George Washington's Ghost

A sheaf of new telegrams had arrived in the two hours he had been away; presumably, further endless tidings of bad news. It seemed that if things had been going badly in New England then his woes might soon be trumped by developments in Germany. All talk of sending as many as six divisions of the Indian Army to New England had been comprehensively quashed overnight; with chaos threatened along parts of the Franco-German border most of those men would probably be needed to beef up the Army of Occupation in France…

Sir Henry Rawlinson, De L’Isle’s Chief of Staff knocked and walked in through the open door to join the Governor in his office.

“Elizabeth seems most chipper,” the other man observed, cheerfully. He was one of those irrepressible old soldiers whose mood often brightened the darker things looked

“Yes, getting out and about helps a great deal.”

The Governor of New England had poured himself a stiff drink, now he poured a second whisky for his friend and indefatigably loyal comrade in arms in Philadelphia.

Both men glanced at the pile of telegrams.

A few more minutes unread would do them no lasting harm, the Governor decided.

“That the King and Queen and our ministers successfully got out of Germany in one piece sounds ever-more like a minor miracle, Henry. It is a damned disgrace! As for the notion that the new, self-appointed dictator is threatening to confiscate all the Empire’s property and investments in Germany, well, that’s…”

“Not very hopeful,” the other man, the elder by a handful of years murmured, joining the Governor in comfortable chairs below the large portrait of a long dead predecessor, Lord John Murray, 4th Earl of Dunmore. Not for nothing had all subsequent Governors kept a portrait of John Murray, who as Governor of Virginia, having been forced to flee from Williamsburg after the burning of Norfolk by the rebels in January 1776, returned only after the destruction of the Revolutionary Continental Army on Long Island in the autumn of that year. Lord Dunmore’s experience in 1776 had served as a salutary lesson to all successor governors over the last two centuries.

The lesson that must never be forgotten was that: adversity came and went; but the Empire prevailed through thick and thin.

“It’s a bloody disgrace, that’s what it is!” Philip De L’Isle shook his head, forcing himself to get a grip of his ire.

“Lady Henrietta managed to get a call through to Government House while you were out,” Henry Rawlinson reported.

“Oh, damn,” his friend groaned, horribly guilty to have missed his daughter’s transatlantic call. “How did she sound?”

“As bright as bell. I think she plans to stay in Portugal a little while longer. Apparently, it is likely Miss Danson will be travelling to England soon.”

“Of course,” De L’Isle nodded. “Matthew,” he recollected, feeling a new pang of loss for an old friend no longer in this world, “always maintained that woman might have been made for intelligence work.” If anybody had been qualified to make that judgement it must, assuredly have been Matthew Harrison, the long-time Head of the soon to be defunct Colonial Security Service.

“Hen spoke of plans to adopt that young orphan boy that she and Miss Danson rescued in Spain.”

“Oh, surely an unmarried woman can’t do that?” Philip de L’Isle queried. Such a thing would certainly not be entertained in any of the East Coast Colonies.

“I didn’t like to delve into that. However, she seemed confident that she had everything under control.”

The proud father relaxed, chuckling under his breath.

Reluctantly, he turned his thoughts back to business.

“Henry, what am I supposed to make of what I’m being told about this Washington fellow down in,” he forgot where the damned man was from, scowled and tried very hard to remember.

“Trinity Crossing, Unincorporated North Texas,” his friend helped out.

“Yes, that must be the chap.”

“He was captured by the Spanish in the last unpleasantness down there. He met General Santa Anna while a prisoner of war. The two of them got on quite well, by all accounts. Anyway, had it not been for Washington, and his men’s heroics, some historians think we might have lost that war too. Or rather, certainly taken a lot longer to win it!”

“We haven’t lost this one yet, Henry!”

“No, of course not. Not yet.”

The Governor grinned ruefully.

“I gather he’s a man of around our own vintage?”

“Yes…”

Philip De L’Isle recollected how hidebound certain sections of the British Army had been in his time in uniform, and doubted an awful lot had changed in the intervening decades.

“Why on earth isn’t he in charge down there?” He couldn’t possibly have made a bigger mess of it than dear old Chinese Forsyth; I can’t think where London found him?” He had another thought. “Does anybody know what happened to Forsyth, by the way?”

Sir Henry Rawlinson recognised that this was an entirely rhetorical interrogative and held his peace other than to ruminatively shake his head.