Chapter 18
Digging ditches was extremely hard work. Gordon had known that, of course, and he was not unfamiliar with heavy labor. But building earthworks was its own particular form of exhausting.
By the end of the day, he was covered with mud and had sore muscles in places where he hadn’t known he had muscles. Josh noticed, but had the tact not to point out that Gordon looked as if a field of derby horses had raced over him. Several times.
By the time they reached Newell’s, he barely had the energy to eat a few mouthfuls of bread and cheese before he headed for his pallet, stripped off his muddy garments, and collapsed. Before consciousness slipped away entirely, he heard Josh say with a chuckle, “Gotta give that white boy credit. He knows how to work.”
“Oh?” Callie’s voice had a tart edge.
“That was a high compliment, Miss Callista. You’d hardly know he was a gentleman when he was digging away with his shovel.”
Gordon smiled as he drifted off to sleep. Apparently he’d passed Josh’s test.
* * *
He rose the next morning to find that someone had taken his muddy clothing and boots and brushed them off and laid them out to dry in the warm air. He was touched that someone was looking out for him. Callie? Molly? Josh? One of the women, he guessed. Josh had already put in a long day of work.
The digging was just as hard as the day before, but his body was adjusting. After supper, he suggested to Callie, “Shall we take a walk? I’d like to see more of the city.”
She hesitated before saying, “I’d like that. I don’t know Baltimore well, either.”
They descended to the street and she took his arm as they strolled east along the waterfront. Her light clasp felt right and proper. Feeling tired but generally pleased with the world, he asked, “How did you spend your day?”
“Sewing.” She smiled. “It’s what I do best. Since I have almost nothing to wear, I found a used clothing shop and bought a couple of gowns and a cloak and a few other necessities. I altered this dress today and will do the other tomorrow. I also bought fabric to make some new things.”
He realized that she wasn’t wearing the rather shapeless dove gray gown from the Greens, but a quietly elegant garment in pale green sprigged muslin. “I must be very tired not to notice that you’ve improved your wardrobe. Of course, you’re always lovely, so it’s easy to overlook what you’re wearing.”
“Flatterer,” she said, amused. “How is life as a ditch digger?”
He showed her his hands. “Blisters are flourishing, but this will make a good entry on the list of strange and interesting things I’ve done.”
He hadn’t had pampered hands to start with, so the blistering could have been worse, but there were raw patches where blisters had formed, then broken. She frowned. “Remind me to put salve on those tonight so they don’t become inflamed.”
She took his arm again and they resumed walking. “I can understand why digging fortifications is strange, but what makes it interesting?”
“The men,” he replied. “White and black, slave and free, rich and poor, and all in between. Working for a common, vital goal has created a wonderful spirit that binds everyone together. There’s a boy who can’t be more than eleven or twelve years old. His name is Sam Smith and he’s the grandson of the General Sam Smith who is commander of the city’s defense. The boy works till he’s ready to drop, and he’s proud to be doing it.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “There is nothing like a shared threat to lives or homes to bring people together.”
He’d learned that truth in places like that cellar in Portugal where five strangers faced a firing squad in the morning, but this was larger and involved the fate of a nation. “No one has even commented on my English accent. There are a couple of other Britons out there in the trenches, too. As long as we’re digging, we’re accepted as Baltimoreans.”
“Do you enjoy being part of something greater?”
“I do. The feeling is temporary, but powerful.”
She was about to say something when she flinched, then muttered an unladylike curse under her breath. He asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I caught another glimpse of the man who looks like my stepson, Henry. He must live near here, because I’ve had a couple of other sightings out of the corner of my eye. Not a clear view, just enough to set off my alarms.”
He looked in the same direction she did, but didn’t see anyone who seemed to be watching them. “What does he look like?”
“Henry is rather tall, brown hair, watery blue eyes. He looks like a man who is supposed to be skinny but has plumped up because of self-indulgence,” she said acidly.
“You still have a wicked tongue on you,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m a great believer in intuition. Given your reaction, are you sure that man you’ve caught glimpses of isn’t your stepson? A different man might make you twitch less.”
She shook her head. “If it was Henry, he’d be causing trouble.”
“Could he be here because of Newell’s warehouse? I assume he owns it, and in more normal times I gather it does quite a good business.”
“The ownership is complicated,” she replied. “Remember I said that Matthew’s revised will had mysteriously vanished?” When he nodded, she continued, “The revised will left me the warehouse and several other business ventures that would produce regular income. Not a great fortune, but enough to keep me comfortable.”
“But you can’t prove that without the revised will.”
“True, but I do have the draft version that Matthew gave me to study. It has notes I made and which he initialed to show his intention to make those changes. He took it away to have a fair copy made and properly signed, but then he died very suddenly. I believe he did have the final copy made, but I never saw it. If it was done, Henry probably burned it as soon as Matthew drew his last breath.”
“But if Henry does show up, you might be able to use the draft will as evidence that your husband meant to give the warehouse business to you?”
“Exactly. I don’t know if it would work, but if Henry stamps in and demands we leave, he’s so obnoxious that a judge might be more willing to believe the property is mine. I have my marriage settlements, which state that Matthew promised to give me certain properties as my jointure to support me in the event of his death.”
“It sounds complicated enough to keep a lawyer fat and happy for years,” he observed. “You actually have the papers to support this?”
“Yes, and I sent them to Baltimore with Josh and Sarah. All the important documents are here.” She shivered. “I’m glad I obeyed my intuition with that. If Henry does cause trouble, at least I’ll have some ammunition.”
“Just how close to the final will was the draft?”
“Quite close, as far as I know. Matthew wrote it with his own hand and it has several words scratched out, but his provisions for me and his children were very clear.”
“I’m a fair hand at forgery,” Gordon said. “If you have a copy of Matthew’s signature, I could easily add it to the draft will. It would seem more legitimate if there were witnesses, though, and I assume that Josh and Sarah wouldn’t be allowed to witness because they were slaves at the time.”
She stopped in the street and stared at him, her hazel eyes wide. “Have I shocked you?” he asked.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea!” she exclaimed. “I’ve hated that Molly and Trey haven’t received the inheritances they deserve and that their father wanted them to have.”
“You’re entitled to your jointure, too,” he pointed out. “In a complicated situation, you were a good wife to him and mother to his younger children.”
“It would be nice to have an independent income,” she agreed. “But not as important as Molly and Trey being given good starts in life.” Her brow furrowed. “As for witnesses, Matthew had a good friend called Frederick Holmes. They would regularly get together to play cards and smoke cigars. Mr. Holmes was very old, and he died only a week or so after Matthew. He was a respected local planter and could have signed the will.” Her smile turned wicked. “And I have a copy of his signature on a condolence letter he sent me after Matthew’s death.”
“Brilliant!” Gordon exclaimed. “I don’t suppose your husband had any other friends who conveniently died.”
“Luckily for them, no. Will one witness be enough?”
Gordon resumed walking as he thought. “It would be a little irregular, but you could sign it in a personal way. Something like, ‘This seems very fair, Mr. Newell. Your loving wife, the Honorable Catherine Callista, et cetera, et cetera.’ And date it.”
“If the will looks legitimate, won’t a judge wonder why I didn’t produce it earlier?”
Gordon grinned. “Blink your beautiful eyes and say that you hadn’t thought it was legal because there were words scratched out and only one witness had signed. Look lovely and vulnerable and perhaps not very intelligent and you’ll have the judge eating out of your hand.”
She laughed and squeezed his arm. “I love this idea! My lawyer, Francis Scott Key, is one of the best in Washington. I have no idea where he is now, probably staying at the family estate in central Maryland, where it’s cooler. But when all this madness is over, I’ll write him to see what can be done. He might know of lawyers in Jamaica who can file the will and get justice for Molly and Trey.”
“It’s certainly worth trying,” Gordon agreed. “You’re not attempting to steal something you aren’t entitled to. You’re just making it possible for your husband’s wishes to be carried out.”
“That is both true and an elegant rationalization.” She chuckled. “I’m so glad for your varied talents.”
“All of them at your service, Catkin.” His gaze shifted to the waterfront ahead of them. Sleek two-masted Baltimore clippers were moored at the wharves, and a similar ship was under construction in a shipyard. A ship’s bell tolled mournfully nearby. “This is obviously Fell’s Point, the shipbuilding community.”
“The birthplace of so many of the ships that harassed British shipping. I’ve heard that over a thousand British ships have been taken by American privateers.”
Gordon whistled softly. “No wonder the British call Baltimore a nest of pirates!”
“Yes, it’s become a badge of honor here.” Her amusement faded. “If the British do manage to conquer the city, Fell’s Point will surely be razed to the ground.”
“I don’t think the British will get this far. You should see our earthworks!”
She laughed, and by mutual consent they turned to retrace their steps. It was almost dark by the time they reached the warehouse. As Callie felt her way up the long staircase to their living quarters, she said, “One of the first things Josh did when they moved in was put railings on both sides of these stairs. Very useful when climbing them in the dark without a lantern.”
“He might do well starting a carpentry shop. Baltimore is a growing town, so good carpenters are in demand.”
“I think he’d love to have his own business.”
They had nearly reached the top of the steps, so it was time to make a move. “Callie?”
“Yes?” She stopped and turned to him. In the darkness, she was a shapely shadow, a faint scent of lavender, and a pale face. “What do you want?”
He was two steps below so he moved one step higher, which put their faces on the same level. “Only this.”
Keeping one hand on a railing for balance, he leaned forward and kissed her. In the darkness, his lips first touched her cheek, but it was easy enough to find her mouth.
She sighed, her mouth softening and one hand rising to rest on his shoulder. He didn’t try to deepen the kiss, but he circled his other arm around her waist and drew her closer so that their bodies touched. She was soft and warm, molding to him.
It was an effort to keep the kiss gentle, but he’d be a fool to risk driving her away. The tender kiss went on and on, until she swayed away from him and said in a breathy voice, “Are you trying to seduce me, Lord George?”
“Not at all. I thought that was a very gentlemanly kiss,” he said as he struggled to regain a lighter tone. “Seduction would be ungentlemanly.” And to say he was courting her would be moving too fast.
“So just a gentlemanly good-night kiss.” She leaned forward and her lips briefly brushed his. “Good-night, then.”
She turned and climbed the last steps at a brisk pace. He followed, and just before she opened the door at the top, he said, “That kiss will send me to my night’s sleep with happy dreams. And you?”
She opened the door and light from the lanterns inside flowed over her, illuminating the enigmatic smile she sent over her shoulder. Then she was gone.
He guessed that they would both have sweet dreams this night.