Gillian awoke the next morning, alone in the colonel's tent. A navy blue dress had been laid out for her. It was finely made for a woman of Molly's station. A gift, perhaps, from one of her suitors? Gillian was a tad shorter than Molly, but the dress fit well enough when she put it on.
Glancing down at her torn dress, she pursed her lips. Molly would surely find it if she were to leave it in the open, and she couldn't risk taking it with her. Stashing it under the cot, Gillian gave the tent one backward glance before she left, closing the flaps behind her.
Gillian had almost made it to her tent when she yelped, dancing out of the way of a passing woman.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"Gillian?" Molly looked down at her in confusion.
"Miss Pryce…"
Molly eyed her carefully, taking in her appearance. Gillian's hair was loose, her cheeks flushed; but that wasn't what spiked the camp follower's ire.
"That is my dress."
Gillian looked down at her feet, speechless with shame.
"So, he finally got you into bed, did he?" Molly said coldly.
"Miss Pryce, please, it's different-"
The camp follower scoffed.
"Really, is it so different that he sleeps with you and then dresses you up in my clothing to cover it up?" she shot.
"I'm sorry," Gillian looked away from Molly's piercing gaze.
"Leave me!" the camp follower hissed.
Gillian fled to her tent, sobbing.
Tavington and his men returned to camp around mid evening. He had just put Asmodeus in his stall when he caught sight of Molly at the entrance of the stables, holding Gillian's torn dress in her hands, a look of barely subdued fury in her eyes. William kept his air cool when he met her gaze.
"Not now, Molly," he spoke, brushing past her.
"You bastard cretin!" she snarled.
Tavington stopped, his back to her.
"Molly, you're being rash," he spoke in a quiet, thin voice.
"Rash? Rash?! What on earth were you thinking? Trysting around with her and sending her off in my dress?! You really have outdone yourself, William," Molly raised her voice.
"No, Molly, I don't believe I did. She's still a virgin." Tavington spoke, turning to face her.
"Does that matter? William, you slept with her!" the camp follower cried emphatically.
"And you of all people should know better than to be cross with me about it!" snapped the colonel.
"Really, is that how you see me, when I am carrying your child?"
Col. Tavington was silent, watching Molly fume in front of him.
"The least you could do is show a caring nerve instead of seducing and shagging another woman," she said pointedly.
"I am not bound to you!" Tavington hissed, his temper wearing. "I will do as I please!"
"Fine! Do just as you please! You are as bad as Garrick! Careless and arrogant!"
William stiffened, burning with fury.
"You know nothing of my father, and you have no right to speak of him!"
With that, he roughly pushed past her, leaving her shouting in his wake.
The camp follower's voice was hoarse and she was still muttering under her breath when she looked around the stables, taking note of one of the stable hands watching her uncomfortably.
"Leave!" she snapped.
"Miss-"
"Get out!" Molly hollered.
The stable hand turned heel and left as quickly as his feet could carry him.
Molly stormed out of the stables, dress in hand, and made her way back to her tent, collapsing on her cot in exhaustion.
"Nefarious snake," she murmured, eying the dress in her hands. "And she's no better."
Getting up from the cot, she stored Gillian's dress at the bottom of her trunk, placing a hand over her belly as a wave of nausea overcame her.
"Miss Pryce?"
Molly looked over to see Tavington's superior, Brig. Gen. Charles O'Hara standing at the entrance of her tent.
"General," Molly swallowed. "I was not expecting you this evening."
"I would like some time with you… are you well?" he asked, eying her closely. "You've been refusing visits."
"That would be correct," she replied shortly, turning away from him.
"Miss Pryce, is there something you're not telling me?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"It is nothing, General. But I cannot see you this evening." Molly said.
"Why not?" O'Hara pressed.
"I simply cannot. Not with my condition."
O'Hara was silent, but not surprised. Molly was not the first camp follower to become pregnant, and would not be the last.
"Do you know who the father is?" he asked.
Molly nodded.
"Lieutenant Colonel William Tavington. I am sure of it."
"Well you will have to clean up this…mess."
"He is entertaining another woman. Gillian is her name. She works with the medics."
O'Hara's features darkened.
"Gillian. Yes, I know her. Thank you for informing me. In the meantime, I suggest you work something out with the colonel. Or else, leave."