The Governor's Ladies

by Lake, Deryn

  “My dear boy, how have you been keeping?”

  “Tom. Look, Sir, can we forget the last time I was here? I was drunk and spoke out of turn.”

  The Governor shook his head. “I don’t want to forget it. Not because I share your inclinations, though I do not belittle you for having them. That is a matter entirely up to you. No, it was something you said that night that interests me.”

  Rupert swallowed hard. “And what was that, Sir?”

  “You said you loved me and would do anything for me. Or words to that effect at least.”

  “Yes, it’s true enough. I do care for you – very deeply – and I always will.”

  “Then in that case I am going to ask you to do me an enormous favour.”

  “Name it.”

  “I want you to look after my mistress when I have gone.”

  It was said so matter-of-factly that Rupert was quite literally winded and sat down in a nearby chair, breathing hard.

  The Governor smiled, a rare thing for him at the present time. “I see I have shocked you.”

  “No, no. It’s just that I was expecting something else.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure. But certainly not that. You know I am not a ladies’ man.”

  Tom actually laughed, though it sounded rather hollow. “I did not mean ‘look after’ in that sense. I meant literally. You see, the girl is a cripple.”

  Rupert looked horrified. “Good God, I imagined that you had fallen in love with somebody perfect. A cripple, you say.”

  “Yes,” Tom answered somewhat irritably, “she had an accident – saving my life, for what it’s worth.” And he explained how Sara had jumped from her window onto a gunman whose bullet had entered her spine, damaging it irretrievably. “She believes that Calico Joel might be able to cure her. And while she has faith in that who am I to disillusion her?”

  “And you say you have had a special bath chair made for her?”

  “Yes, she can wheel herself around. But Rupert, she is perfect in every other respect. She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She will appeal to you in that regard I feel certain.”

  “I can hardly wait to meet her,” Rupert replied without enthusiasm.

  Tom ignored it. “That can be arranged, and soon at that. But there is one other thing you need to know. She is a half-caste. You see, I fell in love with one of my slaves.”

  Rupert looked sick, then he said, “And I always thought you a pillar of respectability. Good God, it shows how wrong one can be.”

  Tom stared at him seriously. “Who are any of us to criticise the actions of others? You, of all people, should be aware of that? The most respectable person – to use one of your words – can be struck by the beauty of another and act completely out of character. I first went to Sara at a time when I thought my world was ending. And in a way it was. Since that time I have loved her in many guises – as a father as well as a lover. Now she is to present the world with our child and I am determined that she and the baby will prosper. I asked her to return to England with me but she refused. And do you know why?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Because she was born in the Colonies and says she owes them loyalty. Funnily enough, Margaret said very much the same thing to me.

  Can you understand it?”

  “Yes, in a way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I first came out here – do you remember that Christmas, so long ago? – I was filled with enthusiasm for the place, longing to make it my home and make something of myself at the same time.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m sickened by the fighting and the slaughter. But because I love you, Thomas Gage, I will stay and see your child safely into the world, and ensure that no harm comes to your woman.”

  “Do you promise me that?”

  “I swear it,” answered Rupert Germain, and laid his hand on his heart.

  *

  On the night of October 9th, the Governor paid his last visit to Sara. Earlier in the day he and Rupert had called on her in order that she and her new protector might meet. On this occasion she was wearing a loose-fitting gown above an overskirt of blue caught up at the sides and back. Round her neck she wore a delightful neck ruffle that Tom had bought her. The Governor, who felt his heart shattering at the sight of her, found he could hardly speak.

  “Sara, this is Lord Rupert Germain. He has promised me that he will look after you when I have gone.”

  She had given him one of her direct glances. “How dee do, Sir. Are you sure that you wish this?”

  “Of course I do, Madam. Consider me at your disposal.”

  “You’re very kind. But I promise not to interfere with your daily life. What do you do for a livelihood, Lord Rupert?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. I used to run a newspaper but my views were not acceptable to the majority.”

  “Don’t you get a little bored, Sir?”

  “Sometimes I do.”

  “Well, we’ll have to try and think of something to occupy your mind.”

  Rupert gave a cynical smile. “I await your comments with pleasure.” Later, after he had gone, Sara said, “Are you sure he wants to look after me?”

  “I’m positive, sweetheart. Why do you ask?”

  “I think he might have preferred it had I been a boy.”

  Tom tweaked her nose. “You’re not supposed to know about such things. But take it from me, he has a good nature and he has given me his word that he will care for you and the child. I also leave you in the hands of Calico Joel, as long as he is around that is.”

  Sara had sighed. “I am sad that you are going, Sir.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll be back in the spring.”

  For this was the lie that everyone was pretending was the truth. That Tom’s return to England was only a temporary measure and that he would return early next year to resume his old role.

  “I don’t think you will. I don’t think I shall ever see you again.”

  “No,” Tom answered heavily. “I don’t suppose you will. It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. I can still get you a passage. Oh Sara, please come.”

  She shook her head but said nothing. And with that gesture Tom Gage, the man who had done his best in conditions of overwhelming difficulty, knew that he had lost her and that her homeland, America, had won.

  *

  He spent the night with her. Then in the morning he rose, dressed, went to the place where he had tethered his horse, and mounted. Sara had wheeled herself into the doorway and Tom could see that she was crying. But he hardened his heart. He had given her every opportunity to accompany him but she had rejected him. Yet in reality this was the only way in which he could drag himself away. He wheeled his mettlesome mount.

  “Goodbye, Sara.”

  “Goodbye, Master Governor.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  “You will always be the Governor to me,” she answered simply, before vanishing into the house.

  *

  The night before he sailed Tom dined with Hugh Percy. The Earl wore his glasses to try to hide the fact that he had wept because of the injustice that had been done to his commander. For Percy had to remain in the Colonies, which he had come to dislike, while Tom had to go and face the music alone. Earlier that day the Governor had, in full public gaze, received his last salute as supreme commander and Sir William Howe had been sworn in. All this in front of the men who had served with him, the Earl being one of them.

  “It’s a sorry state of affairs,” he said eventually.

  “My departure you mean?”

  “Yes, Sir. I feel that the blame for everything that has happened in this benighted spot is going to be laid on your shoulders.”

  The ex-Governor sighed. “You’re probably right. They will blame me for making all the wrong decisions.”

  “Wrong!” said the Earl bitterly. “What else could you have done, for God’s sake? The fault l
ies with them for not giving clearer instructions. But they need a scapegoat and you are going to be it, I fear.”

  Tom poured two glasses of port. “There’s another minor problem as well.”

  “Sir?”

  “My wife and I were not getting along too well towards the end of her stay…”

  Hugh grimaced, knowing perfectly well that she had betrayed him. “…and I have to see her and try to sort things out.”

  And a devil of a job that’s going to be, thought the Earl, with your beautiful black slave girl occupying your thoughts. But he merely smiled and said, “Oh, I am sure you will, Sir. In time.”

  “Well, there’s no point in worrying about it. It won’t improve the situation.”

  Hugh Percy raised his glass. “I would like to propose a toast to you, Sir. Here’s health to the finest commander under whom I’ve served.”

  “Do you mean that?” asked Tom in a low voice.

  “With everything I stand for.”

  God bless you, Hugh.”

  “Stand firm, Sir. When they unleash their spleen, stand firm.”

  “I’ll do my best,” General Gage answered simply.

  *

  The next morning was a sombre occasion in Province House. Having slept a few hours, Tom got up and put on his uniform, then, refusing breakfast, said goodbye to the staff. Robin, who had seen and who knew so much, bowed before him.

  “It’s going to be sad being without you, Governor.”

  Tom smiled. “I’m not the Governor any more, Tom. That’s Sir William Howe’s title now.”

  “You’ll always be Governor to me, Sir,” answered the black man, echoing the words that Sara had said to him.

  Andrew, smart as paint, stood before him, buttons shining. “I’ll drive you to the harbour, Sir.”

  “No thanks, I’d rather walk. Goodbye my friend. You’ve been an excellent coachman.”

  Andrew bowed. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity, Sir.” Then he bowed again, grinned half-heartedly, and turned away, wiping his eyes.

  Outside the guards on duty came to the salute on seeing Tom. He returned it with a half-smile, then walked down the street, carrying his overnight bag in his hand.

  As he went he looked about him, taking in every detail, knowing that this would be the last time he would ever set eyes on the place. Wooden houses stood neatly side by side, women gossiped on street corners, men went about their business – that is, if they had any. But everywhere there was a feeling of unity, of being at one against the common enemy.

  Gage turned a corner and went down Milk Street, listening to the hooves of horses clattering over cobbles, the rattle of carts and carriages, above all the constant cry of gulls. And then he saw the sea stretched like a vast blue piece of material before him, and he felt his heart leap. He must cross that autumn ocean to get back to all the problems that would face him, and there were many indeed.

  Just for a moment, a crazy moment, he thought of going back, of fetching Sara and escaping with her into the open countryside and setting up as a farmer, God help him. Then he realised that there was no point, that he could never escape from all the terrible tasks that lay ahead. That he must go forward.

  His brother-in-law, Stephen Kemble, was waiting with a party of others to say farewell. Gage went through the ritual but all the time he spoke to them, his eyes scanned the small crowd that had gathered in silence to see him go.

  “Well, give my regards to…”

  But he no longer heard a word that Stephen said. For there, in the front of the group that had parted to let them through, was Sara, looking exquisite, sitting in her wheelchair like a queen, being pushed by Rupert Germain. Gage couldn’t help himself. In public, and not giving a damn who saw, he waved to them.

  “Goodbye,” he called over the void that separated them.

  “Goodbye,” they called back, their voices in unison.

  Tom decided, looking at them, that they made a perfect pair, Rupert’s pale good looks enhancing Sara’s dark loveliness. If only things were different, he thought.

  The military band that had gathered at the quayside struck up ‘The Lilies of France’, and Gage turned towards the gangplank. Then, halfway up, he wheeled round for a last look at Sara. She was waving, as was Rupert. Aware that he would never see her again, Tom blew her a kiss, then turned and walked slowly onwards.

  PART THREE – MRS. GAGE

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  August, 1775

  She turned and walked up the gangplank, her back stiff and unyielding. Beside her she felt little Charlotte wheel round to look at her Papa but Margaret refused to do likewise, even though she was longing to get one last glimpse of the country in which she had been born and raised. Longed, indeed, to take one final glance at the land where she had held her lover, Joseph Warren, so tightly through that hot, breathless night at Breed’s Hill. But Margaret marched on unrelenting to where Captain Robertson stood waiting to greet her.

  “Mrs. Gage, welcome aboard. I hope your journey will be as pleasant as possible.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I wonder if you would mind showing me to my cabin straight away. I feel a little unwell.”

  That was an expedient lie but would cover the fact that she had no intention of standing at the ship’s rail and waving to those left behind.

  He looked slightly startled but was too polite to comment. “Of course, Madam. If you would care to follow me.”

  It was a small place, little more than an oversized cupboard, Charlotte and the nursemaid sharing an equally tiny closet next door. Thankfully the Captain and officers had their quarters close at hand so at least they would be well protected. But none of this was in Margaret’s mind as she closed the door and sat down on the bunk, feeling utterly desolate. Everything she had ever known or loved was being left behind in America. She was reaping the reward for her traitorous act in full.

  Her heartbeat suddenly began to speed up and thump irregularly, frightening her somewhat. She lay flat, fighting to breath normally, wondering what was the matter with her. Then came the huge clanking as the ship weighed anchor and slowly, very slowly, she felt movement. So they were off. She sat upright, torn about going back on deck, suddenly wanting to see Tom again and give him a final wave, but her heart was beating wildly and her spirits were too low. Margaret lay down on the bunk again and very quietly started to cry.

  *

  It was an agonising journey, the ship being shared by the wounded and maimed, victims of the terrible conflicts, to say nothing of sixty army widows and orphans. Below deck the air was heavy with the smell of death and blood, suffocatingly so. The only relief to be had was on deck, breathing in the salt sea breezes. Yet Margaret, afraid of getting in the way, spent the time when Charlotte was with her nurse, sitting in the dining room, reading or, more frequently, staring out of the window at the vast expanse of ocean which every day increased the distance between herself and her mother country.

  Burials at sea became almost a daily occurrence as the injured succumbed to their wounds. Margaret watched several, her heart wrenching as she thought of the body shooting down to the dark mysterious depths of the sea; human beings, once jolly babies, becoming food for the fishes. She wept at the first few but gradually got used to the macabre occasions and felt only a sense of wretchedness that so many had had to die in the horrible fighting over the future of the Colonies.

  Eventually land was sighted and Margaret, going on deck, was informed that it was the coast of Cornwall. Charlotte stood beside her, her face flushed with excitement.

  “Is that England, Mama?”

  “Yes, my dear. That was where you were born.”

  The child had stared, round-eyed, and for no reason Margaret’s heart had started lurching again, a horrible feeling which she loathed because it made her afraid. But she had forced herself to breathe normally for the sake of her daughter and had even managed to laugh a little as the coastline drew ever nearer. But for all that she was pleased to g
et back to her cabin and sit very still until the spasm passed.

  The ship, which had suffered some storm damage at sea, put into Plymouth for a new mainmast and some of the walking wounded had gone ashore. Perhaps they had not realised what scarecrows they actually looked, so malnourished that their clothes flapped about them, or that their injuries would be so repellant to gaze on, but they soon boarded the vessel again, upset by the hostile reception they had been given by the locals.

  Eventually though, the ship had docked in London, sailing up the wild reaches of the Thames, and disembarkation had taken place. The wounded had been removed, bound for the hospital in Chelsea, the widows had been put ashore to fend for themselves as best they could, the orphans had been rounded up and taken to the various poor-houses. Margaret, watching the disconsolate little creatures, frightened and pale, some of them visibly shaking, had clutched Charlotte close to her and thanked God that her daughter had been born to a different strata of life.

  She had decided then and there to head for Firle Place, the seat of Viscount Gage. Catching a post-chaise she and her small entourage had been dropped at Lewes and had no alternative but to make the rest of the journey by pony and trap, the only small reward being the expression on the Viscountess’s face when they had been announced and entered the room in which she sat embroidering.

  “My dear!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Oh, my dear. I knew of course that you were returning but had no idea when. How wonderful to see you.”

  So Tom had not told Elizabeth of his wife’s guilt. Somewhat relieved, Margaret had sat down and surveyed her sister-in-law.

  She was still very beautiful in the black-haired clever way that people of Jewish blood are. Elizabeth’s grandfather, Rowland Gideon, had been a Portuguese Jew who had migrated to England at the end of the seventeenth century. His son, Sampson Gideon, a financial genius of considerable note, had made a fortune in the South Sea Bubble and kept it in the crash which followed. He had married an Englishwoman and fathered three children, all of whom had been brought up as Christians. One of these, Elizabeth Gideon, had attracted the attention of Tom Gage’s brother, not only for her great good looks but also for the dowry which she had brought to the marriage. The wedding had taken place shortly after they met and it had, all things considered, been an extremely happy union.