Chapter 14 Sharing Secrets

All the inhabitants of the Fort seemed to be enjoying the warm May afternoon. So much so, that when Melanie Prescott and Miss Bridget Kilpatrick stepped outside the main house, all the benches and chairs scattered about were full. The two strolled, conversing as they did while looking for a place to sit and relax. The two ladies soon found an empty bench against the fence of the Colonial Prisoner's compound. It wasn't a choice spot, but it was a place to sit outside nonetheless.

Melanie and Bridget seated themselves. They looked about at the activity. Two sentries guarding the compound gate were close by. Behind them on the other side of the fence, a prisoner pulled weeds around the fence row. The ladies continued their conversation.

"Well, I am glad that you're free now," Melanie said to Miss Kilpatrick. Bridget had just gained her freedom, having served her indentured servitude term. Melanie was happy for her. "What will you do now?"

"The house mistress has retained me as a nurse and house servant here," she replied, "so I'll serve out the rest of the war working for His Majesty!"

"Then what will you do?" Melanie inquired.

"Stay here and be a servant for a rich family, I suppose," answered Bridget. "There's nothing for me in Ireland. Most of my relatives are gone now."

Melanie looked down when she said that, feeling a pang of sorrow for herself. She marveled at Bridget's similar situation: both young ladies were in strange surroundings with no relatives. She admired Bridget's courage in leaving her home country in search of a better life, and how brave she was to stay here alone after the war, making her own way. Melanie realized that one day when the war was done, she would have to pick up the pieces of her own life and go on some way.

Bridget looked at Melanie and knew her words had made the girl think of her own sad situation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for my words to cause you pain."

"No," Melanie said. "It's alright. It will never be the same without them, but everyone tells me that time will ease the pain."

"Yes—it will."

Melanie went on. "If only Peter were still alive. We'd have been married by now, and I would have at least had a husband to return to."

"You called his name a few times when you were so sick," informed Bridget. "When did he die—and how?"

Melanie took a deep breath, then answered. "He's been gone a little over a year now. He was killed by British soldiers. Peter was in the Colonial army."

Melanie looked around, as if not wanting anyone to hear her next words. She lowered her voice and continued. "He was a spy for the Colonies. He worked under General Washington. He posed as a Loyalist in the British army. He wore the Redcoat uniform, gained their trust. I found out by accident that he was a spy when I found some British maps and a red uniform coat in his haversack. That was only a few weeks before he died. I worried about him crossing back and forth between the lines, and if he might be found out."

Bridget listened attentively. She had overheard the officers talking one evening and knew from this that Miss Prescott had a fiancé that had died. The Irish girl did not want to be the one to bring up the subject in conversation.

Pausing for an instant, Melanie sighed. She continued. "Well, it was found out that Peter was a colonial spy. The British soldiers imprisoned him for a few days. Then, he was hanged. The grief from his death was horrible. I was just starting to get back to normal when my family died."

Miss Kilpatrick took Melanie's hand and gave it a squeeze, wanting to offer her encouragement and support. Miss Prescott smiled at the servant, silently thanking her. Bridget did not press Melanie for details of his death, yet she didn't want to be blatantly obvious and avoid the subject altogether. She would take the conversation in a subtle, new direction.

"There are many handsome and eligible men in the fort," commented Bridget.

"Yes, there are," Melanie agreed, almost becoming embarrassed.

"Some of the officers come from wealth," Miss Kilpatrick pointed out. "Good catches, I should say."

Melanie's mood lifted and she suddenly felt playful. "Who do you think is most handsome?" She had become close to Bridget and trusted her enough to talk silliness of this sort with her.

"Colonel Tarleton, of course," she replied, " and Captain Wilkins."

"Oh, Jim Wilkins," Melanie smiled. "Our family did business with his. We lived in the same area. They are loyalists."

Bridget smiled. She was glad that Melanie's grief was easing enough to let her participate in silly girl talk.

"Who do you find most attractive?" asked Bridget.

"Hmmmm," Melanie paused and thought, then spoke, blushing as she did. "I think….. Colonel Tavington… and…. Major Bordon."

Miss Kilpatrick bristled. "Ooh. The two worst tempered officers here."

"You're right about that!," exclaimed Miss Prescott. Both young women laughed hysterically, grabbing on to one another's arms and the bench trying not to fall off of it.

The ladies tried to settle down and act prim and proper when they noticed that passersby were looking sideways at them. The two finally settled down and sat back up straight. Miss Prescott cleared her throat, then continued on in a serious tone.

"Oh, I'm not sure about that," Melanie disagreed. "They are just very focused on their duties. After all, we are at war."

"Neither of them seem very nice," Bridget commented.

"Well, they are commanders," Melanie defended, "and I know they are under pressure from the Generals to win battles."

There was a lull in the conversation as the two women paused. They watched the sentries as they were relieved at their post for a late lunch. They continued the conversation.

Bridget spoke first. "Do you fancy any of the soldiers here?"

Melanie began to blush and did not answer. Instead, she looked around, not wanting anyone to hear her answer. She smiled timidly. "Yes."

"Who?"

"I can't say," Melanie refused, flushing with embarrassment.

"Tell tale," Bridget urged playfully.

Taking a breath of courage, Miss Prescott answered her. "Major Bordon."

Bridget frowned. "Stay away from those Dragoons," she warned.

"But you like Jim Wilkins," Melanie objected.

"I think he's handsome," she corrected. "That doesn't mean I want to have a go at him. Besides, all the men seem to have on their minds now is war, not romance."

Melanie was curious. "You said to stay away from the Dragoons. Why?"

Bridget leaned in close to Miss Prescott, as if to impart something that wasn't proper. "Because there are rumors that they take advantage of female hostages, villagers, and prisoners, not to mention Loyalist women and camp followers."

"No," Melanie said, astonished.

"Yes," confirmed Bridget. "They just want a roll in the hay. Some of them have left by blows behind them here in the colonies. It is also said that some of them have bastards here in the camps. So, stay away from them."

Melanie said nothing, digesting what the servant had just said. She remembered that the three extremists from the prison camp that had coerced her into her first escape had told her the same thing. But she had been told by the British that what those men had said were cruel lies. She wasn't sure what or who to believe.

"Oh girl, haven't you heard what the locals call the cavalry commanders?"

Melanie shook her head 'no.'

"They've given them horrid names," Bridget proclaimed, " Names like 'Brutal Bordon' and 'Bloody Tarleton'. And Tavington is known as 'the Butcher'. I've heard they invented the names with good reason."

Melanie swallowed hard. She hadn't heard many of the rumors since she was often sheltered in her room. She knew Bridget spent a lot more time out and around the fort mixing with all classes of people from both sides in this war. Once again, Miss Prescott was left feeling mixed up when hearing talk of the officers.

Bridget went on. "Major Bordon is ruthless, I hear."

"I like him," Melanie said simply in a quiet voice.

"Oh missy, missy," Bridget protested. "You must stop this nonsense right away."

"I can't," replied Melanie whimsically. "I sometimes feel hopelessly lost when I look at him or think of him."

"It will be hopeless if he ever finds out," Bridget remarked. "He'll only use you."

Melanie wanted to say that they were already using her in a strategic military and intelligence way, but knew that she couldn't reveal this. Plus she saw that the men had their pick of beautiful women in and around the area. She didn't think that Bordon cared too much for colonists. And, she had spent a chaste night with him in his tent. He did not even attempt a pass at her. Melanie didn't think he was interested romantically in her.

She spoke up, disagreeing with Bridget. "No, I don't believe he would use me in that manner. I don't think he's like that."

~/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/~

"A colonial prisoner called Smithers is asking to see you, sir."

"Oh, bloody Hell," swore Major Bordon. He stood there in the hallway for a moment, leaned against the wall and rubbed his tired eyes. The private waited quietly for instructions.

Alex was exhausted; he'd been on a combined intelligence mission and extended patrol all night long. On the way back to the fort this morning, they seized a cabin of colonials suspected of giving aid to the rebels, and took prisoners. All Bordon wanted to do now was crawl into his bed and sleep.

After a moment the fog of exhaustion lifted from his mind. He knew this man to be his informant in the prison camp. He probably had some trivial bit of information to share that would waste time, but Alex knew he'd better see him anyway.

"Alright," Bordon relented. "Bring him to my room and stay just outside the door."

"Yes sir."

Within a few minutes, Major Bordon was back in his room when he heard a knock at the door. He ushered the prisoner Smithers, an older Colonial, in and closed the door behind them.

Smithers was a thin, almost sickly man, that had lost his cabin in the war. He'd helped the rebels by using his small unassuming home as a point to pick up and drop off information. He'd been caught by the British and imprisoned for the remainder of the war, his property confiscated by His Majesty. Mr. Smithers now worked for the British with the promise of gaining back some of his lost property.

"I have some information you might be eager to hear," the prisoner stated.

"Hmph! I'm not eager for anything right now," Bordon retorted.

"You told me to let you know—"

"Yes, Yes," Alex waved him off, "Well, out with it and get to the point quickly. I'm tired."

"One of your lady prisoners fancies an officer."

Alex laughed and shook his head dismissively. "Romantic inclinations," he scoffed.

"Maybe you could use it against her?"

The officer knew Smithers was right. One of his best tactics was to play romance and love to his advantage. It was a weakness shared by many people.

"Very well. Who is it?" questioned Alex.

"The girl that is kept here in the house," he answered. "That pacifist's daughter."

Bordon seemed to perk up. He did want to hear this. "Go on," he coaxed. "And who is it she fancies?"

"You," replied Smithers.

The Major could not believe his ears. He thought it was a joke; a ploy by Smithers to get something. Alex was mad, feeling his time had been wasted.

Quickly, he grabbed the colonial by his coat and put him against the wall. The man did not fight Bordon; he'd seen the officer's rage before.

With clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, Bordon warned, "You best not be lying."

"I'm not," exclaimed Smithers. "I heard her tell that Irish servant girl—the one that works in the house and the surgery tents. Why those two are thick as thieves, they are!"

Alexander turned the man loose and backed away. He knew that Miss Prescott kept company with Miss Kilpatrick, so the man must be telling the truth.

Bordon was curious. "How? When?" the Major inquired.

Smithers answered. "Just two hours ago. The two of them were sitting on that bench by the prisoner's compound. I was pulling weeds along the fence row and heard them talking." The man then went on to describe the rest of the conversation—as much as he heard—to Bordon. The officer was intrigued, to say the least.

"Thank you, Smithers," he said, his blue eyes twinkling ominously. He tossed a coin to the man, then opened the door.

"Private, get him an officer's meal from the kitchens," he ordered, "and escort him back to the prisoner compound after he's eaten."

"Yes, sir," the young private obeyed.

Major Bordon then threw his last bottle of confiscated apple wine to Smithers. "For services rendered," he quipped.

The informant bowed his head in thanks and hurried off with the private.

An hour passed and Bordon was in his bed, trying to fall asleep after a night's mission. He tossed and turned in the darkened room. He was so physically exhausted, yet his mind was wide awake. The revelation of his informant, Smithers, skittered through his mind. Thinking of how Miss Prescott liked him led him back through thoughts of his past.

Alex turned over onto his back. He threw his arm up across his face, as if trying to shield his eyes from memories in the dark. To no avail; they came anyway.

His mind carried him back to his coming of age at 15. He had fallen in love with Christine, a girl from his childhood. She lived on the neighboring estate in Surrey, England. The two had played together as children, and had grown up together.

It took Alex nearly 2 years to get up the courage to ask to court her. When he finally did, at age 17, Christine refused, saying honestly that she thought of him as a friend or surrogate brother. She had no romantic notions toward him. The young Alex was crushed. Trying to flee his broken heart, it was then that he bought a commission in the cavalry. Even though in the service, he still pined for her. Service to His Majesty, and time took away most of the pain, but not the stinging memory of it.

And then, at age 19, Bordon had been posted to London. He met Mary there. She was a beautiful young debutante from a wealthy family. Alex, then a Lieutenant, met her at an officer's ball. He courted Mary for two years, then became engaged to her. This pleased her family for they wanted her to marry wealth, and the Bordons had a decent fortune. The couple could never seem to agree on a wedding date. Then, Mary abruptly broke off the betrothal. Alex found out that he had a rival suitor. This man was much richer than Bordon and not a soldier. Mary would not have to worry about a soldier husband straying or getting killed. The man she chose for a husband was older, well connected in society, and a Member of Parliament. In the end, Mary had been more interested in money and prestige than love. Alexander Bordon was once again left with a broken heart.

Whenever home in Surrey on leave, Bordon often ventured into the nearby village to visit a pub with his friends. When he was 22, he met a girl there. Jane was from a poor shopkeeper's family. She worked in the store with other members of her family. Talk was that she 'worked' at another job, helping herself out financially in a 'questionable' way. Bordon's friends called her the town tart.

Alex had bedded the girl a few times—as had a lot of other local men. Jane found herself pregnant. Needing support and wanting to avoid scandal, she set about getting a husband. She set her sights on young Alexander Bordon, the wealthiest man she'd been with around the time of her conception. Truth was, she had no idea who the father was.

Jane told her parents that Lieutenant Bordon had seduced her and made her pregnant. The shopkeeper, incensed by this, confronted Bordon one day while he was in town, making a disgraceful scene. Word of this traveled about and caused a sensation. Rumor soon made its way to the Bordon estate, embarrassing Alex's family. Mr. Bordon asked his son of it, and he said simply that she was a girl of questionable reputation that had gotten herself into trouble.

Mr. Bordon was happy with his son's explanation—until the shopkeeper paid a visit to the Bordon's estate. The man demanded marriage to Alex Bordon to help his daughter and redeem his reputation. Bordon's father tried to make Alex marry her, threatening to disinherit him if he didn't. Alex flatly refused, defying his father. He told him to do what he must, but that he was not about to marry a strumpet who'd been with every man in town; he did not intend to be a father to a bastard that wasn't his, even if it meant losing his inheritance.

Mr. Bordon relented, knowing his son would not have renounced his inheritance if it wasn't true. But, it still caused much scandal for both families. A bit of a wedge had been driven between Alex and his father. He would always remember the scathing words as his father admonished him: "If you would have kept your breeches up and ridden your horse instead of the village trollop, then you wouldn't be in this predicament!"

And then there was Paulette. After Christine, Mary, and Jane, yet another woman would cause him pain. At age 23, Alex Bordon courted Paulette in an unhurried fashion; he was not about to stumble into love again so quickly. He would take his time and make sure things went right this time. But, their relationship deteriorated from bad, to worse, to disastrous. It was full of distrust and deceit. He didn't even want to think about it. Alex shuddered as he clamped his eyes tightly closed, willing it from his mind.

Opening his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling. Long ago, after Paulette, he had vowed that he would never again let another woman have the upper hand. In fact, he was through with love. And though he found Miss Prescott attractive, he resolved not to fall in love with her. After all, he thought, if she was anything like the women of his past, then she was no better than them. He was highly suspicious of all women, thinking them all manipulative whores who used men to get something they wanted: love, money, position in society, children. In his eyes, none of them could be trusted.

Alexander Bordon was a slave to the unfortunate events of his past, and held those as a precedent for the future.