Chapter 27
Josh guided the physician and his assistant into the warehouse office, all three of them dripping with rain. A dignified man of middle years, the physician had responded immediately to the power of the Carroll name at the end of Peter’s note. After waiting for the sound of a particularly noisy series of bombs to diminish, Josh announced, “Dr. Williams and his assistant, Miss Callista.”
Callie moved around the counter to greet the doctor. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Dr. Williams. The . . . the body is on the worktable back here.” She led the doctor back to where the long, tarpaulin-wrapped shape rested on the table where Molly had worked on her rag rugs.
When they were all gathered around the table, Callie gestured to Richard and Molly and introduced them with the names they’d decided were most appropriate. So many different names! Richard shouldn’t be a lord, and there didn’t need to be any mention that Molly and Trey were illegitimate. Best if she and the young people were all Newells. “This is Mr. Audley and Miss Mary Newell. I assume Josh explained that the deceased is my stepson, Henry Newell, who just arrived from Jamaica in search of his family and became a victim of this dreadful violence?”
Williams nodded as he removed his streaming cloak and handed it to Josh without even glancing at him. Josh played the role of unnoticeable slave very well. “Yes, I gather the unfortunate gentleman was shot. What were the circumstances?”
“Peter Carroll had brought us news that Molly’s brother, a militia sharpshooter, had been wounded during the fighting at North Point,” Richard explained. He’d claimed the honor of telling the necessary lies because he would be best at it. “Josh and I took our cart out to retrieve Trey under Peter’s guidance. We were bringing him home when we discovered Mr. Newell, who was mortally wounded on the road back to the city. Trey was unconscious, but Josh recognized Mr. Newell immediately. His horse had disappeared. Likely stolen by the British.”
Williams made a note in a small notebook. He didn’t seem to find anything suspicious in the account. “Do you know why he rode out into a battlefield?”
“Mr. Newell was still breathing and semiconscious. He said he was seeking his younger brother, whom he knew to be a fine marksman and with the courage to volunteer for the most dangerous position.” Richard’s voice lowered. “He was aware enough to understand that Trey was beside him and not critically wounded. We brought Mr. Newell back to the city in the hope we could get him to a surgeon in time.”
“Alas, it was too late.” Callie dabbed at her eyes with a fine muslin handkerchief. “He had already passed by the time he arrived here. To think that he came all this way because of his young brother and sister!”
“Admirable but foolish,” Williams said gravely as he made another note. “I gather you’re a friend of the family, Mr. Audley?”
“Mrs. Newell and I are betrothed,” Richard said blandly, ignoring startled glances from Callie, Molly, and Josh. “We plan to wed when things have settled down.”
“I was completely undone by Henry’s death,” Callie said, doing her best to sound helpless. “Mr. Audley has been invaluable in helping us through this trying time. He was the one who explained the importance of a certificate of death. Henry was a man of property, and with neither wife nor child of his own, his brother and sister are his heirs. The situation is complicated by the fact that he is from Jamaica, so all must be done properly here.”
“I understand entirely.” The doctor tucked his notebook away inside his coat. “I’m honored that Mr. Carroll suggested me to serve you in such an important matter.”
An unusually violent set of concussions at the fort briefly shook the warehouse. Everyone flinched, but after hours of the bombardment, there were no stronger reactions.
Richard continued, “Henry Newell would have been my stepson. Though I never had the opportunity to truly know him before his tragic demise, I must do my best for him now.” He solemnly pulled the tarpaulin down to reveal Henry’s face. Even in death, lines of anger and brutality showed in his face.
“There is no question of the identity of the deceased?” Dr. Williams asked, which sounded like an official question required before he issued a death certificate.
“Yes, it is certainly my stepson. Here are the papers he carried.” Callie produced the documents that Richard had taken from Henry’s pockets. There had also been a substantial amount of money. They’d confiscated most of it on behalf of Molly and Trey.
“There was also this signet ring.” She showed the gold ring with an elaborate initial N engraved on the flat top. “It belonged to my husband and went to Henry on his father’s death. Now it must go to Matthew’s younger son.” Though she wasn’t sure that Trey would want any part of something Henry had worn.
Williams nodded. “Can anyone else identify the body?”
Molly stepped forward. “Yes, it is certainly my older brother, Henry. If only he hadn’t come to America!” She began to cry, her sobs echoing through the warehouse office. Callie put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“Trey, the younger brother, can also swear to his identity,” Richard said. “He can’t manage the stairs because of his leg wound, but he saw Henry yesterday and was conscious enough to testify. I can take you up to him if you like.”
“No, that isn’t necessary.” Williams pulled the canvas all the way down to Henry’s waist, revealing the wound in the center of his chest, blood dried on the shirt around it. “Nor is there any question of the manner of death.” The physician shook his head sadly. “Such a young man. A pity that Mr. Newell traveled so far to aid his family only to meet death so far from his home.”
“A great loss for Jamaican society and for his family,” Richard agreed piously. Callie had to admit that he lied very well. He continued, “Our last duty to Mr. Newell is to give him a proper Christian burial. He was Church of England and that would be our choice if a church is convenient.”
“St. Paul’s, which I attend, is quite near.” Williams smiled with a touch of humor as he pulled the tarpaulin over Henry’s head again. “We Baltimoreans are proud of our city, but it’s a modest size compared to London! Everything is nearby.”
“Do you think the vicar would be able to help us?” Callie asked. No one mentioned that the hot weather made time a significant issue.
“The vicar, Reverend Harbow, is a friend of mine.” Williams smiled soberly. “In the last fortnight, he told me he’d have the sexton dig extra graves in case they were needed after the battle. I’m sure he’d be willing to oblige you with a swift funeral. There’s a coffin maker nearby who also made extras just in case.”
How very practical. Callie drew a deep breath, realizing she couldn’t wait to get Henry safely buried. “Richard, my dear, shall we call on the vicar?”
“Of course.” Richard lifted one of the oilskin capes they’d brought down because of the pouring rain and draped it over her shoulders. “Dr. Williams, could you send your assistant to the coffin shop to order one brought here? We have a cart that can transport the coffin to the church if the Reverend Harbow can accommodate us.”
“I’m happy to lend what aid I can.” Williams beckoned the assistant closer and explained, after which Richard gave the man some of Henry’s money for the coffin. The money was proving useful since even Richard didn’t have unlimited resources.
It was decided that Molly and Josh would stay with the body till the coffin arrived. Callie and Richard would go to St. Paul’s and try to persuade the vicar to bury a distinguished foreigner who was not of his parish. Callie silently prayed that the funeral could be held right away, preferably this afternoon.
Dr. Williams accompanied them out and gave directions to St. Paul’s before taking his leave. Callie took a firm hold of Richard’s arm as wind and rain buffeted them and cannons boomed in the distance. When they were out of earshot of the doctor, she asked with dangerous sweetness, “How did I miss the fact that we’re betrothed?”
Richard grinned. “I thought if we were on the verge of marriage it would give me more standing to deal with doctors and vicars and the like.”
She rolled her eyes. “Remind me to break our betrothal after we’ve buried Henry.”
“Yes, Catkin,” he said meekly, but his eyes were dancing. “It will be as if the betrothal never happened.”
She ducked her head and concentrated on the sloppy footing. She’d never admit it, but she found it . . . interesting to test the idea of being betrothed to Richard. It no longer sounded impossible or undesirable.
She glanced at him askance. Blast the man! After the previous night and the discovery of a passionate side she hadn’t realized she possessed, it was becoming harder and harder to imagine sending him away. Easier and easier to imagine them sharing a bed . . .
Later! She’d think about the future later. For now, she’d concentrate on burying her stepson, and on blocking out the constant boom of the guns.
* * *
The funeral of Henry Newell was swift and simple. Callie guessed that everyone in the city who wasn’t on the front lines of battle was taut with nerves from the ongoing battle and grateful to have worthwhile work to do. Reverend Harbow had been very sympathetic and helpful. It surely didn’t hurt that Richard had mentioned the name “Carroll” a time or two.
As the heavy rain persisted, her stepson was buried in the muddy graveyard of St. Paul’s Church. Trey couldn’t attend and Molly flatly refused to, so they stayed home while Callie, Richard, Josh, and Sarah attended.
Since Reverend Harbow knew nothing of the deceased, he asked if anyone wanted to say a few words. Callie had a sudden horrific urge to shout, “My stepson was a bully and a brute and I’m glad I killed him!”
She choked back the words and buried her face in her hands, hoping her reaction looked like grief. Richard smoothly rose to his feet. “I didn’t know Henry Newell in life, and due to the sad circumstances, we will never be members of the same family. A sophisticated man of the world who had been educated in Britain, he was well known in his native Jamaican society and will be greatly missed by all his friends.”
If he had any, Callie thought, not lifting her head. Though Jamaica certainly had other drunken brutes, so perhaps he did.
Richard continued, “His extraordinary journey to America in search of his brother, sister, and stepmother will never be forgotten by them. I know that he was beloved by his mother and father, and with the grace of God, he is surely with them now.” Richard bowed his head. “May Henry Newell know peace.”
Callie realized that last sentence sounded sincere. Perhaps it was.
Thus ended the mortal existence of Henry Newell. Richard gave generous fees to the church and to the vicar, and commissioned a very respectable tombstone that gave Henry’s name, dates of birth and death, and another pious wish that he rest in peace.
As the four nominal mourners walked home through the saturated streets, Josh remarked, “I’m glad I went. I wanted to make sure that devil was dead!”
His comment made the others break out in tension-relieving laughter. The battle for Baltimore was still in progress, but at least the devil was dead.
They arrived back at the warehouse to find Molly and Trey sleeping. Richard and Josh took the spyglass out to the balcony to observe the continuing cannonade. They had an excellent view of the flashes from mortars and the rockets blazing through the skies.
Despite the rain, adjacent rooftops held numerous solemn observers of the battle. From this distance it was impossible to know how the battle was progressing, but the continuing bombardment was a good sign because it meant Fort McHenry had not yet surrendered.
Callie and Sarah headed to the kitchen to prepare supper. Callie sliced ham and cheese while Sarah made a batch of her lemonade, using the last of the lemons. With the city under siege, who knew when lemons might be available again? “A good thing you bought this Virginia ham. It’s kept us fed for days.”
“Lots of fine things you can do with a ham,” Sarah agreed as she split biscuits in half and layered ham and cheese in the middle. “Soon that bone will end its days in a pot of bean soup. But it’s a pity we don’t have fancier food on hand. If ever a funeral deserved celebrating, it’s this one!”
Callie laughed, then covered her mouth with one hand. “I keep thinking I should be more respectful, but I can’t.”
“Justice was done, and we got away with it,” Sarah said with a glint of humor in her eyes. “I can tell you that a heavy, heavy load has been lifted from my soul.”
“I’m starting to feel less dreadful about what I did.” The griddle had been heating over the small fire, so Callie melted a knob of butter, then covered the cast iron surface with ham and cheese biscuits.
As the cheese gently melted and the biscuits browned, Callie wiped her hands on a small towel. Without looking at her friend, she said, “Richard has asked me to marry him for real, not just to fool the doctor and the vicar.”
“Are you going to say yes?” Sarah asked with interest.
“I don’t know,” Callie said in a low voice. “When he first asked in Washington, the idea seemed out of the question. I had too many other responsibilities. But the more time that passes, the harder it is to imagine not having him around.”
“Your Lord George, or Gordon or Richard or Audley or whatever he calls himself, is a fine man and he thinks the sun rises and sets on you.” Sarah grinned. “And as handsome a fellow as I’ve ever seen. Why are you dragging your heels?”
“Because you’re my family, and I can’t bear the thought of leaving you!” she blurted out painfully. “And I’d have to leave because Richard wants to return to his home in England.”
“Miss Callista, you look at me instead of that griddle,” Sarah said firmly. When Callie raised her gaze, Sarah continued, “You are the beloved angel of my family. You carried us out of slavery like God’s own chariot and you supported us when we hadn’t a penny to bless ourselves with.
“Best of all, you gave us the chance to raise our heads and become free and independent. You gave us the lives we have now and the futures we can look forward to.” Her voice softened. “Now it’s time to move into your own life. If you love him, why not marry him?”
“I don’t know that I love him the way you and Josh love each other, or the way Molly and Peter feel about each other. Richard and I were best friends. I think we still are. Is that a strong enough foundation for marriage?”
“Every marriage has its own story,” Sarah mused. “They all start in different places and follow different paths. Josh and I fell in love when we were about the same age as Molly and young Peter, and we jumped over the broom together long before we were able to get officially married in a church. Did you know that Master Matthew bought me from another plantation so me and Josh could be together?”
“I didn’t know that,” Callie said, startled at her ignorance of another large piece of her friend’s story. “That was incredibly kind of him.”
“Josh asked him to buy me and he did because he valued Josh and I was cheap, just being a scullery maid at the time,” Sarah said with a laugh. “He got a bargain since I turned into such a fine cook.
“But he didn’t have to make it possible for us to be together, and I’ve never forgotten.” Her voice turned nostalgic. “Josh and I loved each other then and we love each other now, but that love has grown and changed over the years. It’s quieter, deeper, stronger. Beyond anything we could imagine when we were young and just wanted to get each other naked.”
“I don’t have to know that!” Callie exclaimed. “It’s like thinking of my parents sharing a bed.”
Sarah laughed. “I’m just saying that if you don’t love your man now the way you think you should, I guarantee you’ll come to love him in ways you’ve never dreamed of. You’re a good woman and he’s a good man, and together you’ll find good ways of loving.”
Callie drew a deep, slow breath. “So you’re giving me your blessing?”
Sarah crossed the small kitchen to draw Callie into her arms. “I am. You’ve lived for us for so long. Now it’s time to live for yourself. Doesn’t mean we won’t still love you or you don’t love us. We’ll write lots of letters. Maybe you’ll come for a visit someday, or maybe we’ll visit you. I’ve a mind to see London before I die.”
Callie hugged Sarah, wishing her own mother had been so warm and wise. Then she smelled something scorching and pulled away to swiftly flip the biscuits on the griddle before they burned.
Sarah had given her much to think about. Her friends didn’t really need her anymore. The thought was sad—but it was also liberating.