Phantoms In Philadelphia (16 page)

Throwing my head back, I laughed. Mrs. Beaumont was
worth her weight in gold.

Jack

4 June 1816

T
he
musical that was being held at Madame Grelaud’s seminary was an
opportunity for the young ladies attending the French school to
socialize with members of high society. They also attended balls
and other social parties upon occasion.

As I escorted Bess and my mother to a set of the
chairs beside Edith and her uncle, there was a stir amongst the
assembled company. Turning, I saw Mr. Monroe enter with his
daughter Maria Hester. Maria Hester, a sweet eleven year old girl,
saw Edith and Bess and said something to her father then walked
toward them with the grace of someone twice her age. She smiled at
me as she passed to go speak with my sister. Moving away from the
chairs, I went to Mr. Monroe’s side.

“John,” he said as he held out his hand. I had to
tilt my head to see his face.

“Good evening, sir. It is a pleasure to see you
again.”

Many were crowding in trying to get to speak with
Mr. Monroe. Since he was a kind man, he greeted those trying to
edge their way in, but then he looked back down to me.

“You know Madison do you not, John?”

A young man appeared at Mr. Monroe’s elbow, and
genuine excitement rose in me. I stuck out my hand. “Of course.
Good to see you again, Andrew.”

The man was tall, six feet at the
least with
blond hair and green eyes. The
ways women judged men were different from the way men judged their
fellow men. Ask me if he was a capital rider, a skilled athlete, a
knowledgeable scholar, or an unsavory character and I could tell
you, but beyond that you would receive a blank stare. Not because I
did not perceive more, but because society expected me, as a poet,
to be ignorant.

“It is very good to see you again, John”

Andrew Madison was the nephew of President James
Madison, hailing from Virginia, but spending much of his time now
in the Capital with his uncle. Andrew’s eyes filled with interest
as he looked at someone across the room.

“Is that she?” he whispered. When I followed his
gaze I nodded, pride filling me. Yes, that was she.

The musicians who were playing
softly at the front of the room struck a warning note, and I
excused myself to go sit with my mother and sister. I had just sat
down
when Richard and Miss Clark entered
and moved to the end of our row beside my mother. If I had known
she was to be there...but no matter, I would speak with her at the
interval.

Madam Grelaud welcomed everyone and then the
musicians played. Music was very important in the school; all the
young ladies playing at least one instrument. And, they could each
speak French fluently. Their educations were so in depth that many
newspapers frequently wrote articles praising Madame Grelaud and
her teachers. If my father had been alive, no doubt he would have
tried to convert some of the intelligent young ladies to our way of
life. He was one of the few men in the world who did not
discriminate against women due to their sex, often telling us that
women were as able as men, more so in some cases. If they could
learn to master their emotions, there was nothing that they could
not be taught and nothing they could not accomplish. In the
beginning, I was not sure how I felt about that, but now I agreed
wholeheartedly. I was the better fighter, but Bess was the better
spy.

When the interval came, which was a fifteen minute
break for the musicians and for us all to be able to socialize, I
moved immediately to Miss Clark. Richard had disappeared somewhere,
and my mother had gone to speak with Mr. Monroe, so she was sitting
alone. She smiled expectantly when I sat beside her.

Being so near to her, catching a whiff of her
lavender scented skin, my disappointment came back full force.
Earlier in the day, I had asked Richard about Miss Clark, I needed
to know the name of the man to whom she was betrothed.

Alexander Robb.
Relief had washed over me that I did not know him,
so I would not have to cut any of my friends out of her affections.
Not that I had any intention of doing so with Alexander Robb...yet.
I wanted to check up on him, to make certain that Miss Clark was
not contracting herself to a scoundrel. It was the least I could
do, or so I kept telling myself, until I was seated beside
her.

“I understand that I am to offer my felicitations.”
She looked at me curiously, and I added, “Richard tells me that you
are to be married to an Alexander Robb.” The words churned my
stomach.

Color mounted her cheeks that had nothing to do with
the stifling heat of the room. She turned to look fully in my eyes.
“You must not take everything Richard says as truth. He has his
plans, but so do I.”

It was an odd statement for a young woman to make
about her guardian, but Miss Clark was forthright. “Then you are
not betrothed?” I asked watching her face closely.

“I am not.”

Relief filled me, and I said the first thought that
entered my mind. “The Heavens be praised.”

Bess and Edith were advancing toward us, looking
determined to disrupt our tete-a-tete. Miss Clark leaned closer to
me and whispered. “Would you care to ride out with me tomorrow
morning?”

“More than anything in the world. What time?”

“Seven,” she whispered as Bess and Edith stopped
before us.

“Do go away, John, we want to visit with Miss
Clark,” Bess said.

Bowing, I left the ladies to their gossip. In the
empty foyer, I stopped near the door to the front parlor and leaned
my head against the wall. I knew that I should not be so excited; I
should not care so much for a woman I had just met, but Miss Clark
was different. Her candor, her vivacity, and even her willful
spirit made up a woman who was quickly filling most of my thoughts
and some of my dreams.

“It is accomplished,” a woman’s voice said from
inside the parlor. My head snapped up, and I stepped closer to the
half opened door.

“Well done, Ma belle,” Richard’s cool voice
replied.

For a painful moment, I could not think or breathe.
As my eyes slid closed all the descriptions came to mind and
slowly, piece by piece, it all started to make sense. Ma belle was
a woman of means, the description fit Hannah. She lived in
Philadelphia, where at least three of the artifacts were to be
found. My father was surely turning in his grave. No doubt the
great William Martin would have known, and he would have chided me
for my lack of perception.

“Nicholas is not here.”

“I am glad.” Hannah’s voice was dripping with
disdain.

Richard laughed, and I cringed. I hated his laugh.
It was like a trickle of water that refused to stop. “Here is your
next mission.”

“What if I refuse?” Hannah asked. I thought I could
hear a tremor in her voice.

“Be sure to stay for the encore. I believe you will
find it entertaining.”

“What do you mean?” Hannah’s voice was a rasp.

Richard did not respond, but I heard him move so I
darted away from the wall and went to find Bess. When I reached
her, the musicians were beginning another set.

“We have a situation,” I said into Bess’s ear. Her
eyes were alert, questioning.

We could not discuss it there nor could we leave in
the middle of the musical. I had to force myself to sit still, but
as soon as the musicians ended their last note I was on my feet. I
went to the door and looked over the room. Richard was not present,
which sent a whole new wave of foreboding through me. In the foyer
Richard was coming through the front door. His smile and the look
in his eyes were too calculating as he passed me. Outside,
carriages lined each side of the street awaiting their owners, but
there was one that I found suspicious. It was pulled by a team of
black horses and the man holding the reins was wearing all black,
but not the livery of a servant. I felt against my coat for my
small pocket pistol as the guests started flowing out of the
house.

As I moved aside, I heard Richard’s voice say,
“Allow me to call for your carriage, Mr. Monroe.”

Was that Richard’s plan? To abduct James Monroe. My
chest and mind filled with anger, craving revenge. I started down
the steps, but Bess appeared through the crowd, somehow knowing
what was afoot.

“Protect Mr. Monroe,” she ordered in a whisper then
she lifted her skirt and walked out amongst the carriages.

It was an order from my leader, and it took all of
my self-control to obey. I pushed my way through the people exiting
the house and took Mr. Monroe’s arm. “Sir, a moment of your time if
you will.”

He smiled down at me as we moved through the thick
of people back into the house. I did not know what Bess was going
to do nor did I want to leave her alone for long. My mother was
speaking with General Harvey when I led Mr. Monroe to her.

“Ma’am, here is Mr. Monroe. I told you I would reach
him before he departed.” Mr. Monroe was looking quizzically at me.
“She was most distraught when she thought you had got away.”

My mother, bless her, picked up the thread and began
to wind it. “Please say you will have time to dine with us while
you are in our metropolis.”

I left him to my mother and tried to go outside. The
front door was crowded. Forcing my way through as kindly as I
could, I made it to the top step and looked through the carriages,
but as it was growing dark all the carriages looked the same. My
mind started yelling at me that they had captured Bess. Panic and
terror seized my chest, my gaze swinging in every direction. Giving
in to my fear, I panicked and yelled for her.

“Bess!”

A scream rose above the clatter of carriages, the
horses’ hooves, and the chatter of the people.

“Help! Help me!”

Bess
.
I tried to force my way through the
crowd as it became frantic. Ladies began to shriek and run for the
door while men were looking around for the source of the scream.
Jostled aside, a tall man leapt over the rail and onto the
sidewalk. I watched his familiar head disappear into the row of
carriages until my mother appeared at my side, pale with
fright.

“Keep Mr. Monroe inside,” I demanded and ran into
the night.

Bess

J
ack
frantically yelled my name, but I was not sure why until two large
hands wrapped around my arms. My feet dangled in the air as I was
carried backward. Surprise twisted through me, but I was not afraid
because I knew who my captor was. I tried to kick my captor, but he
would not release me, so I did what any other damsel in such a
predicament would—I screamed.

“Help! Help me!”

Other screams and shouts joined mine, but either my
captor did not care, or he wanted to make a scene. Either way, I
would not allow him to take me.

He was backing toward his carriage.
He put me down, keeping one hand on my arm as he pulled open the
carriage door. I fought, halfheartedly, against him, punching the
hand around my arm, scratching his wrist enough to draw blood. I
tried to think what Edith would do in such a situation though I had
a suspicion that Edith would have fainted. I was about to begin my
fight in earnest, when shoes pounded toward us on the cobblestones
and a stout voice called out. My captor cursed and shoved me away,
causing me to stumble over the hem of my gown and fall. Rocks
scraped my hands, and pain coursed through my backside causing me
to wince. It was only
momentary, for the
sounds of fists meeting flesh made me forget my pain.

A tall man was striking my would-be
captor over and over. I watched in awe for his fists were weapons
of their own. He threw a right jab that was like watching wind—so
quick was it delivered. I was so intrigued that I did not see the
short man creeping up behind my rescuer, until he struck my rescuer
against the back of the head with a cudgel. A horrified cry escaped
my lips as the poor man stumbled back and fell heavily. I scrambled
to my feet, but not to go to after my attacker.

The black carriage with its rogues drove off into
the night, but it was my rescuer who required my full attention. I
knew blows to the head could be fatal. As I knelt beside him, he
was breathing, but his eyes were closed.

“Sir, can you hear me?” No response. Opening my
reticule that was hanging from my wrist, I pulled out my smelling
salts that my mother made me carry.

“Do forgive me,” I murmured as I waved the foul
smelling vial beneath his nose. His head jerked a little followed
by a moan. I passed it beneath his nose again, and his eyelids
fluttered.

The street lamps had been lit at some point casting
a sheen of light over us. As he opened his eyes, I sucked in a
surprised breath. His eyes were a beautiful, soft green with flecks
of bronze.

“Can you hear me, sir?”

His voice was gravelly. “Yes.” He stared at me for a
long moment, and then he looked away as he tried to push himself
up. When he winced, my heart lurched.

“You should not get up yet, sir. You have suffered a
hard blow to the head. A doctor should be summoned.”

His hand touched my arm, and I looked down at it. It
was an ordinary hand, but its soft pressure caused my face to
heat.

“Please do not. If you would only help me to my
feet, I shall be well.”

There were carriages all around us, and I could not
see the door or the throng of people, but I could hear them, and I
could hear Jack calling out to me. I did not respond to him.
Instead, I helped the man to sit up.