Savage Deception (Liberty's Ladies) (6 page)

4

December, 1780

Hattie finished kneading the dough on the planked table and put the loaf into the oven. “Gonna be a sorry Christmas ‘round here,” she muttered to Diana as Diana walked out of the pantry. “Those redcoats eatin’ up most all the food we got and sleepin’ in our beds. When you suppose this war gonna be over?”

Diana placed two jars of jelly preserves on the table. “I hope soon, Hattie, but I trust you haven’t said anything out of the way to Captain Farnsworth or insinuated how you feel. We’re very lucky that the British chose Briarhaven as their headquarters. You know what damage has been done to the other houses along the Santee, what with the burnings by some patriots against Tories and the British burning out the patriots. As long as Farnsworth is here, we’re safe.”

Hattie clucked her tongue and slyly said, “And we both know that no patriots are gonna burn us out either.”

“Hush,” Diana scolded lowly and spooned the jelly onto a Sevres china plate. “You never know who might be listening.”

And that was true. Ever since Captain Farnsworth and twenty-five of his men had commandeered Briarhaven two months ago, she never knew whose ears might be pressed against the door. The war for independence had at last come to South Carolina upon the capture of Charlestown earlier that year. It had spread to the Santee area with the capitulation of two towns, Camden and Georgetown, by the rebels. Nothing had been the same for the Santee River residents since.

The British raided livestock and looted most of the plantations and farms for miles around. To make matters worse, groups of men called “outliers,” who were neither Tory or patriot but thieves and ruffians, paid midnight calls upon those homes that hadn’t been torched or looted by the British. Many of the Sheridan’s neighbors were barely surviving, their slaves having run away to follow after the British conquerors. Briarhaven, too, had lost most of its slaves, but some, like Hattie and her son Ezra, remained.

Diana hid her hatred of the British behind a sweet smile that she constantly bestowed upon Captain Samuel Farnsworth and his men. She’d seen the damage they’d done to plantations with her own eyes and had heard the horror stories of women and children, after being looted and stripped of their clothing, turned out into the night to watch their homes burn to the ground. But Diana pretended to be a loyal British subject, as did Harlan, never admitting that Kingsley had joined a South Carolina regiment.

Farnsworth didn’t have to know that her husband had fought and died for independence, or that her brother-in-law had been a lieutenant in that same regiment until Charlestown fell to the British. She’d told him she was a widow; that was all he needed to know about her.

Despite the fact that she dressed in widow’s weeds, Diana could tell that Farnsworth was smitten with her. Under any other circumstances, she might have found the man attractive. With his curly blonde hair, muscular build, and elegant manners, Farnsworth was enough to make any woman swoon. But Diana wasn’t any woman. She hated seeing that glimmer of lust in the man’s eyes whenever he looked at her, and she dreaded the day he might decide to paw her. So far he hadn’t, and she decided she was fortunate that Farnsworth at least acted like a gentleman. He could have thrown her and Harlan out of the house. But he’d seen that Harlan was now in poor health, having suffered a heart attack shortly after news of Kingsley’s death. Farnsworth had given orders to his officers, who slept in the guest bedrooms, and the soldiers, who stayed in the barn, not to steal anything from Briarhaven or to disturb the occupants. An odd turn of events, Diana thought, given what she’d seen of the British handiwork in the area.

But for all of Captain Farnsworth’s kindnesses, Diana didn’t feel one bit guilty about the secret she kept from him, a secret that, if discovered, could very well result in her swinging from the end of a rope. Both Hattie and Harlan knew her secret. Though Harlan didn’t approve because he feared she’d fall into danger, Diana sensed he was pleased that in her own small way she was helping to defeat the British.

Once the freshly baked bread was taken from the oven, Diana sliced it into generous portions and arranged them on the plate around the jelly. She then took out a large silver tray from the cupboard and put the plate, along with a warm teapot and five cups, onto the shiny surface. As she picked up the tray she heard Hattie say, “Miss Diana, I can carry that into the parlor.”

“No,” Diana told her with a shake of her head. “You have too much to do around here already, what with cooking for Captain Farnsworth’s men. I’ll take it into Harlan and the captain. Besides,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, “one never knows what interesting tidbit of information one might accidentally overhear during teatime.”

Hattie grinned, immediately understanding.

Entering the parlor, Diana discovered that Harlan, who sat on the divan with a blanket thrown over his legs, was playing whist with Farnsworth and two of the British officers. Upon seeing Diana, the soldiers rose to their feet and Farnsworth took the tray from her, placing it on the sideboard.

“Ah, that bread smells delicious,” a junior officer known as Smythe complimented her. “We could smell it in here.”

“Help yourselves, gentlemen.” Diana waited until the three soldiers had taken their bread and tea before serving Harlan. She couldn’t help but notice that Harlan didn’t look well. The lines by his eyes, lines that had once been thin, were now deeply carved into his pasty white skin, and he shook when he took the cup from her. But his smile at her was genuine and belied his ill health. Diana hated to see that Harlan wasn’t getting any stronger. If there was only something she could do for him to make him well again she would, because she literally owed him her life.

“Join us, Mrs. Sheridan,” Samuel Farnsworth insisted as he gallantly poured her a cup of tea. “It isn’t every day we get such luxuries as tea, now that that renegade Francis Marion is plaguing the area. The supply wagon was lucky to get through without being attacked by his rebel band.”

Diana took a seat near Harlan and sipped her tea, a look of total innocence on her face. “This Marion, isn’t he the one called the Swamp Fox?”

“Yes,” an officer named McCall spoke up. “He’s a wily creature and aptly named.”

“Well, he can’t be entirely wily, gentlemen, if a supply wagon made it through,” Diana noted, and caught a warning glance from Harlan. “Perhaps he isn’t as smart as he is believed to be.”

Farnsworth guffawed and took a piece of bread. “He shouldn’t be underestimated. He’s quick and knows the swamp. Somehow he constantly manages to elude capture. And as for the supply wagons, from now on they’ll be well protected.”

McCall nodded. “That Swamp Fox won’t get any more of the supplies from Charlestown. Why, just tomorrow there’s one due through here—”

“That’s enough, McCall! Farnsworth ordered. “Go see to your men. You too,” he said, speaking to Smythe.

McCall, his cheeks red with embarrassment, followed after Smythe and left the parlor. Farnsworth smiled apologetically at Diana and Harlan. “Sometimes the men forget themselves.”

Harlan nodded. “Your men are quite young, as are you, Captain. What do you plan to do after the war?”

Samuel Farnsworth looked directly at Diana, his gaze raking over Diana’s face and form. “Perhaps I’ll marry, if I can find a woman who’ll have me.”

Diana grew uncomfortable at Farnsworth’s perusal and jumped up to fuss over Harlan. “I think it’s time you went to bed now,” she remarked. “Naomi is upstairs and will help settle you for the night.”

Rising from the sofa, Harlan laughed when Samuel rushed forward to take him by the elbow. “I remember a time when I could stay up until dawn. Now I have to retire before the sun even sets.”

Diana watched as Samuel led Harlan up the stairs to his room. She found herself thinking that Samuel Farnsworth was a considerate man, though he was British. He too wanted more from her than friendship. But she had vowed never to be touched again by any man; just the thought of a man’s touch made her skin crawl.

She returned to the kitchen, carrying the tray, and found that Hattie was gone. Little Jackie sat on a wooden bench, apparently waiting for her. When he saw Diana, he stood up and flashed her a beguiling smile. “I done been waitin’ and waitin’ for the longest time,” he admitted. “My Granny Hattie said if I was a good boy that maybe you’d give me a piece of that fresh bread. Can I have some, Miz Diana? Please? I been a real good boy today.”

“Certainly you can,” Diana told him and handed the seven-year-old boy one of the pieces the soldiers hadn’t eaten. She watched as he scooped a large spoonful of jelly onto it and then devoured it in no time. When she offered him another, the child greedily wolfed that one down, too.

Jackie licked his fingers and smiled again at her. “Thank you so much, Miz Diana. You real kind to me.”

At that moment Diana felt like the biggest fraud. Evidently the child had never noticed that she resented him. But Jackie wasn’t the reason for how she felt. Neither was Jarla, his mother. It was Kingsley who had caused her to feel this way about an innocent little boy, and she was pleased that Jackie had no idea that sometimes just his presence could rattle her. Suddenly she realized that she didn’t feel that way any longer, not since Kingsley had left Briarhaven. So she smiled a rich, warm smile at Jackie, placed her arm around his slight shoulders, and gazed down at the child, whose eyes were light brown with a touch of green in them. Like Kingsley’s.

“Anytime you want something from the kitchen, you don’t have to ask. Just come in and take it.”

“You mean that? I don’t have to ask my papa or mama?”

“No, I’ll tell Ezra and Jarla that you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, ma’am. ‘Cause sometime I get real hungry.”

Don’t we all, Diana thought, and watched Jackie rush outside. For the first time she understood why Hattie proudly claimed Jackie as her grandson. It wasn’t just because Ezra had married Jarla. He was such a dear little boy.

Diana sat by the table and drank the tea she hadn’t finished in the parlor. At the same time she kept an eye on the large black kettle over the hearth. It was filled with boiling rice, part of the evening meal for the soldiers.

A wry smile hovered around her lips. If anyone had told her one year ago that she’d be helping to cook for British soldiers on a plantation that was usually filled with over a hundred slaves, she’d have laughed at them. But the soldiers were a reality and Briarhaven no longer had a large number of slaves. Now she found herself helping Hattie cook and clean and wash British soldiers’ dirty clothes. What a change from Briarhaven’s pampered mistress, who had been showered with jewels and clothes by what the world termed “an indulgent husband”.

Diana nearly choked on her tea at the memory of Kingsley and his gifts to her, his insistence that his wife be the best dressed woman in the county so he could appear well-to-do and influential, an adoring husband, in people’s eyes. No one except Hattie, and later Harlan, would have guessed at the source of the black and blue marks those elaborate gowns hid.

A shiver slid up Diana’s spine despite the flickering flames in the hearth. “I still hate him,” she mumbled aloud, though Kingsley had been dead for nearly a year and couldn’t harm her any longer. Except for two thin scars on her back, courtesy of Kingsley’s riding crop, her flesh was unmarred. Still, she felt vulnerable and sometimes imagined that her body throbbed with pain.

The beatings had begun after they’d been married almost two years, around the time Kingsley decided that she must be barren. Previous to this, she’d done her duty by him without complaint until one night he came to her drunk and filled with rage, blaming her for the lack of an heir. She remembered rising up on the bed, screaming at him that the fault might lie with him. It was then he’d slapped her across the face, shouting that he could father a child. Wasn’t Jarla and her brat proof of that?

But the years passed and finally Diana conceived. Her joy was boundless. She’d have the child she wanted, a child Kingsley wanted, but best of all, perhaps now he’d leave her alone. Now she wouldn’t have to listen when he sneeringly reminded her about Jackie, a slave girl’s child, living proof of her failure. She was going to have a baby, wouldn’t be forced to endure Kingsley in her bed or the stinging slaps when he was displeased with her. However, her dreams shattered on a summer afternoon early in her pregnancy when she miscarried.