Deborah had never seen such innocence before in her life. With that look on his face, the young man could have told Tarleton that General Washington was a loyal subject of the King, and the Colonel might well have believed him. She could only hope that their horses weren’t too blown, or the dragoons would know his tale for the lie that it was. Deliberately, she walked over to the table near him. When he stood aside to seat her, she looked him directly in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”
Young as he was, he didn’t miss her meaning. “My pleasure, ma’am.”
Lunch was a quiet affair. Tarleton attacked his food like it was a rebel soldier and no one was foolish enough to gainsay him. In short order, they were back on the road.
Several hours later, Deborah saw the perimeter pickets for the British camp at Camden.
Chapter 2
More and more British soldiers appeared on and near the road as they rode into the camp past a palisade wall and a ring of redoubts. Camden lay just south of them. This appeared to have once been a very prosperous farm. The main house, set up on a rise, was large, three stories, and painted cream with a blue-gray trim. Two porches, one atop the other, crowned the main staircase. Another wooden palisade profaned the Georgian lines of the house.
Tents of varying sizes radiated out from it as far as she could see. There were horses and men everywhere. Not all wore the hated red jackets; many were in the distinctive uniforms of the various companies that were under Cornwallis’s command at the moment.
The small parade stopped in front of the house, just as two officers walked out of the main door. The taller one frowned at a set of papers. He looked up and glared at Deborah, her brother, and the obvious military escort. Lt. Harvey drew up beside them. The officer looked down on his subordinate from the top of the stairs. “Well, Harvey, what breed of rebel scum have you brought in this time?”
“Halloo, Kit, Bulldog,” Tarleton trotted up to the bottom of the stairs. “We found these good people on the road without any protection, right in the middle of rebel country. Had to give them an escort, of course, but that led them back here. Not to worry, we’ll get it sorted out soon enough. I’ll see to their quarters while they’re here.”
Before the officer could reply, Harvey dismounted and handed to reins to a soldier. “Sir,” he addressed the taller officer, “I’d like to make my report as soon as possible, now if it’s convenient to you.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed on the young man. He watched him glance toward the wagon. “Come in, Lieutenant. Thomson,” he shouted over his shoulder, “…Find these two a campsite. I may want to talk to them.” Turning back to the group, “Ban, I’ll want to talk to you, later. Harvey, inside. Thanks, Bulldog.” His shorter companion saluted awkwardly and wandered away.
Tarleton made a face at Deborah and gave her a flourishing salute. “I’ll check that your accommodations are satisfactory later, lovely lady, but for now I must see to my duties.”
Deborah offered him a frosty nod. Luckily, Thomson (at least she assumed it was Thomson) came up to the wagon. A big, bear of a man, he nodded respectfully. “This way, ma’am.” The rumble of his voice matched his size.
Deborah turned the horse to follow the human bear while Adam looked around, chin up, and eyes wide, with a blank sort of interest. As he looked around past her, he whispered, “Just do as they say. I don’t think the head man wants us here any more than we want to be here.” He turned towards Thomson, who’d come up to the wagon, and gave the man the biggest grin he could manage. Pointing to the band of gold buttons on the uniform sleeve, he gurgled, “Purty!”
“Like that, do ye, son?” Thomson lifted his arm so Adam could see it better. “Tha’ shows Ah’m a somebody around ‘ere, an’ mighty proud of it, Ah am, too. Anybody gives you two grief,” he made sure Deborah knew he was talking to her, too, “ye just yell up old Thomson, an’ Ah’ll take care of it.” He leaned a little closer and looked at her. “However, for safety’s sake, ye’d best be steering clear of Col. T. Being the pretty lass that ye are, and all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomson; I’ll keep that in mind. I’m Deborah Morgan. And thank you for being so kind to my brother, Adam, here. Not everybody is, you know.”
“Well Ah do, ma’am. Ah once ‘ad a little girl cousin. Prettiest thing ye’ve ever seen, but muzzy in the noggin, if ye knows what Ah means, and Ah knows ye do. She loved everybody and everything.”
The sorrow in his voice touched her heart. “What happened to her, Mr. Thomson?”
He cleared his throat. “Some boys from the town nearby hurt her real bad, and she died. Tha’ was just before Ah took the King’s shilling.”
It was his tone that told her that a great deal of significance had happened between the little girl’s death and his joining the army. She didn’t think she wanted to know the details. She took another tack. “You loved her very much, didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re a good man, Mr. Thomson.” They moved through the camp in silence for a few minutes. “Could you tell me who the officer at the house was?”
“Certainly, ma’am. Th’ one that spoke to ye was Col. Christopher Marshall. ‘E’s Gen. Cornwallis’s Chief of Staff, sort of runs things around here, ‘specially wi’ General Cornwallis feeling poorly these days, if ye knows what Ah means. Ah suspect Col. T’ll get a rare...humph! Ah should say, Col. Kit likes things done right, if ye knows what Ah means. Th’ other gent was Major Patrick Ferguson, ‘Bulldog’ t’ his friends. Now that un’s a real gentleman. Always a good word t’ the men, none too ‘igh in the instep, neither. Course-ways, some o’ th’ officers think ‘e’s a fool to ‘ave anything to do with t’men, but Col. Tarleton’s been wrong before.”
“What happened to Major Ferguson’s arm? Is it broken?”
“No, ma’am. ‘E got ‘isself shot in t’elbow, and it don’t work well no more.”
“Oh.”
“T’ young sprout, Lt. Harvey, his uncle’s Adjutant General, but the lad’s got plenty o’bottom.”
“What about Col. T?”
Thomson slowed his pace too a stop and stared her full in the face. Then he turned and spit, “What o’im?”
Deborah hesitated, “What…what’s he like?”
Thomson stared at her a moment longer. “Ye steers clear of ‘im missy, y’ear?”
Deborah pursed her lips and nodded. “I hear.”
They put the wagon in a small, open space, not too far from the main house. Thomson assigned them to a campfire for meals, giving the soldiers there strict instructions and prohibitions. The men watched her avidly, but she felt more uncomfortable with Thomson’s promise of the lash for the men than with their hungry, woman-starved looks. Even so, those promises, she knew, were for her own protection.
Adam wandered among them as she settled the wagon. “When did he get to be such a good actor,” she muttered well under her breath. She watched as he firmly established his idiocy among the men.
He played with a Brown Bess rifle, stacked cornstalk-fashion until the nearest soldier pushed him away. “Purty,” he gushed. “Show Adam!”
“No, ye bleedin’ mooncalf,” the soldier yelped. “T’sergent’ll ‘ave yer ‘ead an’ mine!”
“Adam, come here and help me.” He hunched his head down into his shoulders and cowered a bit at her tone. “Now, Adam.”
He lumbered over to her like a naughty child, casting occasional wistful glances at the stack of rifles.
“Don’t overdo it!” she hissed. “I’m going over to the headquarters and see if I can talk that colonel into letting us go. Stay here and don’t get into trouble.”
“Yes, little chick. Take care.”
As she walked away from the wagon, she turned as if to admonish him, “Now stay there.”
Deborah climbed the steep stairs to the lower porch of the house. Large bushes on either side softened the sharp changes in level between the house and the ground.
Preparing to knock, she reviewed
the decision she’d come to on the way over here. The best approach would be an appeal for a speedy release to tend to her sick mother. That would work well. Loud voices tumbled out the open window near the porch and stopped her knock.
“I’m more than four, Ban. I know exactly what’s going on under those blond curls of yours.”
“Aye, I’ll bet you do, Kit. She’s quite a little beauty, our colonial farm girl.”
“Damnation! This is an army camp, not a brothel, and I’ll thank you to remember that!”
Tarleton snorted, “And what of Ferguson’s two private body-birds?”
“They’re here because they want to be. Mistress Morgan is not.”
“So?”
Marshall curled his lip. “Your enthusiasm may serve you well on the battlefield, but it does you no credit in this case. Therefore I will repeat myself. The girl and her brother will leave tomorrow with no encumbrances and in exactly the same condition as when they arrived. Do I make myself clear, Col. Tarleton?”
“Yes, sir!”
Marshall’s voice softened to a reasonable level. “Ban, you’ve got a job to do. I suggest you do it and stop harassing the local peasantry.”
He sounded tired and harassed but the angry footsteps alerted Deborah, and she had no time for sympathy. She scrambled down the steps and hid behind one of the bushes, praying. Tarleton stomped out, down, and away, red-faced and swearing at everything in his way, including a hapless young coronet who looked about 14 years old.
After a moment, Deborah peeked around the bush. Tarleton was nowhere to be seen. Not knowing when he would reappear, she scurried up the steps. Tarleton had left the door ajar. After a short debate on the proprieties, she opened the door. The first room on her right was where she’d heard the argument. She smoothed her clothes and rapped on the closed door.
“Come in.” He sounded irritated (not that she blamed him), and she wondered if this might not be the best time. But, there was no help for it now.
He was sitting with his back to the window at a massive desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The blackish brown hair in his queue reached to his shoulder blades. The black ribbon was barely visible. His jacket had been tossed over a neighboring chair. On the edge of the desk, a roll of maps was held down by a tea cup, an ink well, a stack of papers and a snuff box. Paper covered almost every surface of the desk. In most of the places, it was several layers thick.
The room had obviously been a library at one time. The owner of the house must be a wealthy merchant, since only they bothered with the formality of a desk. The furniture was still there, only stripped of all décor to make room for work area.
“Col. Marshall, can I speak with you for just a minute, please?” Merciful heavens, but you sounded missish, she admonished herself. He’s your enemy, but you don’t have to cringe in front of him.
When he heard her voice, he glanced up, frowned, and lunged for his jacket. He stood up and shrugged into the coat. She hadn’t realized he was so tall; he was at least as tall as her brother Eli. His face would have been harshly handsome if not for the exhaustion washing over it.
“What can I do for you, Mistress...?” He resumed his seat without inviting her to do likewise..
“Morgan, sir, Deborah Morgan.” He certainly didn’t want to do anything for her, but maybe, just maybe, she could convince him that she could do something for him. “Colonel, I’d like...”
“Mistress Morgan, unless you wish to become a camp follower and the current, if short-lived, favorite of Col. Tarleton, you will be leaving here in the morning. As far as I am concerned, you and your ah...companion...”
“Brother.” Her recent thoughts of promoting a cordial, if quick, leave-taking evaporated with every word that blasted redcoat spoke. By camp follower, he meant prostitute. How dare he! She worked in the American camp and was proud of the work she did. So was her father. Camp follower, indeed.
“Yes, brother…are just two more mouths to feed...not counting the horse. I’m going to let you keep it simply because I’d rather be rid of you than confiscate the animal. Whatever danger the colonel saw on the road is probably long gone by now. I cannot spare the men to give you an escort. Therefore...”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Winter came a little early in this small corner of North Carolina. It was in her voice.
He drew himself up, affronted. Whether it was because she had the temerity to interrupt him or because he had expected an argument, she didn’t know, nor did she care. She had what she came for. “We will sleep in our wagon, thank you for our breakfast and be gone first thing in the morning. Will there be anything else?”
He sprawled back into the chair. Steepling his fingers, his grey eyes glared at her for a few moments. Deborah fought a moment of panic when she thought he might change his mind.
She knew what he saw as he studied her. If Tarleton had thought her beautiful, he must have been spending too much time with his men lately. Her skin was unfashionably tanned, a mellow, golden color that would do her no credit in his upper-class British eyes, but then, she was a colonial. The other consequence of her hours in the sun was that the light brown of her hair burnished to a gold. Her eyes were brown, her mouth just a mouth, and her cheekbones and nose were...ordinary. Her figure was acceptable, but nothing to make men stop and stare—at least she’d never seen any. But then, she rarely looked behind herself as she walked. She was also usually in the company of one or more males of her family. No one dared look—too obviously.
There were none of her family around now, Adam-as-idiot didn’t count, and Col. Marshall was looking his fill. She studied him as she waited for whatever he obviously had to say. Unlike her brothers who were big and muscular like her father, the colonel was long and lean. Before he’d thrown on his jacket, she’d caught a glimpse of muscles stretching and bunching under the fine lawn of his shirt. Lean, yes, but she’d hate to pit one of her brothers against him in a fight.
She moved around so that the sun didn’t back-light him. He knew where he was sitting, and he knew what it did to people standing in front of him; a subtle proof of power that she disliked intensely and worked to negate. He watched her as she shifted, a cynical smile pulling at his mouth and a bored look in his eye. He’d be handsome, she thought dispassionately, if he wasn’t so busy acting the British lord and master. Heavens, he was now even drumming his fingers on the desk. Did they teach rudeness as well as arrogance to their children in the cradle?
Finally, he broke the silence. “Yes, Mistress Morgan, there is something else. It has come to my attention that Col. Tarleton, how shall I say, finds you worthy of his attentions. Now, I don’t particularly care if you share your attentions with half of my troops.”
She drew a sharp breath. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he continued. “What concerns me is the reaction of the other half of my troops. The ones who don’t have such...privileges are going to be very unhappy, and that makes for bad morale. Therefore I am forced to go to the effort of separating you from the Colonel while you are here.”
“I have no interest in that...that...person or anyone else in this camp, and I resent the implication that I do! You have no right...”
“On the contrary, I have every right, and I intend to exercise those rights. I cannot have you wandering the camp, having him and every other soldier here slavering over the sight of a beautiful woman and wondering if they can get away with raping you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. These are fighting men, restricted to camp and without a great deal of feminine companionship. I can’t let you out in the camp. I’m confining you to this house until such time as I can send you on your way. You will take an escort, return to your wagon, get your gear or whatever you need and return to this house, and you will do it quickly. Thomson!”
“But...but what about Adam?” He was her best protection, although Marshall didn’t know it. And she had to keep up the concerned sister masquerade.
“The men will make sure
he’s fed and bedded down. Don’t worry about him. Believe me, madam, I will be ecstatic to see you both take your leave.
“Thomson!”
“But...but...”
“I don’t believe there is anything else.
“Yes, sir!” Thomson said as he opened the door.
“Ah, Thomson, escort Mistress Morgan back to her wagon and then return her here, in short order. That will be all.”
**
He didn’t turn back to his desk, but watched them leave the library. As they came around in sight of his window, he turned to watch them go towards the wagon. His fingers drummed on the desk. It irritated him to have to take these measures, but he knew it was for the best. He wouldn’t tolerate rape, by Tarleton or anyone else, if he could help it. However, he had cause to thank the heavens Claudia had just left. He’d sated himself on her luscious body. Mistress Deborah Morgan, even with her laughable colonial pride, was enough to tempt the saints, let alone him. That hunger had been dealt with very efficiently by his lovely mistress, even under her husband’s nose.
On the other hand, General Cornwallis, one of the other occupants of the house, had been pretty much of a monk since the death of his wife two years ago. Kit suspected he was still grieving. Why anyone would grieve over such a mouse of a woman, he couldn’t say, but there would be no problem from that quarter. Ban would be there at the dinner table, having quarters in the house, but Kit felt he could control that situation.
One night, a bite of breakfast and off his problem went. Very neat, if he said so himself. But he still watched her until she passed out of sight.
**
Deborah strode to the wagon in a silence that Thomson respected. As they neared the site, he glared at a bunch of lounging soldiers. “Scuse me, m’um. Ah needs to attend t’ one small matter an’ then I’ll be right with ye.”
Adam seemed to be sitting against the wheel, asleep. However, when she got up close, he murmured, “Humm?”