Bess
26 May 1816
Philadelphia
When we arrived home, mingled feelings of resignation and contentment washed over me. The knocker was on the door. It could only mean one thing; our mother was home.
When my father moved us to Philadelphia, he accomplished a great feat. Suddenly, we were an affluent family living in a mansion and accepted into the elegant circles of society. Jack and I never learned how our father accomplished such a coup, but William Martin was a man of many talents and even more lies. What was truly shocking was finding out that he indeed had a fortune, and I was an heiress.
When we entered the foyer of our house, it was in a bustle. Maids that I did not know were cleaning, men in their shirtsleeves were carrying furniture from the drawing room, and our mother’s housekeeper was standing amongst it all issuing orders in an authoritative voice. I removed my gloves and bonnet, tossing them on a side table as I looked around. I had only moved back into this house three months ago, a few days before my mother left for Savannah. Shortly after that, Jack and I had left for a mission in Washington, but I knew enough about my mother to know when she was up to something. Jack was speaking with Arnaud, our mother’s French butler, when a gasp came from the stairs. Standing on the landing was my mother. A white lace cap sat jauntily over her black hair. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears as she lifted her skirts, floated down the stairs, and wrapped her arms around us the moment she reached us.
Mother was small in stature, but one hardly noticed her size when she spoke or moved. She had all the grace of a queen and the personality of a warrior. Jack had once compared her movements to an autumn leaf in the wind; one moment it is there, and the next it is carried off to someplace else.
As I bent to kiss her cheek, I caught her scent of roses, and my childhood flashed in my mind. My mother loved roses, and my father would bring her a bouquet every time he came home from a mission.
Since my father was gone, I was the tallest in our family. Being tall had its advantages when masquerading as a man, but that was the only time. No man wanted a wife, or a dancing companion for that matter, who would tower over him.
As she released us, Jack asked lightly, “Did you know of our coming, or does this bustle spring from some other celebration?”
“Shall we adjourn to the library?” Mother pointedly ignored his question as she walked across the tiled floor to a tall, ornately carved wood door.
Jack glanced at me with raised brows, and we followed in our mother’s wake.
Standing in the room with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a large walnut desk brought back many memories of my father, but I pushed them resolutely away. This was Jack’s room now with new memories to be made.
“What is this party, Mother?” Jack asked as he entered the library. I watched my mother as she walked across the carpeted floor to the marble fireplace. She pretended to have an interest in the fire.
“Why, Bess’s birthday celebration of course,” she said as she turned to smile at us.
She was lying. When my mother lied; she always took a moment to compose herself before speaking. “I have sent out cards, and we will have a full house with only the best company that this metropolis has to offer.”
I closed the door before advancing into the room and sitting upon one of the two sofas. “We will have the truth now, if you please.”
Mother huffed crossing her arms. “It is as I say.”
My eyes narrowed in on her finger. She looked down at it then lowered her arms to hide her hand in the folds of her skirt, but it was too late. She wore a gold ring with a large sapphire stone that was not a part of our family jewels.
“Mama, where did you get that ring? You promised to economize and rein in your incessant spending habits.” My mother had no thoughts for budgets of any kind. In the years that she had lived in this house, she had redone the drawing room no less than five times. Mother’s man of business had been to see us three times in as many months because of her spending.
“It was a gift.” She looked between us and sat on the sofa across from me. She breathed a deep sigh, and as she smiled at us, the tiny lines around her mouth became more pronounced. “I am betrothed.”
The clock in the foyer ticking by the seconds was the only sound as we stared at her as if we were frozen.
Jack’s bark of laughter broke the silence. His laughter was always swift and loud. Suddenly, I started to see the hilarity of the situation. Our mother was the most devoted wife imaginable. She would no sooner become engaged to another man than she would dress up as King Lear and perform on the stage. I put my hand over my mouth, but could not contain the laughter that spilled forth. I hiccupped, and Jack pointed at me, laughing even harder. Pulling my handkerchief from my sleeve, I dabbed at my streaming eyes while Jack collapsed beside me on the sofa, his shoulders still shaking in mirth.
“It is no joke!” our mother exclaimed with an appalled frown.
Jack and I laughed louder.
Mother stood and clapped her hands to get our attention. “I speak the truth.”
I blinked several times, trying to regain my control. “You cannot possibly be betrothed,” I said, but the look in her eyes made me doubt my own beliefs. I lowered my handkerchief; an icy wind climbing inside me as the realization slapped me in the face.
Jack leapt to his feet, placed his hand to his side, and drew it out as if he were holding a sword. “Who is the rogue who has seduced you, Mother? Hmm? I will run him through again and again.” Jack lunged forward with his imaginary sword poised before him, and I wanted to laugh at his absurdity, but only a choking noise came from my throat.
“Jack! I have not been seduced. Think better of your mother, I pray.”
Jack lowered his hand, all amusement fading. Now he understands.
“You are in earnest? You have indeed accepted the hand of some unknown man?” Jack asked.
“I love him.” Tears had formed in her eyes before she turned away from us.
Pain mingled with guilt as it sailed across my chest. “Mama, we did not mean to hurt you, but it has come as a shock. Please tell us how this came about.” I held my hand out to her.
She moved to sit beside me. I glanced over at Jack, but he was scowling at her. In his eighteen years, he had perfected that scowl; the dip of his black brows, the hard lines around his mouth mixing with the stormy color of his eyes.
“How was your trip?” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief.
“We ran into some disturbing weather, but we are as you see, unharmed and happy to be home,” I explained. Not unharmed, but we would not tell her that. The high collar of my gown covered the bruises around my neck that were fading, but still visible.
“Now it is your turn,” Jack said.
She slowly explained that the name of her betrothed was Richard Hamilton. She met him on the ship to Savannah, only to find out that he owned the ship. He was a wealthy merchant from Baltimore, who owned a large import export business. I continued to hold her hand, but I felt utterly betrayed. Mother’s two year period of mourning ended only six days ago, and she was already contracted to a new man. It made me sick to my stomach to think that she contracted such an alliance without our knowledge. Casting a quick look at Jack, I could detect a hardness to his face. His lips were compressed tightly, his jaw working while he was grinding his teeth. I knew he felt the same.
“Richard has an appreciation for the finer aspects in life. He called on me every day in Savannah, and when we sailed back to Baltimore, he admitted that he could not live without me."
Jack snorted, and we both looked up at him.
Mother bristled. "I was not looking for love, but it found me, and I will not fight it." She was always defensive around Jack. I thought it was because his mulishness reminded her of Father.
“We must meet your Richard, mustn't we, Jack?” I asked, trying to keep the two of them from arguing.
Jack turned to look at the fire refusing to reply.
She did not have a chance to reply, as Jack turned toward us, his eyes burning with restrained anger. He shook his head then smiled, but it was an unpleasant tilt to his lips. “Do you expect us to believe this farce?"
Before Mother could speak, a knock fell upon the front door. A deep voice came from the foyer that caused Mother to rise.
Wringing her hands in agitation, she whispered, “It is Richard. Please, Jack, please play your part, Richard knows nothing about our work.” Without awaiting our reply, Mother pasted a smile upon her lips and called entry.
Richard Hamilton bounced into the room on high heel shoes that were no longer fashionable and bowed low before my mother. He was a trim man with a head of black hair and straight black mustache stretching along his upper lip. Holding him up against my father’s regal bearing, I failed to see why my mother liked him. He was dressed neatly in a cranberry colored coat and a silver waistcoat, but he held his chin too high and the look he cast my mother made me want to box his ears. I moved to stand beside Jack.
Mother bestowed a dazzling smile upon him, murmuring, “My dear Richard.”
I felt like I was going to lose my breakfast.
Richard took both of her hands in his and kissed the palms of each. His familiarity awoke my ire.
She laughed, pulling her hands away as she tittered, “We are not alone, my dear.”
Richard looked around until his dot-like eyes narrowed in on us, his black, bushy eyebrows snapping together. I felt Jack stiffen, so I laid an admonishing hand on his arm.
“Richard, I would like to present you to my children, my son John and my daughter Elizabeth.”
Richard Hamilton executed a grand bow, and as he rose, he met our eyes when he said, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your mother has spoken of you much.”
I must play my part.
I curtseyed as Jack bowed; then Jack was the first to speak. “The pleasure is all ours, sir. To meet one who has brought back a smile into my mother’s eyes is a treat indeed.”
Mother coughed, warning Jack to step warily, but said nothing as she led Richard to the sofa. I moved to sit in a chair by the fire, and Jack stood behind my chair resting his arms on the back. I watched Richard’s every move, for every movement had a meaning. Speaking with the hands could mean agitation and nervousness. Shifting in one’s chair could mean a desire to flee. My eyes moved to Richard’s hands. His middle finger on his left hand had a callused bump, from writing no doubt, which meant that he was left-handed.
My father had said I have the gift of observation, as he had. It was one of the reasons why I was made the leader. I could see everything and find a way to make it work in my favor.
“What has brought you to Philadelphia, sir?” Jack asked with interest sparking his words.
Being left-handed, I watched to see which way his eyes looked. For a left-handed person to look left while speaking, they were remembering something, and to look right meant they were creating something in their mind, often a lie.
“I am searching for a house. I have considered expanding my business to Philadelphia for some time and now,” he looked at my mother with appreciation in his dark eyes, “I have reason.”
“What is your stand on slavery?” I asked, watching as Richard’s eyes darted to his right then down, which could mean that he was creating the reply that he believed I wanted to hear.
He met my eyes as he said, “Why, I am opposed.” He turned an amused gaze to my mother. “I see that your daughter has your zeal for politics.”
“Elizabeth has a brilliant mind and is a great advocate of freedom for all men, but she is not political.”
Richard turned his eyes upon Jack, asking, “And does young John have a political zeal?”
“Decidedly not,” Jack said, disgust dripping from his voice. “My tastes are much more refined.”
“Were you not a soldier?” Richard asked, and for a moment I thought I saw a look of more than curiosity, but then he glanced at me, smiling, and I was not sure. I would acknowledge that he had all the appearances of a good man, but appearances could be deceiving; look at us.
“I was,” Jack replied without emotion.
“Jack served in Baltimore, but he does not like to speak of it,” Mother explained.
I felt Jack shift behind me. “War changes a man. It is why I am considering entering the church.”
“The church?” There was a blank glaze to Richard’s eyes, as if what Jack had said was spoken in a different language.
“My mentor the Reverend Gideon Reid has been tutoring me in all forms of literature and says that I would do well there. Tell me, have you read Cowper? Gideon dotes upon Cowper.”
“A clergyman would prefer the words of a spiritual man,” said Richard, clearly uncomfortable. He turned to my mother, but Jack spoke in a reverent tone.
“Fierce passions discompose the mind, as tempests vex the sea, but calm, content and peace we find, when, Lord, we turn to thee.”
An uncomfortable silence followed. I covered my mouth with two fingers as I leaned against the arm of my chair, trying to keep from laughing. Mother shot Jack a glance that said she was not at all amused.
Richard stood awkwardly. “Well, my dearest heart, I must away. I only stopped because I saw the carriage and knew the prodigal children have returned.”
Richard winked at us, forcing me to I fight the urge to laugh again. So he did at least know one Bible story. Though the term prodigal did not exactly fit what we had been doing while away. He turned toward my mother again and kissed her hand.
When both the library door and the front door had been closed, Jack demanded to know if Mother was in earnest about Richard.
She reached out a hand toward him. “Jack, I understand your anger.”
He stepped away from her hand. "You do not! My father has been dead but two years. Frankly, I question your loyalty, ma’am."
“Do not treat me as if your father's death has not affected me to the core. When your father died, I nearly died,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “but I had to go on for you and Bess. By marrying Richard, I am not dishonoring your father. He would want me to love again.”
“My father was often hailed to be a generous man. Your mistake is in expecting me to be as generous. I will uncover the truth in all of this, and when I do, there will be hell to pay." Jack walked away from her toward the door. I could feel his anguish. He was being a wee bit harsh with her, questioning her loyalty, for if there was one thing that our mother was, it was loyal, but I understood.
“I am in debt.”
I started, my eyes focusing on her in astonishment. She had apparently startled herself by her admission, for she was pressing a hand against her mouth and her eyes were wide in horror.
“What?” Jack demanded from his place beside the door.
Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I am in debt.”
“That is your reason for marrying Richard?”
“In two months, possibly less, I will be without a cent to my name. With the house and our way of life, we exceed our monies.”
The Phantoms do not pay much, not nearly enough for the way our mother spent money, but I knew that our father left her well provided for. Jack asked her about the money.
“Look around you, Jack. This mode of living is costly. Add to that the clothes we wear, the loss of certain assets, and the bad harvest last year. All has worked together to run us dry.”
Oh no. “My dowry?” I asked, unable to keep a note of despair from my voice.
“Safe. At least I shall see you properly wed.” Relief washed over me; then I felt ashamed. My mother was near to destitute, and I was thinking of myself.
“Why did you not tell us?” I asked softly.
“Mr. Hobbs paid me a call in January to inform me of the situation. I went to Savannah to attain what I could through the sale of the plantation.”
“You sold the planta
tion?” Jack demanded, but Mother shook her head.
“I could not do it. I did sell most of the furnishings which will get us through the next few months, and we still have the crops. Provided this is a good year, the money from the harvest will last a year but not more. The only course open to me is marriage.”
“Does Richard know that you are marrying him for his money?” Jack asked.
Mother winced at his words. I threw him a look of reproach, but he ignored me.
“What Jack means to ask is if you love Richard or is it a marriage of convenience?” I asked, my eyes daring him to say a word. He smiled at me, but it was his devilish smile. There was too much anger in his blue eyes.
“Of course it is, Bess. A man of diamonds he may be, but a heart of gold? We shall see,” Jack interposed sarcastically.
“Richard is a good man, and I will hear naught against him,” Mother said with a stern voice.
Jack bowed his head in mock surrender, but I knew he would not accede so easily. “So this party is to throw Bess to the wolves?”
“It is to help her find a suitable match. The time has come.” With that said, my mother swept me out of the library.
When we reached my bedchamber, Mariah and Mrs. Beaumont were there along with a woman I recognized as my mother’s modiste. There were dresses everywhere—all across my bed, hanging from the front of my wardrobe, over the chair by the window, all in whites, pale blues, pinks, yellows, purple, and pale green.
Shoved behind my dressing screen, Mariah helped me to remove my travel gown. When I was down to my undergarments, I turned and pointed to my throat. Mariah inspected it then shook her head. The marks were hardly visible. I pointed to my hair. Mariah straitened the wig I wore then stepped back.
When I was sixteen, I cut off all my hair in a moment of extreme annoyance. When my mother saw what I had done she scooped up the long strands, handing them to Mrs. Beaumont, who had them made into a wig. My mother demanded that I wear that wig at all times when not on a mission. My hair had grown out, but I kept it cut short, falling to my shoulders. Mother was still adamant about my wearing the wig.
Gown after gown was tried on, and each time, before stepping out from behind the screen, I raised the skirt to see how accessible my weapons would be. I never went anywhere without my weapons strapped to my legs or wherever else I could place them. When my mother and I finally agreed upon white muslin over a slip of pale blue with tiny seed pearls, they left the room, leaving me leaning against the wall in exhaustion.
Mariah was frowning.
“What is amiss?” I asked.
She went to gather all the gowns that my mother had chosen for me. “Have you heard the rumors?”
I pushed against the wall and walked over to help her pick up the discarded gowns. “No.”
“From what Mrs. Beaumont says, people have been disappearing for the last month.” Mariah looked at me across the bed, her blue eyes wary. “From all the reports, a black carriage arrives without warning and four men dressed in black capture people, and then the carriage takes them away. As of yet, no one has been able to discover where they come from or why they take whom they do.”
Memory of Pierre being taken flashed in my mind. There were four men, and they were dressed in black. “How many have been taken?”
Mariah looked down at the gowns over her arm. “Seven.”
Seven bodies with the brand. Seven people were taken by carriage. Surely there was a connection. If the carriage were taking people for Levitas, then that could only mean one thing—Levitas was in or near Philadelphia.
Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1) Page 6