Phantoms In Philadelphia (26 page)

Mother stepped back, her jaw slack and her eyes
round.

“Jack,” Bess said with a warning in her voice.

I wanted to tell her all, but I refrained. “I
apologize. My feelings upon the subject are raw.”

Mother knelt before me, holding my hands in hers.
“My love, you have time before you need to think about marriage. Do
me this one favor and leave Richard’s ward be.” Mother was adamant.
She did not want me to see Guinevere again. But, it was more than
that. She was afraid, both of Richard and what losing him meant.
She could not afford to anger him.

***

Four days passed without sight of Guinevere. Not
from a lack of trying, but from a sly move by her guardian.
Guinevere and Richard had left Philadelphia.

From what I could learn from my mother and Martha,
Guinevere would be returning, but neither knew when. I was
outraged, with both Richard and myself. I should have struck him
down when I had the chance.

Pacing my library like a caged animal, my thoughts
were in a tormenting spiral. I did not know what Richard had told
her about me, but I could only hope that she would know that when
she returned I would still be of the same mind.

When I threw myself into a chair, determined to read
a book, a knock fell upon the front door. I rose to close my
library door, not wanting to see any of Bess’s suitors, when I
halted.

General Harvey walked toward me leaning slightly on
a wooden cane. He had been wounded in 1813 while serving in
Baltimore. Shrapnel in the leg. He had never fully recovered and
walked with a limp, but his wound never dampened his spirit. He was
forever gracious and jolly with anyone around him.

I shook the general’s hand then motioned for him to
be seated. “I am honored, sir, that you have called upon me.”

General Harvey leaned his cane against his chair as
he spoke. “You may not feel so after you hear what I’ve come to
say.” I watched him intently. “I heard talk that young Madison has
become particular in his attentions to your sister, and I would not
feel right, knowing your father as I did, if I held my peace and
did not warn you against such an alliance.”

Of all the words that he could have said, speaking
against Andrew Madison was definitely the last that I expected.

“William was a good man and a good friend.” The
general’s eyes looked past me as if he were remembering something
from days gone by. “Miss Martin deserves the best; a man who will
care for her well-being, not only her lovely face and the
connections she brings.”

“You feel that Andrew Madison does not mount up to
that description?” I asked, feeling skeptical about his
motives.

He grunted. “Let us say that she deserves someone
who will love her more than he loves himself, and you may be sure
that Madison is not that man. His political ambitions alone should
be enough to deter you from considering him.”

So far I had heard nothing against Andrew that I
found disconcerting, or that could constitute the general’s
visit.

As if he could read my thoughts, he
replied, “Miss Martin will inherit a vast sum upon her marriage.
Money like that could certainly help out a politically minded young
man.”

“Are you saying that he is a fortune hunter?” I
asked, doing nothing to keep the incredulity from my voice.

“That’s the right of it. He may care for Miss
Martin, but as her brother, surely you wish more for her than a
shallow marriage to an equally shallow man.”

Staring at General Harvey, I was unsure if I should
believe what he said. I could not shake the thought that the man
had ulterior motives behind his visit. Edith came to mind, and the
general’s motives became clear. If I refused my permission to
Andrew’s suit, the general could then swoop in offering up Edith as
a substitute. The connections that Andrew would bring to a marriage
could cause even a friendly man like General Harvey to do his
utmost in eliminating rivals, like fabricating a list of faults. I
found myself thoroughly torn, for I liked the general, and he had
long been a family friend.

The general used his cane to help him stand. “Think
about what I have said, John. Sometimes appearances can be
deceiving.”

I thanked the general as I followed him to the door.
After he had left, I went to the drawing room and pulled open the
curtains fully, then went into my library and closed those
curtains. It was a code for Levi to come at once. When Levi passed
the house, he would see the code and enter through the servants’
entrance. I sat at my desk and wrote out a letter while I waited
for him to arrive. He did so three hours later. I closed my library
door and had him sit.

“Fenrir will be taking your place watching the white
phantom. There is something else for you to do. The instructions
are written in this letter. Follow the one listed and report
everything. From where he goes to whom he talks to. I want to know
it all.”

Levi nodded as he looked over the contents of the
letter. When he looked up he was frowning. “Feelings growing strong
between Raven and the president’s nephew, eh?”

Feeling stretched beyond my limit, I leaned back in
my chair and closed my eyes. “Let us say that I want to know more
before I consider allowing him into the family.”

Bess

30 June 1816

W
e
received our first word on George early on Sunday morning. It came
in a letter that was hand delivered to the house by a young boy who
said it had been misdirected. Jack and I were at breakfast when
Arnaud brought it in. It was from one of our informants in New
York, and he said that he had found George alive and
well.

Jack exhaled loudly as he read over my shoulder. Our
informant assured us that he would see to it that George made it
back safely, once the snow melted. I should have been relieved, as
Jack was, but I could not release the suspicion that all was not as
it appeared.

Every week since returning home from Washington, one
of my agents had gone out searching for George, but to no avail,
and then we hear that he was in New York. It did not work together
in my mind. How did he get to New York?

George Crawford had led the Charleston Phantoms, a
team in South Carolina until my father’s death. George had then
thought it his duty to move to Philadelphia to ‘oversee’ my new
leadership.

George was one of the more boisterous against my
being the leader instead of Jack. He did not believe as my father
had, and he never failed to let me know of his disapproval if I
failed in a mission. I appreciated George and his care of my mother
after my father’s passing, but there were times that I wished he
had stayed in Charleston.

When Jack left the house to go for a ride, I ran up
the stairs and into my chamber. Mariah was there, and when I told
her what I wanted, she dug through my wardrobe until she found the
black dress that I had worn to my father’s memorial service.
Concealed under the skirt were my work clothes. Mariah had sown
buttons onto the waistband of my breeches and the inner collar of
my shirt and then she buttoned them into holes that she had made
under the dress. It was inventive, and no one would ever guess that
my drab black gown contained the clothes that I wore when working
the job that my father created.

Mariah helped me wrap my chest to make it as flat as
a man’s; then I dressed as Mariah opened my trunk and removed the
fake backing to reveal three pistols, two daggers, and our masks.
After pulling on my black breeches and black shirt, I handed her my
wig which she placed inside the trunk. I pulled on my boots and
tucked two pistols into holsters on my belt and a knife in each of
my boots.

Something occurred to me that I had been remiss
upon, so while Mariah locked my trunk, I asked, “Have you and
Jericho set a date?”

Mariah’s hand stalled on the lock,
then she slowly rose, and there was a faint blush on her smooth
cheeks. A lock of her dark hair fell across her face, so she tucked
it timidly
behind her ear.
“Yes.”

I threw my arms around her. She laughed as she
returned my embrace.

“I am taking you shopping this week. You must be
married in a new gown.”

“That is not necessary, Bess,” she said softly, and
that was why I adored her. She was possibly the loveliest girl I
had ever laid eyes on, but her beauty did not affect her. She used
it to her advantage on certain missions, but in our everyday life,
she was sweet and soft spoken.

“I know, but two of my dearest
friends—my family—are to wed. It is the least that I can do.” I
turned away to tie my short hair back with a black ribbon and
tucked it neatly under my hat. I picked up my mask and walked to
the door, but paused before going out. “Do cover for me, should
Jack return before I do.”

Mariah sighed in a long-suffering manner, but her
light blue eyes agreed.

***

George had two houses, one on Pine Street and one in
the country. As he only used his country house in the summer
months, I went to his two story house on Pine Street. It was
Sunday, which meant that it was his servants’ half day. His butler,
cook, and manservant knew about our work, but like our own
servants, they owed a debt of gratitude to George for one thing or
another, and would never speak a word against us.

My cheeks and forehead were covered in soot to
disguise the softness of my skin since I had not wanted to take the
time to paste on facial hair.

As I stepped up to George’s front door, I turned the
door knob; it was unlocked. First obstacle completed.

Inside the house, all was quiet, and though the
curtains had been thrown open to allow in light, there were no
fires lit, nor did it seem that there had been since George
disappeared for the house was unusually cold. I put on my mask as I
tread over to his study. I had been in his house many times, so
there was no nervousness in my step.

The study was a square room with bookshelves on one
wall and a desk near the other. First, I checked where he kept
important documents behind some of the books on one of his two
bookshelves. They were still there. His desk was locked, but I knew
where he kept the key. Fetching it from behind a portrait of George
Washington, I unlocked the first drawer. I was uncertain why, but I
pulled out his account book. When I reached the most recent
entries, I could only stare, dumbfounded.

George had made some staggering
deposit entries the day before he was taken. Closing the book, I
found a stack of correspondence; all opened—letters from clients,
letters from his agents both here and in Charleston. There were
also
reports from his nephew that required
a mask to reveal the true message.

Communications exchanged between
agents were a critical part of the Phantoms, but sending the
information in a letter was not safe, so we had ways to relay the
secret messages by many different techniques. Masking was one way—a
cutout paper that could be any shape. Every leader wrote to fill a
certain mask. The leader of the Charleston Phantoms always wrote
messages that fit into an hourglass shaped paper.

I looked for the mask to put over the letters, but
it was not in the book where George usually hid it. Placing the
letters back in the desk, I searched the remaining drawers, but
found nothing to help me discover why he had been taken or who had
given him the money.

A crash sounded on the floor above me, and I nearly
knocked over George’s desk chair in my surprise.

The room directly above the study was George’s
bedchamber. I told myself that it was one of the servants, but that
did not stop the rapid beating of my heart. What if it wasn’t? I
pulled one of my pistols from the holster as I left the study.
Gripping my pistol, I started up the stairs. Halfway up, one of the
stairs creaked under me, and I winced, but no one charged out to
attack me. When I reached the bed chamber door which was closed, no
noise came from inside the room. Something deep within my mind told
me not to open that door, but I had learned to ignore that voice.
If I listened to every inner warning, I would never achieve
anything.

With my pistol steady, I turned the knob and pushed
open the door. Immediately, I saw what had caused the crash. A vase
had fallen from the desk where George’s orange cat was sitting. My
breath whooshed out in a small relieved laugh as I leaned against
the door knob.

A strong hand suddenly
wrapped around my wrist, and I was
unceremoniously
thrown toward the bed. I
hit it hard, tumbled across the surface, and landed on the other
side as the door shut with an ominous click. I scrambled to my
knees and found myself looking at a masked man.

Thick, curly, brown hair tumbled
around his head falling to the nape of his neck, but it was the
plain black mask over his eyes that sent a mixture of alarm and
disbelief skipping through me like a pebble thrown across water.
Was he trying to imitate the Phantoms? He was doing a mighty
poor job of it.

His head tilted to the side as his
eyes slid over my face. Then
to my
astonishment, he opened his mouth and
laughed
. I did not like the sound,
though there was nothing wrong with it. It was strong and pleasant.
But my nerves were near to frayed, and I did not have time to deal
with an imitator who had broken into George’s house. Then there was
the question of
why
he was in George’s house. My gun was lying on the bed, and my
eyes flicked to it.