Author's Note: Hello and welcome to the first installment of "How I Leave My Country". I say installment because this fic will be made up of a series of vignettes detailing Colonel Tavington's career in the colonies, as well as the lives of his fellow officers. These vignettes are AU, as Tavington does survive the war and follows a path similar to Tarleton's-into politics. But more on that later. The installments will most likely vary in length, some being chapter-length, others more drabblish. Canon characters from the Patriot will make appearances, along with actual historical figures and many OCs. Also, these vignettes are based around an alternate history I have been working on for some time. I originally experimented with it in my short-lived fic, "Advice to the Ladies" but hit a major writer's block. However, I am quite excited to give it a second go. Please take the time to review and tell me what you think. I always appreciate feedback, especially constructive criticism. Also, I would like to specifically thank bubblymuggle4 and AliBlack for their help in getting this story off the ground. Thank you both! I hope you enjoy and now onto part one…
Summary: Lieutenant Tavington did not know what he had expected…certainly not a scrawny, middle-aged woman, wrapped in naught but a dressing gown who was keen on smashing saucers against the wall.
Rating: For now, T, but that is subject to change as I see fit.
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the Patriot. However, I do own all OCs mentioned herein.
Aide-de-camp
August, 1776
It was with the army languishing in Staten Island, that Lieutenant William Tavington learned he had been assigned to the staff of General Percy. He was called from his quarters roughly around six in the morning, marshaled out onto the parade grounds and introduced to the most harried woman he had ever met.
She was standing with her ankles crossed, an ungainly position, hands tucked behind her back. Two narrow, grey eyes watched the sluggish progress of the sun beneath the film of dawn dew.
Tavington waited to be addressed, taking in the epaulettes stitched to her shoulders, the stiff, coal black leather of her boots. She was a Major. He held his tongue and saluted. The anticipated acknowledgement did not come. He cleared his throat, quietly.
The woman fair leapt out of her skin.
"Oh, so you're the boy?" she asked, head thrown back as harsh appraisal pinched her face.
Tavington hated to be inspected, hated the insolent, brash stares of his superiors. Superiors, humph. The very word grated against him, rubbed his flesh raw and made him feel utterly useless. But if he was to carve a career for himself in the army, he must expect inspection.
Perhaps he should have stayed at Oxford.
Tavington sucked in his breath and nodded. "Lieutenant William Tavington."
"Well, it is about time!" The Major clicked her dainty heels together. "Her madamship's been waiting. Come!"
Two impatient fingers beckoned him forward and Tavington followed. The Major had an odd way of walking, he decided, studying her tiny legs that seemed to skip every third step. And then he remembered that it had been ten lashes to the back of some poor common soldier who had too obviously gawked at a Colonel Margaret Havens. Or perhaps it had been because he had called her a whore?
Whatever the case, Tavington preferred circumspection to public disgrace. Life in the army greatly resembled his schoolboy years, when the older children trampled on the younger ones just to make them weep.
The Major halted and Tavington slid to a stop behind her.
"There are certain things you should know, Lieutenant," she whispered as they stood halfway down a row of regimental tents. "If you are to survive this at all, that is."
Tavington laughed under his breath. He had heard much from his fellow junior officers regarding General Percy's disposition and had endured a round of obnoxious ribbing due to his new appointment. But of all the rumors, no one seemed to know anything for certain. The most solid piece of advice he had received was from a roguish sort of man, a Captain DeLancey who was an American, but seemed like a sage when compared to his British comrades.
"You're not the first," he said, slurring over a mug of stale beer, "and you certainly won't be the last. Her staff is what we call a…a sea staff. New aides come in with the high tide and are washed out by the low. With any luck, Billy, it shan't ruin your career."
So be it. Tavington certainly wasn't afraid of Percy, certainly wasn't cowed by her supposed temper, her suicidal depressions and her life-threatening flights of fancy. She was a woman after all.
"Madam?" He dipped his head closer to the Major. She was wringing her hands now, her skin the hue of marble with rivulets of sweat slithering down her brow.
"Don't ask questions," she said, breathless of a sudden. "And don't look her madamship in the eye. And when you walk out with her, you must stay two paces behind her and one to the side."
Trifles. Tavington nodded with a falsely serious air. "I understand."
The Major whirled about, her queue lashing out like a whip and shedding fresh powder. "And another thing, Lieutenant, if you wish to do yourself any good-and her for that matter-keep out of her bed, for God's sake."
Tavington couldn't disguise his amusement this time and fortunately, the rising wind concealed his laughter. True, women had held their place in the army for centuries-but no one could accuse them of maintaining their position with dignity.
"Understood, madam." He bowed his head, mocking both her and all bloody females at once.
The Major exhaled sharply, her hands tugging absentmindedly at her coat cuffs.
"My name is Major Covenly, by the way and I've served under Percy for nigh on three years now. Don't be a fool, Lieutenant. If you try to stand out on her staff, you'll be dismissed before the week is out. You understand, I trust."
The sudden change in her manner, the chill that frosted her warm voice bothered Tavington. He couldn't say why, exactly. But a shiver fingered his spine as he stood underneath the August sun.
Major Covenly smacked her heels together once more and trotted off. Tavington walked briskly in her wake, his mind now markedly focused on matters other than her strange way of strolling.
The lane ran off to the left and Covenly turned up a neat drive, nodding stiffly at the sentries standing on the porch of a small farmhouse.
Tavington glanced at the upper story window and from behind the dusty, paned glass he caught sight of a writing desk with a quill pen perched precariously in an inkwell. He sighed. Officers' aides were secretaries at best or so he had heard. And if he had wanted to spend several years cramped in a too small chair writing sycophantic letters to members of Parliament, he would have gotten his law degree.
Covenly was standing on the porch now, toes tapping, one hand closed over the brass doorknob.
"Are you coming, Lieutenant?" She looked feverishly harassed and her brows were pulled together, cutting lines of worry across her forehead.
Tavington hurried up the short steps, somewhat surprised to hear the sound of shattering glass resound from within the commandeered house.
A string of vile oaths followed, a woman's ratty voice screeching above the panicked pleas of a servant.
Covenly groaned and sagged against the doorjamb. "Oh, I'll never have a moment's peace," she lamented.
Tavington rolled his eyes. He certainly wouldn't play handmaid to a half-mad, wretched old veteran.
Covenly, however, seemed more troubled and with a long-suffering moan, yanked open the door and headed inside. A narrow hallway led to a back porch, the top half of the door having been left open to catch a hoped for breeze. But the house stunk, Tavington noted and there were muddy boots in the hall. A discarded horsehair wig was haphazardly hanging from a wall peg.
Covenly was muttering to herself now and Tavington was inclined to think the woman was distracted. Then with a harsh whisper, she bid him "come along" and ducked into a room off to the right. After a moment of haughty hesitation, Tavington followed. He did not know what he had expected…certainly not a scrawny, middle-aged woman, wrapped in naught but a dressing gown who seemed more than a little besides herself.
"Enough of these bloody rebels!" she shrieked, the Yorkshire accent quite pronounced. A porcelain teapot-one patterned with blue flowers-was smashed against the stone hearth.
And unbeknownst to General Percy, a young, terrified serving girl hid behind Tavington before promptly fleeing the room.
"Madam, madam." Covenly's tones were comforting, delicate. She pressed forward slowly, hands raised, fingers quivering. "I have your new aide-de-camp, madam. A Lieutenant Tavington, madam."
Percy brandished one short arm like a bayonet and Covenly fell silent.
"Who?" she asked.
"Lieutenant Tavington, madam." And here Covenly beckoned Tavington forward.
General Percy stared at him for a moment. "What of Lieutenant Andre?" she asked, referring to another unfortunate member of her staff.
Covenly clasped her hands together. "Remember, madam, he was made prisoner at St. John's last winter."
And then, with little warning, Percy's anger returned. "Wretch!" she shrieked and snatched up a saucer.
Covenly had just enough time to push Tavington out of room before the dish shattered against the door.
They stood in the hall, her panting and grasping his arm with vine-like fingers.
"Another thing, Lieutenant," she said. "Do mind your head when she takes to throwing things."
Author's Note: Yes, this history is quite different from ours. These vignettes will take place largely in a world in which both men and women have fought together equally for some centuries. This will be a major theme in this story, however, much of actual history will be incorporated, such as…
The title, "How I Leave My Country" is taken from the supposed last words of William Pitt the Younger, Britain's youngest Prime Minister from 1783-1801 and 1804-1806 respectively. He will, indeed, have a significant role in this series later on.
The British did encamp on Staten Island, NY (just across the river from where I live) before launching their campaign against Washington who was entrenched at Brooklyn Heights in August, 1776.
Lieutenant Andre, Percy's previous aide-de-camp cited in this vignette, would later become the infamous Major John Andre who orchestrated the treason of Benedict Arnold. Andre was indeed captured after St. Johns in Quebec fell to the Americans in November of 1775 and was later exchanged in December of 1776. His presence on Percy's staff, however, is entirely of my own making.
Thanks so much for reading and have a wonderful weekend!