by Lake, Deryn
“There’s one item of good news. Joel has offered to act as scout and guide the regiments wherever they want to go.”
“And will you take him up on it?”
“I can’t think of a better man. I shall send a letter by this very same messenger recalling him to Boston.”
He looked up as Robin’s face appeared in the doorway. “Sir, Lord Rupert Germain has called.”
“Oh God, not now.”
“I think it might be wise to see him,” said the Earl. “After all, his paper is still read by some people. Surely he could put something in to calm the situation. Remember, no one as yet knows about your secret orders.”
“You’re right as usual, Hugh. But how much do we tell him?”
“Very little. Next to nothing, in fact. Only what you want him to put in his paper.”
But it seemed that Rupert had other things on his mind. Coming in, he sat down on the edge of the seat on the far side of the desk and fiddled somewhat nervously with the buttons at his sleeve.
“Ah Rupert,” said the Governor, putting on a jolly manner he was far from feeling, “I haven’t seen you in quite some while. How goes it with you?”
“As well as anyone else in these difficult times.” He looked up. “Sir, I must ask you. Do you intend to arrest Dr. Warren?”
Startled, Tom answered, “No, not particularly. Why do you ask?”
“Because the man’s a menace. His Boston Massacre oration was highly inflammatory and designed to work on the susceptibilities of those who listened to it.”
“But only his followers did that.”
“Plus your officers.”
“Well, of course. They went deliberately to provoke him.”
“And Mrs. Gage?” Rupert said quietly.
There was a profound silence, eventually broken by the Governor saying, “What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Gage was at the meeting also.”
“Yes, of course she was,” said Hugh Percy. “She told me of it. Said it was very amusing.”
“Hardly the word I would have used,” Rupert responded drily.
The two men stared at each other and it was the Governor who broke the slightly hostile silence by saying, “Well, Rupert, what did you come to see me about?”
“Have you any particular news for me? Something I can put in my paper?”
“Reinforcements have arrived, of course.”
“But surely the Yankees will imagine that to be some kind of challenge.
“Possibly.” Tlic Go vel no! spi eau 1. 1.hands. “Then I don’t know.
What can one say at a time like this?”
Rupert looked at him very straightly. “I’ll think of something.” He stood up. “Well, goodbye Sir.”
“Goodbye, Rupert. Always a pleasure to see you.” The Governor looked down at his desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a mountain of paperwork. Percy will see you out.”
“Of course.”
Once in the hallway, Rupert Germain gave Hugh Percy a searching look. “Get him to arrest Dr. Warren if you can,” he murmured.
“Why, for God’s sake?”
“Because he’s dangerous, more dangerous than you imagine. And the trouble is that he has friends in high places.”
“What do you mean by that, my Lord?”
“I’m not quite sure – yet.”
And so saying, Rupert Germain walked from the house, leaving his lordship with many things to think about.
Chapter Twenty-Two
April 18th, 1775
Thomas Gage, Governor of Massachusetts and commander-in-chief of the British forces stationed there, appointed as such by His Majesty King George III, rose at daybreak on the morning of Tuesday, April 18th, 1775, leaving his wife still sleeping. Creeping into the dressing room that led off the bedroom, he shaved and washed himself in the hot water brought by his valet, then he dressed and hurried downstairs to snatch breakfast before the seven o’clock conference of officers.
Robin, looking somewhat bleary-eyed, was up, while Beulah was lighting the fires. They both looked round, somewhat surprised, to see the Governor had risen so early.
“A quick breakfast, please,” he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded harsh. So saying, he went into the study, and started to study maps of the local countryside.
Half an hour later he was joined by the cream of his men, alert and glad that the order had come at last and that they were destined to see some action.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, looking round the room. “First of all I must warn you that Revere and his cronies are completely au fait with everything that is going on,” Tom advised the general company.
“How so, Sir?” somebody asked.
“I had a letter from a British officer saying…” He picked it up. “…‘that the inhabitants of the villages local to Boston conjectured that some secret expedition was afoot and that they are on the look-out.’ This follows a visit by Revere. Further, Calico Joel wrote this morning from Concord that most of the military stores had been removed but that stocks of provisions are still there, along with several large cannon and powder. You may draw your own conclusions.”
Lord Percy spoke up. “If I may suggest, Sir, I think we should send out a mounted patrol to intercept any American messengers and stop them from giving the alarm. Because, mark my words, if one of them gets through and gives the danger signal there’s going to be trouble.”
“Good plan,” the Governor answered. “I’ll write to Colonel Smith immediately.”
He sat down at his desk and wrote a sentence. ‘A small party on horseback is ordered out to stop all advice of your march getting to Concord.’ Tom then handed it to a messenger who had been standing silently close to the door.
“Take this to Colonel Smith and ask him to act on it immediately.”
“At once, Sir.”
The young man saluted and left the room. Gage addressed his fellows once more.
“Right. Let’s hear how the rest of the plans are going.”
“Following your orders, Sir, the elite corps of grenadiers and light infantry have been put on stand-by. The story given out is that they are to learn new evolutions.”
The Governor twitched his shoulders. “Will it be believed?”
Hugh Percy gave a sideways grin. “Who knows? The citizens of Boston are a canny lot.”
“Indeed they are. What else?”
“We move tonight at about ten under conditions of the strictest secrecy. The men will leave the barracks by the back way and move silently through the streets. They will then make their way to an empty beach on the edge of Back Bay, near the new Powder House. After that they will embark in longboats.”
“And their destination, Sir?”
“At the moment I intend to keep that confidential.”
The officers exchanged a glance but said nothing.
“What do we tell the men?” asked Major Pitcairn.
“Tell them to prepare and that is all. They will be given further details when they are actually on the move.”
“Very good, General.”
“Well, gentlemen, I think that will be all for the present. And, by the way, I believe we’ll have a relatively easy time of it. I do not think those damned rebels will take up arms against His Majesty’s troops.”
“Let us pray that you are right, Sir,” said Lord Percy as he left the room.
*
Joseph Warren sat in his office, staring into space. He had risen at dawn in his empty house – his children and housekeeper had been sent away long since – and had breakfasted sparsely. Then he had dressed himself in sensible clothes and gone to the room in which he saw patients. Today he had cancelled all appointments, preferring to be free to receive callers anxious to discuss the present situation.
There had been plenty of them, all bearing much the same message. It was obvious that the Governor was preparing to make a major move – something long expected – but the salient point was where and with wha
t purpose. As the afternoon had worn on the tension in the air became almost tangible. So much so that Joseph felt unable to sit still any longer. Putting on his hat, he went down to the harbour and there stood, watching the British activity.
The longboats had been lowered days ago but at the moment there seemed a lot of bustle round them. Over the air came the thin high pipe of boatswains’ whistles together with the groaning screech of heavy tackle. Further, sailors were coming ashore on errands. In short, it was a scene of high activity, and it was clear to all who observed it that some important manoeuvre had been planned.
Thoughtfully, Joseph made his way back to his house in Hanover Street, calling in at The Orange Tree Tavern for a cognac before he went further. As he sipped his mind filled with visions of Margaret; her midnight hair, her ravishing eyes, the smell of fine scent that wafted up from her clothes. He was as passionately in love with her as only a widower could have been. For, for three long years now, he had been utterly devoid of connubial pleasures, had spent restless nights in his lonely bed. Sometimes, poor female patients had offered themselves to him but he always refused, though secretly he was often terribly tempted to say yes. But he had acted as a man of honour would. Not accepting a fee but not accepting a favour either.
Now, though, he was growing more and more certain that he must contact Margaret as once, not so very long ago, they had agreed he would, the day they had walked on the Long Wharf and he had kissed her for the first time.
Joseph thought, ordering another cognac, he had little choice now but to call the favour in. He had no real alternative. For it was imperative that he knew exactly what the British were up to if the country folk were to be warned to stand their ground and defend themselves. Yet she would risk all in telling him, he was very aware of that.
*
Margaret had slept late that day, in fact the sound of the officers leaving had been what actually woke her. Ringing a bell for her maid, she had been dressed and had her hair arranged, then she had gone to see Charlotte in the nursery. By the time she had played with her daughter – a child of some twenty months now – it was almost too late to take breakfast and Margaret had wandered downstairs to find her husband.
She thought as she knocked on his study door, and on his invitation entered, that she had never seen him look worse. Beautifully dressed as always, his face was a travesty of what it normally was. His eyes were sunken, with deep shadows beneath, and his skin was the colour and texture of parchment. His fine nose looked long and thin and his lips were pressed into a tight line. He looked up as she entered.
“Good morning, my dear.”
“Good morning, Tom.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Perfectly, though I was woken by the sound of men’s voices. Did you have an early morning conference?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Tom looked down at his hands, laying down a paper he had been reading. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I say, my darling. It was a private matter.”
Margaret felt strangely thwarted, unused, despite her years as an army wife, to that kind of treatment. But she smiled at him playfully despite her seething emotions.
“I expect you’re sending the troops out.”
The Governor had smiled back at her, though his eyes remained strained and drawn. “Just as an exercise, my dear.”
She felt like telling him not to insult her intelligence, that it was perfectly obvious that something enormous was afoot. But yet again she dissembled. Laughing lightly she said, “Of course. I quite understand. Discretion is all.” Then she blew him a kiss and left the room.
Once outside in the hall, however, she quietly struck a blow into her cupped hand. If Joseph Warren were to ask her for information she would have none to give. Before Margaret had had time to think about what she was doing, she found herself making her way up the stairs to the cupola, from whence she would have a splendid view over the whole of the town.
Standing up, she stared in the direction of the harbour. Even at this distance she could see signs of activity aboard the longboats. Men, small and dark as insects, were scurrying about. Further, some of the boats were being rowed across to the Boyne and were being tied up beneath the mighty ship’s salt-stained hull. Picking up a telescope that someone had abandoned on the seat, Margaret put it to her eye.
There could be no doubt about it. The sailors were heavily engaged in some business of their own. Tom had belittled her by refusing to discuss the matter of what was taking place. And then, quite suddenly, Margaret felt terribly sorry for him. Sorry for all the stresses and strains and worry he was having to endure; sorry for the anguish she had seen staring at her from her husband’s eyes.
Sitting down, she stared blindly out at the scene of immense activity on the waterfront, thinking about the import of what was taking place. She could never betray Tom nor his trust in her. If Dr. Warren were to contact her, then she would not answer. But even as these thoughts tumbled through her mind, she felt the great call for freedom that her beloved country was making and the part that she might be able to play in it. Unable to fend off tears, Margaret wept at the dilemma in which she found herself.
*
Joseph Warren had seen Paul Revere an hour earlier and both men had agreed that the state of affairs had reached a critical stage.
“They’re obviously on the move,” Joseph said. “But where? And how are they going? By land or sea?”
Paul Revere had given a shrug which had been passed down from his French father.
“We must find out,” Joseph persisted. “Otherwise how can we warn the country people to defend themselves? That the Regulars are clearly going on the offensive?”
“Yes. But how, where, and what for?” Paul answered, repeating what Dr. Warren had just said a moment previously.
“God alone knows that,” Joseph stated reflectively.
Revere had laughed shortly. “God and your highly placed informant, no doubt.”
“Even they might not know,” Joseph answered, more to himself than to the other man.
And now Revere had gone and he was left to face his great dilemma on his own. Should he ask Margaret for help and thus involve her in true danger? Or should he just guess at where Gage’s men were heading and how they were going to get there? Eventually, though, Joseph went upstairs to his bedroom and there he changed his suit and his shoes. He had made up his mind. He would send her the coded message. He was about to alter both their lives for ever.
*
Both the Gages, Thomas and Margaret, had spent the day in turmoil; he poring over maps and in conference with various officers who had called at Province House; she like a caged tigress, prowling round the place, eventually going for a walk to the harbour where she had seen for herself the extra activity and had known by the very look of the men that something extremely serious was afoot. She had walked purposefully back home, determined to get at the truth before the end of the day.
Knocking, then popping her head round the study door, she said, “Darling, you look weary. I think you should stop soon and have a rest.
Thomas looked up from a drawing that he was studying intently. “I’ll have a break at dinner time. But thank you for your concern.”
She forced a smile. “I look forward to that, then. What time would you like to eat?”
“At about five. I’ve got to see Hugh first.”
Margaret laughed lightly. “I would have thought you’d seen enough of him today.”
“One more visit,” Tom had said, and smiled at her.
She closed the door and leant on it hard, thinking that she still loved him and that she was about to betray him. That is if she could discover the information with which to do so. Yet discover it she must. Tom had always confided in her, throughout their marriage, and there was no good reason why he should suddenly stop now. But a part of her shrank from being so disloyal wh
en he was obviously so concerned. Yet the birth pangs of the nation into which she had been born lay heavy upon her. Margaret felt herself caught up in the great sweep of destiny.
She dressed very carefully for the occasion, wearing dark red velvet, a gown that she knew Thomas admired. Having had her hair taken down and brushed until it had a sheen upon it, she had it put up once more and wore a feather headdress which matched her clothes. Then she took extra care painting her face, adding a patch to her left cheekbone. In the soft candlelight she looked young again, ready to seduce a man and find out his most intimate secrets.
Swishing down the staircase, Margaret had another pang of bad conscience. The trouble was that though Tom had paid her scant attention recently, she still loved him. And she knew for certain that he loved her in return. Yet she was contemplating a bitter betrayal of that love.
“Oh God help me,” she muttered under her breath.
Then she braced up. How could she betray her husband when she didn’t even have the information and, indeed, may never have it. And secondly, no coded message from Joseph had yet arrived. She was working herself into a state of anxiety for nothing. Yet still the feeling of disloyalty dogged her as she went into the dining room.
Tom was not there and Margaret stood hesitating, wondering whether to take a seat, but at that moment she heard him in the doorway and, looking up, saw that he had come into the room. To say that he looked bone-weary was understating the case. She had never seen anyone so drained of vitality, so totally grey. Instinctively she went towards him, arms outstretched.
“Oh my dear, you look so tired. Come and sit down.”
He hadn’t changed into dress uniform as was his custom, nor had he shaved. In fact from where she was, so close to him, Margaret could see a growth of stubble on his face.
He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry not to have dressed. I’ve had rather a hectic day.”
She smiled. “This must be a particularly big exercise you’re contemplating.”
“You could say that,” he answered, and let her lead him by the hand to his chair.
Margaret rang a bell and Robin came into the room with Andrew and started to serve their first course while Andrew poured the wine. When they had finished the slaves went to stand silently by the sideboard but Thomas looked up at them and gave them a weary nod.