“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.”
