by Lake, Deryn
“Thank you. Now if you would leave us.”
“But Governor…”
“I’ll ring when we have finished,” Tom answered firmly, so that the two slaves had no option but to leave the room.
“I just didn’t feel like having them stand there,” he said by way of explanation.
“I understand.”
“Do you, Margaret?” He sipped his wine.
“Yes.”
Tom laid down his fork and looked at her from exhausted eyes. “I doubt you do.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth. I don’t think anyone, with the exception possibly of Hugh, knows what an ordeal it’s been recently.”
Margaret drank deeply, then stared into her glass. “I wish you would be honest with me, Tom. What is it that’s troubling you?”
He sighed deeply, then said, “I’ve been ordered to march against the Yankees.”
“What?”
Something of the horror in her tone must have communicated itself to him because he looked at her sharply.
“I see that I’ve upset you.”
“I was born here,” she answered wretchedly. “How do you expect me to react?”
“As my wife, dammit,” he said irritably.
“I can’t help feeling something for my native land.”
“Then we cannot discuss the matter further.”
Margaret’s heart sank as she realised that there would be no confidences from him tonight. And at that moment she glimpsed through the window a black slave who looked suspiciously like Dr. Warren’s man come running up to the house and be halted by the sentries before making his way to the staff quarters.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” Margaret said, and she really meant it. “Forgive me. My loyalty lies with you and it always will.” Now the words stuck in her mouth.
At that moment she felt utterly contrite and ashamed of herself.
Tom stared at her morosely.
“I understand your dilemma, Margaret. This situation must be impossible for you.”
“It is rather.”
“Come here,” he said. “Come and sit on my knee.”
She got up from her place and went round the table, glad that he was holding out his arms to her. She snuggled into them.
“You’re right,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “This is more than an exercise. We’re sending the troops to Lexington and Concord tonight.”
“ror what purpose?” she heard herself ask.
“To capture the cannon at Concord and to arrest Hancock and Adams.”
So that was it. He had told her everything in this moment of confidence while she sat on his lap and received his caresses. Without thinking, Margaret put her arms round him and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you,” she said.
He gave her a sharp look. “What for?”
“For trusting me.”
She felt low and cheap and then she thought of the young revolutionary doctor and how much this information would mean to him. She steeled herself to ask one more question.
“Are the men travelling via Boston Neck?”
“No, my dear, they will go in longboats by sea, very secretly, tonight when the town is asleep.”
“I see.”
She went back to her place. “How is Hugh?” she asked brightly.
“He is about his affairs. He will call in after we have dined.” He gave her a look down the length of the table. “I can trust you to keep what I have told you entirely to yourself.”
“Of course you can,” she answered, and as she said the words she felt that by her act of betrayal she had broken a faith with Tom that nothing could ever repair.
Chapter Twenty-Three
April 18th, 1775
Earl Percy called at Province House shortly after eight o’clock that evening. Ushered into the Governor’s presence, he came to the salute. Then, because his eyes were tired, he put on his spectacles and waited expectantly. Tom Gage looked up and Hugh saw that he, too, was wearing glasses.
“Hugh, my dear chap, take a seat. Would you like a little cognac? I think we deserve it.”
Lord Percy shot him a brilliant glance. “Thank you, Sir. I will.”
They were in the library, Gage going back to his study for a while after dinner but finally settling himself in the other, more comfortable, room. He was quite alone, his wife Margaret announcing that she was going to have an early night. She had kissed him and departed, her manner slightly on edge. But Tom had put this down to the shattering news she had received, that he was sending troops in against her fellow countrymen. Not that he expected trouble of any kind. The sight of all those marching men in uniform would be enough to quell any uprising.
Now he said as much to the Earl, who looked at him quizzically.
“Are you sure of this, Sir?”
“Pretty positive. Why? Aren’t you?”
“No, to be honest with you, I’m not. They’ve been so arrogant recently, almost as if they were challenging us.”
“But that’s my very point. When the challenge is taken up and they are faced with a great horde of men, they will back down. Just you see.”
“I hope you’re right, Governor,” said Hugh Percy, and stared shortsightedly into his glass.
Tom cleared his throat. “Hugh, there is something I have to tell you.”
So this is it, thought the Earl. All day long men had been asking him where they were heading and what their purpose was to be, but he could do nothing but shrug his shoulders. At last he was going to be informed, and not before time.
“Yes, Sir?” he said, leaning forward in his chair.
“You’ve probably been wondering our destination and purpose.”
“I have indeed.”
“What I am about to tell you must be held in the strictest confidence. The officers and men must know nothing until they are actually heading there.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“The purpose of the mission is twofold. First we march to Lexington to arrest Samuel Adams and John Hancock, then on to Concord to capture the cannon and destroy the stores. As you know, we are going by longboat.”
“I see,” said Hugh, thinking he had guessed as much during the day.
He was silent for a moment, then said, “Have you told anyone else?”
“Only one other,” the Governor answered, and looked away. His wife, thought the Earl, but said nothing.
The Governor cleared his throat again. “The men are ready?”
“They’ve been ordered to have an early night. They will be woken later and marched to Back Bay. Then they will set off.”
“Very good. And the troop of riders I ordered this morning?”
“Gone long since. Twenty of them, ten officers and ten sergeants. Their orders are to intercept any messengers and stop them from raising the alarm.”
Gage nodded. “Excellent. Then all we have to do is wait.”
Lord Percy stood up. “Then if you’ll forgive me, Sir, I think I’ll be off to my bed. I plan to oversee the early embarkation.”
The Governor rose too. “Goodnight, Hugh. I’ll have one more drink and then I’ll join Margaret. There is nothing further any of us can do tonight.”
In that he was going to be proved terribly wrong.
*
Joseph Warren trembled violently as he left the stables of Province House. Not only was he in possession of the vital information but, even more importantly – or so it seemed to him at that delicious sensation-filled moment – he had kissed Margaret as he had been longing to do for weeks. He could still smell her perfume where it lingered on his clothes.
He knew that he must hurry home, that the Governor had ordered none of the citizens should leave Boston that night, but he lingered a moment longer, staring at the stables where he had received the worst news yet briefly known his greatest joy. Then, turning, he made his way through the darkness towards his house.
*
It was n
early nine o’clock and Lord Percy, having called in briefly at a tavern for another cognac, was making his way to Boston Common where the vast majority of his men were camped. Soon, he knew, they would be woken and ordered to march, still in ignorance as to the purpose of their mission. He had a feeling that it was going to be much more difficult than the Governor imagined, but though he had expressed his views there was nothing further he could do about it. Head down, he walked on, his bad eyesight making him unaware of a group of Bostonians standing together, talking earnestly, almost directly in his path.
“Good evening, Brigadier,” a man called out when he was almost upon them.
Hugh rapidly put on his spectacles. “Good evening.”
“Fine night for a march,” said another, his flat Boston accent grating on the Earl’s ears.
Hugh peered at them, recognising a couple of the men as being friends of the mad doctor, Warren. “What’s that you say?” he asked.
“I said your troops may march tonight but they will miss their aim.” A thrill of sheer horror ran the length of Lord Percy’s spine. Somehow the secret must be out. But how?
“Oh really.” He spoke in a terribly English voice. “And what aim might that be?”
“You know as well as I do, my Lord. The cannon at Concord.”
He gave them a furious glance and strode on but once out of their line of sight he doubled back and broke into a run as he headed once more for Province House.
*
At just before nine o’clock Joseph Warren let himself into his house in Hanover Street, calling for his slave as soon as he had crossed the threshold.
“Jake, come here. I need you.”
The slave had appeared from the kitchen. “Yassir?”
“I want you to take two messages for me. One to William Dawes, the other to Paul Revere. Say to both that they are to come at once. The matter is extremely urgent.”
“Yassir.”
“And Jake – .”
“Yes?”
“Well done. The other message you took arrived safely.”
“Thank you, master.”
And with that Jacob was gone, loping from the room, already exhibiting the speed he would use through the brightly moonlit streets of Boston.
*
It took the Earl Percy a few moments to collect himself after his run from the Common to Marlborough Street. Cold though it was, the sweat was pouring off him and the inside of his mouth had gone dry as a stone. He stood in the hallway, panting and gasping, wiping his face with a handkerchief, while Robin knocked tentatively on the door of the library.
“Yes?” he heard the Governor say.
“It’s Earl Percy to see you, Sir. He says it’s important.”
“Very well. Show him in.”
He was still sweating as he went through the door where he just stood, gazing speechlessly at the Governor, his mind racing down a track at the end of which lay a terrifying truth.
“What is it, Hugh? You look ghastly.”
“Sir,” Hugh said – then stopped, not sure how to proceed.
“Yes? Go on, man.”
“Sir, the mission has been betrayed. The Bostonians know where we are going.” And he repeated the conversation he had had on the Common.
Gage sat so still that for a moment he appeared to be in a trance. And during that moment the colour drained completely from his face, which turned the colour of a sail.
“I see,” he said.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir.”
“No, you might not, Hugh, but I do. Only too clearly. My confidence has been betrayed because, other than for yourself, I communicated my design to only one other person.”
Lord Percy felt his legs go suddenly weak. “May I sit down, Sir?”
“Of course. Let me pour you a brandy.”
Tom turned away to get the drink and when he turned back again, Hugh saw that there were tears in his eyes. Lord Percy decided to ignore them and said, “Will you still proceed with the mission, Governor?”
“Oh, yes,” Tom answered, his tone subdued, “I have no choice but to do so. We are in too deep to pull out now. Hugh, when you have finished do you mind if I ask you to leave? I find that I have to go out after all.”
“Not at all, Sir.” The Earl drained his glass. “I’ll return to the Common. The men should be preparing to set off.”
“If you would. Thank you, my friend.”
“No need, Sir.”
And Hugh saluted and left, thinking he had never seen a man so shaken as Tom Gage had been that night.
*
At a quarter-past nine, Paul Revere arrived at Joseph Warren’s house and was shown immediately into his study. There he found his friend and co-revolutionary in a strange state of heightened awareness, presumably because he had seen his contact who, Revere had suspected long since, was a woman about whom the doctor nursed passionate feelings. But nothing of this came into the conversation.
“The Regulars are on the move as we suspected. They are going to Lexington to arrest Adams and Hancock, then on to Concord to seize the cannon and burn the stores.”
“Are they going by land or sea?”
“Sea.”
“Then I must warn the people of Charlestown as arranged.”
“I want you to do more than that. I want you to get across the Charles River yourself and warn the countryfolk that the British are on their way. Now, I’ve already sent out Billy Dawes to ride through Boston Neck and take the message to the people in the west.”
“Will he get through? I thought all the exits from Boston are closed.”
“He might just make it. He’s mounted on a slow-jogging horse, with saddle bags behind him, and a large flapped hat upon his head. In other words he looks exactly like a countryman on a journey.”
Revere gave a short laugh at the description. “Bless him. But I’ll do my best to get across, you know that Joseph. Anyway, there’s no time to lose. We must hang lanthorns in Christ Church steeple as arranged. So I’ll be off.”
“Good luck.”
“I’m going to need it,” said Revere over his departing shoulder.
*
As soon as Hugh Percy had gone, Tom Gage gave in to his anguish. He wept bitterly, blaming himself repeatedly for having passed the information on to Margaret, thinking that if the mission failed it would be all his fault. But very soon his distress gave way to another emotion. He felt furiously angry; indeed he could have killed his wife for betraying what he had told her was a state secret. And then, unbidden, the thought of Sara came into his mind and he knew that he wanted to see her and hold her in his arms again.
He had deliberately not called on her since that last visit three months ago but now, he thought, he no longer owed loyalty to his wife. The bitch had divulged his most private and secret plans to the enemy. She must take the consequences of her actions. Trembling, and very slightly inebriated, Gage rose to his feet, allowed Robin to help him into his cloak, and left Province House by a side door.
*
Revere left Dr. Warren’s surgery and hurried straight to Salem Street where, on the corner with Sheafe Street, stood the Newman house. Hearing a great deal of noise from within, Paul peered cautiously through the windows and saw to his horror a party of British officers, boarding with the widowed Mrs. Newman, playing cards at the parlour table and making an enormous jovial uproar about it.
Earlier that day he had been to see her son, Robert, knowing that he supported the Whig cause and knowing too, and more importantly, that he was sexton of Christ Church, commonly referred to as the Old North. He had warned him that great things were probably afoot, and had also enlisted the help of John Pulling, a vestryman of Christ’s, together with a third man, a friend and neighbour, Thomas Bernard. He had alerted all three to stand by that night.
Now, staring through the window at the Redcoats, he wondered how on earth they were going to manage. Somewhat daunted, Paul Revere went round to the back of the house and, movi
ng quietly for such a stocky man, went through an iron gate into a garden of shadows. He was just staring round disconsolately when one of the shadows detached itself and plucked at his sleeve.
“I’m here, Mr. Revere.”
“Thank God,” Paul whispered. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
The four men passed silently through the iron gate and out to the street beyond, then all of them suddenly pulled back as a chaise, driven at speed, went roaring past.
“Gracious, that looked just like the Governor,” John Pulling said. Revere gave another short laugh. “You’ve got the wretch on the brain,” he answered, and playfully cuffed John’s ear.
Chapter Twenty-Four
April 18th, 1775
Tom drew the chaise up in the alley which huddled beneath Christ Church and, late though it was, knocked on the door of Mrs. Wells’s house. There was no reply. Stepping back into the street he called out, “Sara. Are you there?” Then he threw a pebble against the girl’s window.
I must be mad, he thought, behaving like a schoolboy in the middle of this terrible crisis. Yet the fact was that he felt like a child, longing to behave as if he were a young soldier again, escaping from the mass of responsibility that had been thrust upon his shoulders and was about to go horribly wrong if the betrayal by his wife was anything to go by. Above his head a window opened and somebody thrust their head out.
“Who is it? Who do you want?”
Tom moved irritably and a flash of his red uniform must have shown from beneath his concealing black cloak.
“Oh, it’s you, Sir,” said a woman. “I’ll send someone down to let you in.
The Governor could have died of embarrassment. He had always tried to act with tact and diplomacy as far as his dealings with Sara’s lodging house went. But now neighbours were opening their windows and staring out curiously. Wishing that the rising moon weren’t so bright, Tom did his best to hide himself in the shade of the chaise.
There was the sound of bolts being drawn back and a key groaned in the lock before the door swung open. One of Mrs. Wells’s sons stood there, glaring.