Less Than a Gentleman

  Tarleton strode across the library, his boots clunking on the wooden floor, then sounding muffled as he traversed the imported rug. “Your man Pugsley gave us a disturbing report. Five soldiers dead, an entire shipment destroyed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Hickman stood at attention, his face pale. “It was most unfortunate.”

  Tarleton stopped in front of the captain and looked him over. “Fortunate for the rebels, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hickman cleared his throat. “Would you care for some refreshment, sir?”

  Tarleton whirled about and slammed a fist on the desk. “I would care for an explanation! What the hell are you doing here that the last two shipments were sabotaged?”

  “I . . . I had nothing to do—”

  “Nothing! Now there’s the truth of the matter. You do nothing here, do you, Captain? You spend your time in this house drinking the fine wine and bedding the women.”

  “It is the fault of the partisans, sir. They’re all around us, but hide in the swamp like a pack of cowards.”

  “And you haven’t captured any of them?” Tarleton’s eyes flashed with anger. “I have to wonder why you’re so poorly motivated.”

  “I’m working on it, sir. I have a plan in motion as we speak. Soon I will have one of the traitors in my grasp.”

  “One?” Tarleton cocked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I have a better plan, one that could eliminate a large group of rebel sympathizers all at once.” He marched to a window and gazed out onto the front lawn. “I’ve received reports that the people of Kingstree have been supplying the partisans with food. This afternoon, my men are attacking the village.”

  Matthias flinched, and not just because Caroline’s fingers dug into his arm. He noted her stricken face, then refocused on the scene in the library.

  Even Hickman looked a bit surprised. “You mean to kill the townspeople, the women and children?”

  “Does it offend you?” Tarleton glanced over his shoulder. “ ’Tis a simple matter, Captain. Whoever helps the traitors is then a traitor also.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tarleton sauntered toward him. “Consider all those rebellious little children, eager to grow up and shoot at us. Why not nip the problem in the bud?”

  “Excellent thinking, sir.”

  “And when we’re done, I’ll send someone here to pick up that one traitor you have promised to deliver.”

  Hickman nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Tarleton strode toward the door. “Let’s hope that one traitor isn’t you.”

  So Tarleton suspected Hickman of sabotaging the supply barges himself. Matthias had a glimpse of Hickman’s pale face before shutting the peephole door.

  “We have to do something,” Caroline whispered as they hurried to the china room. “We cannot allow that butcher to massacre women and children.”

  “I’ll ride straight to Snow’s Island,” Matthias said. “We’ll evacuate the people of Kingstree.”

  “Is there time?”

  “There should be. Tarleton said the plan was to attack this afternoon. Caroline, this will delay our wedding.”

  She shook her head impatiently. “Don’t worry about that. There are innocent people to save.”

  “As soon as the townspeople are safe, I’ll return for you and your family. Pack your things and be ready. We will marry tonight.”

  She grabbed his coat in her fists. “Be careful.”

  He covered her hands with his own. “I’ll be fine.”

  Her eyes gleamed with tears as she stepped back from him. “Good-bye, Thomas. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. And this is not good-bye.” He planted a kiss on her worried brow, then hurried to the stables.

  Jacob was there, unsaddling a horse. “You’re going somewhere?”

  “Aye.” Matthias took Jacob’s saddle and hefted it on the back of a fresh horse. “Tarleton is attacking Kingstree this afternoon. I’m going to Snow’s Island so we can evacuate the people.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “I prefer you to stay here. The women might need you.”

  Jacob frowned. “You’re expecting a skirmish with the British. You think I don’t know how to fight.”

  “I trust you to protect the women and children. As soon as I return, I’m taking them all to my uncle. Caroline and I will be married.”

  Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Did you tell her who you are?”

  “Not yet, but it won’t matter.” He hoped.

  Jacob snorted. “Right. So am I invited to the wedding?”

  Matthias shrugged one shoulder and led his horse out. “I suppose. If you want.” He mounted the horse, aware that Jacob was glaring at him. Damn, he was giving the man his freedom, what else did he want?

  Ezra Hickman’s hands shook so badly he spilled brandy on his white breeches. Damnation. He raised the half-full glass to his mouth and downed the contents. Nothing. No soothing comfort to his fears. He ripped his cravat loose as cold sweat dripped down his neck. How could he prove he was loyal?

  His only hope would be to capture a partisan who could take the blame. He needed to deliver Matthias Murray Thomas, and fast.

  Ezra dashed up the stairs to Jane Thomas’s room. The silly woman should be desperate enough to talk now. He fumbled in his coat pocket for the key to the door. There was no sound from within. Was she already dead? This was her third day of confinement.

  He ventured into the quiet room. “Mrs. Thomas?”

  Rays of sunshine shot through the gaps on the boarded window and balcony door, casting fractured beams of light to fall across the large four-poster. A huddled form lay under the blankets, still and lifeless.

  “Mrs. Thomas, wake up. It is time to talk.” He pulled back the blankets. Pillows.

  He yanked the blankets off the bed. It was empty.

  “Mrs. Thomas!” He scanned the room.

  Sunlight sparkled off shards of broken glass by the balcony door. The glass crunched under his boots as he knelt down to investigate the hole in the door. Certainly not large enough for an escape. He spotted a crock on the floor. He picked it up, uncorked it, and sniffed. Cider. Someone had been passing her food. Someone in this house.

  “Damnation!” He hurtled the crock against a wall. It crashed, leaving a dripping stain of cider.

  Was the woman hiding? He peered under the bed and found a large wooden circle. Then he noted the scattering of dust on the rug. Sawdust.

  He looked up. “No!” The hole in the ceiling led to the third floor. Jane Thomas had made her escape right under his nose. “No, dammit, no!”

  Tarleton would string him up from the nearest tree and laugh as he struggled for his last breath. The incompetent Loyalist who couldn’t even control an old woman!

  Ezra charged up the stairs to the third floor and flung open the doors ’til he found the room where she’d escaped. The bastards had left their saws and rope behind.

  “Hell and damnation!” Blood pounded in his ears. He picked up an old lopsided chair and smashed it against the wall. Who had done this? Had Matthias himself sneaked into the house to rescue his mother? There were two saws here and the crock of cider below. Whoever this villain was, he had accomplices.

  The other women in this house. Damn them, damn them all. No wench was going to send him to the gallows.

  In the hallway, he caught a glimpse of skirts. “Halt!”

  The woman turned.

  He charged toward her. “Agatha? What are you doing here?”

  She edged toward the stairs, her face pale. “I—I heard strange noises. Are you breaking furniture?”

  “Jane Thomas has escaped.”

  Agatha’s eyes widened. “How did she manage that?”

  “I mean to find out. What do you know of it?”

  “Nothing! I—I s
hould go now and finish packing. I just spoke to Bertram. He agreed to take me as far as Fort Watson.”

  He stiffened. “You’re not leaving. We have plans, remember? We’re taking over Loblolly.”

  Agatha eased closer to the stairs. “I want to leave. ’Tis too dangerous here. I’ll feel safer in Charles Town amongst the British.”

  “You don’t think I can protect you, do you?” Ezra balled his fists. “You think I’m a failure!”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go.”

  “Fine, then, bitch! Go on and desert me when I need you.”

  She gasped and scurried down the stairs.

  Ezra drew in a long, shaky breath. His plans were crumbling around him, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He marched toward the nursery and flung open the door.

  Caroline Munro started. The little girl seated next to her on the bed grabbed a pillow to hide her face. The boy jumped from his bed and eased toward his aunt.

  “Was there something you wanted, Captain?” Miss Munro rose to her feet.

  “What do you know of Jane Thomas?”

  Miss Munro raised her chin. “I know you are slowly starving her to death.”

  “Indeed?” He stepped into the room. “And you wouldn’t be the one passing her food through the balcony door?”

  “I know nothing about that.”

  “You’re a liar. I know you helped Jane Thomas escape.”

  She blinked with surprise. “Escape? Jane is gone?”

  He ground his teeth at her lame excuse for acting. “I know you helped them. That makes you a traitor. Do you know what happens to traitors, miss?”

  “It wasn’t her!” Edward blurted out. “It was the ghost.”

  Ezra snorted. “A ghost wouldn’t need a saw to pass through a ceiling.”

  Miss Munro smoothed back her hair as if unconcerned, but her pale face indicated otherwise. “When do you believe this escape took place?”

  “I would say yesterday while my men and I were occupied with the explosion.”

  “The children and I were in the kitchen. My sister gave birth yesterday and I was there helping her. You may ask Dottie or Betsy. They can confirm it.”

  “They lie as poorly as you do, Miss Munro. Trust me, I will prove my loyalty to the crown, and if I have to string up a pack of women and children to do it, then I will.”

  Satisfied with the white, stricken faces of Caroline Munro and her nephew, Ezra left the nursery to the sound of the little girl’s sobs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Ye disappeared with my daughter last night,” Jamie Munro announced as he rode beside Matthias.

  “We had some urgent matters to discuss.” Matthias felt his face redden. For the past five miles, the Scotsman had glowered at him. Never had a short journey felt so long.

  “Aye, I have no doubt ye were feeling a wee urgent. Tell me, lad, what exactly did ye discuss?”

  Matthias hoped the village of Kingstree would suddenly appear around the next bend. Marion had put him and Major Munro in charge of the evacuation. Richard, Quincy, Josiah, and a dozen more men rode behind them. “I asked Caroline to marry me.”

  “That’s great news,” Quincy said.

  Jamie Munro huffed. “He dinna ask me for permission.”

  Matthias took a deep breath. “I believe you told me that she’s allowed to make her own decisions.”

  “Aye. So was she smart enough to refuse you then?”

  Quincy and Josiah snickered.

  Matthias gritted his teeth. “No, she wasn’t.”

  “Are ye calling my daughter a dimwit?”

  Matthias slanted an impatient look at his future father-in-law. “She’s as clever as her father.”

  Jamie’s eyes twinkled. “I like grandchildren. Do ye think ye can manage that, lad?”

  “Yes, sir. It will be my pleasure.”

  “ ’Tis my daughter ye should be pleasing. If ye can. Ye’re no’ one of those minute men from the north, are ye?”

  “Excuse me?” Quincy scoffed. “I’ve given you four grandchildren.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Aye. I’ve about decided to accept you.”

  Quincy snorted. “Welcome to the family, Major Thomas.”

  “Aye,” Josiah added. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.” Matthias slowed his horse as they rounded the bend. The road in front of them was narrow and straight, tightly hugged by thick vegetation on each side.

  Jamie came to a halt, holding up a hand to alert the horsemen behind them. “Ye suspect a trap?”

  Matthias scanned the trees. “Let’s divide and meet in Kingstree. Richard and I will take a group to the left.”

  “Agreed.” Jamie veered to the right, motioning for Quincy, Josiah, and six of the men to follow. They had just entered the forest when musket fire erupted.

  “Take cover!” Matthias yelled.

  More shots rang out. Two men fell. The horses reared and whinnied as men scrambled for cover. Choking smoke surrounded them. Shouts of huzzah echoed around them, signaling the British advance. His men panicked, knowing they were outnumbered.

  “Disperse!” Matthias hollered as he weaved amongst the men and their agitated horses. Their group of seventeen partisans had no chance of victory in a conventional battle. It was better to lead the British on a chase into the nearby bogs of the treacherous Tarcote Swamp.

  Fifteen partisans, Matthias corrected himself. The two men who had fallen in the road were not getting up.

  “Go!” he shouted, relieved to see Jamie Munro and his group riding safely away. The musket fire ceased, followed by an ominous silence. Tarleton must have given the order to mount and give chase.

  “Come on!” He waved at Richard, and they charged through the trees.

  The pounding of horse hooves followed them. Tarleton and the dragoons were hot on their trail.

  He headed for the Tarcote Swamp. He and Richard had hunted and fished there as boys and knew every path.

  Silently, they skirted the bogs. A few times, they backtracked to leave false trails into pools of muck. The British continued to hunt for them. He could hear their shouts and curses echoing through the swamp.

  He led them to a path, then guided his horse into a creek. Upstream, he emerged on the other bank. As he hid behind a tall thicket of swamp titi, Richard joined him.

  He noted the sweat on his cousin’s ashen face. “Are you all right?”

  Richard shook his head. “No.”

  “What—” Matthias heard the sound of horses. Tarleton and his troop dashed along the path on the other side of the creek, passing them by. Their white pants and green coats glistened with black mud. Matthias spotted Greville in the rear as they charged out of sight.

  “Thank God they’re gone.” Richard slid from his horse and crumbled to his knees.

  “What’s wrong?” Matthias dismounted, and when he grasped his cousin by the shoulders, warm blood oozed onto his fingers. “Richard, no.”

  A dark stain blotched the back of Richard’s coat where a musket ball had ripped into his shoulder.

  “You will not die from a bloody shoulder wound,” Matthias growled. “Do you hear me?”

  “I’m not dead. Yet,” Richard mumbled.

  “You’re not dying ever!” Matthias removed his coat and bundled it under his cousin’s face. “Dammit, Richard. Why didn’t you say you were wounded? I wouldn’t have led the British in circles for so long.”

  “As long as they were following us, the others had time to escape.”

  “Shit, Richard. Why do you have to be so noble?” Matthias yanked his shirt over his head and pressed it against the wound. “You’re not dying on me. That’s an order. We’ll fetch medicine from Dottie. You’ll be all right. You’re going to my wedding, remember?”
r />   Richard’s eyes fluttered shut.

  Caroline took the children to the kitchen for the midday meal. Virginia and the baby were asleep, so she cautioned the children to eat quietly. The minutes dragged by as she worried about Thomas. Would the partisans evacuate the townspeople in time, or would they do battle with the British? Was Thomas in danger? Her father? Quincy or Josiah?

  The door to the kitchen opened, and she jumped to her feet. “Oh, Jacob.”

  “Not happy to see me?”

  “I’m happy you’re back. Let me fix you a plate.”

  The door opened again, and she spun around. “Betsy.”

  Grimacing, Betsy shut the door. “That pig Pugsley is back. He and the captain want their dinner served soon.”

  “Are they waiting in the dining room?” Dottie asked.

  “No,” Betsy answered. “They went to the library to talk first. Pugsley insisted.”

  It must be important, Caroline thought. “Will you excuse me a moment?” She headed to the door.

  “Be careful,” Jacob warned her as she left.

  She dashed to the Great House and tiptoed into the secret passageway. With the peephole cracked open, she listened.

  “How did the general take the news?” Hickman asked.

  “Cornwallis was upset, naturally, but too dignified to scream about it like Tarleton,” Pugsley responded. “I have to tell you, sir, that Tarleton believes you are responsible for the failed supply shipments. He called you a traitor, sir.”

  Hickman collapsed in a chair. His shoulders slumped as he rested his head in his hands. “I could hang for this. How am I supposed to prove my loyalty?”

  Pugsley frowned at his commanding officer. “Perhaps you won’t have to. They came up with a plan. I heard it all.”

  Hickman straightened his shoulders. “Tell me.”

  “Tarleton thinks you’re leaking information to the local militia. So his plan was to come here and tell you a falsehood. Did he say something about an attack?”

  Caroline pressed closer to the peephole, her heart pounding.

  “Yes,” Hickman replied. “He said he was going to attack Kingstree this afternoon and kill the townspeople.”