In the scuffle that ensued, Howarth grasped a matted scrap of a wig from this man’s head, and the bookkeeper from a neighbouring plantation was revealed, staring quite sheepish upon him. Until, that is, he lunged to punch the most painful blow upon Howarth’s face. Howarth reeled back, holding his nose to catch the spout of blood that gushed from it as if tipped from a jug. Another man who had dismounted, held up his skirts, dainty as a madam, before kicking Howarth. ‘Leave us, we’re taking care of this. It is all deserved,’ was yelled, while a pistol was waved in Howarth’s face.
It was Tam Dewar who had to pull John Howarth out of this affray. Like a small boy snatched from some tomfoolery by a nursemaid, he felt his overseer lift him from the ground and carry him to his horse. Still cursing and swearing those nine gentlemen as whore-sons, John Howarth was led away.
And the dazed wife of Mr Bushell, seeing them leaving while her husband still lay in a pose of death wailed, ‘Come back. Mr Howarth, come back. Help him. Help us, please.’ But Howarth, forced to sit awkward upon his horse so his bloody nose could be held high, had to just ride on.
But of course, Tam Dewar said nothing of these incidents to Caroline Mortimer. So, quite blind to what John Howarth had encountered during those few bloody days in that Baptist War, Caroline could find no good reason why her brother should be in any fatal distress. Indeed, he had seemed perfectly at ease to her when he had found her.
She had been abandoned—like a stray dog!—upon the wharf in town by Godfrey, who, having pointed out the ship she must board, ran off to who knows where. Her brother, discovering her left quite alone during this difficult time, was a little agitated perhaps. For when she commenced recalling for him, in some detail, what had befallen her when left at the mercy of the house slaves, he had placed his hands over his ears and begged her to be quiet. But he had been doing that to her since she was a girl.
No. Caroline had seen her brother so downcast that he would not get from his bed for weeks. But of late, he had begun to bless each sunrise—she was sure of it. So when Tam Dewar, with some temerity, began to say, ‘If your brother has taken his own life . . .’ she replied, ‘But he has not, Mr Dewar.’ When he persisted with, ‘But if he has . . .’ she quite sternly and finally, she believed, ended the exchange by declaring, ‘But he has not!’
For Caroline Mortimer surely knew that as it was a crime as well as a sin for her brother to take his own life, she could stand to lose everything they held upon this island. Why, her neighbour when she still lived in London, Jane Glover, had lost her home, her prospects, and every penny that she ever had to squander upon those showy silk caps of hers, when her father was found dangling from a beam in their house. Jane Glover had everything seized! It was the talk of Islington for several months. Her father’s body was even refused a burial next to his wife’s at St Mary’s churchyard. Caroline could still recall the look of anguish upon Jane Glover’s face as she was driven away in a cart to be taken in by a cousin and used as a common housemaid!
Now, reader, no matter what you may have heard Caroline Mortimer declare as the next act in this story, for she gave her own fulsome account of that day to the militia, several magistrates, lawyers, and indeed anyone who ever graced her dinner table, this that I am about to tell you, is the truth of what occurred next within that bed chamber. Do not doubt me, for remember my witness still lies beneath the bed.
When, after demanding—for what was the fifth time—that Tam Dewar bring the doctor to administer to her brother, the overseer yelled upon Caroline, ‘Dear God, woman, look at the man, he has no head!’ Upon saying that, he knelt down in an agitated state to demonstrate, once more, the lack of skull upon her brother’s person.
Now, was it July gulping to swallow or inhaling a fearful breath? Did Nimrod twitch his shoulder or waggle his stiff foot? Perhaps, with this hateful overseer, it