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"Kosciuszko and Arnold had arrived."

About damn time if you ask me! :D

I happened to like the "angels of war". I can see them now rolling up the sleeves of their robes as they hold Cerberus tightly on his lease just before they let loose the hound of war! ;) At least I think Cerberus could fill in for the hound of war. :p

Joe
 
Again I am awed by your skill, Cat. Simply awed. You were able to tie in the fatigue, border-line despair, determination and gallows humor of Leyton and his troops to the point where I felt like I was among them. My hat is off to you yet again.

I do also have to make a comment that I LOVED your "mixed metaphor" with the angels of war. That was good! :D

Sooo, how does Cornwallis like the little surprise that was just thrown in his face? Me thinks that he found it.... distasteful? Good. :D
 
Stuyvesant: Yes, the tide's turned...though the British are building troops. I don't think it's quite over yet.

LewsTherin: Thanks!

Judas Maccabeus: Done. :) In game, 'Leyton's' army was at panicked morale, but flatly refused to break. They held on just long enough for Arnold et.al. to arrive. The battle ended shortly thereafter.

Storey: Cerberus fills in for the hounds of war when they're on break. Their union's a little upset though, they're afraid Cerberus might be used to deprive the hounds of overtime.

Draco Rexus: Thanks! And yes, Cornwallis didn't like that one bit.
 
Chapter 72: Going Home

29th December, 1780
Braintree, Massachusetts


"Hello, Master Waymouth!" The man, a boy really still working out the benefits of shaving and looking somewhat malformed in his oversized uniform, waved cheerily. Waymouth grunted something that might have been a civility.

"Everyone seems friendly," Cassandra Rafferty offered. To the casual observer it seemed like she'd taken the older man's arm, her fingers resting on his sleeve. In truth she gripped his arm firmly, guiding him along the streets so he wouldn't publically falter.

"They're being friendly to you." Waymouth tried to protect her from the rumors that she was his unusually handsome prize, the result of some hidden reservoir of charm and daring. The young men envied his luck, the older women tsked. Massachusetts could be quite provincial when it chose, a result of its Puritan beginning. Celebrating Christmas was still a great crime and in Boston a great way to be fired from ones job or expelled from school.

"I wonder how friendly they'd be if they knew I was British," she answered in a low tone, chuckling.

"Let's not find out." At best she'd be taken up as an enemy alien and placed under house arrest. It'd taken all of Waymouth's skill and several patients vouching for her to avoid imprisonment when the Americans seized Albany. It'd taken two months for the pair to thread their way through the Pioneer Valley into central then eastern Massachusetts.

A few minutes later Waymouth stopped, shuddering, and she guided him to a bench. "Are you certain you're up for this? I can very well make it by myself."

"Of course I am!" he snapped. Then, in a gentler tone, "You shouldn't be out alone."

Cassie snorted. "I trailed an army through the greater part of New York. I think I can cross a town alone."

"And that entire army would have struck down anyone who so much as spoke unkindly, and I assure you there are far worse things than wild animals or roving Indians around here."

"A gentlemen shouldn't try to frighten a lady," she tossed her head.

"You don't seem the kind to frighten easily."

She laughed, though there was a dark undertone that made Waymouth look at her. He'd warned her that she'd probably find John changed, but perhaps he was the one in for the surprise. Waymouth saw a hardness somewhere behind Cassie's bright brown eyes, the look of one who'd had their youth burned out of them. She didn't talk about the time between leaving Poplar Ridge, New York and reappearing in Albany, and he didn't see fit to ask.

Everyone had their wounds, the American thought grimly. And everyone had the right to leave them dead and buried.

"Huzzah! Huzzah!" He looked up at the crowd gathered around the rider from Boston and walked over with her help. The messenger said something and they cheered again.

"What news?" he demanded. They told him of a 'famous' victory in Virginia. General Arnold (of Massachusetts, of course,) decisively defeated Lord Cornwallis, killing or capturing some three thousand Englishmen. Kosciuxzko had died in the fighting, leaving Arnold as senior officer in the north. Even now he was gathering the remnants of Wayne's forces, a Colonel Leyton from New York, and Maryland reinforcements into a powerful army to retake Fort Carleton in New York then strike deep into Canada. Cassie paled and looked down quickly.

"Maybe you should sit down," Waymouth offered once they were alone again.

"No!" she answered quickly. Too quickly. "No, I'm fine."

"If you say so..."

"I do!"

They walked to the carriage house, where their ride waited to take them the ten miles or so to Boston harbor. Waymouth sank gratefully into the cushioned seat, huffing, while Cassie sat next to him. Two men joined them, a banker named Simon, and a midshipman in America's barely extant navy - Roland.

"Have you heard the news?" Roland demanded. He proceeded to repeat the tale with high pitched, youthful enthusiasm. "We'll beat them again and again!" he swore.

Simon sighed audibly. "It is very well," he sniffed. "I will be happier when it is ended."

"You don't think much of this war?" Cassie asked, looking up.

"No, madam." He bowed slightly at Waymouth to acknowledge his presence. "No. I must say I do not understand this fervor. Declaring independence from Britain? Perhaps that is fair enough, but this sudden desire for war, for land is puzzling. Warfare, madam, always costs more than any possible gain. And what have we gained? Some savage country in the west? A few towns that would sooner bend their knee to their king than our...republic? No, we have spent millions on this war and earned nothing but graveyards full of dead, and armies of brigands taking what they will."

"Oh," Cassie murmured softly.

"The British army isn't that bad! At least they don't take everything," Roland retorted.

"I wasn't referring to the English army."

"I'm in the army," Waymouth warned.

"How very horrible for you."

The cornet grit his teeth, while Roland rushed into the sudden pause. "Ma'am, shall I tell you about my work?"

Cassie could care less, but it would help dissolve the tension. "Certainly."

"I'm on a revenue cutter, ma'am. A cutter is, of course, a small ship. Mine has ten men - the lieutenant, myself, and eight sailors. We board incoming and outgoing ships, inspect their cargo and collect the harbormaster's tax..."

"The harbormaster's cut."

"Beg pardon, sir?"

Simon looked down at him. "His cut, sir. Surely you do not expect all of your collections to go to the city of Boston?"

"No," Waymouth grinned dangerously. "Some goes to the Commonwealth, and from there to Congress."

"Pray don't be absurd." Simon had little use for army men, none at all for tax collectors. "If you do not think the harbormaster takes his share - or in your case, sir, the quartermaster takes some of what's meant for the Army - then you live in a very cheerful world indeed."

"You seem to know quite a bit," Waymouth retorted.

"It's my business." He turned back to Roland. "In fact, I can assure you for a fact the harbormaster deposits more than eight shillings a month in our safe."

"Really??"

"Are you really supposed to tell us that?" Waymouth demanded.

"I hardly think it signifies," Simon shrugged. An old army man, a baby sailor and a woman were no threat to him. "My point, however, is that collecting taxes in harbor is vulnerable to corruption."

"Excuse me?" Roland looked offended.

"I was not speaking of you."

"What do you propose then?" Waymouth smiled. "Perhaps the state can simply take a collection?"

"You are being absurd again. No, however a tax on imports is ridiculous. It encourages merchants to go elsewhere and smuggle their goods in. In fact, it punishes the very businesses that sees to Boston's prosperity. The only alternative that does not unfairly tax those who bring the most benefit to the city is a land-based property tax. Then those who can't afford to pay are relieved the burden, and businesses are not punished for...doing business."

"Do you own land?" Roland demanded.

"Of course not."

The conversation continued into Boston, Simon rebuffing the two military mens' advances. It didn't occur to him to wonder why Cassie had fallen silent, or why she watched him with dark, intent eyes.
 
Another nitpick: Benny Arnold was from Connecticut. But you could have them say that he was "a New Englander" instead, and that would work fine. :)

Aren't you glad to have me around to annoy you with unimportant trivia? :p
 
That's okay Judas :) But you're mistaken.

Benny Arnold WAS born in Norwich, Connecticut. This is true. However, he started the war as a colonel in the Massachusetts Militia. He apparently moved at some point.
 
I'm wondering where this conversation will end up. Not sure I like your last line about Cassie watching the banker intently. Does she have some long-buried grudge against bankers in general or this one specifically? Is it all going to end up in bloody murder?

In other words: I'm clueless. But I have faith you'll resolve it to satisfaction. :)

...the look of one who'd had their youth burned out of them.
Click to expand...
I think that's an imaginative way of putting it. I like it.
 
Stuyvesant: Who knows? Cassie was gone for years...

J. Passepartout: You wouldn't think so. ;)
 
Chapter 73: Broken Psyche

5th January, 1781
Boston, Massachusetts


The honorable banking house of Searle, Simon and Graham stood on State Street near the Massachusetts State House. It was a simple brick building with a main greeting room where the clerk worked, three offices and of course the safe. It'd been founded in 1757, and despite Mister Simon's protests, they'd prospered from the war and had even started experimenting in ship/anti-piracy insurance.

Cassie knew them all by heart now. Searle was an old man with a limp who wheezed when he walked. Graham was a fat man who openly dreamt of starting a sister house in a 'civilized' city like London. The clerk was her age. His chief crime seemed to be not being strong or healthy enough to follow his father into blacksmithing. She'd studied them all for a week now. The boy spent his lunches trying to woo some simpering idiot with the intelligence of mush who scorned him, which was too bad as he seemed nice enough and still had time to redeem himself. Graham had gorged too heavily, too often and his stomach was failing at last. He'd be dead within two years, as would the old man. That left Simon.

The sun set on a cloudy, wintry day as she crouched in the alley next to the tavern. Boston was the kind of city that slept and woke early, most people took dusk as a sign to go home. Yes, Mister Simon. Night comes early this time of year, does it not? Dismiss your clerk....yes, there you go. The boy left wearing a heavy jacket, hunched and shivering against the cold he couldn't constitutionally bear. Yes, check your books one more time. I can wait. She had all night if need be. Cassie genuinely liked Cornet Waymouth, even if he had a habit of invoking ancient courtesies best forgotten and buried. He'd never understand tonight though, so she'd given him enough laudanum to ensure he'd be out until morning at least. Instinctively she reached into her purse and fingered Waymouth's knife. It bore a heavy blade for slicing, jagged and slightly bent from being jammed in a soldier's collarbone. Two heavy metal bolts reinforced the wood handle, they were cold against her hand.

As Cassie waited, two sailors came out of the tavern laughing heartily. Apparently they'd decided to enjoy their evening early. They rounded the corner, saw a pretty girl hudded in the alley, made assumptions about her vocation, recoiled as Cassie showed them Waymouth's knife, grasped their error and decided to find entertainment elsewhere.

In the meantime it began snowing gently. She frowned ... but no. The snow wouldn't have time to accumulate before this was all over, so no tracks. Finally Simon blew out his candle, the bank's windows going dark, and he stepped in the evening air. Silently she snarled, then rushed across the street as Simon turned for home.

Mister Simon was perhaps forty, and bulky with salt and pepper hair. He walked with a cane but it seemed an affectation since, as far as Cassie could tell from observation, he was perfectly healthy. He lived alone, though there was a housemaid who cleaned and prepared his meal before returning to her home in the town of Lynn. She would have left early with the threat of snow, which was perfect. No one would miss him until tomorrow morning.

The banker cut north towards Faneuil Hall. Despite the markets being closed, it was busy here with men, women, children, and horse drawn carriages jockeying for position in the market square. Cassie darted here and there, doing her best to keep Simon in sight. At one point she lost him, but Cassie knew where he was heading - the man was nothing if not predictable - and cut up a side path to intercept North Street. A moment later he appeared, she breathed and continued her pursuit. Jangling bells warned her of an approaching wagon, and Cassie stepped into a shadow as Simon chatted with the driver.

When the wagon finally passed her she read the sign on its frame: A coffinmaker. How appropriate.

Somewhere a ship's horn sang out. Not only did night come early this time of year, but darkness also. The sun didn't set, it was snuffed out and in the space of a hundred yards the street darkened noticeably. No moon tonight of course, let alone any stars. Finally Simon stopped and lit a lantern, which made following him much easier. Cassie grinned as he cut between two warehouses, thinking to take fifty yards off his journey. That would be his last mistake. She ran, pressing her back against the cold wood frame of one of the storage houses and peered around the corner.

The banker sensed something was wrong and looked around wildly. "Who's there!?" he demanded, hefting his cane.

"Just me, Mister Simon." Cassie stepped into view, snuffling and tucking her hands under her arms for warmth. She saw him relax upon seeing her. Fool.

"Miss...Rafferty, right? What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry...I became lost. Boston is such a huge city. I thought I recognized you by the torchlight, so I ran after you."

"Lost?" Simon stepped to her with a critical eye. "Where are you going?"

"I'm staying at the....at an inn. There's a cross in its name. Oh, I can't remember."

"King's Crossing? Yes? Good, you're not that far. You just down to the market square, and..."

"Could you take me?" she asked, wide-eyed.

Simon grit his teeth, and for a moment he looked like he'd refuse.

"I'd be very grateful," Cassie promised, bending forward slightly to hint at something beneath her coat.

"Of...of course. Follow me.." The banker passed her, heading the way you came. "The clever thing to remember about Boston is..."

She leapt on his back. Bulky and in good health he may be, but Simon wasn't strong and probably hadn't been in a fight in twenty years.

"What are you doing?" he cried, thrashing.

"Destroy any innkeepers lately?" she screamed. Out with the knife. There was some impurity in the steel, it shone blue in the snowfall. Cassie stabbed down and now it shone red, then she stabbed again and again.

The bells of the Old North Church began to ring.

-----------------------

"Miss Rafferty? Cassandra!"

She awoke suddenly, leaping up, but strong arms pinned her down. The ship's bells continued tolling the hour, and her cot rocked gently. Sea...yes, they were at sea, and it was two days before New Years. They'd left Boston that afternoon for Charleston.

Waymouth released her and moved his lantern closer. The flame flickered blue/yellow. "You were having a nightmare."

"I was not!" Cassie retorted, lifting her blanket to cover her night dress. "How dare you..."

The door to her cabin slammed open and an officer stood in the doorway, pistol drawn. He looked at them and turned crimson.

"Beg pardon ma'am, sir ... but I thought I heard a scream."
 
Wow! Two updates in a day... Where do you find the time, Cat? Great stuff.

I enjoyed the foreshadowing about Heyward's Generalship; most entertaining. When do we next hear from St. Augustine?

And Cassandra is perfectly suited to John, don't you think? A little dark, a little vengeful, a little impulsive. :rofl: A match made ... somewhere. Just stay away when they fight.
 
Great updates, and I agree with Brinoch, Cassie and John are a perfect match for each other, and one that you want to stay way clear of when then have a falling out with each other, or anyone else for that matter, eh? :D
 
:confused: :confused:

I am really lost. Why did Cassandra want to kill the banker? And I thought she really did it, but now it may only be a dream, like some soap opera plot? Maybe I'm slow today, but it seems as though all of a sudden all your characters are going nuts and I am reeling from confusion.

No question, though, that Cassandra is a very different girl from the pretty young Canadian girl who Preston first met years before.
 
Been a while since I had the chance to read and comment, but I found some time today to catch up on a few missed tales and I made getting up to date on this one a top priority on my list. Some really great updates. I think i've mentioned before that I really love the scenes in Congress and they continue to be great. You still haven't really explained what happened to Washington, though I am curious if Benedict Arnold will take his place. I really enjoyed Charles Leyton, perhaps because I am a New Yorker, but I hope he and his NY Militia make a return appearence. Lastly, the battle of Wolf hill was great! Very vivid.
 
Forgive me for not remembering exactly, but I take it that Cassie holds some banker or other responsible for destroying her father's livelihood and by extension, her own life? And it seems she was just having a bad dream... although perhaps describing it as a 'bad' dream is incorrect, as it seems to say that she wants to extract bloody revenge on somebody (anybody?).

Hope for more updates and subsequent clarification. :)
 
First reaction: PHEW!!! That was quite a read!

Second (immediate) reaction: WOW! WOW! WOW! WOW! That was quite a read!!!

As you can probably tell, I finally made it a point to read through this incredible and lengthy tale, Catknight. In short, this is brilliant!!! Your characters are vivid, your plot consistent yet deep, your descriptions of people, places and events extremely detailed and well-researched and your language and word skills sublime!

I have enjoyed to the fullest the animosity (for lack of a better word) between Thomas and Rutledge. The path you have chosen for John is complex yet totally in step with the period and events. And the scenes in Congress are as on target as I have ever read in historical fiction. If I have any quibble at all, it would be - more Adams!! I love John Adams and would love to see you tackle him with more depth.

Finally, I must comend you for sticking with this through thick and thin, including the move, lightening strikes and all else! Keep it up and from this point forward, consider me a regular reader. I can only lament that I was not such so many months ago. What a wonderful story to follow! Great work!!! :D
 
J. Passepartout: Yes...Cassie has a bit of a problem. Fortunately Mr. Simon is still safe in Boston. :)

Brinoch: We'll catch up with Heyward and Preston very soon. There hasn't been much to write about, sieges are boring. I probably could have risked an assault, but if I lost we'd be right back where we started with a runaway English army. Eep!

And yes, won't Cassie and John make a cute couple??

Draco Rexus: Hey, they're teenagers. (Actually in their early twenties now.) They're just uhm...expressing themselves!

jwolf: Uhm...you realize I have to kill you now. Soap opera!? I'll have you know the 'dream sequence' is an ancient literary tactic, and I already used it once this AAR. *sniff* It seemed more appropriate than "Cassie was having nightmares and revenge dreams. She didn't like Simon." :D

Now, if I'd declared the last twenty posts a dream sequence, that'd be a soap opera plot. ;)

You're definitely right though, Cassie's changed. I go into that more below.

Machiavellian: Welcome back! The Congress scenes are fun, and it gives me something to think about whenever I have an important decision to make in game. You're about to find out the English made a peace proposal - it failed 9-4 for various reasons (mostly involving not returning Georgia.)

As for Washington and Arnold, see below. We'll see if we can find Leyton a permanent home in the AAR.

Stuyvesant: Well, see the comments for Cassie below. You're right though, it was a 'bloody revenge' type dream. I have them once in awhile. :eek:

Hey, why's everyone looking at me like that??

coz1: Wow, thanks! As I said, the Congress scenes are really helping shape the game itself now, I'll even roll dice if I'm not sure how a state's going to go. It may make my play a little inefficient (the north started building ships to deal with the pirates, the south started building ships to match the north) but it's fun.
---------------------------------------

General Comment: I just (finally) bought Vickie last night. Tales like Coz's "Into the West" and Machiavellian's "54 - 40' or..." convinced me this was necessary. I don't expect it to slow me up, but if you suddenly see anarchistic bombers you know what happened. :X

Characters: From reading the latest comments it seems I sometimes miss the mark describing what's going on with the characters and events. Part of that is probably my attempt to reveal the important stuff going on in a story format, and part of it is the fact subplots and characters <i>change</i> as I write them out. Mr. Simon, for example, was never intended to be anything but a comment on how the 'upper class' felt about this war. Then in mid-post I realized Cassie didn't like what he was saying. Then you asked why and I thought about it, leading to the dream, and so forth. So...I can work on that. :) In the meantime, this is where all the major characters should stand:

Heyward and Preston are at the siege of St. Augustine. We haven't seen them in awhile.

Jasen Exeter hasn't been seen since fleeing the Battle of the Altamaha River. We don't know if he was killed in battle, escaped, or what.

Dieter von Zahringen hasn't been seen since the southern army was trashed by Exeter a few years ago. He's presumed killed.

Edward Rutledge is in Charleston, heading up a 'Carolina/Virginia' joint assembly. Their best men are at this assembly, and they're sending less experienced/capable men to the national Congress. As you're about to find out, this extra alliance between the southern states is illegal ... with the war on no one's been able to tell him so.

Arnold, Wesley Harding, Leyton and the NY militia are all pulling together into one large northern army in northern Virginia/southern Pennsylvania. They're getting ready to finish taking back New York, then head north. Kosciuszko was killed in the battle with Cornwallis.

Stewart is on his way to New Orleans via the Mississippi River, and from there intends to find this 'southern general' and do something about him. He assassinated Washington in an effort to bog down the western front. He was partially successful, as this led Spain to claim the siege at Hindua province, and thus the incomplete peace treaty. Said treaty disgraced General Wayne, so Arnold is indeed the effective CinC.

We haven't heard from Stewart's dark friend, the supposed Nazi, in years. We won't until the war ends.

Waymouth was badly injured in the Battle of Wolf Hill and is no longer with the army, at least temporarily. He and Cassie are on their way to Charleston to find Preston.

Cassie isn't insane...but something (we don't know what yet) obviously happened during the handful of years she was gone. We don't know why she hates Simon and/or bankers, though we got a pretty good clue last post.

Congress is its usual mess, due to meet again in early Spring. Since Coz asked, John Adams is currently in Boston while his brother, Samuel, is trying to sort things out.

Events:
The war continues of course. After defeating Cornwallis the northern armies meet and are about to go to Oswego (west New York) and take it back. The southern army's at St. Augustine.

The French are (ineffectually) still fighting the Shawnee. They're also getting their rump handed to them by the Dakota, who control everything north of New Orleans.

The English have colony-grown troops at Mobile and Halifax. I'm not sure why they aren't moving in-game, though I have a reason in-story.

The Spanish are moving their armies through my territory, heading for Quebec. However on February 1 they sign a seperate peace with England, so those troops will eventually go home.

My stability's +1, my treasury's healthy (perhaps too healthy, I need to take another look at my settings), I dominate several Portugese, French and American CoTs and would be quite healthy if England would just give up the right territories and let me get to the next post-war part of the story! :cool:

Any questions? :)
 
Chapter 74: ...before Dishonor

11th February, 1781
Charleston, South Carolina

"Sir?" The clerk stood in the doorway diffidently. "I beg pardon, sir."

"Quite alright." Edward Rutledge straightened behind the ornate desk at his law office. The room was opulent and brightly lit, with several cushioned chairs near side tables and an entire wall devoted to books. Rutledge lay his quill carefully across a neighbor's last will and testament. "Are they early?"

"No, sir. We received a packet from the Committee of States this morning."

"We did?" Rutledge smirked. The Committee came into force whenever Congress wasn't in session, such as the middle of winter. They had almost no power, their sole duty to hold things together until Congress could meet. "What word from our northern brothers?"

The clerk answered, accurately as it turned out, but Rutledge was busy cutting the string and unwrapping the canvas cover. His eyes fell on the royal seal of Great Britain.

"To the Honourable Congress of the United States of America," he read. "Honourable? Since when? On behalf of his Royal Majesty, George, third of his name, by the grace of God...entreat for peace!? Offer the following concessions? Hey, what's this?"

"A peace treaty," the clerk repeated. "The attached letter ... here, sir.... asks for our response as soon as possible. I've taken the liberty of calling for the state assembly in your name."

Rutledge pulled out the accompanying map and glanced at it. "They want to keep Georgia?"

offer0281.txt

You can have it all...except what you really want.

"Apparently."

"Well, they can have Georgia." He studied the map intently. "New York is restored, no question how they'll vote. Massachusetts gains...some of their territory. Several settlements by the Mississippi River ... I'm sure we can arrange a reasonable division of income from those areas." He nodded. "Everything appears..." His eyes fell on the Gulf Coast. "They want to keep Mobile as well."

"And Biloxi, sir. Basically everything east of Louisiana."

Rutledge set his jaw, slowly unrolling the treaty itself. "Any word from Mister Heyward?"

"At last report, General Heyward was besieging Saint Augustine. Should I...tell him to hold?" If the Carolinas were going to stop the war, there wasn't much reason to continue the siege.

"....Let's wait until the Assembly has their say." He knew they'd vote pretty much any way he desired, but his heart was torn. Rutledge wanted this 'unprofitable' war to end very much, especially since they'd obviously convinced Britain of their point. He could find Heyward something more profitable to do with his time, like attack the Cherokee.... but he'd been relying on West and East Florida and even Georgia to balance northern voting power. The end of the war would mean dissolving the Carolina/Virginia joint assembly. Under Article VI of the Articles of Confederation such separate alliances were quite illegal. He needed them as puppets to...

"Very good, sir." The clerk bowed and left. Rutledge frowned and continued reading. "We agree...to welcome the United States of America into the brotherhood of nations, to not intercept her shipping nor prevent her merchants from operating in Great Britain..." How generous of them....

This continued for some time, discussing changes in government for the 'transferred' territories, guarantees of citizens wanting to stay and those wishing to leave, exchange of prisoners, promises to recognize and salute each others' flags, exchange of embassies...

"Sir? Your guests have arrived."

"Eh? Certainly." Rutledge stood, put on his coat and wig. "There, how's that?"

"Perfect."

"Good, show them in. Mister Waymouth? A very good morning to you. Miss Rafferty? Your servant." Rutledge made his leg. "I hope I find you well? The cold doesn't bother you?"

South Carolina's idea of winter didn't signify and both smiled politely. "I am quite well," Cassandra told him softly, offering her hand. "And it's very kind of you to see us."

"Not at all, ma'am." He took her hand and felt his heart give an odd lurch. I'm too old, he thought ruefully, and anyway Mrs. Rutledge would object. Rutledge released her hand and smiled. "It is my pleasure. My clerk mentioned you know Colonel Preston?"

"Colonel!?" Waymouth thundered in a voice to make the office shake. That snot-nosed brat outranked him!?

"Why...yes, sir. He performed quite well during the early years of this war I understand." Rutledge frowned, the man was shaking! He indicated two seats. "His father was the former president of the South Carolina Assembly, so he had the connections as well."

It was Cassie's turn to be surprised, though she controlled it better. "He never told me," she looked down.

"I am astonished, ma'am. Yes, Colonel Preston's lineage is quite honorable I assure you." Is that why you're here? To take advantage of his connections? Well, he could do far worse. "He's currently in Saint Augustine, sieging the British there."

"Can you get me there?"

Rutledge's brows shot up. "Perhaps I wasn't clear, ma'am. He's deep in British territory, it's dangerous."

"That doesn't bother me."

"He's surrounded by an army, ma'am, and though I can vouch for their character I wouldn't..."

"I don't care!"

"He's right," Waymouth rumbled in a warning tone. A woman in an army could easily spell disaster, and anyway there was something about this Rutledge he didn't care for one bit. Perhaps that was just the way they made politicians down here. "We were told you had a kindness for ... Colonel... Preston. It's been several years since we've seen him, I was hoping for news on how he does."

"I believe I told you the relevant details. He's mostly recovered from his injuries - though I must say, with all confidence and respect for him, that the cannister did his looks no justice whatsoever."

"Cannister!?"

"Cannon shot," Waymouth patted her arm. "Smaller than a cannon ball."

Rutledge paused. "But..he has quite recovered, as I stated. On a horse he has no man's equal."

"We'll see about that," Waymouth growled.

Edward couldn't contain his curiousity any longer, and that sounded like a challenge in the making. "What is your interest in Colonel Preston?"

"We knew him when he was under General Pulaski in New York," Waymouth replied shortly.

"Oh." Well, that would explain the northern accents. Then it all made sense: The man's brusque attitude, the girl's confusion. He sired a bastard! I can't let this get out! "I hope he caused you no difficulty, ma'am? Here, allow me to make any reasonable restitution on his behalf."

That went far over Cassie's head, though not Waymouth's. He grit his teeth. "No sir, no difficulties. I assure you all is well."

"Of course," Rutledge bowed. Yes, he'd have to watch them very closely. "Well, as I stated Colonel Preston is occupied. However, you must stay at my plantation until he can return. His friends are my friends. I really must insist."

Waymouth opened his mouth to object, but Cassie smiled brightly. "Thank you, I would appreciate that."

"Excellent! When you leave, just let my clerk know and he'll have someone guide you and take your bags."

After they left Rutledge took out the British offer and stared at it. No Georgia, no East or West Florida... no deal. Plus, keeping Preston away from Charleston sounded like a good idea right now. He'd have to warm Heyward...
 
Interesting update. It was a very curious peace offering the British presented. It does make sense for them though, they keep control of the American south and give up mostly useless inland territory. I'm glad that treaty got rejected, though I am hoping that Arnold scores some more victories in the North and forces added territories there, giving the northern block the strength. (Despite my enjoyment of Rutledge's character)
 
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