The morning of the fourth day of July dawned frosty and chilly, but the gray overcast could not stop the excitement of the day. After breakfast, Andrew arrived. He had said he would only be staying for a few weeks, but my sister had changed that. Something happened to them at the Harvey’s party; I did not know what, but their formality ceased, and they were behaving more like a betrothed couple. Since I had not been approached with an offer for her hand, I had questioned Bess. As she blushed, which she never did before Andrew, she told me that Andrew was only awaiting a letter from his family before he approached me.
Andrew was to escort my mother and sister to Centre Square to hear the celebratory speeches; then later he would join me as the festivities livened.
Andrew and I were standing in the foyer while I was putting on my hat, when Bess appeared at the top of the stairs. She was dressed festively in a long, blue coat with military style fastenings, and her hat had a white ribbon with some small red flowers. Her brown eyes were fastened on Andrew as she made her descent, and I swear, I heard his breath come out in a low whistle. Seeing them, the way they stared at each other, General Harvey had to be mistaken. Andrew was in love with my sister and she, well, she was on her way. Bess may have been taller than the average woman, but next to Andrew she was perfect. When my mother joined us, we set out.
When we reached Centre Square, the place was alive with activity. Tents were thrown open with displays inside, and the more affluent citizens had tables spread with an array of food and drink for their friends. The captain of the horse guards was lining up his men, and in the background rose the white marble pump house. It was a square building with a large, round, water tank on top. Until last year, water was drawn from the Schuylkill River at the Chestnut Street pump house, and then pumped to a sufficient height so that it could flow by gravity through a tunnel to Centre Square. Those who paid water rent and constructed a connecting pipe could have water delivered directly into their homes as we had. There were too many issues with the steam engine that pumped the water, so last year; this pump house was shut down, and the new Fairmount water works now distributed the water.
It was my first year attending this celebration in Philadelphia, but Dudley assured me it was not to be missed. I needed some sort of amusement that would help to take my mind from Guinevere.
After she gave me the cut direct at the Harvey’s party, I set out to show her that whatever Richard had told her was a lie, but she would have none of me. I was turned away from her house every day without a glimpse of her. I did not know how much more of the separation I could take. It felt as if my heart had been torn from my chest, cut in two and then only half returned. Guinevere held the other half, and I was afraid that until I made her my wife, I would not feel whole.
I stood beside my mother as the speeches were given, my eyes always searching the crowd for a fiery head and a pair of purple eyes. After the band played, my mother and Bess bid me goodbye, and I set off in search of friends, food, and fire water; not necessarily in that order.
As I walked through the crowd, there were men and women at tables with petitions, people selling goods, men dressed in military uniforms telling stories about the war, and some men already boisterous from generously flowing ale. I stopped beneath a picture of George Washington that was hung from the top of a tent. The nation’s flag swayed in the wind above the portrait, reminding me of why we celebrated and why I was a Phantom.
The last year had been spent trying to recover from the war to rise above the losses, the destruction, and become a better united nation.
The strange behavior of the weather was making recovery difficult. Some called it a purging of the nation after so much blood had been shed, and so much anger had been exchanged. On this day, a day that should have been hot and the dangers of disease rife, the weather was like what would be expected in April.
“John!”
I turned to find a group of my friends advancing upon me with Dudley at the center. We spent a few hours laughing as we watched some of our friends participate in the strong man games that were offered by the owners of a traveling carnival. It was dusk when we sat down to dinner. Andrew still had not returned, not that I blamed him.
Most of the men were well and truly drunk, as they started toasting the reigning beauties. I could hold my wine better than most, my father having schooled me at a young age how to hold my liquor.
Every night for a week, my father, forced me to partake of strong spirits until my tolerance was high. I was only twelve at the time, but my father was adamant, saying that to hold one’s liquor was important to a spy, for one would never know when that skill would come in useful. I looked around me and examined my friends’ actions. There were chucklers, thinking everything was humorous; swearers, damning everything and everyone; high-lows, one minute being jolly and the next ready to fight; and then there were mopers. Dudley was a moper.
One chap by the name of Philip, who was a chuckler, raised his glass, saying, “To Dudley’s lament.” Laughter rolled down the table, but they were not finished. Philip started to sing, and after a moment, the others joined in.
“When first a babe upon the knee, My mother us’d to sing to me.
I caught the accents from her tongue, And e’er I talk’d I lisp’d in song.
I’m little Bess the Ballad singer
I’m little Bess
I’m little Bess
I’m little Bess the Ballad singer.”
They broke off in shouts of laughter, and I could not help but laugh along. I was thankful Andrew was not there.
Dudley jumped up; red faced, shouting, “You will not be-smirch my ff-air ff-lower's nn-ame! Nn-ame your ss-seconds.”
I pushed Dudley down to a chair, laughing. “My sister will never marry you if you are to create scandal by fighting over her fair name.”
“Sh-ee will not marry me, regardless-ss, and it is-ss all the fault of that damn Madis-son,” grumbled Dudley as he slouched in the chair. “He prom-issed. He ss-said I sh-should have her if I would ss-urrender her fortune.” Dudley leaned on the arm of the chair, sinking his chin onto his hand.”
Philip directed a question to me, “Why not give your consent and allow the man to marry?”
Another fellow shouted from down the table, “Because, I would not be able to marry her.”
Ignoring the others, I sat beside Dudley, asking quietly, “Who said you should have her?”
“That pp-uffed up pp-eacock,” replied Dudley, his brows knit together in a scowl.
Of all that is holy! “What is the name of the peacock?” I asked, needing to hear it from Dud.
Dudley’s eyes moved toward me, and then his body shifted to lean on the other arm of the chair near me. “Your ff-uture ff-ather.”
Murderous rage was racing through me, but I kept my voice level as I asked, “When was this?”
Dudley stared at the men down the table laughing and drinking and did not reply.
“When did Richard promise that you should marry Bess?”
Dudley sighed and closed his eyes. “It does not matter. My hope is dashed; my dream is gone. My dove has found a new man to love,” Dudley whispered in perfect clarity.
My anger grew rampant. There was no end to Richard’s vice. I blamed Dudley not at all. All blame lay at Richard’s feet. To make Dudley such an offer, knowing that Dudley would never refuse as his love for Bess outweighed everything else was, to me, a crime that could never be forgiven. My thoughts turned to Guinevere, causing my hands to ball into fists. The thought of Richard threatening her made my blood boil to a nearly uncontrollable degree. Well, things would change tomorrow. I was going to find her in the morning, and I would not leave until she promised to marry me. I would see her well away from Richard if I had to destroy the man.
Thomas called to me, “Who is the fair beauty you mean to toast, John?”
“Would that I could but look upon her face, know her thoughts and her dreams,” I replied reverently.
The men laughed
and demanded to know who the fair maiden was, but I would not utter her name.
“Should I hazard a guess as to the fair name?” Thomas asked with raised brows.
I spread out my hands but said nothing.
Thomas looked at me for a moment. “I take it to mean that you have given up the church?”
Raising my glass to my lips I paused but a moment, smiling, then took a long drink. That was reply enough.
“You have succeeded where most of us here have failed,” Thomas told me.
Another man quipped in, “She never asked me to go riding with her, and I am a much better horseman.”
Philip looked at me. “Whoever she is, she must prefer little men.”
I was too sober to allow the comment to rankle me. Instead, I lifted my glass toward Philip and took another sip.
“You will not rile him this night. Well, gentlemen, raise your glasses. To John’s not-so-secret love,” said Thomas, raising his glass. “May he soon look upon her face.”
I raised my glass to that, hoping beyond anything that tomorrow would be my fortunate day.
Thomas thumped his glass on the table and stood, pushing his chair back. “I’m ready for more entertainment. Who’s with me?”
Dud’s anger abated; he went along with the others. I stood on the corner of Chestnut Street and watched as they piled into a carriage and drove away singing loud and slightly out of tune.
“How does my Lady’s garden grow?
How does my Lady’s garden grow
in silver bells and cockle shells
and pretty maids all in a row.”
Not in the mood for more ‘fun,’ I decided to walk home. I could have hired a carriage, but much was on my mind, and a walk in the moonlight suited my mood.
It was a half hour walk from Centre Square to my house, and I could not let down my guard, especially on this day. The town had its share of thieves, and they came out in force on holidays.
When I made it to the corner of 4th and Spruce Street, I was chilled all over. It was so cold that I could see my breath as I exhaled. I was about to turn down Spruce, when I saw a figure hooded and cloaked in black several paces in front of me on 4th Street. The way the person was hurrying caused my curiosity to get the best of me. I followed.
The figure turned onto Cypress Street, and a flash of skirt protruded from under the cloak. That was no man ahead of me. I picked up my pace, determined to see that the woman came to no harm. What any woman was doing out alone was no business of mine, though it did not keep me from wondering. She was three houses away from 3rd Street, when she suddenly stopped. I expected her to turn and look toward me, but she did not. She was looking to her right, as if something had captured her attention. She stepped closer to a small alley between two houses.
What is the fool woman doing?
A large shadow moved out of the alley, grabbed the woman, then they both disappeared.
My stomach dropped. I pulled my pocket pistol out as I ran to the alley. I slowed as I neared, being sure not to let the sounds from my shoes touching the cobblestones make a loud noise. I was in front of the house beside the alley when a woman’s voice floated out.
“You do not want to do that.”
It washed over me like someone throwing cold water on me in the middle of winter.
“Ah, Guinevere, we’s only playing,” a man’s scratchy voice replied.
Guinevere. Everything in me reeled. I pressed my back against the house to keep myself upright.
It could not be her; it must be some other Guinevere. Even as I thought the words I knew that there was no other Guinevere, it was she. Something inside of me snapped when I heard her voice again.
“If you touch me, I will be forced to take action, and you do not want that to happen.” It was definitely her voice.
Rage boiled inside of me, anger at her for risking her life in being out alone, but full rage at whoever the ruffian was who was accosting her. I started to move into the alley, when the man’s voice froze me mid-step.
“Them Phantoms aptly named ye when they called ye the white phantom.”
I grasped hold of the brick house for support. There was a street lantern at the other end of the alley that illuminated them enough for me to see what was happening, but not enough to make out faces. I watched the man lean one hand against the brick of one of the houses that made up the alley. There was hardly enough room for one person, so when he leaned against her, there was no space between them. Two other shadows appeared on the other side of him. They had not noticed my presence.
This cannot be. It is a lie! My mind screamed the words, but my mouth remained clamped shut in a hard line.
“Ye won’t be gettin’ away from us this time. We will take our payment from ye an’ when we’re through, ye can run to that pig an’ tell him we ain’t workin’ for him no more.” The large man took her arm and yanked her away from the wall.
My wrath overcame my shock, and I raised my pistol, but I could not fire for fear of hitting Guinevere. With the recovery from my shock, clear thinking started to return. If she truly was the white phantom, I could not let her see me. I stepped to the front of the house and watched, keeping my pistol aimed at the shadows in the alley.
“I likes me a feisty wench. Let’s see yer mettle.”
All went quiet then the sound of ripping fabric echoed through the alley, and my heart stuttered in complete fear. I no longer cared if she saw me. I would not allow those villains to assault her. I moved forward, but Guinevere’s hand came up holding something, and she struck the man across his forehead. He released her, swaying before falling forward against the brick wall. Guinevere turned to face the other two, her back to me.
One of the men growled as he moved toward her with his fists up. He tried to strike her, but she used her weapon to strike his fist, causing a cracking sound; then she used her weapon and hit the man in the throat cutting off his agonized scream. The choking and gurgling sounds meant that the man had but seconds to live. I lowered my pistol and stepped out of the alley again while Guinevere confronted the third man. I kept my pistol in hand, as a precaution, but I was too intrigued and confused to do anything more than watch and wait.
The third man grabbed her weapon from her hand, threw it down the alley, and shoved her against the wall as her weapon landed near my feet. His large hand went around her throat. “I should kill ya. All it would take is a little pressure.” I was ready to interfere, but the man’s voice halted me. “A child’s toy.” Between them she was holding a long dagger, the blade pressed against his heart.
I sensed more than saw that she was smiling. As fireworks burst in the sky and bells rung from the streets, a gunshot reverberated off the walls of the alley knocking chips of brick to the ground.
The large man stepped back with his hand moving to his chest before he fell like a chopped tree. What she carried was no mere dagger. Attached to the blade was a small pistol. I had heard of such devices, but never until that moment had I seen one used.
I stayed completely still in the shadows, waiting, but she did not move toward me. Instead, she moved toward the far end without a backward glance. When she was out of view, I bent and picked up her weapon; an iron rod, thick and sturdy. I followed her out of the alley up 3rd Street and onto Spruce Street. She stopped on the street right before my house; her gaze fixed upon a light illuminating one of the windows—my bedchamber window. Leo was waiting up for me to return as he usually did.
Guinevere took two steps toward the house as if she was going to go up to the door and knock or let herself in. She paused and turned away. I was about to step out of the shadows to follow her, when she stopped again and looked back at my house. She pressed her fingers to her lips and released them toward the house. Everything within me stumbled into a land where dreams and nightmares collided.
She loves me. She had to. It was the only explanation for such an action. The truth of it made my stomach churn; it was as if a jagged knife ripped up the c
enter of my heart. The woman that I loved, loved me in return.
Longing engulfed me. I wanted to run to her, give her a good shake, then hold her in my arms, kissing away my own confusion and hurt. The realization that she would probably try to shoot me if she knew that I was following her and had witnessed her actions caused a physical ache. I had to see her to safety though, and then I would have time to sort out my feelings.
Thankfully that was where she went. I waited until the door closed behind her before walking home in a numb state of mind. Guinevere. The white phantom. The words echoed through my mind. When I finally reached home, Leo was there to let me in.
I motioned for him to follow me into the library, and I enclosed us in the room. “Wake Jericho and take the wagon to the alley three houses down at Cypress and 3rd. There you will find the bodies of three deceased men. Dispose of them without anyone seeing you. At once!”
Leo stared at me for a moment, but said nothing as he left the room. I walked to the window and laid my forehead against the cold glass closing my eyes. It was as if my mind would not comprehend all that I had seen and heard. What should I be feeling? I did not know. I was too stunned to feel anything. Replaying in my head what she had done, caused an appreciation of her self defense to rise within me, and to think that I was going to offer her the protection of my name. I scoffed bitterly. Clearly she did not need my protection.
With the realization dawned, an unconquerable gulf formed in my chest. If she were truly the white phantom, I could not marry her. Of all the women in the world, I fell for the one that I could never have.
Sleep evaded me, and I sat up in my chair until after the sun rose. My mind was full of Guinevere, of the men she killed, how I could have been so close to her, kissed her, and not known that she was the white phantom. My mind tortured me, replaying all the times I had fought the white phantom, placing Guinevere’s face where there had been only a mask. My God, the woman lit a fire within me!
When I heard boots on the foyer floor, I did not turn from watching the window.
“Is all right, Jack?” Jericho asked from the door.
“Come in and close the door.” I heard it click shut as I stood and turned toward Jericho. “What news have you?”
“We have dealt with,” he paused, lowering his voice, “the deceased.”
“Very good.” I was too exhausted to inquire more, so I dismissed him.
Once seated upon the sofa, I sank my head into my hands and stayed that way. For the past seven hours I had tried to sort through my feelings but I had no more clarity than I did when I saw Guinevere kill those men. I was near to bursting in my need to figure out what I should do when a hand touched my shoulder.
“Are you feeling well, Jack? You look positively morose.”
“What need you, Bess?” I asked without looking up.
“I am unsure if I should speak if you are unwell...”
I raised my head to look at her. “I assure you I am well.”
Bess smiled almost shyly. “I wanted to inform you that Andrew wants to call upon you this day. When he visited yesterday, he mentioned that he would seek an interview with you.”
I could not ignore the pink tingeing her cheeks or her look of utter joy. Bess deserved happiness, but Harvey’s words were fresh in my mind, and I had yet to receive a report from Levi about Andrew’s doings.
“So then you know your own heart?” I asked, watching her face closely.
She nodded, holding my gaze with her own. “Yes, I opened my heart as you instructed, and I am content.”
“Then I shall hear the man out that I promise.” I offered a smile, but it had the effect of bringing Bess to my side and laying her hand against my brow.
“Are you sure you are well, Jack?”
I wished people would stop asking me if I was well. How could I possibly be? I blurted out, “No, I am not well. The woman I love is nothing but a selfish murderer.”
Chapter 23
Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1) Page 36