Phantoms In Philadelphia

by Amalie Vantana

  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 frigh
t.

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

  Chapter 13

  Bess

  Jack 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.

  “If you will allow me,” I motioned to his head. At his nod, I moved around him to check his wound. Gingerly, I touched his sandy colored hair. It was thick and wavy, curling at his nape, and very soft. There was an awful bump on his head, but it was not bleeding. As I helped him to his feet, he swayed, so I put both my hands on his arms to steady him.

  “Thank you, Miss Martin.”

  I frowned, perplexed. He knew my name, but I had no notion who he was.

  “Bess!” Jack ran around one of the carriages, sliding on the loose rocks. He halted when he saw who I was with.

  “Madison, are you all right?”

  I glanced sharply at Jack and then up at the man who stood several inches above me. Andrew Madison?

  “Martin,” the man nodded to Jack then winced again.

  “John, do not stand there gaping. Help me to get him to his carriage.”

  Jack moved to his side, and together we supported him through the line of carriages until we found the one belonging to Mr. Monroe.

  The driver looked nonplussed as we helped Andrew Madison into the carriage. When he was seated, I told Jack to go in search of both Mr. Monroe and our mother. Jack looked mutinous for a moment, but gave in and moved away quickly.

  “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Martin,” came a tired voice from inside the dark carriage.

  “It is I who should be thanking you, Mr. Madison, for if you had not come to my rescue, I do not know what would have happened.” I would have fought, but it might not have ended well.

  “Miss Martin,” he said, and I looked into the carriage where his head was resting. He leaned forward to look me in the eyes. “I know that we have not been properly introduced but,” he paused for breath, “might I be permitted to call upon you?”

  I was taken aback, not so much from his words as from a rush of flutters in my stomach which were uncommon for me. “I shall be honored, Mr. Madison.”

  He smiled, and the flutters began to dance a minuet.

  “I say, Andrew, are you hurt?” Mr. Monroe asked as he came up beside me.

  “A bump on the head, nothing more.” Mr. Monroe turned to look down at me.

  “Mr. Madison very kindly came to my aid and was struck on the head by a cudgel.”

  My mother came up beside me and wrapped her arm around me. “How can we ever thank you, Mr. Madison, for your brave rescue of my daughter?”

  “Knowing that Miss Martin is safe is all the thanks I require,” he said, rising in my estimation.

  “You must both come to dinner.” Mama looked to Mr. Monroe. “Tomorrow evening?”

  Mr. Monroe agreed and climbed into his carriage. Jack closed the door, and we stepped back.

  “What was that all about?” My mother’s voice was sharp as we watched the carriage drive away.

  “Nothing you need worry over. Jack and I have everything well in hand.” So I hoped.

  ***

  While Jack and I rode to Miss Clark’s house the following morning, he questioned me about the attack. I had a suspicion about what was afoot, so when I reached the black carriage, I asked the driver if he were Mr. Monroe’s driver and when he answered in the affirmative I told him that Mr. Monroe was detained.

  It was an unfortunate misstep that made me think I had everything well in hand. I was about to move away from the carriage when Jack yelled for me. There was a man inside the carriage I had not seen, and it was he who had grabbed me. I supposed to him one captive was as good as the next. I was indebted to Mr. Andrew Madison. He had come to my aid and attacked those dangerous men without an outward qualm. I was impressed and could hardly wait until he came for dinner. Only thirteen more hours to go.

  Jack and I met Miss Clark outside her house punctually at seven. When he had told me about his assignation, I had offered for Edith and me to go along. He looked as if he would deny, but I promised that I would follow if he did not allow me to go. I had also learned that she was not betrothed as Richard had said.

  Jack was smiling like a besotted fool when Miss Clark greeted him. Her eyes were only on Jack having not noticed my presence, and the look that passed between them spoke more than any words ever could. They were smitten. Discomfort arose inside me. It was not unnatural that Jack found a young woman in whom he showed interest; the Lord knew he deserved only the best, but therein lied the problem. We knew next to nothing about Miss Clark. She was lovely, granted, and I found her both witty and intelligent, but I did not know if she was good enough for Jack. Jack was my little brother; I relied on him, and he relied on me. If some other female became first in his affections, he would cease to need me. Jack was the only person who needed me, and the truth of it hurt.

  Miss Clark looked to me, and I smiled. I had to give her cred
it for not showing her disappointment on her face in seeing me; it was only in her eyes. From first impressions, she was the sort of girl that I would have chosen for Jack, had I been a matchmaking female, but I was not.

  When I greeted her kindly, she replied by saying, “Please call me Guinevere.”

  “What a beautiful name, and you must call me Bess.” I glanced at Jack and found his eyes intent upon Guinevere. She did have a poetic name. “I do believe you have rendered my brother speechless. A near impossible feat I do assure you.”

  I did not know how she did it, but even her laugh was unique. Like a song flowing from a harp. She insisted that Jack also call her Guinevere before gathering up the reins. “Shall we set off?”

  I looked around, asking, “But what of your groom?” Even though we did not have a groom with us, I was with my brother and I never rode alone in the city without either Jack or Jericho.

  Guinevere explained that she found the groom that Richard assigned to her to be a nuisance, so she did without his presence. I would have done the same had I not my secret to protect.

  The ride to Edith’s was silent as we had to maneuver through traffic. When the Harvey’s mansion came into sight Edith was mounted and waiting for us.

  Guinevere said nothing, but I could see that she was not best pleased to see Edith. We stopped before the general’s house, and Edith greeted us cheerfully. Her forest green riding habit was lovely, accentuating her ivory skin and the deep chocolate color of her eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from the chilly morning air, and her spirit was high.

  Edith and I rode together ahead of Guinevere and Jack, but once we were outside of the city, we were able to ride four abreast.

  “I must say, Bess, that I am thankful that you are here with us. I was never more shocked in my life than to hear of those horrid men attacking you,” Guinevere said. “What possessed them to try to attack a woman of our class?”

  Edith paled. I would not have chosen to speak of such happenings before her, but Guinevere was curious. I assured Guinevere I did not know. It was not me that they were after, but I would never breathe that to a soul outside of the Phantoms, so I turned the topic to something less alarming.