Chapter 24
It was full dark now. Gordon left Josh to deal with the bodies and headed down to the cart, his heart still pounding from the panic that had consumed him at the sound of the gunshots. He barely remembered telling Peter to look after Trey as he bolted from the cart, unlocked the door, and raced up the stairway, Josh half a dozen steps behind him. The shattered door signaled that disaster had struck.
When he’d entered and seen Callie covered with blood, he’d felt his heart die inside him. He’d never forget the overwhelming relief of finding that she was unhurt, but her devastated shock was bad enough. Her hands had been icy when he sat her down and tried to warm them.
She’d rallied when he said he needed to help Trey, but she was deeply shaken. She would always do what was needed, but she had the soul of a nurturer, not a killer.
When he reached the street, Trey was struggling against Peter’s attempts to keep him in the cart. “What happened?” he asked frantically. “Is my family all right?”
“Everyone’s safe.” He glanced at Peter, wondering how much he should say in front of someone who wasn’t family.
Guessing his thoughts, Peter said in a low, very adult voice, “I am a Carroll of Carrollton and I will do anything to protect Molly and Trey. If there are secrets, they are safe with me.”
Gordon gave a short nod of acknowledgment. “Trey, your half brother, Henry, broke in with two thugs. Callie, Molly, and Sarah fought them off.”
Trey blinked uncertainly. “Fought them off . . . ?”
“All three are dead,” Gordon said bluntly. To Peter, he said, “You’re part of this now. Tether the horses and we’ll take Trey upstairs. You can learn the whole story there.”
Peter nodded and secured cart and horses after Gordon helped Trey out. Though Peter kept his injured arm in the sling most of the time, he was able to do some things when necessary, such as bring up the two rifles. A good lad.
Since Trey could barely walk, Gordon locked an arm around his waist and half carried him up the narrow stairwell. The boy gasped from the pain when his injured leg was jostled, but he kept moving upward, hauling some of his weight by using the railing.
Finally they reached the living quarters, which were bright with lantern light and welcome. Sarah had already made up the bed in the men’s dormitory for her grandson, and she ordered, “Bring my boy here!” when they entered the sitting room.
Trey almost wept with gratitude when he was lowered onto the mattress and could roll into Sarah’s soft, welcoming arms. She silently shooed everyone else out and rocked Trey as if he were an infant, crooning words of comfort as she stroked his back.
Gordon and Peter wearily returned to the main room and found that Josh had dragged the bodies against a wall and covered them with a blanket. Molly was setting the dining table with food and drink, but she turned and came straight into Peter’s arms. “Thank you for saving my brother!”
“I’m glad I was there to help him.” He hugged her back and it was a mutual embrace of much more than gratitude.
Gordon had suspected that there was a strong attraction between the two, and that was now confirmed. They were both young, but if they developed a lasting attachment, it would establish Molly for life; Gordon had been in Baltimore long enough to know that the Carrolls were one of the first families of Maryland. Charles Carroll—Peter’s grandfather, perhaps?—was a signer of the American Declaration of Independence and said to be the richest man in America.
Wealth usually married wealth, but Molly was beautiful, kind, intelligent—and the death of Henry Newell changed her financial situation dramatically. Now she and her brother would be heirs to the Newell estate. Given Gordon’s skill at forgery, he’d make sure of that. Molly would be an heiress.
Since when had Gordon started thinking like a matchmaking mother?
Tactfully overlooking the embrace, he said, “Thanks for bringing out the bottle of good brandy I bought a couple of days ago, Molly. I think we all could use some.”
“I certainly can.” Callie emerged from the women’s bedroom looking pale and shaky but under control. She’d washed off the blood and changed her dress and seemed almost normal, unless one looked at her eyes.
With difficulty, he refrained from embracing her since that might undermine her fragile control. “How are you managing?”
Her smile was crooked but genuine. “We’re all alive and unhurt, and Henry and his brutes are dead. I consider that the best possible outcome.” Her gaze went to the covered pile of bodies and she swallowed hard. “Now we must decide what to do with the . . . the remains.”
“I have some ideas for that, but first, nerve tonic.” Gordon poured brandy into the half dozen small glasses Molly produced. He tossed his off in one gulp and poured another. If the bottle were big enough, he’d have crawled inside and drunk it dry. Callie didn’t drink quite as quickly, but was ready for a refill rather soon.
Molly choked a little on hers, but the spirits seemed to steady her. She said, “Now we eat. We’ll think more clearly then.”
Josh smiled fondly. “You’re just like your grandma.”
She gave a shy smile of thanks and brought in a serving platter of sliced ham and cheeses, then a pot of steaming soup with bowls, a large loaf of bread, and a pitcher of her lemonade. Gordon realized he was ravenous, and so were Josh and Peter. Callie and Molly tucked into the food also and Callie started to look less pale.
Sarah joined them a few minutes later. “Trey is sleeping. He’ll be fine, I think.” She sank wearily into the chair next to her husband and he efficiently filled a plate for her.
This was what family should be, Gordon realized. This sharing and consideration were nothing like the tense, miserable meals of his own childhood.
Molly finished first, then talked Peter out of his uniform jacket. While the men had been retrieving Trey, she’d washed the blood from the right sleeve, which had been taken off and turned into an improvised sling. Now that man, jacket, and sleeve were all in the same place, she started neatly reattaching the sleeve. Peter stared as if he’d never get enough of watching her.
When everyone was done eating, Callie asked baldly, “What do we do with the bodies?”
“I saw the Royal Navy masts out in the Patapsco River earlier,” Peter said. “Within the next few hours, they’ll start bombarding Fort McHenry. I don’t know how long the fort will hold, but my guess is that quietly putting some bodies in the harbor within the next few hours will not draw much attention.”
After a startled silence, Callie asked, “Are lawyers allowed to suggest such things?”
“The aim of the law is justice,” he said in a steely voice that hinted at the man he would someday become. “Those three men broke in here to destroy three innocent women. Their deaths are just.”
“That’s very pragmatic,” she said. “I admit that I’d rather not try to explain what happened here, especially not with a battle about to begin.”
“Henry’s two bruisers can be disposed of that way, but Henry’s death must be officially confirmed,” Gordon said. “If Henry died unmarried, Molly and Trey are heirs to the Newell estate.”
Callie gave him a sharp glance. “He said in as many words that he would marry only after he’d dealt with me.”
Gordon wished he could kill Henry all over again. “In that case, the codicil to the will goes into effect and the estate goes to Molly and Trey, apart from your jointure and some individual bequests. As you probably recall, you’re their legal guardian until they come of age.”
Callie knew he was bluffing about a codicil to the will, but she must have had faith in his forgery skills. “I’m glad he chose me as their guardian, but does that mean I must take them back to Jamaica to run the plantation?”
“No!” The hoarse voice was Trey’s. He’d risen from his bed and was now clinging to the door frame of his bedroom. “I won’t go back there. Not ever!”
As Josh stood to help Trey to the table, Molly said in a voice quieter but no less emphatic, “Nor will I. Papa doted on us, but not enough to free us. We were slaves there. I will never, ever return!”
“I understand and agree. I don’t want to go back, either.” Callie frowned. “But that means the plantation will have to be put in the hands of a manager, which is often problematic for absentee owners, or it must be sold.”
“We can’t sell the plantation with its slaves,” Molly said flatly. “They’re our friends and they must be freed.”
“Molly’s right. I don’t want things to go on as they were before,” Trey said. Watching his grandmother warily, he poured a small amount of brandy into his glass of lemonade. Sarah didn’t object, but her expression said that was all he was going to get.
“There’s another possibility,” Gordon said. “Callie, didn’t you tell me that a neighboring plantation was owned by the Quakers and worked by free blacks? You could free the Newell slaves and sell the plantation to the Quakers with the provision that they keep on anyone who wanted to continue working there at a fair wage. It will greatly reduce the value of your inheritance, though.”
Molly and Trey exchanged a long glance, then nodded. “Let’s do that,” Molly said. “We don’t need to be rich, but we need to do the right thing.”
Callie smiled mistily at them. “I am so proud of both of you. This will be complicated to do at long distance, though. Peter, once we have a death certificate for Henry, should I contact my lawyer? He might have connections with lawyers in Jamaica, or know someone who does.”
“That depends on the lawyer,” Peter said. “Many work only locally, but Baltimore and Washington have lawyers with international connections. Who is yours?”
“Francis Scott Key, of Georgetown.”
“Mr. Key? Excellent!” Peter said enthusiastically. “I read law with my uncle, and he and Mr. Key are good friends. They’ve worked together on cases before. They’ll be able to find a good, honest lawyer in Jamaica to handle the probate, free the slaves, and sell the plantation after your ownership is confirmed. It will take time, of course.”
“I don’t know where Mr. Key is at the moment, but surely the world will settle down eventually,” Callie said. “Perhaps your uncle can start the process of declaring Henry Newell dead and let us know what legalities will be involved?”
“I’m sure my uncle will be happy to aid you.” Peter’s expression made it clear that any excuse to see Molly more often was welcome. “As for Mr. Key’s present location, I believe he’s currently a guest of the Royal Navy.”
Callie stared at him. “Why would he be on a British ship?”
“Mr. Key and Mr. Skinner, the American prisoner of war agent, sailed out to Admiral Cochrane on a truce ship to ask for the release of an American prisoner, an elderly doctor whose health is not good,” Peter explained. “They also wanted to get a list of other Americans who are being held prisoner by the British. My uncle said that because they are on board the British flagship, it’s likely they will be detained until after Baltimore is defeated.”
Trey made a growling noise. “And if Baltimore isn’t defeated?”
“No matter who wins the battle, they should be released afterward. Mr. Skinner has been the American agent for some time and he has always been treated with great courtesy.” Peter grinned. “He said British admirals set a very fine dinner table.”
“That’s good to know.” Callie frowned. “But how do we get Henry declared dead without my being accused of murder?”
“I have an idea, though you’ll probably all hate it,” Gordon said. “We could say that he was concerned about his stepmother and half siblings so he came to Baltimore in hopes of taking them to safety. Learning of his young brother’s injury, he accompanied us to the battlefield to help bring Trey home and was, alas, mortally wounded. There were enough bullets flying around North Point to make that plausible.”
“You’re right,” Callie said with a wry smile. “The thought of a heroic, concerned Henry is revolting! But it would probably work if we all agree on the details of the story. It would even account for his body being here. Will the rest of you go along with that?”
“I’ll agree with what you say if asked,” Josh said, “but I couldn’t bring myself to say that devil came to Baltimore to protect Molly and Trey!”
“We can lie if we have to,” Sarah said. “But we aren’t likely to be asked, being just a couple of old black servants.”
“If they ask me, I’m sure I could burst into convincing tears,” Molly said. “As long as I don’t have to say what I’m crying about!”
That produced a laugh. “We can do that, though I hate to say he ever had a selfless impulse,” Trey said. “But I imagine they’d mostly talk to you since you’re our guardian, Miss Callista?”
Peter pulled a piece of folded paper and a short pencil from his pocket. As he wrote, he said, “Here is a note and the address for a nearby physician my family uses. He’s less likely to be with the militia than a surgeon would be. He can give you a certificate of death and help you arrange a burial.”
Callie accepted the paper, murmuring, “This week just keeps getting better and better. But my thanks, Peter. You’re making this much easier.”
“I’m glad to help, ma’am.” He got to his feet and let Molly help him into his uniform jacket, allowing it to lie open over the sling that supported his right arm. “I must return to my regiment now. I don’t know if I’ll be of much use, but the British are likely to attack our Hampstead Hill defenses tomorrow, and I must be there.”
Looking unhappy but not arguing, Molly stood. “Come back safely!”
“I plan to,” he said with a crooked smile as he reclaimed his rifle and ammunition. “Just as well I’m leaving now, in case you have other things to discuss that a lawyer shouldn’t hear!”
A very clever lad, Gordon thought. Good enough for Molly.
The women all gave Peter farewell hugs and Molly walked him down to the street for a private good-bye. When they were out of earshot, Gordon said, “Josh, do you have any good ideas for the best way to dump Henry’s associates into the harbor without being noticed?”
“It’s going to rain soon,” Josh said. “A bad storm, I think. We can put the bodies in the canvas sling behind the house and lower them to the ground with the hoist, then take ’em out in the Newell boat. If we row toward the fort, we can just slide them overboard and come home.”
“That sounds wet but efficient,” Gordon said. “If we’re going to use the hoist, we can lower Henry as well and put him into the office. I doubt that anyone wants to sleep with his corpse here.”
“You’re right about that!” Callie said fervently. “Have you often had to dispose of unwanted bodies?”
“No, but it’s a new skill to add to my list,” he said with mock seriousness.
Callie laughed and got up from the table. “Someday I’d like to see that list. But now, it’s time for all of us to get to work.”