4/24/12: Hi all. I'm working diligently on the next chapter (16). I have a fun (well, I hope its fun!) poll started over on my profile page. Which "Bordon" do you like best? Take it if you dare...ha ha!
Thanks again for reading!
JScorpio
Chapter 15 From Caring To Cold
"Miss Burwell," Captain Hugh Bordon said softly after he had knocked on the girl's bedroom door. He stood for a time, listening for her voice.
It was mid morning the day after the news of Private Steven Burwell's death had arrived. The dragoon second in command had been up three hours already, having had breakfast and a short ride around the perimeter of the plantation in which he spoke with the men on picket and vedette duty. During his brief journey about the farm, the officer saw the plantation bustling with activity this morning with soldiers attending to their duties and slaves and servants busily working at their chores. Visibly and expectedly absent was Betsy Burwell, who was understandably alone in her room mourning the death of her brother.
And now the captain stood outside her chamber door. "Miss Burwell," he called again through the door.
Once again met with silence, the officer spoke a bit louder now. "I'm coming in," he warned, still hoping to hear her answer him.
After yet another moment of silence, he turned the know and entered slowly in case he had to back out quickly. Bordon stopped at the doorway just barely inside the room. From there he spied the girl, still asleep on her bed just as she was when he'd found her last night.
He said her name again, but the young woman slept on soundly. The officer knew that rest for the grieving girl was the best thing for her, yet the news he had couldn't wait.
The cavalry commander stepped quietly and reluctantly toward the girl's bed. He reached out and touched her should lightly, only enough to gently shake her.
"Miss," he coaxed, his rich voice low and apologetic.
The young lady's eyes fluttered open as she twisted her body lazily on the bed. A blur of red and green slowly came into focus as her sleepy eyes awakened.
She gasped when she realized that a red coat was standing over her bed. Betsy jerked her body up straight to a sitting position. "What is it?" she queried, startled to have an enemy officer standing in her bedchamber.
How long has he been here, she wondered to herself. Was he watching me?
"Sorry to disturb your sleep," Hugh apologized. "Your brother has arrived."
The dragoon officer has dealt with death and its aftermath for so many years. To keep the girl's trust, he was mindful to refer to Steven Burwell's dead body as something more than a corpse. Instead he kept it respectful, delicately referring to him—who he was in life. Even dead, to this young lady, he was still a beloved sibling.
Betsy snapped out of her sleepy haze, remembering after a night of slumber, that her brother had died. The girl sighed, looking down. She gazed at the miniature portrait of Steven, which she still held. The young lady had slept with it clutched tightly in her hands the whole night.
"Oh, yes," she answered the officer quietly; forlornly. "Thank you."
Hugh Bordon turned to go, knowing the girl needed to get up and gather her thoughts alone.
"Captain."
The man stopped as he heard the young woman call after him. He turned back to look at her and answered, "Yes?"
"Is there a chaplain amongst your men," she asked simply.
"No. Our unit doesn't have one," Bordon informed. "The infantry's chaplain died of fever weeks ago and they've yet to replace him."
"Oh," said Betsy in a lost voice. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke again. "Could I trouble you to send someone to the village to fetch Reverend Reed?"
"No trouble at all, Miss," Bordon assured. "Consider it done."
With that the officer turned and disappeared through the door quickly. He closed it behind him to preserve the girl's privacy.
Betsy Burwell pulled the blanket back and slowly climbed out of bed. She walked aimlessly about the room, finding herself in front of the armoire. She pulled a simple, black frock from it—a dress she seldom wore. The girl dawned it fast, needing no help with it.
As Miss Burwell buttoned the last button, she looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror across the room. She walked haltingly toward the looking glass. Once there, she touched the reflection, as if she needed to make sure she wasn't seeing a ghost or some shadow from the past. Her finger tips slid across the cold, smooth surface of the mirror. As she stared at her reflection, she recalled that this was the same dress she'd worn when her mother died, one year ago.
The memory of it loosed a floodgate of sorrow. Her pretty face contorted as she began to cry, still staring at herself in the mirror. Unable to look at herself in mourning clothes anymore, she turned her back on the mirror and walked to the wall. The girl leaned forward, folding her arms on the wall and buried her face in them, quietly sobbing in the loneliness of her room.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
Captain Bordon looked up at the cloudy sky, glad for the reprieve from the bright Carolina sun. The summer heat remained, yet the light breeze seemed to make it more bearable today. Hugh marveled at the quiet now on the estate in the middle of the day, that calm usually only found at night.
All of the Burwell servants and slaves had ceased their work and assembled at the family cemetery for Private Steven Burwell's burial. The British had given permission for visitors to come onto the plantation. Among the mourners were Mr. and Mrs. Drandly, Ethan's parents, come to mourn their son's best friend. Betsy's best friend, the soon to be married Hannah Lansing, had come to be with Miss Burwell and spend the day with her.
The family, servants and friends stood gathered around Steven's grave, lovingly dug by the farm's staff, near his mother, Katy Burwell, and his other siblings gone to death before him.
The male servants and slaves were sullen and quiet, as the females of the farm sobbed and sniffled. Betsy stood quietly, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, having cried hard already in the privacy of her room. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, wishing that her father was there with them.
Yards away, across the lawn, the dragoons stood silently at a respectful distance. They had ceased their duties and gathered quietly to watch the scene at the orders of Captain Bordon. Colonel Tavington was not among them. To him it was just the burial of another rebel traitor. Indeed he took advantage of the quiet time to attend to paperwork in his office, happy to have a bit of time with no distraction.
Soon, Reverend Reed closed his bible and the crowd of mourners moved toward the house for a meal. Across the yard, the cavalrymen assembled there dispersed as well, moving quickly back to their duties. Captain Bordon was left alone, looking across the green to the cemetery. He watched Miss Burwell, who stood alone as well, quietly collecting her thoughts for a few moments at the graves of her family. Hugh felt a pain in his own heart, having known grief as well. The officer recollected doing the same thing: standing alone at the graves of his pregnant wife and young son on the day they were buried, just two short years ago.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
Captain James Wilkins stood quietly holding the lantern up for Captain Bordon to see as he wrote. Jim watched the dragoon second in command marking this spot on a partially unfolded map and making notes about the place in his field diary for reference. A small detachment of cavalry stood by them, everyone still mounted on their horses, at the beginning of the lane leading up to the Drakespar plantation, the late John Selton's elaborate farm.
Only an hour after Steven Burwell's funeral, Wilkins had ridden up looking for Bordon with discharge papers from the Carolina Loyalist Militia in hand. James had been recruited by the dragoon officer a few weeks ago for his knowledge of the area. He was briefly introduced to and approved of by Colonel Tavington at that time in a camp—in a hospital tent to be exact. Tavington and Bordon were questioning an ailing private, the lone survivor of a vicious attack by one rebel, as the young soldier told them from his bed, on a detachment of redcoats headed to Winnsboro with a load of wounded. Wilkins was unable to join the Green Dragoons at that time, finishing up his militia enlistment.
Now, Wilkins was here, ready to join the elite cavalry unit and eager to please and make an impression on the superior officers. Bordon wasted no time taking advantage of Jim's wealth of knowledge of the area. That night, they left the Burwell farm on an intelligence mission, "cold" calling places on a list that Wilkins provided for possible rebel activity. Hugh was happy to be getting some new intelligence—no matter how random the information.
The small group of dragoons sat silently atop their horses as their commander finished jotting his notes. The captain was anxious to question the occupants of this house, hoping for some good, solid intelligence leads. Captain Wilkins had told him that Mrs. Selton was rumored to be a rebel sympathizer, and that her plantation was a social gathering spot for rebels. The revelation by James that Mrs. Selton's brother-in-law was a rebel militia leader was even more enticing. That man, Colonel Ben Martin, was on the redcoats' list as most desirable for capture or kill—that man and his band of rabble caused a lot of trouble for the British.
Wilkins extinguished the lantern, letting the moonlight lead the band of redcoats up the tree lined lane to the main house. Bordon, like Tavington, favored the element of surprise, both men liking to raid at night. Rebels, tired after a day of hard work and Carolina heat, ready to sleep or already slumbering, put up less of a fight. Something about the sleep made jaws slack, useable intelligence sometimes rolling off those tired, loosened tongues and truth tumbling out of somnolent minds.
Bordon held up his arm to call a halt. He looked up at the house and noticed the faint glint of candle light in two windows: one upstairs and one downstairs near the front door. The drowsy residents had obviously heard the horses, rousing them out of bed.
Next, the officer doled out orders. He instructed Wilkins to accompany him to the house, dispatched some men to search the plantation grounds, took three more to search the house while he questioned the inhabitants, and ordered two to stand guard. As both captains dismounted, the men directed to search the grounds trotted off quickly on horseback. James stayed silent, dutifully following Hugh up the steps to the door.
As he walked, Jim tried to recall the last time he'd seen Charlotte Putnam Selton. It was at Charles Town a year ago, he remembered. And though in her early thirties now and widowed, she was still dazzling. The wealthy widow was sought after by many men—desiring her beauty and money. Her husband, John Selton, had drowned 4 years ago, and the woman still hadn't taken up steadily with any man, though she had entranced many. James Wilkins wondered if the ethereal blonde woman would bowl Captain Bordon and the other redcoats over, pretty as she was.
Captain Wilkins looked on as his commander pounded heavily on the front door. "Open up!" Bordon shouted through the door.
The door opened partly to reveal the face of a petite servant. The young maid's eyes widened at the sight of the two officers. "Mr. Wilkins?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes," James answered.
Hugh Bordon smiled, feeling a sort of triumph inside. He remembered how skeptical Colonel Tavington had been of the recruitment of Captain Wilkins. But this short intelligence gathering mission that the men had been on was paying off. The dragoons' second in command was finding out just how many people this man knew, providing fresh intelligence and new contacts. Captain Bordon was now pleasantly surprised that it wasn't just the local society that knew him—even their servants recognized him. Hugh had learned in his own life of privilege that servants could be a wealth of information, having to live and work close to their employers, often making them privy to intimate situations.
Bordon thrust his hand onto the door and pushed it open, scooting the maid back into the foyer. The officers and the privates assigned to search the house strode purposefully through the doorway. The girl looked on helplessly as the privates, one ascending the stairway and the other moving down the hall, invaded the home.
"It's Captain Wilkins now," Hugh said as they stepped forward.
"Where are they going?" she asked in confusion, her eyes following the dragoon privates as they disappeared from the foyer.
The two officers didn't answer her query. Instead, they herded the servant into the parlor.
"I'm Captain Bordon of His Majesty's Green Dragoons," he informed. "We need to speak with Mrs. Selton."
"She's not here," the girl answered, her fingers nervously toying with the material of her robe.
"Where is she," Bordon inquired.
"She went to her brother's house to help his wife with the new baby," the house servant replied.
"And where is that?" asked Wilkins.
"Georgetown."
"Where are all the servants," Captain Bordon queried, noting how quiet the house was and the lack of others in the house.
"The mistress took most of the household staff with her," the girl stated. "It's only me and Matthew, the butler, and the field slaves."
Both officers were silent as they looked the girl over. She cast her eyes downward, both shy and embarrassed that the two men's eyes were wandering over her.
Hugh thought the girl to be possibly 22 years old. The servant's body, though petite, had round curves that the thin material of her robe scarcely covered. Her dark wavy brown hair fell loosely behind her shoulders, showing off a soft and pretty face that held a vulnerable countenance. Bordon knew that this was the type of woman that could be easily intimidated—one that could reveal information under threat.
"Well then you will have to help us," Bordon advised.
"How can I aid you gentlemen?" she asked timidly, fearfully.
"Answer our questions truthfully," Wilkins said.
The girl began to wring her hands, obviously feeling frightened. Captain Bordon watched her actions closely. He had experienced and noted that hand wringing not only meant nerves, but sometimes was a sign of something troubling the individual—or something being hidden. The intelligence officer knew that the servant could be manipulated and would play right into their hands.
Wilkins, after looking at the girl, recollected seeing her a few times in the company of Mrs. Selton. He assumed that she was a servant who had close ties to the plantation mistress and had certainly been exposed to certain situations and different people that Charlotte kept company with.
James leaned close to his commander, whispering that he knew this maid to be one of the servants closest to Mrs. Selton. Hugh raised his eyebrows and nodded. He knew the next best thing to getting information from a person in question would be to obtain it from a close servant.
The two officers, who towered over the attractive little maid, step forward, making the girl back up. She soon found herself out of space and fell backwards onto the divan. She crossed her arms in front of herself, hugging her body in fear as she looked up at the two dragoons.
"What is your name, miss?" Wilkins inquired as he retrieved a small notebook from his jacket coat.
She hesitated not wanting to tell them. Reason kicked in quickly, telling her that they could easily find her name out from a number of other sources. Not wanting to anger them, she answered, "Martha Durant." The young woman watched the tall Wilkins as he scrawled her name quickly.
"Your mistress has been entertaining known rebels here," Bordon charged.
"That is no secret," the girl countered meekly. "She entertains just as many loyalists. The mistress remains neutral."
"Does she now?" Captain Bordon taunted. Beginning by breaking down the subject was one of the methods he used in his intelligence interrogations.
Hugh took another step closer to where the girl sat. He looked condescendingly down at the girl. "We have heard that she is a rebel sympathizer. She certainly has the resources here to aid them."
"She is not a rebel sympathizer," Miss Durant disagreed. "She has ceased most of her entertaining of any kind. The mistress can't afford it since you redcoats seized her house in Charles Town and her late husband's business there."
The maid rose to her feet, becoming a bit defensive. "As far as resources here, Mrs. Selton has just enough here on this farm for all of us with barely little to sell at market for some small profit!"
Hugh crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave the girl a scathing look. He had heard too much to the contrary about Charlotte Selton from Wilkins. Bordon didn't believe the girl.
"Are you certain of that," asked Bordon, his voice implying clearly that he disbelieved her.
"Yes, I work here and see everything," Martha the maid said. She drew a breath in quickly, realizing what she'd just said. Still she held out naïve hope that she hadn't just damned herself.
"You see everything?" Bordon asked, repeating her very words. He looked at Wilkins, who easily stood a good six inches taller than him. The two officers exchanges sly looks.
"Perhaps you could share with us some of the things you've seen," Wilkins said.
"Well…uh…I didn't mean that I see everything," she back peddled nervously.
"Anything you could tell us would be sufficient," James advised.
"Well, there's nothing unusual," Martha lied. "Just what goes on in running this plantation every day."
"Why don't you tell us about the gatherings that Mrs. Selton has held here," Wilkins coaxed.
"I don't know anything about them," the pretty servant fibbed. "I just help Mrs. Selton—"
"At ease, Captain," Bordon ordered authoritatively. "I'll question Miss Durant alone."
With that, he took hold of the maid's upper arm firmly and moved her toward the dining room.
Hugh knew that Wilkins, having only been an active dragoon for two days, hadn't developed the stomach for 'rough' interrogations yet; he still maintained too much of his gentlemanly demeanor. The man needed time to find the balance between gentility and forcefulness.
Wilkins didn't pretend not to know the reputation for roughness within the Green Dragoons. It wasn't particularly his style being a Carolina country gentleman, but he already liked the prestige of belonging to the elite cavalry unit. And for now, he was more than willing to let the veterans like Bordon take care of the methods of harsh persuasion.
"No…wait…I…um…" the girl stammered in fear as the brawny captain pulled her toward the dining room. She didn't want to be alone with the commander and immediately knew her situation wasn't good.
Bordon said nothing as he now practically dragged the girl behind him. The maid was resisting now, trying to pull from his grip. Hugh smiled at this, knowing he had the girl scared already. He hoped that the fright would be enough to loosen her tongue.
Jim Wilkins followed behind them dutifully. When they were in the dining room, he closed the double pocket doors behind them.
Captain Bordon gave the girl a sharp jerk as he let go, to intimidate her a bit further. He had to show that he meant business.
The dragoon second in command looked hard at her, which made her cower. "Now, Miss Durant. You are going to tell me who attended Mrs. Selton's functions here, especially the rebels."
"I ….I…don't know them," she stuttered as she backed away from the dragoon. "I don't know their names."
"You knew Captain Wilkins' name," Hugh pointed out, reminding her that she did indeed know some of the locals.
Bordon sighed, keeping his temper under control. But the officer was tired from two days of hard riding. They had covered miles of land in that time and talked to a good number of sources. However it was always the same with the people they interrogated: they always denied things at first, wanting to put up some kind of fight. And tonight, he was particularly weary of it.
The tired officer, quickly losing his patience, took it out on the young woman. He grabbed the maid with both hands at her elbows, hard enough to bruise her. The officer pushed her back into the wall, pinioning her there with her back against it. She saw the flash of anger in his blue eyes.
"Now girl," he seethed, his voice low in warning, "I'll ask you only once more the names of the rebels that Mrs. Selton associates with."
"I…I don't know their names," the girl cracked, beginning to sob. She didn't want to implicate her mistress and employer, thus destroying Mrs. Selton's trust in her. Miss Durant also needed the wages of this job to help her parents out.
Hugh Bordon yanked the maid away from the wall, pushing her toward the large dining table. The officer shoved her roughly down onto the table, bending her forward over it. She fought, trying to push up from it, but his strong arm over her back held her down.
Unable to push her trunk up from the table, she began to beg. Martha knew what was coming.
"NO! PLEASE! Don't do this!", she cried.
The pretty little servant, her bottom against the officer's groin, unintentionally moved against him with her struggle. This served to arouse Bordon not by choice of his own.
The man was irritated from dealing with the rebels for the last two days and had made up his mind not to take the time to coax answers from this girl. He would draw information from her without having to fish for it.
"Captain please! I beg you not to!"
Bordon chose not to answer the maid's pleas. Still holding her down with one arm, he threw the young woman's skirt up, exposing her bare bottom. Then he pushed his breeches down enough to free his member, semi hard now. He stroked himself a couple of times, making the erection hard.
The officer forced his hardness into the girl, making her cry out. Her face against the table, she wept as he slammed himself into her, her teardrops creating little wet circles on the crisp white table cloth.
Moving quickly, the captain plunged himself hard in and out of the petite little servant, who had given up begging him to stop. She bore his violation with her tears. The large girth of his manhood stretched the girl out, making Miss Durant silently beg for it to end soon.
Captain Bordon climaxed after another moment, groaning as he came. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the tabletop as he caught his breath. When he calmed a bit, he pulled himself out of the girl, wiping himself off with the long table cloth that hung nearly to the floor. The officer pulled his trousers back up then dragged the girl, still sobbing, up from the table.
Hugh hauled the girl away from the dining table then pressed her against the wall again, issuing a stern warning to her. "Now, Miss Durant, you will tell me the names of the rebels that Mrs. Selton keeps company with. If you don't, then I will let all my men have a turn with you."
The maid, angry at the redcoat for violating her, said nothing. In reality, she was still so stunned and hurt over what just happened that she couldn't even recall the names of any of the rebels that had visited her employer. Her head felt clouded, and if it was spinning.
Captain Bordon took the girl's silence for his answer. "Very well, then." The officer, though finding a quick satisfaction of urges with the servant, chose not to fool about trying to draw and answer out of her.
He stomped to the doors and pushed them open slightly. "Captain Wilkins," the dragoon adjutant called from the room, "summon the men. Feed her to the wolves!"
Wilkins knew what his commander referred to. He turned and headed toward the front door.
The girl could hear the tall officer's boots stomping away, ready to gather the men. Not wishing to suffer through more rape and humiliation, the girl spoke up.
"Captain, no! Please," she cried. "I remember one of them!"
"Stand down, Captain," Bordon said to Wilkins as he closed the door again. He smiled inwardly, pleased that the girl was broken, now wanting to reveal information.
Hugh moved close to the girl again. He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows. "Yes?"
"Colonel Martin!" she blurted out, the only name that she could remember after this trauma. "She keeps company with Colonel Martin."
"The militia leader?" the captain confirmed.
"Yes."
"Thank you, Miss Durant." The officer turned on his heel and marched out of the room.
Martha the maid sank down to her knees and sobbed. She felt so much sorrow and disappointment in herself for revealing details about her employer in order to save herself from more pain.
Outside, the dragoons gathered and mounted their horses. They rode away toward the nearest town, the village of Wakefield, hoping to find some vacant rooms at the inn. Bordon was quiet, preferring to discuss the findings of their raid later.
As they rode in silence, Captain Bordon thought about his actions at the Selton plantation. He didn't like to force himself on women, but conceded that that form of intimidation did produce results. Hugh reminded himself that it was just duty—an ugly part of duty, and that the end result justified the means of obtaining it. With that he shook his head, hating to admit that he was beginning to think like, and becoming more like Colonel Tavington.