Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1)

by Amalie Vantana

Bess

  What do you mean?” I asked. I had suspected he was in love with Guinevere, but I had not heard him confess as much. How could she possibly be a selfish murderer? Unless it was some kind of poetic nonsense where she was a murderer of his heart or emotions.

  “Last night I saw the real white phantom at work,” Jack said, his watchful gaze on me.

  “I do not understand. Wait, did Guinevere murder Hannah?” I could not see that, but the look on Jack’s face told me he was in earnest. Perhaps, it was self defense. It had to be. I knew Guinevere a little; she may be passionate, but I was sure she was neither selfish nor a murderer.

  “Hannah is alive as far as I know, and she is no more the white phantom than you.”

  If she’s not—that means—“Oh, Jack, no!” I lowered myself into the closest chair, horrified.

  Jack told me about following Guinevere, at first, because he thought she was some woman who might need protection, and then, hearing the ruffians call her the white phantom—the name Jack had given her. That begged the question, how did they know of that name? Jack was still retelling the events from the previous night, so I tried to listen. Guinevere killed those three men in the alley, and then Jack picked up her iron.

  I could not begin to fathom how he must have been feeling. “What will you do?”

  “That is the question I have been asking myself, but I have yet to strike a conclusion.”

  Resting my chin on my hand, I wanted to tell him that everything would work out, but I was not sure of that myself. The first time he fell in love, it had to be with a female assassin. Why could she not have been some needy damsel who only sought adventure through books? A dangerous wrath rose inside me.

  Guinevere had shot my brother. He was on point when he called her a selfish murderer. As his elder sister and his leader, he needed me to show him how true his words were, but how?

  A knock fell upon the front door, and Jack and I both turned. Arnaud opened the door, and Andrew entered. Joy fluttered in my chest as I sat up straight.

  “Good morning, Mr. and Miss Martin.” Andrew smiled dimples, and all. He was certainly in a cheery mood.

  I had not expected him to call so early, but that was something that I admired about him for he was not one to let an opportunity pass him by. He asked Jack to take a drive with him, and I could tell that Jack wanted to refuse, but I begged him with my look. He nodded acceptance and asked Andrew to allow him time to change his raiment.

  After Jack had gone upstairs, Andrew and I had a few minutes alone, but he said nothing as he stood near the door and watched me. We often sat in silence, his eyes always watchful, until one of us could think of something to say, but I did not mind the silence, usually. We had not kissed again since the Harvey’s party, but he was always watching me.

  “How is the weather today,” I asked inanely.

  Andrew stepped closer. “I heard that there was ice as thick as a windowpane in the country this morning. It was certainly cold enough last night to make it so.” That was the extent of our conversation.

  After I had seen Jack and Andrew out of the house, I sat alone in the library. Jack’s problem came rushing back like an abundant rain. I contemplated all the ways I could do Guinevere a mischief for the first five minutes, but that accomplished nothing but a momentary satisfaction. I wanted to put fear into her conniving heart; to let her know that her time was limited. Then an idea, something above and beyond, struck me. The language of flowers. I would send her a warning in a bouquet of flowers. I would wrap the bouquet around the iron and include a black feather, the mark of the Phantoms. When she picked up the bouquet, she would know that the Phantoms saw her at work. I ran up the stairs, nearly colliding with Leo.

  “Forgive me, Leo. But, I am glad you are here. Jack brought home an iron that I need you to find. It will be either in the library or his chamber. Thank you.” I did not wait for a reply as I went into my chamber where Mariah helped me to dress in my work clothes. I removed my wig and handed it to her and tied my shoulder-length hair back, tucking it under a black cap.

  Mariah brought out a tray of hair. She mixed some paste and dabbed it along my upper and lower lips. She strategically placed hair, combing it until it was how she liked. Looking in the mirror, I nodded. After I was dressed in all black, I stepped out of my chamber as Leo was coming down the hall with the black iron held out before him.

  “Perfect!” I snatched the iron from between his fingers. It was ten inches in length and solid. I took it down to the drawing room and locked it in the secretaire and left the house through the back door. Half an hour later, I was in the middle of the city flower market that had vendors selling different assortments of stems. There was even a hothouse for more rare blooms. I moved from vendor to vendor choosing stems.

  The language of flowers was a way to send a hidden message, for every flower had a meaning. My mother had been taught about the language of flowers when my parents had lived in England before we immigrated to America. She started instructing me when I was twelve, and for years we worked to understand the different meanings. I was determined to weave a message that, if Guinevere understood the hidden meanings of flowers, would put dread in her heart. The thought of it made my step lighter.

  Plucking stems from the flower carts; I mentally examined each one. Begonia to beware, anemones meant forsaken, nettle for cruelty, marigold for grief, snapdragon for presumption, a yellow carnation was for disappointment, and fern for secrecy. After paying for the flowers, I walked home. I went in to the kitchen, receiving stares of astonishment. Our cook and housekeeper were not happy to see me in my work clothes, but I ignored the women.

  Mariah went to fetch the iron and something else that I required while I went to work arranging the flowers so the message would be clear. When Mariah brought me the iron, I wrapped the flowers around it. When I had them positioned, the meaning was: Guinevere should beware; her cruelty and presumption in disappointing will lead only to grief, for she was now forsaken because of her secrecy. I signed it with the black feather of the Phantoms. I wrapped the stems with a black ribbon and stepped back, pleased with my work. Even if Guinevere could not read the message, seeing the feather and the iron would be message enough.

  A voice in the servants’ hall made me look up, and a familiar face appeared.

  “Levi! Just the person I need,” I said, unable to keep the delight from my voice.

  I grabbed Levi’s hand and pulled him to Mrs. Beaumont’s writing desk that was in the corner of the servants’ dining room. Pushing him down on the desk chair, and instructing him to write Miss Clark’s name on one side of the card and white phantom on the other side, my excitement grew. Levi did as he was instructed, and I tucked the card snugly into the bouquet where it would be visible.

  Examining the bouquet, I exclaimed, “Perfection! Now I must go.”

  Levi’s hand shot out grabbing my own as I was turning to leave. “Where are you off to, Raven?”

  “I have a message to deliver. Jack is out with Mr. Madison, so if you have a message for him, you must wait or return later.”

  Mariah was in the hall with the mask that I had sent her to fetch. After putting it on and ignoring Mariah’s laughter, I left the house.

  Walking toward Guinevere’s house, I had some time to reflect. Guinevere deserved the message, but I could not tell Jack what I had done; at least not yet. As fresh as his feelings were, he would be angry.

  I approached Guinevere’s house by the back door that was down a small alley. The door opened to a square kitchen that was empty. I moved through the kitchen to the door that led into a small foyer. I heard Martha in the little dining parlor, but her back was to me. On the second floor, I found Guinevere’s bedchamber, which was not difficult for the white cloak thrown over a small chair. Restraining the urge to toss the cloak into a fire—if there had been one lit, I would have done so—I looked around.

  Her chamber surprised me. It was decorated with flower paper, embroidered bed co
vering, and two vases of roses all in shades of yellow and pink. I do not know what I was expecting; daggers and poisons perhaps. At the side of her bed, I laid the bouquet on her pillow where she could not fail to notice it.

  Once again on the ground floor, Martha was no longer in the dining parlor. The door to the kitchen was open, and I heard her singing.

  Drat!

  I stepped off the stairs, my eyes trained on the kitchen door. I did not want to hurt Martha, but allowing her to see me leaving the house was impossible. Taking her unaware and knocking her out was the only way. Stepping toward the kitchen, the front door knob jiggled, and Martha’s singing ceased. My heart staggered. I panicked, ran into the parlor and hid behind the open door.

  “Martha,” Guinevere called out, “I have returned.”

  “Did you accomplish what you wanted?” Martha asked, also in the foyer.

  “Alas, no, but I will. I am going to my chamber to change, and then I will help you with the bread.”

  Martha went back to her singing, and I heard Guinevere’s light tread on the stairs. Finding the foyer empty, I ran to the front door and quickly departed; fear and joy mingled together.

  The white phantom is Guinevere. Guinevere resurrected Pierre. Guinevere had money, not the poor orphan we thought she was, and was connected to the Holy Order, whatever they were, and she probably was not Richard’s ward at all. I would put nothing beyond those two.

  Once across the street, and pausing to look at her window, she stood with the bouquet in hand. She must have found the card or feather, or both, for suddenly her head jerked toward the window, and her eyes met mine. She was enraged. Good! Instead of clapping or dancing a jig I put my gloved fingers to my lips and released them toward her. I was wearing Jack’s mask, so she would think it was Loutaire sending her that message.