Chapter 32
The Indian Queen Hotel was very grand, more like London than Baltimore, not that Callie had seen much of London before her exile to the Indies. She and Richard had deliberately dressed like people of consequence, so a harried desk clerk gave them the number of Mr. Key’s hotel room without questioning the request.
As they climbed the stairs, Callie said, “Mr. Key and his wife have a lovely home in Georgetown, just north of Washington. Six children, a law office, right on the Potomac River. They love to entertain, so I’ve visited several times. Even though Frank looks like a rather dreamy poet, he’s an extremely fine lawyer, and well connected to the Maryland establishment.”
“Just what we need to start working on the probate of Matthew’s will in Jamaica.” Richard smiled at her. “I love watching your topaz earrings dance.”
She laughed. “I love wearing them. I might never take them off.” She was enjoying this brief betrothal period, but even more she looked forward to actually being married and waking up to Richard’s arms around her and his lazy, intimate smile across the pillows.
Blushing, she reminded herself that they were here on business. They’d reached Key’s room, so she knocked briskly, calling, “Mr. Key? It’s Callista Audley with some rather important legal business, if this isn’t a horridly bad time.”
After a moment the door swung open, revealing Frank Key. His tangled dark curls and rumpled shirt made him look as if he hadn’t slept in days. But his smile was welcoming. “Callista, how lovely to see you here and safe! Please, come in. I gather you and your family were able to make it out of Washington unscathed.”
“Yes, though I believe my house had the sad distinction of being the only residence in Washington to be burned by the British.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that!” he exclaimed. “It was beautiful and well located.”
“I’m not going back, so I’m interested in selling the lot. Here are the addresses of my helpful neighbor, Mrs. Turner, and my future home in London.” She gave Key the paper with the addresses, then drew Richard forward. “I’d like you to meet Gordon Audley. He and I are to be married on Monday.”
Key and Richard exchanged an assessing handshake, then Key waved them to a pair of uncomfortable chairs. “Are you a relation of Mrs. Audley’s first husband, sir?”
“It’s far more complicated than that,” Richard replied. “I’ll let Callie tell the story.”
“Which I will,” Callie said. “I need help probating a will in Jamaica, but first, how are you? I’m told that you and Mr. Skinner, the prisoner of war agent, were held captive by the Royal Navy, but you emerged triumphant with your freed doctor and a list of all the prisoners of war.”
“Yes, but it was terrifying to watch the bombardment from miles away and not know how the battle was going! I’d had doubts about this war, but they vanished when I saw Baltimore under attack.” His eyes were intense. “I’ve never felt more an American.”
Looking shy, he continued, “You know I’m prone to scribbling bits of poetry. During the battle and after, I was filled with powerful emotions such as I’d never known. I jotted down my feelings on the back of an envelope and last night I expanded them into a poem. Would . . . would you like to see it?”
“By all means yes!” Callie had read some of Key’s other poetry. He was very talented and this subject was powerful.
He handed her a long sheet of writing paper well filled with lines and some words scratched out. “It still needs work,” he said apologetically. “But I thought it captured the fear and triumph of the event.”
She began to read while Richard shamelessly looked over her shoulder. The first stanza read:
“O! say can you see, by the dawn’s early light . . .
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”
By the end of the stanza, she was crying. “Yes,” she whispered. “It was exactly like that.”
Richard rested his hand on her shoulder. “We watched the rockets and mortars, too. Seeing them was bad enough, but worse was wondering what it meant when the bombardment ended. When dawn came, at first it was impossible to see what flag flew over the fort. It was a stunning moment when the sun came out and showed those ‘broad stripes and bright stars’ of yours.” He tapped a corner of the page. “This is a poem not just for Baltimore, but for a whole nation.”
Key swallowed hard, his face flushed. “I’m glad my words conveyed that to you. They came in such a powerful rush that they could not be denied.”
“It should be a song,” Callie said when she finished the fourth and final stanza and handed the poem back to Key, the words soaring through her mind. “The whole city will gladly sing it.”
“I have a melody in mind,” Key admitted, “but for now, tell me about your legal questions.”
Pulled from the power of poetry, Callie succinctly related the carefully edited version of why she and her stepfamily had been living under assumed names. Then she gave the official story of Henry Newell’s death and how she had a draft copy of the will and a newly discovered codicil.
She’d considered claiming she’d found the codicil folded into her Bible, but since Key was a devout member of the Church of England, she thought it wiser to “find” the unexpected addition to Matthew’s will in her cherished copy of Robinson Crusoe. Richard had given her the book on her twelfth birthday and it was the only one of her books that she’d sent to Baltimore with the Adamses. The others were now ash.
In focused lawyer mode, Key scanned Henry’s death certificate, the will drafted in Matthew’s own hand, and the codicil. He didn’t question the codicil’s authenticity, a tribute to Richard’s skill as a forger. When he finished studying the papers, he said, “This all looks straightforward enough, though it will take time to prove the will.”
“Can it be done from another country?” she asked. “None of us want to return to Jamaica.”
Key considered, then gave a nod. “I know a young lawyer in Washington who is Jamaican by birth. He’s a fine attorney and I think he’d be willing to take your documents to Jamaica and shepherd them through the probate process. A chance to visit family and be paid for it.”
“That would be marvelous!” Callie said. “Since my new husband and I will be leaving for England very soon, I assume there are a large number of legalities that must be completed before I depart to ensure all has been done properly. I don’t want to waste time having queries travel back and forth across the Atlantic.”
He nodded. “As you say, a great deal of copying and notarizing will need to be done. I can do the notary work since I’ve known you for several years”—he smiled briefly—“albeit under two different names. I work regularly with a lawyer here in Baltimore, George Carroll, and he has people who can help with the copying and filing of papers. Since your stepfamily will be staying in Baltimore, it will be good for them to develop a relationship with him for possible future issues.”
“We know George Carroll’s nephew, Peter.” Callie smiled. “He and my stepdaughter, Molly, are showing great interest in each other.”
“Excellent! Peter is a fine young man.” Key neatly squared the stack of papers and slid them back in the portfolio. “Now I must render myself presentable and meet with my brother-in-law about another matter.”
Callie stood and offered her hand. “Thank you so much for taking the time to help us during such a confused period!”
With a charming smile, Key shook her hand. “We poets are a nervous lot. It was worth being a lawyer before breakfast in order to hear enthusiasm for my latest work.”
“Very genuine enthusiasm,” Richard said as he shook Key’s hand. “Good day, sir. I look forward to hearing ‘The Defence of Fort McHenry’ being sung on every street corner!”
Callie took Richard’s arm and they left the hotel room together. And once again, the words “the land of the free and the home of the brave” rang in her mind.