by Lake, Deryn
He rose from his chair and poured himself a small cognac. But three sips were enough and he dropped off to sleep with the glass still upright in his hand. Almost at once the dream which had been recurring recently came to him. The woman who haunted him stood before him, her eyes dancing and laughing, holding out her hand. He took it and they entered a dark dwelling together, a dwelling he could not identify except that there was the smell of straw and animals in the air.
“Tell me your secret,” he whispered.
She laughed at him. “Why should I?”
“Because I need to know it. It is vital that I do.”
She drew close to him and her eyes, the colour of topaz, gazed into his. “What will you give me in return?”
“My love,” he said, “for ever and ever.”
She laughed once more and Joseph Warren woke up, sweating.
It was cold in the house. The fire had gone out and the candles burned low in their sticks. Yet for all the loss of temperature he was hot, pouring sweat.
Joseph stood up, putting his glass down onto a tray. He had been at a meeting in The Green Dragon Tavern, a meeting of the Faction called in haste as a result of the gunpowder seizure. At this gathering they had sworn never to be taken by surprise again. A committee had been formed whose intended purpose was to watch the movement of British soldiers and gain every intelligence of the Tories, as the rebels thought of Gage and his crew. That had been all very fair but it had gone on late, until after midnight, and Warren could not help but wonder if it was his tremendous mental excitement that brought about the recurring dream.
Yet the woman was so clear to him, as clear as if he knew her, though he realised that he had never met her, nor anyone resembling her. For with her dark hair and gorgeous eyes she was in a class on her own. Warren gave a bitter little laugh and started to ascend the staircase to his lonely bedchamber, thinking that he would mix himself a sleeping draught. For he was over-fatigued, he knew it. Yet how could it be otherwise in view of recent events?
He undressed and put on his nightshirt, then went to a cupboard and mixed himself a dose containing laudanum. After that he fell into bed and almost immediately slept, this time to dream of Paul Revere and, strangely enough, of Dr. Benjamin Church, whose roguishly charming face seemed changed and somehow sinister.
Chapter Twelve
September, 1774
He had been waiting impatiently all day, despite the fact that she had written to say that it would probably be the afternoon before she arrived. But now, at last, shortly after four o’clock, there was the sound of carriage wheels outside, which drew to a halt at the entrance to Province House. Tom, seated at his desk, dealing with mass upon mass of official papers, leapt to his feet, calling to Robin to gather the servants into the hall. Then he threw open the front door.
Margaret was in the street, supervising the handing out of her daughter to a capable girl, extremely tall and decidedly English-looking. Just for a moment Tom stood watching her, thinking she was thinner than when he had last seen her. Then, because it was so long since he had had her company, just for a second he regarded her as if she were a stranger.
She was still beautiful, there could be no denying that, though now her beauty had an indefinable edge to it. The lines of her jaw were more clearly defined, the lips tended to close more firmly, while the look in her lustrous eyes was deep and knowledgeable, aware of things that she had not understood as a girl.
Feeling someone looking at her, Margaret turned, then gave a cry. “Tom.”
Years ago she would have flown into his arms, thrown her own around his neck, and kissed him. Now, murmuring some instructions to the nursemaid, she walked briskly up the path, and stood before him. “How is it with you, my dear? Are you well?”
He gave a wry smile. “I will be better now you have arrived.” And, giving her a swift kiss on the cheek, Tom Gage escorted his wife within doors.
Robin had hustled as many of the servants as he could find into a small welcoming group, and now they stood stiffly, awaiting inspection. Tom went along the line introducing each one. Isaac he had turned out some while ago, not replacing him, saying that the others could easily perform his duties. Andrew, on the other hand, had not only risen to the post of full coachman, but was helping Robin, taking on most of what Isaac had done and more. A jackanapes he truly was but he was so cheerful and so bright that Tom begrudged him nothing. Now he gave a magnificent bow and said, “It will be an honour to serve you, Mam.”
Margaret smiled at him, it was difficult not to. “I look forward to it.”
“And this,” said Tom, passing to the next slave, “is Sara.”
The girl was shaking, very slightly but still obviously. Margaret ran her eyes over her and for no reason Tom, suddenly remembering the kiss he had given her, went red. Turning to look at him, Margaret noticed his change in colour but said nothing, merely raising her brows slightly.
The introductions done, Tom turned to his wife. “Let me show you our room. I am sure you will love it as much as I do.”
She smiled. “Let me reintroduce you to Charlotte first. I think you’ll find her much grown.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Tom felt guilty again. He had actually forgotten the arrival of his daughter. It had been five months since they had last met and he simply wasn’t used to having a baby round the house. He over-compensated by saying, “May I hold her?”
“Certainly you may,” answered his wife, and gave a nod to the nursemaid who had been silently standing in the background, holding the child, who had slept, angelically, throughout the proceedings.
As soon as he touched her, she woke and started to scream, yelling for all she was worth. Much abashed, Tom, unused to fatherhood as he was, attempted to placate her. But Charlotte merely grew redder and redder, while her crying grew louder and more forceful.
“I’m afraid she doesn’t recognise you,” said Margaret with a slight smile on her face.
“No,” said Tom, and handed his weeping daughter back to the maid. “If you could show me the nursery suite,” Margaret went on, “we’ll settle her down for a nap She’s all out of routine with this travelling.”
“Yes, of course,” the Governor replied, and led the way up the staircase, turning left at the top.
Two rooms, one for the nursemaid and one for the child, had been aired and prepared, and though Margaret queried that there was no day room for them, she decided that that could be organised later. She turned to her husband. “I’ll leave her for the present. If you could show me our establishment.”
“Certainly, my sweetheart. This way.”
He led her along the corridor and threw open the door of their room, then proceeded to lead her onto the balcony. Margaret stepped out and breathed deeply. Then she stopped.
“There’s a strange smell. What is it?”
“Too many people,” he answered baldly.
“What do you mean?”
“Hundreds have poured into the town, seeking refuge from the rough handling they are experiencing outside.”
Margaret looked thoroughly shocked. “What sort of people?”
Tom sat down on the bed, his expression grim. “Doctors, lawyers, merchants, landowners; in short anyone loyal to the King. They’ve decided to come to Boston for their own protection. The result is horrible – overcrowding and high feelings. The revolutionaries truly believe that all supporters of the King are enemies of and traitors to their own country.”
Margaret sat down beside him, her expression grim. “As I passed through Boston Neck I saw that it had been heavily fortified. Why is that?”
“Because I ordered that a powder store be raided and the powder seized. The whole country rose against me. Twenty thousand men were on the move. They truly believed that war had broken out. They disbanded eventually but I decided there and then that Boston must be protected at all costs.”
“Against such a thing happening again?”
“Precisely.”
She looked at him earnestly. “And will it? Will they repeat a rise like that?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” he answered, and sighed. Margaret put an arm round his shoulders. “Have you missed me?” Tom automatically answered, “Of course I have,” but, in truth, he hadn’t greatly, particularly of late, too preoccupied with the situation and – he had to admit it – watching Sara blossom as she learned.
She pulled his face round to look at her, a questioning cxpression on her own. Thinking quickly, Tom said, “Have you missed me? Or was the social scene too bright in New York?”
“I was visiting friends and family,” she answered firmly.
He smiled and patted her knee. “You won’t find it so jolly here, though Lord Percy attempts to burnish the place.”
“How does he manage that?”
“He has become friendly with the Hancock family, particularly Miss Dolly if one is to believe the rumours.”
“And who might she be?”
“The youngest daughter of an old Boston family, the Quincys. She lives with the Hancocks for his aunt, Lydia, is determined to marry her to John, damn his eyes.”
“Why?”
•
“Because the beastly buck is a revolutionary through and through, despite his posturing and airs and graces. Anyway, Hugh Percy takes meals with them, much to Dolly’s delight and joy.”
Margaret laughed, and it was wonderful suddenly to hear the sound. “And what other gossip is there?”
“Plenty. Mostly about the Earl. He lives in a grand house in Tremont Street, formerly the home of Governor Bernard. There he entertains lavishly and has made many friends in the town and garrison.”
She laughed again. “Are you jealous?”
“No, strangely I’m not.”
“Why, strangely?”
“Because I have you,” the Governor answered, but even as he kissed her an image of Sara came into his mind and the fact that she had trembled when she had been presented to Margaret.
*
That evening they were to dine alone, the two of them together again. But before that Tom had an irksome duty. He was to receive Dr. Joseph Warren and the unlovely Samuel Adams, petitioning him about something or other. Warren he quite liked, though he hated his politics, but for all that there was something wholesome about the man, and his reputation as an excellent doctor preceded him. Adams on the other hand was revolting; palsied and pale, unscrupulous in his methods, always in rumpled, soiled clothing. If Tom had had his way he would have pitched the fellow into Boston harbour with stones in his pockets. And good riddance. Now, however, he must do his official duty and receive them.
It was Margaret who suggested that they should be greeted in the withdrawing room and not in his study.
“Offer them a drink, my dear. Be kind.”
“Kind!” snorted Tom, shrugging into his formal uniform coat. “The rats could do with stringing up. Well, no, that’s not quite true. Warren’s a decent enough chap but as to that other fellow. Dear God, you ought to see him.”
“I’d like to,” she answered, turning from her dressing table and looking at him.
At that moment, dressed in dark green, emerald earrings in her ears, she looked truly lovely. Tom, staring at her, was totally enraptured. “Would you?” he said.
“Very much indeed. Could I not be introduced to them and then leave you when you have personal matters to discuss?”
“Why not?” he said. “It can’t do any harm and may perhaps do good. I’ll give word to Robin that when they arrive they are to be shown into the withdrawing room.”
She stood up, coming close to him. “I’d like to help you, Tom. I thought how careworn you looked when I arrived.”
He pulled a face. “Anyone would be given the amount of effort I have to put in.”
“Well, I’m here now, sweetheart.”
She snuggled close and he took her in his arms, then bent his head and kissed her. After a few moment she drew away, laughing.
“What about your visitors?”
“I’d say damn them but I can’t. Duty calls. But when they’re gone…”
“Yes?”
“You know perfectly well,” he answered, and gave her a playful smack on the bottom.
*
Downstairs, all was harmonious. The candles lit in the withdrawing room, the curtains drawn against the autumn evening. Margaret, her dress swishing as she walked, settled herself in a chair by the fire and accepted a glass of sherry from Robin. Tom, uneasy at the thought of entertaining revolutionaries, stood before the fire, one arm behind him, the other holding his sherry glass. Punctually at six o’clock, the front doorbell was pulled and echoed in the hall.
Robin’s head appeared. “Should I really show them in here, Governor?”
Tom gave a slightly rueful smile. “Yes, Robin. Mrs. Gage has a mind to meet them.”
Robin’s eyes rolled slightly but he braced himself. “Yes, Masser. Whatever the lady wants.”
As he vanished Margaret caught Tom’s eye. “Oh dear, am I really acting so extraordinarily?”
But there was no time to reply. Robin appeared once more, solemnly intoning, “Mr. Adams and Dr. Warren, Governor.” And the two men, looking decidedly surprised, were ushered into the room, where they stood fidgeting and turning their hats in their hands.
Margaret stood up. “Gentlemen, how do you do? I am Margaret Gage, the Governor’s wife. Won’t you sit down and have a sherry?”
“I do not drink, Madam,” replied Adams at the same moment that Dr. Warren said, “Thank you, Ma’am. How kind of you.”
On hearing this Samuel Adams lowered himself onto the very edge of a chair, while the doctor, staring at Margaret as if she were a visitation, accepted a glass from Robin, who was busy at the sideboard.
There was a silence broken by Dr. Warren saying, “It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Ma’am.” And he gave Margaret a look of obvious admiration.
She smiled. “How nice of you to say so. My husband was telling me earlier about you – and about Mr. Adams – and I asked him if it might be possible for me to meet you both.”
Adams, who was maintaining a pointed silence, cleared his throat noisily. Tom raised a brow but said nothing while Margaret gave Adams her sweetest smile, a smile which he completely ignored.
Dr. Warren said rapidly, “I take it from your accent, Ma’am, that you and I are fellow countrymen.”
“Yes, indeed, Sir. I am extremely proud of being a member of the Kemble clan from New Jersey.”
“I had no idea,” answered the doctor. He swallowed his sherry rather rapidly and Margaret indicated to Robin to refill the glass. She turned to Adams.
“Would you like some water, Sir?”
“No, thank you,” he replied gruffly, and shifted his body from one side to the other, his head shaking of its own accord as he did so.
Margaret turned her attention back to Warren. “Are you married, Sir?”
“I was. My wife died two years ago. I’m afraid that she was not strong.”
“Oh dear. I’m so sorry. You must miss her.”
“Truth to tell, I do. It’s not easy bringing up three children on your own.”
“It must be a great struggle.” She turned to Tom, who had remained standing, listening to the doctor and ignoring Adams. “Our youngest child is here in Province House. I felt she was too small to leave behind in England. That is where our other children are being educated, you know.”
Samuel Adams growled, “American schools not good enough, eh?” Margaret gave him a glowing smile. “No, they’re not really, are they.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
Warren drank his sherry rapidly, then said, “Thank you for inviting us to join you, Mrs. Gage. Now if we could speak with the Governor privately.”
Tom gave an audible sigh which he attempted to disguise as a cough. “Of course, gentlemen. If you would like to follow me.”
Adams
gave the briefest of bows and left the room but Dr. Warren lingered, raising Margaret’s hand to his lips. “It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Ma’am. I hope I will have the opportunity to do so again.”
“No doubt you will,” she answered. “I believe that Boston is a very small community.”
“It is indeed,” he replied, and, giving an elaborate bow, left the room.
“If you will excuse me, my dear,” said Tom.
“Of course.”
After they had gone, she helped herself to a second glass of sherry and sat staring into the flames. In company with her husband she had not taken to Adams at all, considering him a slovenly rag-bag of a creature. But the doctor was entirely different, fresh-faced and fine-featured, his blue eyes blazing beneath his own powdered hair. She wasn’t sure whether she liked him but she certainly found him arresting, attractive even. With a laugh, Margaret settled down to read until the time came to go in to dinner.
*
The meeting over, the usual plea not to fortify Boston being listened to politely, gravely, then ignored, the two men made their way out from Province House. Feeling enormously like being on his own Dr. Warren, making an excuse about seeing a patient, bade a scowling Sam Adams goodnight and disappeared in the direction of his own house. But he did not go home, instead he made his way to the harbour, deserted and empty since the closure, and into The Sun Tavern, close to the waterfront, where he sat in a corner and ordered a rum.
It was extraordinary, probably coming from not sleeping well, but Margaret Gage’s apparent resemblance to the woman who haunted his dreams was uncanny. The topaz eyes, the black hair, everything about her. Joseph sat like a schoolboy thinking about her, planning how he could meet her again, how he could get hold of a sketch of her, realising that, for once, she was occupying his thoughts even more than those of the troubles of Massachusetts. As he ordered more rum he felt a stiffening in his breeches, a sensation he had not experienced for a while.