After supper we talked until Bertie curled up on a blanket atop the inglenook by the fireplace; we talked and laughed and whiled the time until the clock struck one in the morning, and heard how Brendan had met Rosalyn after the war. She told us she had been injured as a child by the lance of an Indian. The next day, Cullah took Brendan and little Bertie with him to his shop. I was happy for that. It would give me time to talk to Rosalyn, but more important to me, I hoped it would raise Cullah’s heart and remind him of the work he had left to do.
Rosalyn helped Dorothy and me to create her a gown after a new fashion they were wearing down the coast rather than a mantua. My own gown was a sack dress, gathered in back in box pleats with a couched and embroidered stomacher all made from rose-colored silk moiré, and I relished its elegance as Rosalyn helped me try it on. We had dinner in our house, my old table swaying with the load of food and surrounded by Gwenny’s brood, Brendan’s as well, and Ben and James. My new daughter was ever pleasing so that I liked her a great deal. I was sad to see them leave, but much encouraged that they would be but a couple of hours’ walk from our house.
The evening at the Reveres’ home was as so many others had been, with one great change. The room was full of British officers and their ladies, all trying to assume airs of condescension toward us poor colonists. I soon became bored by the small talk and fluttering of the younger women, and sat myself beside Deborah for a while. When a friend called her away, a woman came and sat in Deborah’s chair, fanning herself from the flush of a dance in too tight laces. “Good evening,” she said with a merry smile.
“Good evening,” I returned. She had a decided accent, though not a British one. I suspected she was from one of the more southern colonies, but from the cut of her gown, I wondered if she had just landed on one of the ships from London.
She smiled gaily and said, “Oh, let us not stand on ceremony. I am so tired of some of the women here with whom I have acquaintance. Margaret Gage. Married to the stodgy owl there by the hearth, gesturing with the glass of port. They will have to throw the rug out for the ragpickers after his windy speech to that poor man. Look at him spilling wine with every gesture!” The gentleman to whom she referred was in military uniform, decked with gold braids, paunchy, white-haired naturally rather than wearing a powdered wig.
The lady herself wore neither wig nor cap but a turban wrapped with gold braid and hung with tassels in the new Arabian style. Her hair had not been curled or coiffed but hung from the turban in random disarray like a courtesan or a savage. Smiling, I nodded, curious at such presumption. I looked into her eyes and saw something that opened, as if a trunk lid rose within them, revealing a sparkle of candlelight as if through a shaded lantern flickering there. I said, “Yes, I know of him. General Gage. My husband served under him at Ticonderoga. Good evening. I am Resolute MacLammond. Married to the braw Scotsman by that table, the one with dark hair bending with a kiss now, serving a plate to that girl.”
“She’s stunning! Are you not jealous of your Scotsman’s attentions to so delicate a flower?”
I laughed. “She’s our daughter.”
“Ah. Good. Excellent.” The lady laughed again.
I saw at once her charms were in her disarming manner, though her figure nothing special. She spoke with a delicate lisp, though not a brutal one; it gave her words a soft slurring sound. Her rose-colored gown was near the same shade as my own. “I cannot say I had any idea this evening would be so lavish,” I offered. “I will be happy to introduce you to anyone you wish of the colonists.”
“I came from quite respectable Presbyterians in New Jersey, though there is the rogue or two, just to keep things interesting. This town is lively. So close to the shore you can smell the ocean some days. Tell me, do you know any truly rapacious ogres?”
“Madam?”
“Surely you know some of Boston’s most illustrious gentlemen? I’m looking for one who is a villain at heart for a particular sport of mine, and not the one you think. I find that really devilish men seem to find either simpletons or hags to wed, one who is too stupid to see what he is or one who, if she is clever, is more evil than he. If you know someone here, I should like to meet his wife. I enjoy a good joust.”
A chuckle crossed my lips then. “I enjoy them most in secret. I have to live among these people, and I have made enemies enough in my time here. It does not prevent me from imagining, as you say, a good joust. Or a lovely afternoon hanging.”
“Ha! I knew I liked you at once. Would you call upon me? Please say yes. I want to know your dressmaker and your husband’s tailor, for his coat is exquisite—if I could get Thomas out of that scarlet and into something more delicate, I am sure he would grow to love it. I am so anticipating making acquaintances here in the colony. We have been here but a month and it is dreadfully boring sitting with the macaroni stew.”
“Pardon? Macaroni stew?”
She patted my arm with her hand, small and manicured. “The gaggle of girls married to all these officers. ‘Macaroni this,’ and ‘macaroni that’ as if they had the vocabulary of a flea. I adore your gown. I see we have similar tastes. What do you think of this turban affair?”
“It is most pleasing, Mistress Gage.”