to buy--if you'll excuse my frankness--a pig in a poke. Allow me to take just measure of your charms."

"Don't, sir!" Letty struggled against him, trying to keep her petticoat down, while her admirer was just as determined to have it up.

"Oh, Miss Pamela," he laughed, "you're a cruel little minx!"

Letty kicked at him--missed--and fell out of the chair, landing squarely on her bottom, much to Strathairn's amusement. He gripped her behind her knees, pushing her legs apart, panting as he tried to hold her fast, while struggling with the heavy skirts.

And the door slammed open and was instantly slammed shut again. Strathairn wondered if his friends were there to spoil the fun, but he did not hear Peyton's well-known, nasal tones. Instead, a tall, black-haired colonel was advancing on him, murder in his eyes.

"Don't force me to kill you, Captain. Remove you hands from that lady at once!"

Good God! It was Tavington! Everyone knew the fellow was a madman. What rotten luck to find himself caught between The Butcher and the innocent-eyed siren who was obviously his mistress. Strathairn rocked back on his heels and got to his feet warily, ready to fight for his life.

Trying to sound casual, he shrugged. "Had no idea I was poaching, Colonel. The lady gave no particulars. 'Pamela,' indeed. I should have known she was too good to be true."

Tavington stood toe to toe before him, his eyes a hot blue glare. "You know nothing, sir! I want your word of honor that you will say nothing of my presence here, and nothing about what you may imagine you know about this lady."

"If it is a matter of the lady's honor, of course—"

"Because if I find you've blabbed, I'll put a bullet in your head."

"Dueling is forbidden—"

"I don't care. I'll put a bullet in your head anyway. Do I have your word?"

Strathairn managed a rusty laugh. "Yes. I daresay that would be the wisest course."

"Good. Stay here until we're gone. And say nothing—nothing at all."

Strathairn stiffened. "I already gave my word of honor, sir!" He gave Letty an ironic bow. "I hope you found the evening amusing, Madam."

Letty could not say anything, frozen with fear as she was. Caught. By the Colonel himself! Oh, what will he do? What will he do? Will he whip me? Will he sell me?

"Put that shoe back on!" Tavington snapped at her.

She groped for the shoe, and tried, fumbling. Her foot was swollen, but somehow she managed to stuff the foot in, wincing at the pain.

"Now come along!"

Her arm was seized, and she was pulled up and out of the room; not back into the ballroom, but through another door into a passageway.

"My cloak!" she whimpered. "I left it at the front door!"

"A good idea," agreed Tavington. "Avert your face. We'll make our way to the entrance, muffle you in your cloak and I'll bundle you into the carriage. Seth is waiting outside."

"Seth knows?"

"I imagine he has deduced who of our household might have been absurd enough to dress in a peacock blue gown and attend this farrago! Who else—Moll? Silas?"

"Does Miss Jane know?" she whispered, on the verge of tears.

The hall opened out toward the entryway. Letty saw her cloak and hobbled over to it. Snatching it from her, Tavington wrapped her up and pulled the hood down low over her face. He retrieved his helmet and fastened it, muttering his answer.

"No! She does not know, and I don't intend to distress her with news of what a flibbertigibbet you are! Not a word from you! We're going to walk out of here quietly and try to attract no particular notice. Do as I say and perhaps we can keep your behavior a secret!"

Officers and their women loitered outside, escaping the stuffiness of the ballroom. Tavington ignored them all, a frightened Letty on his arm. He searched the street for the waiting carriage. There! Good lad, Seth!

It was the work of a moment for Seth to leap down, open the door, and lower the steps. Tavington handed Letty in, and jumped in beside her. "Drive on at once, but without ceremony," he muttered to Seth. "I'm trying to be discreet. Stop the carriage behind the shop."

Seth nodded, and climbed back into the driver's seat. With a flick of the reins, they were in motion, on the way home.

Letty sobbed softly, waiting for the blow to fall. She held her handkerchief to her eyes, peeking at her master to see what his expression might have in store for her. He looked angry, but not violent. He looked more exasperated that anything else.

"Letty." He said flatly. "What am I to do with you?"

The tears flowed afresh. "Whip me, Colonel, but please don't sell me! I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!"

"What possessed you to do something so foolish anyway? I thought you were a sensible girl."

Rebellion bubbled up. "I just wanted—just once—to dress pretty and pretend to be a lady. Just once! My Mama lived all her life working hard and she never had a dress better than a rag. Just once I wanted to wear silk and dance with gentlemen. Just once! Is that too much to want?"

Ordinarily, Tavington would have told a servant that yes, it was too much. Letty, however, was a special case. She was a gentleman's daughter and also the daughter of the woman who had saved Tavington's life. She was, in fact, his sister-in-law. How could he reconcile the customs of this colony with the demands of her birth and his honor? It was a puzzlement, certainly.

"Stop blubbering, you silly girl. No one's going to whip you, and of course we're not going to sell you. You will say nothing of this unfortunate affair to Mrs. Tavington. The less she knows, the better. Moll and Seth know, but they'll hold their tongues. Did any of those other men at the ball harm you?"

"No. I wasn't there very long. I got to dance with Captain Strathairn, and he and his friends said I was pretty, but I could see that they were just laughing at me underneath."

"No Prince Charming at the ball, then, I take it?" His voice betrayed amusement, and just a hint of compassion.

"No," she admitted. "No Prince Charming for me. And my feet hurt something fierce."

He smiled briefly. "Perhaps that's why Cinderella left a slipper behind. That would not do for us, though. Mrs. Tavington would certainly wonder if one of hers went missing." He leaned forward, fixing her eyes with his.

"Now listen to me. Never leave our lodgings again without permission. Do I have your promise?"

"Yes, Colonel." Her sweet voice was very small, and Tavington thought of Jane and the first unhappy night of his marriage. His shook his head, not wanting to remember that fiasco.

"Good. You will find your feet sufficient punishment for the next day or two, I imagine. You have dressed as a lady and been taken for one. That should satisfy your curiosity for a little while, I hope."

She nodded humbly, and Tavington decided to say nothing more. Seth stopped the carriage behind the millinery shop. Tavington helped Letty out, and sent Seth on his way with a quiet word of commendation and a handful of coins. The poor girl was really limping now, and he helped her climb the steps, trying to make the ascent as noiseless as possible. It was nearly eleven-thirty.

He opened the door. Moll was still keeping her vigil for them, dozing in the rocking chair under a quilt. A single candle burned in the room. Her eyes opened as they entered, and were filled with inexpressible relief.

She grabbed at Letty, whispering recriminations. "You bad girl! Why'd you run off, when I told you it was a crazy idea? All you all right? Is the dress tore?"

"Moll," Tavington interposed wearily. "She and the gown are fine. Go to your room and help her out of those clothes. Don't say anything more about it. I've already settled that matter. Here," he reached into a pocket and gave her a guinea. "This is for your silence, and your good sense and honesty tonight in telling me what I needed to know to find Letty." He turned to Letty, and raised his brows meaningfully. "No guinea for you, my dear. I'm sure you know why."

Letty gulped and curtsied, escaping into the nursery without a word. Moll blew out a breath, and gave him her version of a curtsey as well. "You're a good man, Colonel. I always said so."

Tavington snorted. "You may be the only one in the world of that opinion, Moll. Off to bed with you."

-----

Notes: There really was an African Ball given for slave women by British officers, and it did indeed scandalize all Charleston.

A chariot in the 18th century was the smallest and lightest of the closed carriages. It had a single bench seat inside, instead of the two seats facing each other as in larger carriages. It was pretty much designed to carry two people comfortably. Three would have been a squeeze.

Next—Chapter 24: A Splendid Opportunity