The Governor's Ladies

by Lake, Deryn

  He had departed from Boston in a ramshackle cart with Billy Dawes, hardly speaking, full to the brim with emotion. After that he had returned to Watertown and the Hunt household, where he was staying, continuing his work as a doctor, organising the revolutionaries to the best of his excellent ability. Then on June 14th, somewhat to his surprise, he had been appointed a Major-General. Yet he had no troops to command, nothing, indeed, but the title.

  At night, when he lay in his narrow bed, he would long for Margaret, think of her, dream the dream. Often he would be awake as dawn came creeping across the sky, when he would finally sleep deeply before rising a few hours later. It was not much of a life but he filled it with hope that one day he and she would eventually be together.

  News came of the entrenchment being built on Breed’s Hill on the evening of the sixteenth. As soon as it arrived Joseph announced his intention of joining the Yankees in the inevitable fight and asked the women of the household to prepare lint and linen bandages for the casualties. Then he sat down to dinner.

  Betsey Palmer, whose father owned the house, sat next to him, thinking how handsome he looked this night, how tanned and fit. She couldn’t help but meet his light blue eyes, but every time she did so she looked away shyly.

  “Will you have a glass of wine with me, Betsey?” he asked.

  “Oh, no, Sir. Really.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know I don’t drink very often.”

  “Oh, come on, my little girl, drink a glass of wine with me for the last time.”

  She looked at him in blank astonishment. “Why on earth do you say that, Dr. Warren?”

  “Because I’m going on the hill tomorrow and I might never come off.”

  “Oh, don’t speak so, Sir, please don’t. You frighten me with such talk. Of course you’ll come off. I insist upon it.”

  He laughed then, but not loudly, more in a thoughtful sort of way. “I’ll try,” he said, and drank his wine, several glasses of it.

  *

  Margaret drank more than usual that night, thinking that perhaps in alcohol lay her solution. She knew that Tom was staying in for there was important business afoot, though naturally he had not told her what it was. But after dinner she loitered in the library, asking Robin to bring her a glass of port. She picked up a book she had already read and stared at the page, but her mind had wandered off. She wondered desperately how and where Joseph was, and prayed with all her heart that it wouldn’t be too long before they met again.

  She looked up, startled, as the door suddenly opened. The Earl Percy stood there.

  “Oh, beg pardon, Ma’am. I didn’t realise you were in here.”

  Margaret was very slightly tipsy, that is what gave her the courage to say, “Come and talk to me for a moment, my Lord. To be honest with you I could do with the company.”

  “Certainly, Ma’am, though I daren’t delay too much. There’s a great deal to be done.”

  “I’m sure there is. Pray sit down.”

  Hugh did so, taking the chair opposite hers. “You’ll take a glass of port?” said Margaret, and rang the bell before he could answer. Once she had given the order she gave the Earl a smile.

  “So you will fight tomorrow?”

  “That is the plan, yes Madam.”

  “And where is this to take place?”

  A strange look crossed Hugh’s face. “Round and about,” he answered.

  It immediately occurred to Margaret that he knew of her betrayal, that he was privy to Tom’s innermost secrets.

  “Oh, it is of no consequence,” she answered lightly.

  There was a flash as Hugh Percy produced his spectacles from an inner pocket and put them on his nose.

  “Sorry to be so uncommunicative, Ma’am, but orders are orders. I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  “Of course. I am an army wife.” She paused, then said, “What news of Rupert Germain?”

  “I believe he has been talked into producing a newspaper of sorts by your husband.”

  “I can well imagine. What is it like? I haven’t seen a copy.”

  “It is very much the same as it was. All pro British and anti the colonials.”

  “Nothing changes then.”

  “No nothing.” Percy downed his port in a swallow and stood up. “And now if you will forgive me, Ma’am, I must return to the meeting.”

  “Of course,” said Margaret. “Be sure not to miss anything.”

  Once alone again her thoughts turned inevitably to Joseph. Where was he? she wondered. And, more importantly, was he going to be involved in the fighting tomorrow? She could almost hear him telling her to hold onto the dream. So, closing her eyes, Margaret did so, though with a heavy heart.

  *

  No sooner had the revolutionary forces opened fire on the British troops than the order was given for the British to burn Charlestown to the ground. Admiral Graves, a man whom Gage disliked intensely, nonetheless was given the order to let loose his cannons, and the ships moored in the Charles River began to pelt the wooden town with hot shot. Up went the buildings in a conflagration, with flames roaring in the air and clouds of smoke everywhere. A rider immediately left for Province House to inform the Governor that his instructions had been carried out.

  Sara, sitting in her window most of the afternoon, had a magnificent view of the blaze but felt her heart saddened for the people whose precious homes they once had been. Looking down she noticed that the fire had attracted more observers and that underneath her in the street, standing on boxes and ladders to get a better view, was a crowd of men and women, all shouting out in protest. And then it happened. A familiar figure, wrapped in a scarlet cloak and riding a black horse, came into view, accompanied by an officer. Reining in, they sat side-by-side observing the blazing inferno across the water. They stayed like that, their faces expressionless, watching the destruction of an entire village. Then, knowing perfectly well that he was close to Sara’s house, Tom glanced up and for a second their eyes met. However, they gave no outward sign of recognition, both of them looking quickly away.

  Then Sara sensed rather than saw a movement below her. One of the men, standing halfway up a ladder, reached in his pocket and produced a pistol. Clearly incensed by the destruction of Charlestown beneath a rain of blazing shot, he suddenly raised it and took aim at the Governor’s head. Sara did not hesitate. Pushing herself off the sill, she launched downwards and onto the would-be assassin. The shot was deflected as both Sara and the man crashed to the street beneath. Instead of entering Tom’s body the bullet went into hers. She had saved the Governor’s life and in so doing had ruined her own.

  *

  Joseph had lain awake all night, thinking of Margaret and the battle that lay ahead of him and wondering if they would ever have the dreamed-of future together. As soon as it was light he got up and washed himself in cold water. Then he dressed carefully in a light-coloured coat with a sprig on the buttons, a tie wig and a white-fringed waistcoat. Leaving the house quietly, he got on his horse and rode to Cambridge to see his friend Elbridge Gerry. There, after having talked a good while and breakfasted a little, Dr. Warren begged that he might have a few hours’ sleep before the fight and was shown to a hot upper chamber where he flung himself onto the bed and slept at last. Seeing him, Gerry decided to let fate be the arbiter and not to wake him but see if he woke naturally.

  At noon, however, there were sounds of stirring from the room above and Joseph came down the stairs, buttoning up his sprigged buttons and putting on his tie wig.

  “You’re going then?” asked Elbridge.

  “Yes, I said I would so now I must follow through.”

  “Look Joseph, you might well get killed. Why don’t you stay here? We need you to organise us. What use will you be to the cause if you end up dead?”

  “It’s no good, Elbridge. I’ve been through it a dozen times. I’ve decided to go, so go I will.”

  “Is there nothing I can say that will persuade you to stay?”r />
  “No, nothing.”

  So Gerry had reluctantly seen his friend ride off in the direction of Charlestown, filled with the dreadful premonition that he would never see him again.

  *

  The shot that misfired startled the horses of the General and the young officer accompanying him and they both looked round to see what had happened. The sight that met their eyes was almost unreal. Lying flat in the street, unconscious, was a black girl, the would-be assassin conscious but groaning, a few feet away from her. Already a woman had rushed to the man’s side and was vainly attempting to help him stand.

  Tom, throwing caution to the winds, was off his horse like lightning, running to Sara and cradling her in his arms.

  “Oh, my darling,” he whispered, “what happened?”

  But it was obvious without an explanation. She had seen the man below her take aim and had jumped on him to save Tom’s life.

  “Little girl, don’t die,” Tom murmured. Then he got up, lifting the unconscious Sara in his arms and carrying her into the house, ignoring the curious stares of the crowd which had formed. The young officer, not certain what to do, followed behind, leading the two horses.

  But once away from prying eyes, the General acted with the desperate calmness of someone who is utterly panic-stricken. Applying damp towels to the girl’s forehead, he sat massaging her hands until eventually she showed signs of recovering consciousness.

  “Anything I can do, Sir?” asked the young lieutenant nervously. “Yes, go and fetch a doctor. Any doctor. If there is one left in this God-forsaken town. Hurry, man.”

  “Yes, Sir.” And the lieutenant made a rapid exit, extremely puzzled by the General’s attitude to the girl which, if he hadn’t known him better, he could easily have mistaken for love.

  *

  Joseph Warren left his friend’s house just after noon and rode to Charlestown, getting there in time to see the British ships fire hot shot and torch the timber town. British troops had landed and the battle between them and the revolutionary force had begun.

  Leaving his horse at the bottom, Joseph climbed Breed’s Hill on foot and reported for duty to Colonel Prescott, a countryman by nature.

  “Dr. Warren, Sir. You’re here. Would you like to take command, General?”

  The doctor gave a fleeting smile. “No, I most certainly would not. I’ve come as a volunteer.”

  “So you intend to stay, Sir?”

  “Indeed I do.”

  So on that hot, airless day the battle of Breed’s Hill, which would become known as the battle of Bunker Hill, raged. Joseph, who had come armed with nothing more than a book of poetry in his pocket, got a musket and a cartouche box from a retreating soldier. Then he fought hard and to the best of his ability.

  Meanwhile the precise lines of English soldiers, beautiful in their red uniforms, did their best to advance uphill in the face of deadly gunfire. It was a slaughterhouse as, one by one, they dropped, men from both sides, and died a few feet away from one another.

  Major Pitcairn, who had survived the battles of Lexington and Concord, was swearing a mighty oath, “Come on you goddamned bastards,” when suddenly he fell, shot in the chest. His son, fighting close by, rushed to his side and carried his dying father on his back to a place where the high salt grass grew and the noise of battle was quiet. There he laid him down, kissed him and hurried back to fight on. The Major lay silently in the hot sun and bled to death.

  Joseph, firing shot after shot, heard his name called out by an advancing British officer and half turned, a smile of recognition on his face. And then the most curious thing happened. He heard a loud noise and felt a sharp pain, and suddenly the battlefield faded away and he was hurrying up a lane to a weatherboarded house. Even as he approached it the front door opened and there stood Margaret, dressed as a New England wife would dress, and immediately behind her came a stocky little boy with her great dark eyes and Joseph’s fair colouring.

  “Papa,” he called, and as Joseph ran to catch him in his arms, he felt more happy than he ever had in the whole of his short, eventful life.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  June, 1775

  Sara was fully conscious by the time the lieutenant returned with Dr. Silvester Gardiner, who was somewhat flustered and had been fetched from watching the battle through a telescope. Tom had carried the girl onto a chaise on which she now lay. He had earlier brought her a chamberpot to use and assisted Sara, who seemed incapable of moving independently. Thinking that he had never done this for anyone in his life, Tom had thrown the contents away. Then he had made her tea and waited for the doctor to arrive.

  The expression on the medical man’s face when he saw it was the Governor himself who had called him out, was almost amusing.

  “Oh, your Excellency, I had no idea that it was you who sent for me.” He turned to look at Sara and his eyebrows shot up. “My goodness, what do we have here?”

  “This is Sara,” said Tom, barely curbing his irritation. “She is a former slave of mine but now lives here. Earlier today somebody tried to shoot me and Sara saved my life by jumping on him from a window. In so doing I think she has somehow damaged her back.”

  “I see.” Dr. Gardiner turned to the girl. “Now, young woman, I shall have to examine you. Gentlemen, I would suggest you leave the room.”

  No sooner were they outside than Gage turned urgently to the young lieutenant. “Hawkshore, I’m in serious trouble. I should have returned to my desk an hour ago. For God’s sake go to Province House and make sure that my secretary, Samuel Kemble, takes my place. Tell him I have been delayed on business but do not say what it is, I beg you.

  Now all was clear, thought Lieutenant Hawkshore. The old man was sleeping with the black girl. Well, good luck to him. To hide the grin that was creeping over his features, he cleared his throat and coughed a little.

  “Very good, Sir.”

  “Now go,” said Gage, realising that his secret was out but almost ceasing to care.

  How long he waited in the little parlour he was never sure but eventually the doctor came through, wearing a serious face.

  “Well, I’ve had a good look at her, Excellency.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid the prognosis is not good. I would like to consult with one of my colleagues but as far as I can see the bullet has entered her back and damaged the spinal cord.”

  “Well can’t you get it out, man?”

  “It can be removed certainly, but if what I think is correct, the girl will never walk again.”

  “Oh, my God! Are you sure of this?”

  “As I said, Excellency, I would like the opinion of Dr. Eustis – he was trained by Dr. Warren, you know, and is a first rate physician. But it is my opinion that… er… Sara will have to spend the rest of her days in a bath chair, which will make life difficult for her when the child comes of course.”

  Tom sat silently for a moment, wondering if he had heard correctly, then he said, “The child?”

  “Yes, Excellency. The girl is in the early stages of pregnancy. Didn’t vou know?”

  “No, no. I didn’t.”

  Dr. Gardiner shot him a look that conveyed a multitude of thoughts, the principal of which was that he knew damn well who the father was and was dying to go outside and have a good laugh. Tom struggled to keep his dignity in what were proving to be impossible circumstances and in the end gave up.

  “Well, well. I had no idea,” he repeated.

  “Indeed, Sir,” the doctor answered and made a strange gesture with his arm, almost as if he were slapping Tom on the back.

  The Governor collected himself. “I’ll be grateful if you can keep what you have discovered today to yourself. It could be most embarrassing for me if word of this got out.”

  “I shall remain silent as the grave,” Dr. Gardiner answered, but Tom could see from the twinkling in the man’s eye that he was going to do no such thing.

  “How much do I owe you?” Tom asked, reaching fo
r his pocket book.

  “I shall send my bill when I have consulted with Dr. Eustis. Meanwhile, Sir, I suggest the girl rests as much as possible prior to the operation. Good day to you.”

  “Yes, of course. Good day,” Tom answered, and felt faintly surprised when the doctor gave a short bow before departing.

  Sara had apparently dropped off to sleep when he went back into the room, looking so perfect in repose that Tom could hardly believe that she might well be seriously injured. However, she opened her eyes and gazed at him.

  “Hello, Master.”

  “Oh, Sara, don’t call me that. I am Tom to you and always will be.”

  She looked at him and he saw fear in her eyes. “What have I done to my back, Tom? The doctor wouldn’t tell me. He said he wanted to call another man in.”

  “You’ve bruised your spine, darling. That is all.”

  He simply hadn’t the heart to tell her what the real truth might be. “Will I walk again?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you will. Now listen. I’m going back to Province House and I will send Mildred to you directly. She can nurse you until you feel better. It means that you will be alone for about an hour. Is there anything you need?”

  Sara pulled a face. “Perhaps the pot.”

  “I’ll bring it. And Sara…”

  “Yes?”

  “About the baby. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sara hung her head and a pinkish hue crept into her cheeks. “Governor, I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe it was something else. Oh Sir, please don’t be angry with me.”

  “Angry?” Tom said. “Why, I’m delighted.”

  And he really meant it. He may have fathered a family by Margaret but the thought of him at his age – fifty-five – once again being responsible for a life coming into the world, thrilled him immeasurably. Particularly with a mother as beautiful and perfect as Sara. Then he thought of what the physician had just told him and inwardly groaned. Surely when Dr. Eustis examined her he would find another diagnosis. Once the bullet was removed she would walk again for certain.