by Lake, Deryn
“Why, Margaret, you’re quite the belle of fashion. What an exquisite gown. Does it come from England?” Mrs. Van Cortlandt was saying.
“No, my dear. I believe in patronising our own dressmakers. It was made for me at home in Brunswick.”
So she came from New Jersey, the Colonel thought, and turned to have another glance at her. She was staring straight at him with that clear, frank gaze of hers and there was a marvellous moment of challenge as to which one would be the first to look away. She won, and it was Tom who turned back to Robert, feeling the colour creep up his neck as if he were eighteen not twenty years older than that. But the Governor of Philadelphia, handsome and sought-after by the ladies, with whom he could do almost anything, was already circulating and it was up to the Colonel to follow suit and present himself to the cream of New York society, hoping that they would accept him for what he was, a professional English soldier stationed in one of Britain’s colonies.
The Assembly was wonderfully organised. There was dancing for those who enjoyed it and cards for those who did not; there was food and wine in abundance; there were musicians and singers. On a more homely note, Yuletide customs from both Holland and England were being observed and a yule log had been brought in from the Van Cortlandts’ estate and lit with a fragment of last year’s log. Tom, already exhilarated by his meeting with Margaret Kemble, drank bumpers of champagne and felt merry as a maypole. So much so that he was emboldened when the music struck up an English air, ‘Would You Have a Young Virgin’, a longways dance for sets of three couples, to go to Margaret’s side, give his very best bow, and beg the pleasure of her company as a partner, despite the fact that several young men were there ahead of him.
She cast her eyes round the company with marked effect. “Why, gentlemen, I can hardly refuse a British officer, now can I?”
There were some mutterings but Miss Kemble took no notice and put her hand into that of the Colonel so that he might lead her into the ballroom.
“That was rather impolite of you,” she said, smiling.
“I’m sorry. Put it down to my rough army ways.”
“You are not used to social occasions, then?”
He looked at her suspiciously. “Are you teasing me?”
“Of course I am,” Margaret answered as they formed a set with two other couples. “I suspect that, as an Englishman of ancient lineage, you have been to more routs and assemblies than the rest of us put together.”
“And that is where, my dear young lady,” said Tom, bowing as the music began, “you would be totally wrong. School to army, been there ever since.”
The dance started in earnest and they whirled back and forth, joining one another in the centre. “All work and no play? Dear me!”
Her teeth were lovely, Tom thought, even though she was mocking him mercilessly, smiling as she did so.
“Well, there have been a few memorable moments.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, breakfasts at Tunbridge Wells…” The Colonel wrinkled his nose. “Oh Lud, those revolting waters. Dinners in Paris. Suppers in Dublin. A little gambling at White’s. The odd appearance at court. Will that do?”
“Reasonably. What about Mrs. Gage? Does she enjoy socialising?” Memories of his frail mistress, as enchanting as Margaret, though in so very different a way, flooded back to torment Tom.
“There is no Mrs. Gage,” he answered, and was horrified by the bitterness of his tone.
They were separated by the dance sequence at that moment but throughout the next few steps the Colonel was more than aware of her open gaze directed straight at him. Yet it wasn’t until the dance was over and they were awaiting the next that Margaret spoke.
“You looked terrible when I asked you that, Colonel Gage. Your wife is dead, isn’t she?”
He was longing to put his hands on her shoulders as he answered her but good manners did not allow. Instead Tom raised her fingers to his lips and swiftly kissed them.
“There never has been a Mrs. Gage, Miss Kemble. But it’s true that I was once very much in love and that she, my sweetheart, did die.”
With the candour which Tom had come across time and again amongst the colonists, Margaret asked, “Was she your mistress? I can somehow imagine you having one.”
He was astounded. “Why?”
“Because you’re dashing and gallant and also typically English and tight-lipped. People like that always have mistresses.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or, indeed, to take offence. Instead he just gaped at her, open-mouthed.
Once again Miss Kemble creased her face into a contrite expression. “I’ve been too forthright, haven’t I? You must blame it on my mixed blood, Sir. I’ll have you know I’m one-quarter English, one-quarter Greek, one-quarter Dutch and one-quarter French. On which quarter should we blame my lack of good manners?”
“The French,” said Tom, without hesitation.
She roared with laughter, fresh as a breeze and just as noisy. “I guess you must be sick of fighting them.”
“You could say that.”
She took his hand and led him to join another set. “Come on, it’s ‘Green Stockings’. Will you partner me?”
“Only if you promise that I might call on you tomorrow. Where are you staying?”
“With the De Lanceys. Yet more cousins. And tomorrow is Christmas Day.”
“Then the day after?”
Margaret Kemble shook her dark head. “I am in their hands, Colonel. I can make no independent arrangements while I am a house guest.”
The music started and Tom took the opportunity to hold her tightly for a moment. “At least allow me to leave my card.”
“Now that,” she said, her eyes shining into his, “is something over which I have no control.”
*
It seemed to him as he finally climbed into his coach, Robert Hunter Morris close on his heels, that he had danced and talked and laughed more this night than he had for years. He also felt more excited, more alive, just as if the sun had come out on some Arctic waste and breathed the first breath of spring into it.
“You’re drunk,” said the Governor, who could consume quarts of alcohol and show no sign of it whatsoever.
“Yes, I am,” answered Tom wildly.
“With champagne – or with Margaret Kemble?”
“Both. But mostly with her. Oh, Robert, if you regard me as any kind of friend at all, arrange for me to see her again.”
“We shall call on the De Lanceys before the holidays are over.”
“I said I’d take my card on Boxing Day.”
“Then do so, Tom. I will accompany you and make quite sure we receive an invitation to dine.”
“Is there any sphere into which your influence does not spread?” The young and attractive Governor spread his hands. “Very few, I must confess.”
The horses were stamping and they would have set off there and then had it not been for a voice calling, “Colonel Gage, a moment, Sir, if you please.” A second later a face appeared at the carriage window. It was Rupert Germain, his pale skin somewhat flushed from the exertion of running.
“My dear Colonel,” he panted, “forgive me. I found no opportunity to converse with you tonight and thought I should pay my respects before you leave.”
“Step inside,” said Robert, opening the coach door. “You’ll freeze out there, my dear chap.”
“Gladly,” answered Rupert, and a second later he had hauled his slight frame into the carriage’s interior. In the dim light thrown by the reflection of the moonlight on snow, he certainly looked effeminate, almost girlish.
“Did you enjoy the Assembly?” Tom enquired politely.
“Very much, Sir, but actually I didn’t want to see you about that.”
“Oh?”
“No, Sir. It was something you said when we were travelling to New York that I wanted to discuss.”
“Which was?”
“You asked me if I had thought of joinin
g the army and I replied that I considered myself too puny.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, do you think that is really true, Colonel?”
It was said with a fervent earnestness that made Tom feel slightly uncomfortable. He considered his answer carefully.
“There is room for everyone in the army, my friend. Brains are required equally with brawn.”
“And if I were to join might there be an opportunity of entering your regiment?”
The Colonel was silent, thinking. “I have another idea,” he said eventually. “It has long been in my mind to raise a regiment of my own. A fast, light band of men trained in irregular warfare. The sort of rapidly moving troop that would be ideally suited to the fighting conditions we have here in the Colonies.”
“Which are?”
“Warfare in the woods, Lord Rupert. Nothing like any of us has ever been used to before.”
“But how could I help with this?”
“If you are interested you could assist by drawing up the plans for such an enterprise, remaining here in New York while you do so. As soon as Christmas is over I am going with the 44th to Oswego on the shores of Lake Ontario and will have little time to work on it.”
“Do I take it, Colonel Gage, that you would wish me to remain a civilian while I do this?” Rupert asked, as if the Colonel’s word was law.
Tom permitted himself a laugh. “Yes, indeed. Until I see what aptitude you have for planning I would suggest that you act unofficially.”
“Are you going to pay him?” asked Robert, going straight to the heart of the matter.
“If Lord Rupert is suited to the task, then I most certainly would do so.
The young man got to his feet. “Gentlemen, I take my leave of you.
This is the most exciting night of my life. I shall call on you very shortly.” He bowed, then wrung Tom’s hand. “Thank you, Sir. I shall never forget your goodness in giving me a job on so brief an acquaintanceship. The compliments of the season to you both.” He almost fell out of the carriage in his enthusiasm.
The Colonel and the Governor looked at one another, then burst out laughing.
“He’s taken quite a shine to you,” said Robert.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“He has. I know the signs. You’ve got a life-long admirer there, provided you don’t spurn him too cruelly.”
“Well I’m certainly not going to encourage him.”
“I know what you mean, but treat him gently, my dear Tom. He’s a sensitive soul.”
“Can we talk about something else, please?”
“Margaret Kemble for example?”
“Yes,” said Colonel Gage. “Yes, yes, yes. Let’s talk about the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“Isn’t that rather overdoing it?”
“Yes, no, I don’t know. I haven’t met them all. But of those I have,
Miss Kemble certainly leads the field.”
“You are drunk and besotted,” stated Robert Hunter Morris firmly.
“Now, let’s drive on before you follow her coach and make a complete fool of yourself.”
“A turn in the parkland before dusk would be delightful,” said the Governor of Pennsylvania, and flashed a dark eye in the direction of his fellow guest who was doing his level best to join in the dinner table conversation and stop staring at the belle of New Jersey, exquisite in an exciting shade of red, as was the Colonel himself. In fact he couldn’t help but wonder whether she had chosen her hooped satin gown to complement his scarlet uniform, although he eventually discounted the idea as wishful thinking.
With an effort Tom Gage pulled himself together. “I would love to see your gardens, Mrs. De Lancey.”
“Well then you shall, my dear Colonel, though I don’t hold them to be as imposing as those of Firle Place.”
“Firle is very fine, of course. I count myself lucky to have been born there. But the most beautiful of our seats is Highmeadow.”
Mrs. De Lancey’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Excuse my ignorance, Colonel Gage, but where exactly is that?”
“Near Staunton in Gloucestershire. To the south, in fact from my boyhood bedroom window, there is a simply glorious view of Staunton’s church rising above thousands of acres of woodland. I used to sit and look at it for hours.”
“You appreciate beauty?” asked his hostess archly.
Robert Hunter Morris coughed and Margaret shot Tom a brilliant glance.
“Very much so,” he answered, keeping his face straight and his eyes to the front. “Of course, your house is superb, Madam. Wherever one looks there is an aspect pleasing to the eye.”
“How kind of you to say so. Now, ladies, let us retire and leave the gentlemen to their port.”
Everything was done just as it would be in the great houses of England, Tom thought. Indeed, it was at moments like these that he missed his homeland the least. It was only when hacking his way through dense woodland, menaced by savages and the sniping French, that he longed to be away from the Colonies and somewhere a little more civilised. Yet there was nothing civilised about fighting, wherever it took place. The torturing vision of Culloden and its vicious aftermath, when the Duke of Cumberland had earned his nickname of ‘Butcher’ and decimated an entire population, returned to sicken him, and it was with only the mightiest effort that Tom got a grip on himself and realised that the ladies were leaving the table and that he was required to stand.
“We shall tour some of the grounds in a half hour,” Mrs. De Lancey announced as she, Margaret and several other elegant young females – daughters and yet more cousins, Tom presumed – swept through the doorway with much swishing of skirts.
*
This day, just as dusk was falling, Gage and Hunter Morris had set forth in their coach once more. They had left New York Island by means of Dightnans Bridge from which a road led off to the right going directly to West Chester County. This was the territory of the powerful Colonel James De Lancey, sheriff of the county and a senior member of the all-embracing clan. He was a Loyalist to his very bones and would have dealt with any insurrection against the King by raising a private army and charging out with it. Thomas, looking closely at him, wondered how old he was but found it almost impossible to put an age on him. He could have been anything between thirty and fifty, he thought. Colonel De Lancey, who was passing the port to his left, felt himself being regarded and looked up.
“I drink to you, Colonel Gage. I am proud to have a British officer within these walls.”
“Thank you, Sir. I feel privileged to be here.”
“Consider this as your second home. Call on us at any time.”
Thinking that time was the one thing he was going to be desperately short of, Tom smiled and raised his glass. The conversation started to drift to people that he didn’t know and the Colonel assumed an attentive expression but allowed his attention to wander, considering Lord Rupert Germain and whether he had made a mistake in giving him the task of preparing details for the formation of Gage’s chasseurs, as the Colonel liked to think of his groundbreaking new regiment. Perhaps it had been foolish to entrust such a task to a young civilian, yet there was something about Rupert which gave the impression of a sharp, incisive brain behind the foppish, somewhat languid exterior. But Tom’s thoughts did not dwell too long on this subject, turning instead to the powerful thrall in which Miss Kemble already held him. Looking out of the window, the Colonel dreamed.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Mrs. De Lancey.
Half an hour had passed. It was time to walk in the snow-covered grounds and breathe in the freezing air. Tom only hoped that Miss Kemble would take the opportunity to draw close to him as they traversed the frost-filled paths.
The males rose to their feet and made their way to the entrance hall where the slaves waited, bearing cloaks and greatcoats. None of the black people spoke nor did they make eye contact with those they were helping, clearly trained by their masters not to do so. Tom, who con
sidered himself as something of an egalitarian, taught by years in the army to mix with all sorts, thanked the lanky Negro who was putting his cloak about his shoulders but only received a frightened glance for doing so. Thinking to himself what a strange anomaly the Colonies were, so young and hopeful, so bursting with life yet so primitive in certain ways, the Colonel stepped out into the coldness of the winter gardens.
The ladies were already there, muffled in fur-lined cloaks, looking demure; that is with the exception of Margaret Kemble who was clearly longing to stride out and was stamping about like an impatient racehorse. Thomas looked at her, mentally shaking his head, thinking it would need a strong hand to rein in such a mettlesome creature and wondering whether he was up to the task. Then immediately following that thought came the notion that she might already be spoken for, that some strong-minded New Jersey landowner might already be laying his own plans to tame the Brunswick belle. Not liking this at all, the Colonel approached her.
“Miss Kemble, may I accompany you?”
The cool eyes, which in this pale landscape had taken on the colour of topaz, regarded him with amusement. “You’re very formal, Colonel.”
“My English upbringing. You must forgive me.”
“Do I detect a hint of irony in that? Are you suggesting that we Yankees are too free and easy?”
“How could I do so churlish a thing?”
They had fallen into step together and were walking somewhat behind the main party, who were charging ahead making complimentary noises about the stark beauty of Mrs. De Lancey’s winter fountains, frozen and glittering.
Margaret looked up at him, a tall girl but still only as high as Tom’s shoulder. “Colonel, I find you hard to fathom.”
He was genuinely surprised. “Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“You are so correct, so old school. My mixed blood rebels against it.
He was amused, yet irritated, a strange array of emotions. Catching her by the arm to bring her to a standstill, Tom Gage said, “I’ve enough Irish in me to make me as wild as you are. It’s simply that I’ve learned to control it.”