Once a Rebel

by Mary Jo Putney

  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.”

  Chapter 25

  Callie had always found Josh to be a reliable predictor of weather, and he was right once again. As heavy rain pounded down, Richard and Josh secured the three bodies in a canvas sling and lowered them to the ground with the hoist. Grim work, but they did it stoically. She gave thanks that their household contained two well-muscled men with strong stomachs.

  In the darkness and rain, it was doubtful they were observed, but if there were questions, lowering Henry’s body down to the warehouse office was legitimate reason for their behavior. Henry the hero, come to Baltimore to protect his family. The idea would have been laughable if she weren’t still shaking inside from his threats.

  As Richard and Josh stoically rowed out into the downpour, Callie concentrated on cleaning up the spilled blood. She forced herself to think of it as just another stain, like red wine or soup. After that, she helped Molly put away the food and wash the dishes. Luckily the hoist was also good for bringing up water for washing and cooking.

  Callie was drying plates when Molly asked, “What do you think of Peter Carroll?”

  Unsurprised by the question, Callie replied, “I think he’s a fine young man.”

  “Do you think there could be anything . . . lasting between someone from one of Maryland’s first families and a slave girl?”

  “You’re no longer a slave!” Callie said sharply. “You’re a beautiful, well-educated young woman and an heiress. But as to whether there might be a lasting relationship—that’s always a question. I’m sure that Peter doesn’t care about your origins, but his family might. Even if they don’t object, you’re both very young, and first loves are often like summer storms. Intense but swiftly passing.”

  Molly gave her a sidelong glance. “Peter’s nineteen. I’m sixteen. You were married at sixteen.”

  That was inarguable, and rather shocking. Molly was the same age Callie had been? She was so young! But Callie had been young, too. Far too young. “I didn’t marry by choice. Though it didn’t work out badly, I can’t recommend it.”

  “Did you have a first love who consumed your mind and heart?” Molly asked intently. “Someone you desperately wanted to be with, though you were forced to marry my father?”

  “Not really,” Callie said, her voice apologetic as she stacked dry plates and
set them on a kitchen shelf. “The girls I knew were always becoming infatuated with dancing masters and stable boys and handsome young curates, but that never happened to me. I guess I’m just not very passionate.”

  “I don’t believe that!” Molly exclaimed. “Surely there was someone!”

  Callie frowned as she thought about it, then shook her head. “I suppose because Richard was my best friend, I didn’t notice the stable boys.”

  “Weren’t you ever infatuated with him?” Molly asked in amazement. “He’s so handsome!”

  Callie shook her head. “We were best friends. We rode and swam and got into mischief together. That’s different.”

  “Was it?” Molly asked skeptically.

  “It was,” Callie said firmly as she suppressed thoughts of several recent kisses that were very different from their childhood relationship. “And don’t question your elders!”

  Molly laughed and they finished up the cleaning in silence. Sarah had already gone to bed, tired from the day, and so had Trey.

  Callie said, “You look asleep on your feet, but I won’t rest until the men are home. Before you go to bed, will you help me move several of the tobacco barrels to make an alcove? I want to put my pallet there because I don’t think I’ll sleep well tonight and I don’t want to wake Sarah.”

  “What about keeping me awake?” Molly said as she moved toward the tobacco barrels.

  “Oh, I don’t mind if I ruin your sleep!” They both laughed, and once more Callie thought about how Molly was more like a little sister than a daughter.

  It was easy to arrange barrels to create a U-shaped alcove that faced the balcony and the bay. Callie spread out the blankets as wide as they could go because she knew she’d be tossing and turning all night. And if she wept from shattered nerves, no one would hear.

  Callie packed Molly off to bed, then took a lemonade and brandy out onto the balcony. The city had told residents to turn off all lights so as not to present targets to the enemy, which meant all was rain and darkness outside. They had two shielded lanterns that cast only a narrow band of light. One hung in the stairwell, the other sat inside on a table to guide the men when they returned.

  It was a relief to hear the splash of oars, then the rasp of wood on wood as the sturdy rowboat pulled up to the pier. A minute or two passed, then a key grated in the lock of the street door below the balcony. That door was undamaged, so Henry must have had a skeleton key.

  She heard the sounds of slow footsteps as two tired men climbed up to the apartment. As they entered, Josh muttered, “First thing tomorrow, I get this door fixed and give the one downstairs a better lock!”

  She set her drink aside, collected the two small shots of brandy that she’d poured earlier, and met them at the door. “You’re both dripping like laundry just pulled from a tub,” she observed as Richard followed Josh inside.

  “Feels like that, too. I could give a fish swimming lessons.” Josh covered a yawn. He’d brought up the lantern from the stairwell, carefully keeping the sliver of light turned away from the balcony.

  Callie handed him a brandy. “Trey is asleep in your room. He wanted to give you the bed, but we bullied him into keeping it by pointing out that he’d been shot twice today so he might as well take advantage.”

  “That boy!” Josh said affectionately. “No matter. I’ll be fine on the floor. Could sleep on rocks tonight.” He tossed off the brandy in one gulp and handed the glass back to Callie. “It surely has been a long day.”

  “That it has.” There were pegs on the wall by the door, so Richard hung up his saturated hat and coat before accepting his drink.

  “There are towels and dry clothes in the kitchen area,” she said. “Do you want to join me on the balcony to relax before you go to bed?”

  “I’d like that.” His smile in the dim light was tired but peaceful. He took the second lamp and headed toward the kitchen.

  Callie felt her way back to the balcony and folded her tired body into one of the chairs. A few minutes later, Richard settled into the chair on her left, lantern in one hand and in the other a tall glass that was probably a lemonade and brandy mixture like hers.

  Though the noise of the rain drowned out most sounds, it felt natural to speak softly. She asked, “Your task went well?”

  “Yes, we rowed out into the harbor and gave them to the sea in two different places. I don’t know how long until they’re found. Their deaths may or may not be associated with the fighting. I don’t think it matters.” He raised his glass toward the harbor and the fort that lay at the end. “There are more important things to worry about.”

  “As Peter Carroll said, they deserved their fates. I don’t mind about those two, yet . . .” She hesitated as she searched for the right words. “I’m sad about Henry, who was the worst of them all. I despised him, but Matthew loved him.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “Love can be very blind.”

  They sipped in silence as the rain went from wild downpour to steady but more normal. After a last swallow of her lemonade, she set her empty glass on the floor by her chair. “I gather you intend to forge that very useful codicil to Matthew’s will?”

  “Yes. Show me the old draft will and any other samples of his handwriting you have, and I should be able to create a document that will look convincing. It’s not as if there are other heirs standing by to take this to court.”

  “True. And it really is what Matthew would have wanted. Justice, if not precisely the law. I like Peter’s perspective on this.”

  “How are you feeling?” he asked. “I’ve had a long and tiring day, but all I did was travel to a battlefield to retrieve a friend, then dispose of a couple of dead villains. Your day was much worse.”

  She tried to come up with a light warrior woman comment, but instead she began to shake. Gripping his hand like a lifeline in storm-tossed seas, she said raggedly, “I think this has been the worst day of my life. Worse than when we eloped and wrecked both our lives, worse than when the British burned my house and almost lynched me. Today, everyone I care deeply about was threatened. Trey was wounded and you and Josh could have been killed going after him. Then Henry came and . . .” She broke down, unable to speak.

  He rose and lifted her in his arms, then sat down again with her in his lap. He tucked her head under his chin and stroked her back. “Those you love were violently threatened, and you had to kill. You have every right to have strong hysterics. Feel free to break china or throw yourself on the floor and pound your fists and heels.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was his intention to make her laugh, but she did. “If I’m going to do that, better to throw myself down and pound the floor before I start breaking the china.”

  “Very practical.” His long fingers gently massaged her nape, spreading warmth and relaxation through her knotted body. “There’s been enough blood today.”

  She exhaled with exhaustion. “I’m sorry to have become such a watering pot. You used to say admiringly that I was like another boy, not a weepy girl.”

  His laughter was soft and tender. “How times have changed. I’ve now noticed that you’re a girl and I don’t mind that at all. In fact, I quite like it. Breaking down after a horrible day is not the same as being a watering pot.”

  “I suppose not, but there isn’t time to indulge myself for very long. Tomorrow Baltimore may be bombed to splinters, and I need to be ready for anything.”

  “The Royal Navy won’t have it easy,” he assured her. “They’ll have to destroy the Star Fort and the artillery battery on Lazaretto Point on the opposite side of the channel. Then they’ll have to get past the boom at the mouth of the inner harbor. The forts might hold out under the bombardment so long that the British will get bored and just head home.”

  “Let us hope so! This isn’t Washington. Baltimoreans are digging in and fighting for their homes.” She sighed. “Tomorrow I should be able to pretend I’m strong again, but tonight I don’t want to sleep alone. I’ve made up a
pallet among the tobacco barrels. Will you join me there?”

  His body stiffened under hers. “Define what you mean by joining you.”

  “Sleeping. Holding each other. No more.” She slid from his lap and offered her hand. “You must be at least as tired as I am, Mr. Bold Adventurer. Come rest.”

  He took her hand and rose from the chair. “Gladly, Catkin.” He gave her his intimate, entrancing smile. “You can purr me to sleep.”

  Chapter 26

  It had been a very long day. In fact, it was already the next day, Gordon suspected. Even with as stalwart a partner as Josh Adams, battling through storm waves in the harbor had been exhausting. Gordon was weary to the bone, which made Callie’s invitation to her pallet very welcome. Fatigue should make it possible to behave like a gentleman, though it would be a challenge. She inspired dangerously intense feelings of tenderness and lust.

  The alcove between the barrels was cozy, with a faint scent of tobacco and a view out the windows, not that there was much to see in a heavy rain over a blacked out city.

  Callie flipped back the top blanket and crawled onto the pallet, which was wide enough for two. He stretched out beside her, asking, “Is the floor less hard than previous nights, or am I just so tired I’m not noticing?”

  “The pallet is somewhat thicker. Earlier today Molly and I found empty burlap sacks in the warehouse so we brought up enough to provide better padding,” she explained as she stretched out on the right side of the pallet. “It’s not a real bed, but better than the floor.”

  True. But even the unpadded floor would have been fine with Callie beside him.

  She rolled onto her side to face him and circled an arm over his waist as she exhaled softly against his neck. “Thank you for joining me.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” he said, meaning it. “It’s been an appalling day. Yet we’re all here and alive and Trey isn’t badly hurt. There is much to be grateful for.” He stroked down her back and confirmed what he’d suspected when he held her in his lap. She wasn’t wearing anything under her worn, often-washed linen shift. This felt almost as good as if she wasn’t wearing anything at all.