TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS

SCHERZO - STAVE XLVII

S T A V E

XLVII

She marches behind the wagon. Heat waves on the road. Sweat in her eyes – Dalrymple’s dropping on her as that of all men who had grind on her. Grace aside her with a sallow look. A shot rings out. The wagon burst with splinters. Blood jets from Grace’s head. Obedience hits the ground. Yankee soldiers surround her, stabbing her thighs with bayonets. Arms grabbed her shoulders and ankles. Her skirts tossed up to her head. They spread her out . . .

She startled.

The room quiet. The bed curtains open. The door closed.

Locked she hoped, and the room in some distant place; the dream out there with this solitary moment. What had happened? Nothing happened. Nothing. Good to be alone, to be still without emotion. Too much emotion.

Dalrymple with the good sense to go had crept out like a one-night lover. He’d given her a kiss, interrupting her whistling slumber, but with no other stir. She now wiped her cheek, an unconscious gesture and sitting up, found the sheet beneath her wet and a cold ooze between her legs. She jumped from the bed, grabbing the chamber pot. “Damn you,” on her lips as she squatted. “Damn you. Damn you. Damn you.” With basin and soap, she washed herself hard. Towelled. Washed again. And again. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. Pulled on her white hose, white chemise and white cap, her body washed clean and ready for her armour. On came the petticoats, the stays, stomacher and gown.

Damn you.

At the mirror, she spied the stained linen and covered it with the chintz counterpane, spreading it smooth, and placing the pillows at the head. Neat and Proper.

Again to the mirror to brush out her hair left flat from the heavy wig and pillow. Brush it out. Brush it hard. Clumps which she threw upon the floor. It refused to untangle. It will untangle and what doesn’t, she’ll pull out, cut it out if need be. That her hair fall upon her shoulders like a gentle hand. She should wash it with rain water, but no time – a lesson at 9:00 with Tildon. No need to look good for him. She should cancel. Even better not show – leave the letch waiting. Then there’s Colonel Howard to whom she is to take coffee – a note she’d received yesterday morning; he’d said nothing of it last night. She must be bright and on her game. The tresses fell soft against her neck. She pinned them up and donned the cap.

Breakfast waited in the kitchen and Mrs. G., discreet as ever, said nothing about Dalrymple out the door at sunrise. She knew. Binah made sure of it. Inevitable – such Dalliances. Wartime breeds them.  

Obedience breezed in with a string of Italian exclamations.

“Well, my dear, you’re energetic.”

“I’m electrified! Slept poorly and awoke in a State, but decided this day is Beautiful and declare it so!”

“A rare quality,” Grisham’s backhand admiration.

Obedience laughed. “Dio, I shall be late. I’m always late. The pattern of my life.” Her smile frantic. “I must be off. Ciao, senora bella.” Made it through that gauntlet.

She headed off to Tildon’s, the street cluttered with winter’s dregs, though Spring coming on. Between her legs hurt. What does it matter? Could be worse – back in the barracks, wretched and hungry . . . Elliot on my tail . . . She grimaced. Basta –  Enough. Stupid Italian. Stupid Dalrymple . . . An engagement with Colonel Howard this afternoon; what does he want?  Did she let Dalrymple know it? The Shit should be jealous. He deserves so. I’ll make sure of it. Howard wants to bed me, he’s not said it, but he does. What with his pregnant wife back home about to pop. Put Lord Dalrymple in a stew . . .

As she rounded the corner to the dreary alley, she saw Dalrymple and Theodosia going through the door.   

Walk on, her judgment warned. Make him come to you. And why’s Theo there? What’s Tildon planning?

She turned to go, but turned again. Who is the stronger? You’re the stronger. The one who cares least has Control. She took her time and opened the door without a knock.

Downstairs – still, the upstairs shaking – a woman singing, coupled with Tildon’s critiques. She started up, when, on second thought, decided to make them wait longer. She’ll hide in the parlour. Well, not hide – let her be discovered. A delay, if you please. Play the Diva. She waltzed in – that Tildon have a decent chair, the little Maccarone . . . Her nose wrinkled. An odour of quim. And though the parlour be dark by the closed shutters, in a corner, standing upright, two forms with skirts up and crumpled breeches to the knees and a bare ass pumping. Dalrymple and Theodosia.

She watched: vintage Dalrymple thrusting his Sword on and on and on – he should do so well at Soldiering . . . And Theodosia scraping her knee ‘gainst his thigh, then hooking ‘round his hips, surprised it’s not over.  

They didn’t hear her charge, Dalrymple sucking on Theo’s lower lip when Obedience round-housed him. She did not stay for their reaction.

Down the street she flew, throwing off the lace cap Dalrymple had bought her, till she stumbled to the curb in tears.

Passersby surrounded her. “What’s the matter?” “What’s the matter?” “Are you all right, madam?” “Has a soldier accosted you?” “Someone call the Watch!”

“Don’t call the Watch,” her voice cracked. “Nothing’s happened. Please don’t call the Watch.”   

She headed for Grishams’.

And I let him touch me. I let him – Me. It’s always Me. Imbecile Me . . . And what do you expect? . . . I never expect! Never think! . . . Stupid, filthy Sex – Throw it away!  

She stopped. No more of this . . . It’s done . . . And thank God for it . . . .

And MacEachran? Her conscience whispered. 

Don’t think on it now. Plenty of time for that.

She passed by a church and thought of Old St Mary’s. And her father once again, the Scriptures open in his hand – “But I am Carnal, sold under Sin. For that which I do not allow: for what I would do, That, do I not; But what I Hate, That, I do.”

“You’re back?” Grisham and Binah kneading dough up to their elbows. 

Obedience too nonchalant at the kitchen door. “Cancelled.”   

Grisham thumped the ball with her fist. “Binah, mix more dough. Now that Mrs. MacEachran’s here, we’ll be done quickly.”

Obedience slapped the dough and strangled it to ooze between her fingers. She pulled away a hunk, rolled it sausage shape, then twisted it apart. “This is what they need.”

“Some do,” Grisham said. “And what does the young man knock about?”

“What have they ever knocked about? Women. Good thing there’s a bloody war to cull that population otherwise there’d be too many bloody men. I can think of a few it could take down. Give me the bunch in the Molly house.”

Binah nodded.

“You think so too,” Obedience said to her.

Binah shrugged.

They worked through the morning, Obedience not wanting to stop, but she must meet with Colonel Howard, meet with him regardless of her mood. In all this time, he’d not touched her, but prepared herself for this too.

They took cakes on a stone patio in the garden of the Turk’s Head under an ash tree.

“I am so pleased with your progress,” Howard said. “We’ve made a bit of money. Though I was anxious when you cracked. You’ve been taking the proper care? Getting enough rest? You really can’t afford to have it happen again.”

“You’re right,” she demurred. “I shall guard myself better. This situation you’ve provided is generous and your care, kind.”

“Kind?” A patronizing grin. “Nothing of the sort. I protect my Investment, otherwise she’s just an attractive woman. And I’ll not pay for that. War is a time for making money. It is also boredom and when in boredom, one needs a deal of Cash. I’m sure your husband agrees.”

“We do, sir.”

“Good to hear. It’d be a tragedy if any encumbrance should interfere.”

She marked him. “What encumbrance could you ever mean?”

Howard tilted his balding head, the breeze lifting strands about his ears. “The usual type.”

“The usual?”

“The one that might entangle a woman in your position.”

She rubbed her arms. “I see.”

Howard sat back. “You think me harsh, Mrs. MacEachran?”

“Frank,” she said.

“Good. Yes, very good. Let us be frank. I’ve been made Brevet General of Brigade; General Mathew returns to London. When I go home to Suffolk, I plan to retire and be the old M.P. I’ve a pregnant wife and am a faithful man; if I could, I’d of brought her with me. We’re not all like you think. I raise dogs, race horses, collect fine art . . .”

“I’m a horse?” She drank her coffee.

“Better a stable horse than a work horse,” Howard’s voice began to rise, but checked himself. “My apology, you’ve worked hard and deserve it so . . . Mrs. MacEachran, to be frank, do not presume to fuck Captain Dalrymple on my coin.”

The spinning earth stopped and Obedience like one shot dead.

“If you wish to swive with the gentleman, let him support you himself. That you cuckold your husband is your own affair, but I shall not be cuckolded as your patron. Bad form, doesn’t put me in the highest standing especially with my wife about to give child. She thinks I’m running a brothel. I’ve no qualms sponsoring you for your voice. But it’s a small world, you know. There – Frankness. Hope it didn’t upset you. You are smart and clever, and I know war has made these times a Covent Garden. How can you think I might object when bed hopping is the rage? War is a lonely life, far from home. It is difficult in unacquainted surroundings. One never knows when a husband can be taken away. We make Attachments as we can, like we must forage on campaign – I’m not so narrow minded nor naïve. But it is not done when it compromises one’s employer. I’m sure you can understand.”  Howard placed a cake on her plate and raised his cup. “There, enough said. With hard work, you may one day be celebrated back home. On that day, you’ll be free and on your own. You’d not want to ruin it.”

Obedience, her cheeks with the colour of pearl, stared with eyes glistening. “You are a hard man, sir.”   

He nodded with sympathy. “I’m an officer. I send men to their deaths. I walk out in front of them. At times kindness must be cruel, or there’s no reclamation. I do want your success.”

“And I thought – ”

“Thought what, Mrs. MacEachran?”

“Nothing, sir. It is nothing. Thank you for this difficult kindness.”

“If you wish, I’ll settle it with Dalrymple.”

She looked away. “Nothing to settle, sir.”

“Very good then. We shall talk no more of this. ”

“No, sir.” She could have vomited on the table.

Howard relaxed, warm sunshine dappling the trees. “You miss the brigade?”

“Not at all, sir,” she tried to muster. “I adore my new life. I will work hard and follow Mr. Tildon’s instructions.”

Howard in a fatherly manner – “Don’t let Tildon fluster you. The day is coming when you’ll outgrow him. Then your world will open.”

“Yes, sir. May I go?”

******************

She grabbed a large cup, that and a rum bottle from amongst the preserves, poured it halfway up and topped it with boiled coffee.

The kitchen door banged open, Binah bustling in straight for the pantry, spitting an unrecognizable curse.

“Want this?” Obedience near the hearth with the bottle.

Binah startled. “Mistress.” Hand to her breast with a servile shift. “Thought you gone for the day.”

Obedience’s face swollen and red.

“You want for me to get you something, ma’am?” Binah’s cautious navigation.

Obedience shook the bottle. “It’s lower than I expected.”

Binah’s eyes big. “Please don’t tell.”

“Grab a cup. I can replace the bottle.”

“Something troubling you, Mistress?”

“Nothing I want to talk about.”

Binah nodded – an unconscious measure, not thought but felt. Invisible. “Trouble comes in its own time.” A momentary silence.

“What was that curse?” Obedience dissembled. “I’ve never seen you angry.”

Binah with a practiced laughter. “That’s my daddy cursing with that talk of his.

Mistress Grisham would skin me if she heard it.”

“What does it mean?”

“Don’t know, but Daddy would beat me if he heard me say it.” Binah with a genuine smile.

“Why would Mrs. Grisham be angry if she doesn’t know what it means?”

Binah snorted. “It’s African. Daddy was African. Not one of these Neger Mullattos who think they’re something. Mother was African too. Here, they beat Africa out of you. And if kind, teach it out. I try not to give them reason.”

“Yes,” Obedience said. “Better not to give them reason. But I should think you don’t. You blend with the fixtures.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“We’ve all our slavery,” Obedience said on her own condition.  

“Your pardon, I’m no slave. Daddy was a Free Man. Mister Grisham’s father, Captain Grisham, was a Christian man. After he built his fortune, the Lord corrected his heart and he set his slaves free down in Charlestown. He then come North and took six Negers with him. Taught them to be sailors. Daddy was a sailor. Died of Ship’s Fever. Mother passed with my youngest brother. All my brothers are sailors. My sons too – in Rhode Island.”

“If not chattel, why stay here?”

“Where am I gonna go? My husband died of Camp Colic ten years ago. Our family and the Grishams been twined for many years. We’re the Black and White of each other. My youngest is fighting against your people. My oldest fighting against him in your navy. Frets me. Makes me sick. Makes Mistress Grisham sick too. Her two boys with the Provincials. Between the screws in my joints and worrying, I don’t sleep. I read the shells and they say no good.”

“Shells?”

Binah jiggled a small bag on her belt.

“Magick?”

“A gift.” Binah measured. “Come to me from my mother. She could do it. My grandmother too I’m told. Ju-Ju . . .”

“You read them like a book?”

“I roll them and stare, then the Vision.”

“Could you do it for me?”

Binah waved her hand. “Not for Whites.”

“If I paid you?”

Binah walked to the hearth and stirred the stew in a simmering pot. She sipped. “Peppa.” And ground peppercorns in a stone mortar. “You want me to read the shells for you. And if you don’t like what they say? What then? You blame me? No ma’am. Mother told me never to roll the Shells for White.” 

“But I’ve never had my fortune told.”

Binah returned the lid, banging it harder than she should. “Ain’t no fortune, Mistress. Ju-Ju’s powerful Magick. Nothing to be fooled with. Use to be they hang you for this.”

“Binah, please,” Obedience moaned. “I’ll pay you whatever you ask. Have pity on me, please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking. It may tell you noth’n and just get me in trouble.”

Obedience, as it all rushed up, began sobbing.

“Shew,” Binah prickled. “You’ve got to pay, Mistress. Pay what I say.” Obedience sniffling, nodded. “We can’t do it here. Works best at night.”

A knock at the front door and Binah left to answer it. A muffled conversation drifted into the kitchen followed by footsteps.

“Not now,” Obedience moaned. “Go away.”

“Mistress, someone's to see you.”